Love Mother, Love Daughter
by Joe Caruso


Most murders are routine affairs ... two men and a woman, two men and a 
bottle, two men and a few bucks ... but not the rifle murder of Cyrus 
Cartell in a Phoenix motel bedroom. Before Mike Williams, Chief Investigator 
for the Phoenix Police Force, unravels the murder, two others are dead and 
among the human impulses Williams must sift through are sadism, incest, 
sexual promiscuity, homosexuality, race persecution, illegal harassment and 
downright human bitchiness. 

The cast of characters he must work with includes the brutal victim, his 
oversexed wife and nubile and pregnant nymphet daughter, two youths on the 
verge of a gay relationship, a pair of raffish cocktail waitresses and a 
sinister stray who may or may not be involved in what rapidly develops into 
an epidemic of death.... 


CHAPTER ONE 

Captain Mike Williams, a criminal investigator for the Phoenix Police 
Department, pulled in behind a squad car in front of one of the units of the 
Bel-Plaines Motel on East Washington Street. There were about a dozen units 
in the compound, several facing the street, and the rest around a corner, 
well away from the sound of traffic. There were better motels on East 
Washington, but the Bel-Plaines was popular for certain purposes because it 
was out of the way and was not too expensive (seven dollars a night for two, 
which is cheap in Phoenix). 

The captain walked along the gravel drive, around a corner, toward a small 
crowd of people who were clustered about one of the far-end units. He 
shivered as a cool breeze sent a blanket of dampness over the air from the 
irrigation canal beyond the buildings. Daylight was breaking through a grey 
mist that was cold and uncomfortable. As he walked he felt the dizziness 
that comes from too much coffee and not enough sleep. 

He pushed through the crowd and stepped onto the small wooden stoop in front 
of one of the cabins. He pushed open the door, then shut it behind him. He 
looked at the officer who stood at the door, then looked at Bernie Evans. 

He moved across the room to the single bed and looked down at the body that 
lay on it. It appeared to be a man sleeping soundly, except that the eye 
cavities were filled with blood that had oozed from a small puncture between 
the brows. 

"Right between the eyes," the captain said, "Just like in the storybook." 

Discoloration had already begun and the flesh around the eyes was almost 
black. The body had begun to swell because of gases escaping inside the 
frame, making the man look even bigger than he had been when alive. 

Captain Williams glanced around the room. There were several whiskey bottles 
on the table beside the bed. One of them was empty, the other partly empty. 
There was still some liquor in a glass beside the bottles. On the floor 
beside the bed lay a wallet. The captain bent down and looked at it, not 
touching it. His eyes moved up to the large hand that dangled over the side 
of the bed. The fist was clenched and sticking out of it he could see the 
corner of a ten-dollar bill. 

The captain finally turned to Bernie Evans. 

"What happened here?" he said. 

"I killed him," Bernie said. He was sitting in a chair near the door, his 
hands folded in front of him. His face was pale and his eyes were 
frightened, though he looked steadily at the captain. 

Captain Williams moved to the officer who was standing in front of the door. 
He squinted at the man, weighing him, and the officer frowned uncomfortably. 

"You must be Patowski," Williams said finally, glancing into his notebook. 

"Yes, sir," the younger man said. 

"Well, Mr. Patowski," the captain said, and he pointed at Bernie. "Did you 
hear what that boy just said?" 

"Yes, sir," the officer said. 

"Good. You remember it." He grunted and the officer nodded. "And I want you 
to take down everything we're going to say. Okay?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"You have a notebook?" 

The officer nodded and produced a notebook from the blouse pocket of his 
uniform. The captain moved to Bernie again. He studied Bernie's face while 
Bernie stared down at his hands. 

"You killed him, huh?" 

"Yes." 

"I see." The captain glanced at a .22-calibre rifle that was lying on the 
small bureau. "Where did you get the gun?" he said. 

"It's mine," Bernie said. "I brought it with me." 

"I see," the captain said. "Then you know who he was?" 

"Oh, yes," Bernie said. He looked up from his hands and found the captain's 
eyes fixed on him. Bernie stared back for a moment, then looked down again. 
He shook his head in a futile gesture and his lips began to tremble. He 
clasped his hands together to keep them from shaking, but he couldn't stop 
them. The vibrations passed to his legs, which moved convulsively while 
Bernie cleared his throat, desperately trying to gain control. 

"You realize what you're saying?" the captain said. 

Bernie opened his mouth to speak, found he couldn't. His breathing was short 
and audible, and the trembling increased and spread to his shoulders. 
Through the convulsions he managed to nod. 

Captain Williams put a hand under Bernie's chin and tilted his head back. He 
frowned into the large eyes that darted uncertainly, trying to avoid the 
captain's look. Then the captain pressed a hand against Bernie's forehead. 
Bernie shook his head in protest, but Williams hooked a hand under Bernie's 
arm and pulled him up, then guided him to the small bathroom and waited in 
the doorway while Bernie was sick. 

"Feel better?" he asked when Bernie finally came out. 

Bernie nodded. The captain took his arm again and guided him to the door. 

"Better give this man your car-keys," he said to Bernie. Bernie frowned and 
shook his head as if he didn't want to. But he obeyed and handed the ring of 
keys to the officer at the door. 

They moved out of the cabin then, pushing through the crowd toward the 
captain's car. Bernie stopped suddenly in the midst of the people crowding 
around him. There was quite a mob gathered, most of them attracted by the 
flashing red lights atop the squad cars. Men, women, children, even dogs. 
Some whispered, some pointed, some stood at the edge of the crowd and looked 
frightened. All of them stared at Bernie. 

The captain felt Bernie going rigid and tightened his hold on Bernie's arm. 
But as he did so Bernie jerked free. Suddenly he was yelling, and he darted 
forward, throwing himself against the people, his arms flailing the air. 

"I'll kill you!" he shouted. 

He struck out blindly, catching a woman on the shoulder with one of his 
fists. She screamed and tried to run away, but was pinned in the crowd that 
churned without direction, striking back at Bernie. In-a moment the captain 
was beside him and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back. At the same 
time the officer at the doorway elbowed his way through the crowd and 
grabbed Bernie's other arm. 

"Let me go, goddamn you!" Bernie yelled. "I didn't do anything! I didn't do 
anything!" 

The captain held him while the officer reached into the squad car for a pair 
of handcuffs. He moved beside the captain to put the cuffs on Bernie's 
wrists. 

When Bernie saw the cuffs, he frowned and suddenly he stopped struggling. He 
jerked around to face the captain. 

"Please, don't!" he whispered harshly. "I'll be good! Don't put those on me! 
Please! I'll be good!" 

The captain signalled the officer away, then let go of Bernie. 

"Get in the car," he said and Bernie obeyed. 

The car edged forward and the people gave way before it. Bernie looked back 
at them as the car moved along the gravel drive toward the turn that led to 
the street. How funny! he thought, and then he grinned. 

He turned around again and stared at the street. He rubbed his wrists. He 
had avoided the handcuffs. It was a foolish thing he had done. Stupid! But 
it wouldn't happen again. He'd see to that. They mustn't tie his hands. It 
was important that his hands be free! 

Bernie felt better as they picked up speed. He breathed deeply, catching at 
the cool, morning air that streaked in through the side wing of the car 
window. His trembling had subsided somewhat and being away from the murder 
room seemed to calm him down. In his mind he was still trying to think back, 
to re member, to fill in a blank spot. But it was useless. 

All the while he had sat there staring at the big man, lying senselessly, 
harmlessly on the bed, he had tried to move back, to filter out the 
make-believe, to reconstruct as they do in murder mysteries. Once in a while 
he had laughed. Once he had even talked to the big man. As if the big man 
could tell him anything! He had pleaded with him, but the big man only lay 
there, his eyes clouded over with big red tears-as though he were sorry. 
Bernie felt sorry too. 

Bernie thought about Mike. Why hadn't he stayed home? "I told him to stay 
there and wait for me! In one ear and out the other. Didn't I tell him to 
stay home? I would have done it!" 

"It takes a man to pull a trigger," the big man had said. Then he'd laughed. 
"And I don't see no man around here!" He'd poked his head around the tiny 
motel room and it was a game. "I swear I don't!" 

"Like hell!" Bernie said and suddenly he was aware of Captain Williams 
staring at him through the rear-view mirror over the windshield between 
them. Bernie smiled. It was a slight smile, but he had a reason for it. He 
rubbed a hand across his face, pushing himself up, gathering his strength 
for what he knew was coming. 

He glanced out the window at the great desert buttes that chiseled away at 
the skyline, looming up at the edge of the city like giant watchdogs 
standing silent, trying to be cold, but giving in to warmth as the first 
rays of the desert sun streaked between them. He smiled. 

He smiled because he was moving. At last he was moving ...! 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Bernie watched the houses and the people whizz by him as they sped toward 
downtown Phoenix. The sound of the siren jarred his thoughts and Bernie 
winced uncomfortably at it. 

"Can you turn that damn thing off?" he said finally. 

The captain obeyed. 

Bernie closed his eyes and settled deeper into the seat. Again he thought of 
the big man lying dead in the motel room. What a horrible thing that was! 
How could such a thing have happened? It was unreal, a nightmare. The whole 
week had been a nightmare and again he tried to remember how it all had 
happened. If he could only remember how it had started, at least. When did 
it start? He winced. Such a long time ago! But when did it really get bad? 

That last night at the apartment-that was the worst. That last night ... 
when he didn't dare go home.... 

* * * 

He had left the La Casita Restaurant, where he worked the four o'clock to 
midnight shift, and walked up Thomas Avenue to Sixteenth Street toward the 
Post Bar. Sometimes after work he'd stop in there for a beer before the bar 
closed. He usually only had time for one, but that was all right because 
Bernie wasn't much of a drinker. Sometimes he'd get there right at the wire, 
but Jan, the barmaid, would slip him one anyway and he'd drink it while she 
emptied ashtrays, restocked the beer coolers and hustled out the last 
hangers-on. 

Jan winked at Bernie when she saw him coming in. She drew a beer and met him 
with it at the end barstool, then glanced at the clock and turned to her 
audience. 

"Let's go, pretty people," she said, then leaned on the bar opposite Bernie. 
She reached out and brushed a hand over his arm. 

"How you tonight, Bernie Babe?" 

"Okay." 

"You got the blues?" 

"No, just tired, I guess." 

"Mike and Sarah all ready for the trip?" Bernie nodded. 

Jan studied Bernie's face while he stared down at his beer. Soon her smile 
faded and she began to feel the first tremors of anger that always followed 
the initial good feeling at seeing him. She ran a hand over his arm again, 
her fingertips bristling the reddish-brown hairs that grew like a soft mat 
on his skin. When he looked up, she made a face at him and finally he 
grinned. 

"Give me ten to lock up and we'll have a coffee." 

Bernie nodded. In a matter of minutes the place was cleared out, including 
Bernie. He waited in his car while Jan checked out her cash register. He 
watched the other cars pulling out of the lot until his was the only one 
left. In a way he wished he could take off, too. In a way he wanted to be 
home. But he knew he mustn't. Not tonight ... especially not tonight! 

Finally, Jan came out of the bar and slid into Bernie's car. She breathed a 
deep sigh of relief, then suddenly clamped her hands against Bernie's face 
and kissed him. 

"I want pancakes," she said with desperate urgency. "I want a double stack 
with lots of butter. Hurry, I can't wait." 

"You'll get fat," Bernie said. 

"I don't care." 

"Well, dammit, how can I drive if you don't let go of me?" 

"Try it," she said, tightening her hold on him. 

"Come on, don't be ridiculous." 

Jan drew away, releasing him. She stuck out her tongue at him, then fished 
through her purse for her compact while he started the car and pulled onto 
McDowell Avenue, heading toward downtown Phoenix. 

"Got another letter from my mother this morning," she said, waving it at 
him, then dropping it back into the bag while she scooped things aside 
searching for the compact. "She wants me to come back home." 

"Are you going back?" 

"I suppose, sooner or later," Jan said. She slid forward into a more 
comfortable position, working on her mouth with a lipstick. "Life is full of 
times to go home," she said absently. 

"Not me," Bernie snapped. "No such place." 

"Oh, wow!" Jan said and laughed. "And what a frown!" She jabbed at him with 
her lipstick and caught him on the cheek with it. She laughed louder when he 
finally noticed it in the rear-view mirror and wiped it off. 

"Don't wipe it off," Jan said. 

"Why not?" 

"People will think we're lovers." 

"Well, aren't we?" 

Jan shrugged and snapped the bag shut, tossing it onto the back seat. It 
made a terrific clunk when it hit, then found its own shape and settled down 
like a third passenger for the ride into downtown Phoenix. 

When they finally pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the Pancake House 
on First Street, she caught hold of his arm as he started to get out of the 
car. 

"We don't have to go in," she said. 

"It's all right," Bernie said. He hated it when his mood affected Jan. He 
didn't mean to dampen her spirits, but he couldn't help it. 

"You want to go over to my place?" Jan said. 

Bernie shook his head. 

"Maybe you'd rather just take off. You can drop me here and I can catch a 
ride with Madge." 

Bernie jerked his arm free, then got out of the car. He stared at the empty 
sky for a moment, finally turned back and leaned down, staring at her 
through the car window. 

"I'm sorry, Jan," he said finally. He tried to smile, but couldn't manage 
it. "I'm just sorry." 

Jan slid over behind the wheel. She took one of his hands and put it on her 
shoulder. His fingers slid under the cloth of her collar and pressed against 
the cool skin of her throat. She bent her face against his hand and smiled. 

"You don't have to apologize to me," she said. "You don't owe me anything." 

"I'm not," Bernie said. "I just feel-" 

"Listen," she said, cutting him off. "Get in the car. I wanna say 
something." Bernie obeyed and slid onto the seat beside her. 

"I'm not chasing you, Bernie." 

"I know that." 

"Whether you know it or not, I'm telling you," Jan said. "I like you. I like 
being with you and I like sleeping with you. Maybe I'd like someone else 
better and maybe you're not so hot, but I don't have anyone better-" 

"Oh, for-" 

"Listen, Bernie, I'm thirty-three years old. Sometimes I feel like I'm 
drying up. You know what I mean? I'm five years older than you, but I don't 
care. You do something to me and that's all I care about. Your body fits me 
and you make me feel good. You don't try and hurt me and that makes me feel 
good. I know I don't do much for you, but I really don't give a damn-I 
really don't. So you can relax. Baby, you don't have to do anything but be 
there!" 

She took a deep drag from her cigarette and blew the smoke in his face. "So 
there!" 

Jan laughed. She grabbed his arm and squeezed it. "Hey, I just had a 
terrific idea," she said. "Let's forget all this true-confession crap and 
have some damn breakfast!" 

Bernie grinned as he felt the tension released. Before he was even up she 
was already halfway across the parking lot and he had to run to catch up 
with her. 

She slid into the corner booth and patted the place next to her. 

"C'mon, Bernie babe," she said, and in the same breath, after scanning the 
room quickly, she shouted. "Madge, damn you, we need food!" 

The waitress winced at the outcry, then came over, shaking her head in 
rebuke. "You want menus?" 

"Hell, no, we want food! My God, we're in the middle of the desert!" 

Madge grinned. "Okay. You want a double stack." She turned to Bernie. "How 
about you, Bernie?" 

"Coffee," Bernie said. He glanced at Jan, who was already busy fishing 
through her purse again. He grinned, then looked at the waitress. 

"I'll have a double stack, too, I guess." 

 CHAPTER THREE 

When Bernie finally opened his eyes, the sun was pouring in through the 
half-drawn drapes and he knew by its brightness that the day was well under 
way. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was probably close to 
noon. He wasn't even up yet and already it was time to start thinking about 
going to work. 

He glanced at the sleeping form beside him. He studied the outline of her 
face and the long expanse of her neck and her skin, coarse from the sun and 
already creased with the first wrinkles of age. He leaned forward till his 
mouth was very close to hers and looked at the thin line of her mouth. He 
thought about kissing her, but didn't do it. He looked at the shoulders that 
curved down from her throat in softer, lighter colored mounds. He thought 
about placing his hands on them. He looked at her breasts that were exposed 
among the tangle of bedspread. He frowned. 

He moved away carefully so as not to wake her and eased himself up from the 
bed. He dressed quickly, then looked out at the patio through the large 
picture window beside the front door of Jan's apartment. He saw Madge on one 
of the patio chairs, sunning herself. 

Bernie frowned. He was hoping to slip away quietly, but he knew he would 
have to talk with Madge when he passed her. He thought about waiting, but 
suddenly was in a hurry to get home. Even another minute was too long to 
wait. 

"Hi," he said to Madge as he approached her. "Good morning," she said. "Nice 
day for a tan." 

Madge smiled slightly and adjusted the top half of her suit. She'd pulled it 
down low so the sun could even out the color of her skin, but adjusted it 
when Bernie approached her. 

"Jan still out?" 

Bernie nodded. 

Madge picked up her bottle of suntan lotion and handed it to Bernie, then 
turned onto her stomach. Bernie sat on the edge of the deck chair and began 
spreading the lotion over her skin. He tried to forget he was in a hurry. 

"Feel good?" 

"Uh-huh!" She groaned with pleasure. After a while she stopped groaning and 
Bernie thought she might have dozed off. But she hadn't, because suddenly 
she spoke. 

"Mike and Sarah ready for the trip?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"I'll bet you're gonna miss him." 

"I suppose." 

Madge turned over again and Bernie handed the bottle back to her, 
watching-while she applied lotion to her neck and shoulders. He was aware 
she was much prettier than Jan. She was also younger. 

Actually Bernie had known Madge longer than he'd known Jan. He'd frequented 
the Pancake House downtown ever since he'd first moved to Phoenix a year 
ago. It was through Madge that Bernie had met Jan when she became Madge's 
neighbor across the patio. Jan had taken to Bernie right away. But for some 
reason Madge and Bernie had never hit it off. It seemed all they did was 
fight. 

"Are you going to take Jan back to the Post to pick up her car?" Madge said 
finally. 

"I don't know," Bernie said. "I don't know how long she's going to sleep. I 
should really be getting home. It's almost time to start getting ready for 
work." 

"So why drive all the way to your place? You can have lunch here. It's past 
noon already." 

"I suppose I could." 

"Why don't you go see if you can wake Jan up? I got some lunch meat and junk 
in the refrigerator." 

Bernie started across the patio. Then he stopped. He turned back to Madge. 

"Hey, you can drop Jan there, can't you?" Madge looked at him, but didn't 
answer. "I really have to get home. I have to stop at the store." 

"Suit yourself," Madge gave him a look of disgust, then scooped up her 
lotion bottle and headed toward her apartment. 

"Well, can you?" Bernie said. 

"Sure I can," Madge said, turning at the doorway. "See you around." 

"Well, what are you mad about?" 

"Nothing," Madge said. 

"Bull!" 

"Look, Bernie, I don't have to take any crap from you! I said I'd take Jan 
to her car and I'll see you later. Okay?" 

"If you've got something on your mind, why don't you just say it?" 

"I have nothing to say," she replied. 

"Listen!" Bernie tried to control his anger, but it showed as his face 
reddened. He followed Madge into the apartment, pushing the door shut. "I 
told you right at the beginning, I don't want to answer to anyone. I don't 
have to. I told you that right from the start. Jan is your friend-" 

"Big deal!" 

"I never-" 

"Bull-oney, Madge! You know as well as I do. I like Jan. You know that. But 
we have an-understanding." 

"You're screwing her, aren't you?" 

"Oh, for God's sake!" 

"Well, aren't you? Or what is it you do over there, play checkers?" 

"So what?" He felt growing disgust. 

"So, like I said, she's my friend. And she's got lots of friends. But she's 
no whore. She turns it down like you turn down drinks. But with you it's 
different and you know damn well it is. Maybe I been pushing it. Maybe I 
figured you could do something for each other. But if that's all you're 
gonna do, then goddammit get off the pot!" 

"I don't think it's any of your business." 

"The hell it isn't!" Madge's voice began to tremble as her anger increased. 
"Jan is a great person. I never met anyone before in this town I could even 
talk to. I been going nuts in this phony town with these phony bastards I 
have to kiss-ass with every day. I thought you were different. Maybe I was 
wrong. So, to hell with you!" 

"I'll just disappear. Dammit, I'll just disappear!" 

"Well, why don't you?" she screamed. She covered her face with the towel, 
trying to check the sobs, mumbling almost under her breath, "You 
son-of-a-bitch." 

"Aw, Madge, come on," Bernie said harshly. 

"Son-of-a-bitch, I don't wanna talk to you. Just get out of here. I don't 
know you." 

"Madge?" 

He reached a hand toward her, but Madge pushed it away. She got up and went 
into the bathroom, slamming the door after her. Bernie went to the bathroom 
door and stood for a moment. He listened to her crying. Moisture had been 
accumulating behind his own eyes, and finally it spilled over. Damn! He was 
glad she didn't see him. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't stop it. 

"Hey, Madge? I'm sorry." 

"I said, get out of here, you son-of-a-bitch!" He heard the sharp sound of 
glass shattering from the other side of the door, and after it the sharp 
scream of her voice. "You goddamn, queer son-of-a-bitch!" 

"That's not true," Bernie said, but he said it under his breath. "Not true!" 

He left the apartment and headed home. As he drove he thought about Mike and 
under his breath he said, "Not true!" But even as he said it his foot 
pressed harder on the accelerator, because he knew he was in a hurry to get 
home.... 

* * * 

Madge sat down on the edge of the bathtub and stared down at the broken 
lotion bottle. She watched the little rivulet of yellow lotion crawl along 
the bottom of the tub, moving like a bloated caterpillar toward the drain. 
She picked up a piece of the broken glass and dropped it into the trash 
basket under the sink. 

What a waste, she thought. What a goddamn waste! 

She studied her reflection in the pier-glass that was part of the bathroom 
door. She cursed at the eyes that stared back at her from the mirror. She 
was furious at them because of her outburst. She remembered his pained look 
and his desperation and she scowled at the thought of him reaching toward 
her, pleading with her, trying to make everything seem all right when 
everything was all wrong. 

God, how she would like to understand! How she would like to say, okay, see 
you later, and say hello to Mike for me! How she would like to be able to 
smile at him and joke and spend a night with him and let it go at that! How 
she would like to feel his hands on her skin without the suntan lotion as an 
excuse! She smiled and then she laughed and left the mirror. 

Let's face it. She moved back into the living room. She stared absently 
through the window at the empty patio. Let's face it, she thought, it wasn't 
Jan she'd been arguing for, it wasn't Jan she was crying for. It never had 
been. 

Bernie had been right. He and Jan had an understanding. She frowned in 
disgust. Jan had never really cared. She might have if she wanted to, but 
she never allowed it in herself. She'd been hurt too many times. That's the 
way she explained it. She would never allow herself to be hurt that way 
again. 

Or, if she did care, she kept it to herself. If she did cry, she did it like 
Madge-in the bathroom with the door locked. 

Poor pretty dumb bitch Madge! Why couldn't she be like her neighbor across 
the patio? Why couldn't she just reach out and grab? Why couldn't Madge grab 
anyone-like everyone grabbed Madge? Sure, Madge was easy. Any guy who came 
into the Pancake House could find that out. Practically anyone who made a 
pass could score with Madge. Why couldn't Madge be the same? Why couldn't 
she grab at something she wanted? 

No wonder she was easy! No wonder she couldn't say no! She was learning from 
them all. She was nodding so she could hear the next question and memorize 
it and promise herself to practice it. Next time ... next time ... she was a 
student learning through practice. Next time she would try out what she had 
learned. 

Next time. But each time he got further away. Even the thing between him and 
Jan was starting to fade. She had pushed them together when she'd seen Jan's 
spark of interest. How else could she have kept him coming around? But even 
that was fading. Even that was giving way to something else.... 

Madge felt her face redden as she thought of herself in the patio chair. 
What a perverted mind! My God, what a twisted broad! Waiting in the patio 
chair that he would have to pass in order to escape her neighbor's bed. 
Pushing him into that bed on the strength of a cheap drunk because she 
didn't have what it took to pull him into her own. Using her neighbor as a 
battering ram to break down his fibre and then waiting around, hoping for 
seconds. 

"Oh, mother I" 

Using her neighbor with her ridiculous flat boobs and mannish laugh to sway 
his taste from a hard belly to a soft one. 

"I've got to get hold of myself...." 

Covering her own full breasts when she saw him coming-covering them and 
turning over so he couldn't see them because they might frighten him away. 

I'm losing-my-mind! 

Madge felt her face sting. She folded her arms in front of her as though she 
were ashamed of her beautiful body. She dropped onto the couch, pushing her 
knees tightly together. She pressed her hands down over her groin, as if to 
find something there that might miraculously have blossomed, and she shook 
her head. Suddenly she laughed. 

It's not fair! 

She knew the anguish of physical fulfillment. Many times and in the dark the 
pain was always the same. She'd fought and demanded and lain many times with 
the warm contentment of hard flesh enveloping her, making her aware that she 
was beautiful, that she was alive. And every time it was good. 

It wasn't fair that she should be saddled with this-hunger. Like a 
child-like a high-school child's infatuations, as though expecting to find 
something for the first time, something new and exciting and wonderful. It 
wasn't fair that it was always good-but never good enough. 

Maybe he would disappear. It would be better if he just went away, the 
son-of-a-bitch. The useless son-of-a-bitch! What good was a person like 
that? Like a cardboard cutout. Pretty to look at, a perfect reproduction of 
a man, but, inside-nothing I Why the hell was she so worked up about Bernie 
Evans anyway? Who the hell was Bernie Evans? The phony bastard-to hell with 
him! Worse than that, why didn't he just die? 

Why couldn't he just be dead! 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Bernie shifted a bag of groceries awkwardly from one arm to the other, then 
propped it against the door, holding it up with a knee while he worked his 
key into the lock, catching the bag as the door gave way, then kicking the 
door shut after him. 

He glanced at the two couches that doubled as beds and grinned. 

"Isn't this a bitch?" he said. He moved behind the counter that served as a 
table and set down the bag and began unloading its contents on the black 
vinyl counter-top. He glanced at the couches again. 

His own had been transferred from a bed already and the slip cover replaced. 
The other was still pulled away from the wall and covered with rumpled bed 
clothing. There was a great lump in the blanket and a bare foot sticking out 
one end, dangling in the air. 

"What am I running here, a hotel?" he said loudly, setting out a large 
cereal package and a clump of bananas on the counter as though on display. 
Then he moved to the bed and sat on the edge. He reached out and ran a 
finger lightly over the bare foot. The lump in the blanket shifted slightly. 
"Is this Bernie Evans' Hotel, room and board and sleep till noon? Huh?" 

The last word was very loud and caused a murmur from under the blanket, 
accompanied by a more violent move. Two brown hands emerged and clamped over 
the place where ears had to be. Bernie laughed and tugged at the blanket. It 
pulled back and finally the lump revealed its contents in an abrupt rise. 

"C'mon, dammit," Mike said. His large dark eyes flashed in a gesture typical 
of his Spanish ancestry. "Can't a person sleep?" 

After the statement he immediately went under again with a great flourish. 

"Not till noon," Bernie said. 

"It ain't noon," Mike said. 

"Little friend, it is noon. It was noon two hours ago," Bernie said simply. 
"So, get up!" 

The last two words were accompanied with good whacks, carefully aimed, and 
caused an eruption that made Bernie jump back and almost fall off the edge 
of the bed. 

"Why do you have to do that?" Mike said angrily. "Every morning, every 
morning, every morning! Just because you get up early everybody has to get 
up early!" 

"That's right," Bernie said. He grinned because he knew his grin was adding 
to the younger boy's irritation. "I make the rules," he added. "Everybody 
does what I say!" 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah!" Bernie laughed loudly. "And when I say get up, you get 
up. See?" 

"You can't make me. I can sleep all day if I want to." 

"Not in this house, sonny boy," Bernie said. "When you get back to Chicago, 
you can sleep all you want to. Both of you. Together!" 

"Knock it off," Mike said. 

"I'll knock it off! And this!" Bernie pummeled playfully at the blanket, 
jabbing from all sides, but pulling his punches. "And this and this and 
this!" He knew a weakness and finally grabbed Mike's waist and dug his 
fingertips into the boy's sides. Mike began to writhe under the blanket, but 
finally his cursing evolved into laughter and he turned over and stared up 
at Bernie. 

"Anyway, how come you didn't come home last night? You know this is my last 
night here?" 

"Big deal!" 

"Anyway, why get up? There ain't no milk left." 

"Anyway, anyway, anyway!" 

"And the Wheaties are all gone too." 

"Good God! What the hell are we gonna do?" 

"Oh!" Mike frowned, irritated at Bernie's game. 

"Oh, oh, oh!" Bernie said, imitating his tone. "What do you call that?" He 
pointed at the counter. Mike looked past him at the groceries, and his eyes 
lit up with pleasure. Suddenly he was alive. 

"Did you go to the store?" 

"No," Bernie said rising, "It came to me in a dream. In fact I'm asleep and 
this is all a dream." He moved across the room, his arms extended, his head 
weaving in a strange dance. "A horrible nightmare. Oh, life is a curse. It's 
a curse to be old and ugly." 

Mike laughed and sprang up from the bed. He jumped at Bernie's back, locking 
his arms around Bernie's neck. 

"Come on," Bernie said. "You're choking me." He struggled to break free of 
the hold. Mike loosened the hold and Bernie turned, facing him. He put his 
hands on Mike's arms as though to push them off. 

"Are you gonna miss me when I'm gone?" Mike said. 

"I suppose." 

"You're gonna be lonesome without the patter of my little feet around here, 
aren't you?" 

"I've solved that," Bernie said. "I'm gonna buy me a cocker spaniel. Now, 
let go. What if someone should come in now? What the hell would they think?" 

"They'd think we were lovers," Mike said. 

He grinned and puckered his lips, making loud kissing sounds. 

"You monkey," Bernie said grinning back. Then he felt a tinge of anger, and 
it crept into his voice behind the grin. "Now let go!" 

Suddenly he was staring at Mike's body, the deep cream color of his skin 
contrasting vividly against the white cloth of his unbuttoned pa jama tops 
that hung from his shoulders. "You monkey," Bernie said, again, but this 
time his voice trembled. "You-bastard!" 

Without warning he grabbed one of Mike's wrists and twisted his arm behind 
his back while he swung the other arm around Mike's throat, and clamped his 
hand on the boy's shoulder. 

"You faked me out," Mike hollered, laughing. "That wasn't fair!" Bernie 
pushed Mike's arm higher behind his back and Mike winced. "You'll break my 
arm," he said, clawing with his free hand at Bernie's arm that was pinned 
across his chest. 

"Now," Bernie said finally, "Who's got who?" 

"I can get away." 

"Not until I let you," Bernie said. "Not until I let you and that may be 
never!" 

"I give up," Mike said. "Let me go. I think my arm is broken." 

"I'll never let you go," Bernie said and he was trembling. "Never!" Suddenly 
his hand slid from Mike's shoulder and clamped over one of his breasts and 
he squeezed the flesh and his hand moved down the boy's body deliberately, 
angrily, his fingers pressing hard against the skin. "Never!" 

Suddenly someone was screaming. "Rape!" 

"Oh, my God!" Bernie released him, the word jarring his head. Mike was 
laughing and he ran to the apartment door. He pulled it open. He stood in 
the doorway and yelled as loud as he could. "Ra-aa-aa-pe!" 

Bernie darted to the doorway and pulled him in, slamming the door shut. 
"Where the hell do you learn crap like that?" 

"That's a trick I picked up," Mike said, tapping a finger against a temple, 
grinning. "That's how girls protect themselves." 

"You damn little fool," Bernie said hotly. 

"I told you I could get away, didn't I?" 

"All right." 

"I can get away any time I want, you know." 

Bernie flashed a look at Mike and winced at the boy, who was still grinning. 

"I know," Bernie said and he realized he was trembling.... 

* * * 

Touch me, he said, and then he hollered rape. Bernie trembled with the anger 
of injustice.... 

"Hey," Mike said and Bernie opened his eyes, recovering from his thoughts. 
The sight of Mike, his black hair glistening, still wet from the shower, 
seemed to wash away his mood of depression and suddenly Bernie felt good. 
The sun was shining and Mike was there and to hell with yesterday and 
tomorrow. 

"What's up?" Bernie said. 

"Are you gonna go pretty soon?" 

"Yes, sir," Bernie said. "I'm going downtown. I work there, you know. What 
about your packing? Finished?" 

"Almost. But my new rifle won't fit in the box." 

"I told you to leave it in the closet. I'll send it Railway Express with the 
rest of the junk," Bernie said impatiently. "I don't know why I bought that 
damn gun in the first place. It hasn't even been fired yet." 

"I'll need it when I get home," Mike said. "I'll be going pheasant hunting 
with my dad." 

"That'll be the day!" Bernie said bitterly. "You put your clothes in the 
washer?" 

"Yeah, they're washing now," Mike said. "Hey, you don't suppose you could 
drop me off at Sarah's on your way?" 

"Yeah, sure." Bernie cursed under his breath, not at Mike, but at himself 
and the fact that everything was choking him. 

"Well, will you?" 

"What do you mean, 'on your way?'" 

"Oh, forget it," Mike snapped. 

"No, I'll take you there," Bernie said, "Only, don't say on your way when 
you know damn well it isn't!" 

"I gotta borrow ten dollars, too." 

Bernie stared at Mike for a moment. He opened his mouth to speak, then 
hesitated. "Boy, boy, boy...." he said finally. "You just don't know when to 
quit, do you?" It was almost a whisper. 

"Can I?" 

"What for?" 

"I can't tell you," Mike said. "I just need it." 

"I see," Bernie said calmly. "Well, I'm sorry, I don't have it." 

"You do, too." 

"I said I don't." 

"Well, you do!" 

"Goddammit, Mike, I said I don't. You're telling me what I've got and what I 
haven't got?" 

"You got six hundred dollars left in the bank." 

"That's right," Bernie snapped. "I have six hundred dollars in the 
bank-minus the rent I just paid, minus my car payment and minus the 
hundred-and-ten bucks I just drew out for your train tickets tonight! What 
else do you want to tell me I've got?" 

"Well, it's important," Mike said finally. 

"I'm sorry," Bernie said, and he put out his palms to show Mike they were 
empty. "I don't have ten dollars-one tenth of my weekly salary-to put out 
for something when I don't even know what it's for!" 

"Well, I can't tell you," Mike snapped. 

"Then don't," Bernie said. "Tell someone else." 

Bernie knew Mike didn't like asking him for anything. He could see his 
awkwardness. It hadn't always been like that ... At first Mike had wanted 
everything, including the moon. He wanted it now! But lately things were 
different. Now he just wanted to be out of there. Bernie knew that and he 
hated Mike for it. Mike couldn't wait to be out of there! 

Now that the bank was closed, why stick around? How stupid did he think 
Bernie was? The little bitch! Squeezing him, bleeding him, right to the end! 
The bitch! Scum! Rotten Spick scum! Bernie knew it now. That's all Mike had 
ever wanted-a soft touch, a pansy to pay the bills and feed him and make his 
bed in exchange for a grin and a nod. 

Leading him by the nose, luring him with a ridiculous bit of flesh dangling 
like a worm, and he thought Bernie was the fish. Laughing because he thought 
Bernie was the fish. But he was finding out ... Bernie didn't bite! He had 
found that out all right. Bernie never bit and Mike and his child bride 
could peddle their respective wares somewhere else. 

"It's for Sarah," Mike said finally. "I have to take her to the doctor." 

"Bullshit!" 

"I do. I took her last week and now she has to go again." 

"What's wrong with Sarah?" 

"I don't know," Mike said. "It's woman's troubles." 

"Woman's troubles?" Bernie laughed bitterly. "Now I have to pay for woman's 
troubles! He gets married and I have to pay for it!" 

"Oh, forget it," Mike said hotly. "Just forget it!" 

"Oh, yeah, sure." Bernie bolted up and headed up the short hallway to the 
small dressing room, extracted a bill from a large envelope in the top 
drawer of his bureau. 

"There!" he said returning, dropping the money onto the counter. "There's my 
budget for the week." 

"I don't want it," Mike said. He picked up the telephone and started 
dialing. 

"Who are you phoning?" 

"I'm calling the doctor to tell him we're not coming." 

"Will you hang up the phone, please? It's on the table." 

Bernie dropped onto the leather chair, staring at the drapes. Behind him 
Mike moved to the counter, picking up the bill. He stood awkwardly for a 
moment, then pushed the bill into his pocket. 

"I'll pay you back," he said. 

"Okay." 

Mike headed for the door, then hesitated at the doorway. "Maybe I won't need 
it," he said. "If I don't, I'll bring it back." 

"I'm not worried," Bernie said to the drapes. "Now go finish your laundry." 

"You're not mad at me, are you?" 

Bernie shook his head. 

"Then why don't you look at me?" 

"I said, go finish your laundry-and your packing." 

"Okay," Mike said angrily. "Anyway, after tonight, you won't have to hear me 
ask for anything again!" He pulled the door violently after him and it 
slammed with a crash that jarred the drapes. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Bernie stared at the door. Under his breath he cursed Mike, using words he 
seldom used, some from his childhood, forbidden words that were suddenly 
remembered. He jumped up and moved swiftly to the door, kicking it 
violently, while the words spewed out, then turned, pressing himself against 
the door, slamming his fists behind him against the wood. 

After a while he stopped. He passed a hand across his eyes. "What's wrong 
with me?" he said aloud. "What's happening to me?" He moved from the door, 
wandering about the room senselessly, pacing like an animal in a cage. 
"That's not the kind of person I am." He peered through his drapes as though 
to find someone out there who could give him an answer. "Is that the kind of 
person I am?" 

Through the window he saw a familiar green-and-white Olds pulling up the 
driveway and coming to a halt in his carport. It was Sarah and her mother. 
Bernie turned from the window. Not now, he thought. Not now! I have to 
think. 

He moved behind the counter as though looking for a place to hide. "I have 
to think," he said aloud. "Can't they understand that? Can't wait till this 
is over! Get rid of that little bitch, once and for all!" 

Bernie nodded a greeting to the young girl who sailed into his apartment, 
beaming, fresh, with promiscuous eyes and long honey-colored hair that fell 
down over her shoulders. 

It was easy to see why Mike had been attracted to her, just as he could see 
why Sarah was drawn to Mike. They were natural for one another, simple, 
enviably alive, preoccupied with each other and their mutual race against 
time toward maturity. Bernie had seen this the first time he was introduced 
to Sarah at the trailer park where she lived with her mother. 

That had been two weeks ago. Now Mike and Sarah were married. Bernie frowned 
angrily as he remembered the shock when they'd told him, standing there, 
hand in hand, happy-and Rose, sitting on her tiny couch behind them, smiling 
nervously, trying to hide the anger behind her eyes. 

"What could Ah do," she'd said later in that sickening Georgia accent. "Ah 
had to sign those consent papers. They said if Ah didn't they'd lie about 
her age and drive down to Yuma and get married anyway. If they just 
disappeared, or if he got Sarah in trouble, Ah don't know what Ah would do. 
Ah don't know what Ah could tell Sarah's father. You don't know that man." 

Bernie shook the thought from his mind as he heard the car door slam and the 
click of Rose's heels on the concrete. He nodded a greeting to her. She was 
smiling, but Bernie could see she was upset. He didn't know her very well, 
but Rose's emotions were always clearly written on her face and in the way 
she used her hands. She had a trick of wringing them together that was 
almost melodramatic and would have been funny except for her eyes, which 
were always clear and tragic. 

"Sit down," Bernie said. 

"Ah can't stay," Rose said simply. "Sarah had to talk to Mike so Ah drove 
her here." 

Bernie nodded, though he couldn't imagine Rose driving all the way over from 
Mesa, a suburb outside the city, just so Sarah could talk to Mike. 

"Mike's out back," Bernie said. "He's doing some laundry." 

"Well, go on, honey," Rose said. "And hurry it up. Ah gotta get on to work." 
Sarah started out, then Rose added, "And do your talkin' out back. Ah gotta 
talk to Bernie." 

"Oh, Mother, you're not gonna talk about us, are you?" 

"Go on, honey," Rose said sternly. 

"Mother, now don't spoil anything," Sarah said. 

"Ah won't spoil anything," Rose said. She waited till her daughter's 
footsteps on the pavement diminished, then she shrugged. "What is there left 
to spoil?" she said to no one in particular. "If there is, Ah would like to 
be the one to spoil that. Ah feel Ah deserve that pleasure-if there is any 
pleasure to be gotten from spoiling things." Rose sank onto the couch, 
turning to Bernie. "Ah suppose you know they're plannin' to go to Chicago." 

"Yes," Bernie said. "They're leaving tonight." He fidgeted nervously. 
"They'll probably stay with Mike's folks till they get settled." 

"I didn't know about it till this morning!" 

"What?" 

"Ah was informed by my daughter this morning of their plans." 

"Oh, for-" 

"Ah asked her why Ah was not told sooner. She said she was afraid Ah would 
try and stop them. She was right." 

"That wasn't right," Bernie said. "I mean, they should have told you." 

"If Ah had known this was going to happen, Ah would never have signed that 
paper!" 

Bernie winced, but he couldn't hide the look of disgust that swept over him. 

"What could Ah do?" Rose was saying. "Ah couldn't call that man. Ah couldn't 
tell him about Mike and Sarah. Ah was afraid to tell that man. Do you know 
what Ah'm sayin'? Not for that boy's sake. Ah didn't give a diddly damn for 
that boy's sake. Ah tell you that right to your face. It was me Ah was 
afraid for!" 

Bernie frowned. He wasn't sure what she was talking about, but he could see 
she was genuinely frightened and it spread to him. It made his skin tingle 
like a warning, like the breath of a dead man he'd read about once in a 
book, and without realizing why he felt suddenly uneasy. 

"Ah said Ah'm afraid," Rose shouted. "You don't know, Bernie." Her hands 
began to work nervously and Bernie found himself staring at them. 

"There was a little colored boy," Rose was saying. "He was just a little 
boy. But that boy is dead. Do you understand what I'm saying? That boy is 
dead!" 

"Dead?" Bernie blinked in confusion. "I don't know what the hell you're 
talking about. What are you talking about?" 

"Ah don't know," Rose said, throwing her arms up in a futile gesture. "I'm 
just sayin' words, that's all. Ah'm just throwin' words into the air and if 
there's something there that makes sense, why, you just grab it, that's all. 
You just grab it and you tell me! Because Ah can't think any more. Ah 
haven't got any brain left. That's all Ah do at that General Electric plant 
for two dollars-and-thirty cents an hour, sit there and think. And Ah talk 
to the radio parts Ah'm workin' on, telling them what Ah try to tell you. 
But could Ah ever come over here and talk to you? Could Ah ever tell you 
anything without you sitting there looking at the ceiling like Ah was a 
crazy woman? Ah didn't even know how to get here. Ah didn't! Sarah had to 
show me the way and tell me which streets to take so Ah could talk to you. 
And now Ah'm sittin' here talkin' to the walls!" 

"Rose, for God's sake...." 

"Yes, for God's sake and your sake and the sake of that boy of yours!" 

"Don't," Bernie said, raising a hand in warning, "Just, don't!" 

"Oh, don't worry, Ah won't say anything," Rose said. "Ah'll just sit here 
and wait for my daughter. But Ah'll tell you one thing-there's nobody 
leavin' this town. There's nobody takin' that train to Chicago tonight. 
Ah'll tell you that!" 

"All right," Bernie snapped. "So there's nobody going. I didn't tell them to 
go. That's their affair. It's no concern of mine!" 

"All right," Rose said. "Everything is all right. Ah'll just sit here. That 
little boy is dead, but that's all right. Ah'll just sit here and wait for 
my daughter. Ah won't say another word." 

"What are you talking about?" Bernie said, tired of the game. "Who's dead?" 

"That boy of yours!" 

Bernie felt himself grow pale. It was the way she said it. Again he felt the 
breath of the dead man and a wave of fear spread through him, chilling him, 
while he searched her face. 

"You don't know the things he said to me on that telephone!" Rose said. "You 
have no glimmer of an idea what came over the wire of that little telephone. 
And my whole family! You should have heard them carrying on over that 
telephone. And my sister! My big sister who Ah love dearly! You should've 
heard the things she said to me! Ah don't think Ah could ever go back there! 
And now he's comin' here!" 

"Who?" 

"Sarah's father, that's who!" 

"Sarah's-" 

"What could Ah do? When Ah signed that paper, they promised they'd stay 
here. Ah treated Mike like he was my own. Ah didn't tell him he couldn't 
stay with us in the trailer till they could get a little place of their own. 
He didn't want to. So, what could Ah do? This morning, when Sarah told me 
they were leaving for Chicago, what could Ah do? Who could Ah turn to? 

"Ah had to call him. Ah had to put in a long-distance call to Macon, 
Georgia, and Ah told him Sarah was married and they were leavin', and he 
said he was comin' out here by airplane. He said he'd be here tonight and 
they better be here when he gets here." 

"Oh, for God's sake!" Bernie said. 

"And you know what else he said? He said he'd kill that boy." Rose's voice 
trembled. "He said he would kill that boy!" 

"That's ridiculous," Bernie said, trying to calm her. That doesn't mean-" 

"Ah don't know what it means," Rose said, cutting him off. "That's what he 
said and Ah don't know what it means. But Ah know this. Ah lived with that 
man and Ah know him and Ah don't live with him any more! Why do you think Ah 
had to get away from him? Givin' up my home and my family to live out here 
in a two-by-four trailer? Ah'm not crazy, Bernie. You can dispense with the 
luxury of that thought from this point forward." 

"I never said you were," Bernie said impatiently. 

"Well, there are some people who would not agree with you. My dear sister, 
for one shining example. But she never had to go through what Ah did with 
that man. She never had to withstand the vulgarities and rudities Ah had to 
put up with for the sake of my daughter. She suffered under the delusion 
that a policeman is a big kind man in an olive-drab uniform who pats little 
children on the head. She just never knew! She never could forgive me for 
leavin'. 

"And him, too! He thinks the world of Sarah, sometimes Ah think more than is 
natural for a father. And don't think he'd ever of let me take her away if 
the court hadn't made him. Don't think fo' a minute he would have if he 
didn't think Ah'd come back, if he didn't think Ah couldn't live without 
him." Rose laughed scornfully. "Ah really do believe he thought that." 

Bernie felt some of the tension leaving him while he listened to Rose giving 
vent to her old hurts. 

"But it was not a kind man in an olive-drab uniform who shot at those 
colored boys that were prowlin' around the wholesale tire store when he 
yelled at them and they started runnin'. It was no kind man in an olive-drab 
uniform that fired that gun, not over their heads to scare them but right in 
the middle of them, and one of them boys went down. 

"Do you know what Ah'm sayin'? Ah saw it! Ah saw the picture of him lying 
there in the street with a black spot on the front of his shirt where the 
bullet came out. Not the picture they ran in the newspapers, but the one he 
showed me, and he laughed and said, he fied 'em!" 

Bernie winced. 

"Do you know what Ah'm talkin' about? Have you any idea what Ah'm trying to 
say to you? Ah'm talkin' about a man who raises a daughter in one room while 
he lies in another, laughin' and sayin', 'Ah fixed them-now you fix me.' Ah 
told my sister! She said Ah was crazy, upset. Exaggeration-Ah always 
exaggerate. But Ah didn't, Bernie. And Ah tell you, Ah'm afraid. Not for 
that boy-Ah'm afraid for me!" 

Bernie stared at Rose for a long time. Rose only stared back and the silence 
grew deafening. The only sound was the scraping of her fingers as they 
rubbed nervously over her skirt. 

"My God!" Bernie said finally. "What the hell have we done?" 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Bernie sat on the couch in Madge's apartment. He and Madge had just returned 
from dropping Jan off at the airport. She'd got a call that afternoon that 
her mother was in the hospital with a broken hip. She'd fallen while getting 
out of a taxi after a party. She was plastered, according to the neighbor 
across the hall who had called Jan, collect, and Jan had to take time off 
work to go home. 

What next, Bernie thought. He closed his eyes, taking a sip of the drink 
Madge had fixed him and thinking about Jan's plane. In his mind he could see 
it coming in, reminding him of the plane that was due in just a few hours 
from Macon, Georgia. Bernie tried to push the thought from his mind. It had 
nothing to do with him. What the hell did it have to do with him? 

He opened his eyes and caught Madge staring at him. She looked down. They 
had hardly spoken a word to each other the whole night. Not since that 
morning when she'd yelled at him through the bathroom door. The thing about 
Jan had sort of forced them upon one another. 

Finally, as though reading Bernie's thoughts, Madge spoke. 

"I've been meaning to say something about this morning. I guess I said some 
rotten things." 

"That's all right," Bernie said. 

"No, it isn't. I had no right to say what I did. I guess I was just upset." 

"You only said what you think," Bernie said, realizing he was pushing the 
subject. But he wanted to because it was all such a damn lie. It was too 
ridiculous. 

"So, maybe I did," Madge snapped. She bit her lip, aware they were on the 
brink of fighting again. She didn't want to. Not again-not ever again! Jan 
was gone now. Maybe now-maybe ... but she couldn't help herself. "And maybe 
I was right!" 

"You can think what you want," Bernie said. "Everybody else does. It doesn't 
bother me." 

"Like hell it doesn't!" Madge said. "Have you looked in the mirror lately?" 

"Shut up," Bernie said, starting to lose control. "Just shut up, Madge!" 

"I thought so!" 

"Well, you thought wrong!" 

"Did I? Prove it!" 

"What?" 

"I said prove it! Right now-with me!" 

Bernie frowned at her and Madge winced, feeling her face turn crimson. My 
God, she thought. What the hell are you doing, girl? Trying to put the make 
on Bernie? Not Bernie-Not this way-Not like that! She was relieved when 
Bernie finally looked away. 

"I don't have to prove anything to anyone," he said. 

"You must think I'm a bitch," Madge said finally, sitting on the couch next 
to him. 

With a grin she withdrew the challenge and Bernie shrugged. She stared into 
her drink, stirring the liquor in her glass with one finger. She was aware 
her face was still flushed and she knew Bernie was staring at her. She was 
also aware of the moisture building up in her eyes, ready to spill over. 

"What's the matter," Bernie said. 

"Nothing," Madge said, then she added. "It must be getting pretty late." 

Bernie reached out his glass and placed it against her forehead. She 
flinched at first, uncertain what he was doing, but when she felt the cool 
moistness of the glass on her skin she closed her eyes. Her head fell back 
on the couch and she sighed, feeling good. And then it brushed her cheek and 
she laughed softly. She didn't dare open her eyes for fear it would stop, 
because it was warm and moist and it wasn't the glass. 

"About what you just said before," Bernie whispered. "Do you-do you still 
want-" 

"I didn't mean that," Madge said, feeling herself trembling. "Not the way it 
sounded." 

She felt his hand on her arm and when she did open her eyes, she saw his 
eyelids shut tight, inches from her face, and she felt his hand searching up 
her arm and over her shoulder. She kept talking, whispering now, trying to 
say what she did mean even though he wasn't listening, while his fingers 
undid the buttons of her green waitress' uniform and pushed the material 
aside, then slid under the silk that was her slip. She stopped talking then, 
absorbing the feel of his hand as it searched and traced, moving 
deliberately, and it felt good. That was all she could think about. 

Nothing else mattered because it felt good and she slid her arm around him, 
urging him forward until they found one another and she tasted his mouth and 
it was delicious. 

She wanted to scream-because now he was trembling, too, and she told herself 
it didn't matter. It didn't matter. And her hands, seeming to move on their 
own, searched under his clothes and for the first time she found his body 
and he responded. 

She fell back on the couch and he moved with her. His arms locked around her 
and his face probed deeply against the soft cup of her throat. 

"Bernie!" Madge whispered harshly while her hands moved up and down over his 
back. 

"You don't have to, Bernie! You don't have to prove anything to me." 

"I'm not trying to," Bernie whispered. "It's just that I want. I really 
want." 

"Then love me," Madge said and her arms stopped moving on his back. They 
fell to her sides, relaxed, inert, while he pushed aside the clothes that 
stood between them. Finally she felt his body press experimentally against 
hers. 

Now he was laughing! She wanted to cry out because he was laughing and the 
laughter tickled her skin and burned into her pores. Her head moved from 
side to side as though with motion to drown out the sound. Her mind said, 
No, no, not this way, not this way, not like all the others, while she 
stiffened and felt the warmth of his mouth exploring her. Not this way! 

"Bernie, Bernie," she whispered and it was a plea. She felt his body move on 
her until it covered her and when it found her, she strained to let him in 
and in the darkness she tried to tell herself it didn't matter. It was 
right! It was right! She felt his hand clamp on her shoulders. She felt his 
body stiffen-and she knew it did matter. It mattered more than anything 
else. It mattered more than the moment, more than life itself-and then she 
screamed. 

She pushed him away and in response he rolled onto his side, suddenly inert, 
as though he had died, as though quick-frozen by the sound of her cry. 

In the darkness she covered him with herself. Her arms held him desperately 
while she whispered. She kissed lips that didn't respond and his chest was 
suddenly cold and her lips brushed over his eyes to soak up the tears that 
were escaping. In the darkness he could weep. 

"Not this way," she begged. "Please, God, just this once." He lay as though 
dead and she thought, Go to sleep, go to sleep, and tomorrow we won't 
remember. Tomorrow it'll never have happened and it won't be too late. 
Tomorrow you can tell me you love me and I'll believe you. And it'll be all 
right! 

"Not this way!" she whispered aloud. She placed a hand on his face. "Please! 
Understand, Bernie." 

In the darkness he nodded. She felt his face move against her hand. She felt 
his arm move up and slide over her back and he held her. She felt his 
breathing grow regular and the trembling stopped and she knew he understood. 

While he stared at the ceiling, waiting for the morning, watching the night 
while it changed from solid black to tiny specks of grey that danced in 
front of his eyes, he smiled because he knew the difference between love and 
sinning and he understood. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

The following morning, back in his apartment, Bernie met the big man for the 
first time. 

"This is my daddy," Sarah said, beaming proudly, clinging to the man's right 
arm. Bernie nodded a greeting. He tried to smile, but found it impossible. 
He wished Madge were here. Why hadn't be stayed with Madge? Her couch was 
"cool and the sun was warm. He had awakened and stared at her sleeping form 
and then he had leaned forward, carefully, and had kissed her mouth 
half-open in sleep. Why hadn't he just stayed there until it was all over? 

"This is Sarah's daddy," Rose said and she turned to the man beside her. 
"Cy, this is Bernie." 

"Howdy do," Cy said, and he grinned. He stepped toward Bernie and Sarah 
moved with him. "Leggo mah arm, honey, so Ah can shake the man's hand." 

Sarah obeyed. 

"Ah heard plenty about you," Cy said. "You're Mike's-uncle?" 

"How do you do," Bernie said, taking the hand that was extended. It was 
cold, and gripped his longer and harder than he wanted, while the man's eyes 
looked at him openly. They chilled Bernie. Immediately Bernie felt the 
weight of this man. He felt it too and his grin broadened when he felt 
Bernie's arm pulling away, trying to be free. 

"Sit down," Bernie said, aware that he was nervous. He rebuked himself and 
tried to get rid of it. He had promised himself all morning that he wouldn't 
be nervous, that he would be casual, warm, at least, indifferent. He had 
told himself that none of this was his concern, that it had nothing to do 
with him. He wished now he had taken a few more swallows from his secret 
bottle before stashing it back in the cupboard. 

"Well," Cy said, at last when they were all seated, "Ah'm wondering now 
where that boy might be that I been hearing so much about." He looked about 
the room like it was a game. "Where could he be? Ah come a long way to meet 
that boy." 

Sarah laughed at the game. 

"You don't suppose he flew the coop before he could meet Sarah's daddy now," 
he said and he squeezed Sarah's arm playfully. "You don't suppose that's 
what he did?" 

"Mike will be right back," Bernie said. "I sent him to the store for some 
stuff." 

"You shouldn't've bothered," Rose said. 

"He should be back any minute," Bernie said, trying to sound casual. His 
mind raced for something to say. Something about Georgia, he thought. He 
wondered how the weather was in Georgia. He wondered if they grew anything 
in Georgia besides peaches and peanuts and little colored boys. 

"Ah'm lookin' forward to meeting that boy," Cy said to Bernie. 

"He's a very nice boy," Rose said. 

"Well now, Ah'm sure that's a fact," Cy said almost in a rebuke and Rose's 
smile faded. Bernie felt a wave of sympathy for this woman, this stranger 
who sat on his couch, crammed into a sweater to accent a bosom that was 
mostly fat, pouting under a mane of hair that was black and dull, too dull 
to be natural, insignificant now, trying to maintain her place, her 
stature-plump and funny, like a cartoon drawing. 

"Isn't this a nice place?" Rose said to Cy. 

"Looks real nice." Cy scanned the room. "Looks like the place Ah'm stayin' 
at-the BelPlaines Motel. Course, there ain't no rug on the floor and it 
ain't as fancy, but they make all these places a-like out here. They make 
everything outta cement blocks and they paint 'em up and they all look 
a-like." 

Bernie agreed, feeling slightly sick from his bourbon. He glanced toward the 
door, wishing to hell Mike would get back. 

"Course, they're old-fashioned folks back home," Cy said. "You know, plain 
ordinary folks. Nothin' like this." He gestured widely to include the whole 
town. "Hell, we got a garage out back made outta the identical same cement 
blocks. Ah believe that's a fact, ain't it, Rose? Ah believe some day we 
could paint it up and make it into a playroom just like this." He laughed 
loudly. 

"And you should see the nice dressing room, Daddy," Sarah said. "It's got a 
big mirror and a bureau with different colored drawers." 

"A dressin' room!" Cy said while Bernie reddened, cursing under his breath. 
"Well, that is fancy! Ah see you got a bar too. Now, that's handy." 

"It's a counter," Bernie said hotly. 

"Ah see," Cy said. He met Bernie's look and held it until Bernie finally 
looked down at his hands. "You're from Chicago," Cy went on, "Is that 
right?" 

Bernie nodded, not looking up. 

"Ah was in Chicago once. Passin' through on a train, heading for Keokuk, 
Iowa. Me and another fella." Cy slid forward on the couch into a more 
comfortable position. "We were lookin' for a third fella. Country boy-robbed 
the Macon Building and Loan of fourteen hundred dollars on his way through 
town." 

"Oh?" Bernie tried to appear interested. 

"How about that?" Cy laughed. "Took the Macon Building and Loan for fourteen 
hundred dollars. And with a water pistol too!" 

He laughed heartily until Bernie finally smiled. 

"A water pistol," Cy said. "Ah guess he didn't know we don't like folks 
messin' around with what belongs to us, 'cause you wanna see a boy's 
eyeballs pop right outta his head when he's settin' there big as life, 
shuckin' corn in the feedshed, and he looks up and sees ole Cy standin' 
there right in the middle of Keokuk, Iowa. 

"Ah says, 'Boy, we don't mind you robbin' our bank. We got insurance 
coverin' things like that. But when you use a water pistol, boy, you're 
makin' a fool out of us'!" Cy grinned at Bernie. "Do you get my meaning? Ah 
don't think there's anything we don't like less than that." 

Bernie nodded automatically. 

"Honey," Cy said, turning his attention back to Sarah, who was on the couch 
next to him, "You better leggo mah arm there. You're gonna cut off my 
circulation." 

Sarah laughed, releasing him. 

"That's a powerful grip you got there, girl." He turned to Bernie. "How 
about this little girl? She's really filling out in the right places, huh? 
Ah do believe she's as good-lookin' as her maw was when I first met her." 

"Oh, she's prettier," Rose said, blushing slightly. 

"What do you think, Bernie," Cy said. "Ain't that something real nice?" 

"Daddy!" Sarah said, embarrassed. 

"She's very pretty," Bernie said. 

"Pretty?" Cy frowned. "Why, that's enough to make even a man my age get 
right down on the ground and move." 

"Daddy, you're a fool!" Sarah laughed, grabbing his arm again. 

"A man can't help it, honey," Cy said. "When you see something as pretty as 
you, it's only a natural re-action." He suddenly turned to Bernie again. 
"Ain't that the truth?" 

"Yes." 

"Honey, Ah'd say down in Macon a pretty thing like you would cause quite a 
stir." He laughed loudly at his joke. "Yes, sir, quite a stirrin' 
sensation." 

Bernie felt Cy's eyes on him again. Damn! he thought. He felt as though the 
room were closing in on him. Suddenly music jarred him. He winced at the 
sound. 

Sarah had picked up a record from the stack on the coffee table and had put 
it on the phonograph, a small portable Bernie had bought for Mike some 
months ago. 

"Sarah honey," Rose said, "Maybe Bernie don't want the record player on." 

Bernie shook his head. Senselessly, funnily, faster and faster, the room 
began to spin and he had to hold onto his chair to keep from being thrown 
off. 

"Nice layout," Cy was saying. Bernie turned. Cy had gotten up and was 
roaming about the room, moving into the kitchenette. "Electric range, 
hot-and-cold running water. Just like a home. And all nice and clean too. Ah 
expect you do a lot of cookin', being in the cooking business." 

"It's all right, Mama," Sarah said, "It's Mike's record player." 

Bernie tried to keep things in order, trying to sift out what was being 
said. 

"C'mon, Mama, let's show Daddy that new step I taught you." 

"Why, Cy!" Rose said. "How did you know that?" 

"That's my line of business," Cy said, leaning on the counter, grinning 
across it at Bernie. "Knowin' things." 

"What did you say?" Bernie said, the music jarring his ears. It was a 
rock-and-roll tune, harsh and imposing, and it was driving him crazy! 

"C'mon, Mama." 

"Oh, honey!" 

"Hay, we gonna have a floor show?" Cy laughed, moving from behind the 
counter until he stood beside Bernie's chair and Bernie trembled because he 
didn't like people close to him ... especially people who said things he 
didn't hear. Damn the noise! Damn the bourbon he had gulped down like a fool 
to calm his nerves. And damn that dead man he'd read about once in a book 
who breathed on him and made him afraid! 

He wondered if they'd mind if he got up and left the room. He wondered if he 
could get past the big man who stood between him and his bathroom door. He 
wished Mike would come in. Maybe Mike could help him. Maybe together they 
could push over this big tub of a man and Bernie could kick his face while 
Mike held him down and if he kicked hard enough and fast enough the man 
would be dead before he could free himself and everything would be all 
right. 

"Ah feel so silly," Rose said. She stood beside Sarah, her arm around 
Sarah's waist, laughing, watching Sarah's feet, imitating the step. 

"Ah can't dance," Cy said to Bernie, "But Ah sure like to watch." 

"It's hard to do on a rug," Rose said. 

"C'mon, you gals, shake it up!" Cy was laughing, keeping time with the 
music, clapping his hands together. "C'mon, shake it there!" 

The music seemed to swell, but it was drowned out now by Cy's thick 
breathing next to Bernie's ear. 

"Look at that stuff go!" He nudged Bernie with an elbow while he continued 
to clap with the music. "Will you look at that stuff?" 

Now he was whispering in Bernie's ear. 

"Look at them two gals! Will you look at them two gals? It's a toss-up! Ah 
swear it's a toss-up." 

Cy's eyes were glued to the dancers. They seemed hypnotized by the movement 
and suddenly the face that surrounded them went hard. The thick brows edged 
together. "Shake it, goddammit!" The words came out harsh, demanding, 
insistent. 

Bernie stared at the man beside him. Cy was leaning forward now, his 
clapping hard, like cracks of a whip. Bernie turned to the dancers and he 
watched them as they jumped, twirled, side by side, then, crossing, 
exchanged positions, replacing one another. 

My God! he thought, and suddenly he wasn't dizzy any more. The tremors were 
gone and he felt instead that he was going to be sick-but not from the 
bourbon. 

He looked at the big man's eyes again, at the man's face. The mouth was 
trembling and tiny bubbles of moisture were escaping from it. 

My God! Bernie thought, as he became aware it was Sarah the big man was 
looking at. 

He got up suddenly and bolted past the big man and locked himself in his 
bathroom. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

When Bernie came out of the bathroom, Mike had returned and was sitting on 
the couch next to Sarah. The big man was talking. 

"Sarah has probably told you her daddy here is a policeman. Ah been on the 
force of the department of law and order for the city of Macon, Georgia, for 
twenty-two years. Ten of those years Ah been a captain on that force and the 
last two years Ah been a private investigator for the citizens' patrol of 
that city. So when Ah talk about laws and what's legal, you can be sure Ah 
know what the hell Ah'm talkin' about." 

Bernie wasn't listening. He was busy watching Mike. He studied the boy's 
face, the liquid eyes that were alive as though they actually saw things. He 
looked at the boy's mouth that grinned so easily. There's so muck you don't 
know, he thought, and so much I wanted to tell you. 

"What are you saying?" Rose said suddenly, and Bernie snapped back to 
reality. 

"Ah ain't sayin' nothing, Rose," Cy said, raising a hand in a magnanimous 
gesture. "Ah ain't sayin' nothing about signing papers with false ages on 
them or anything like that. Ah'm only sayin' that Ah'm stayin' at the 
Bel-Plaines Motel for one more day. Ah'm sayin' that at three-thirty A.M. of 
that day Ah'll be checkin' out of the Bel-Plaines Motel and stepping onto a 
direct flight to Macon, Georgia. And Ah'm sayin' that this little gal here 
will be on that plane also in a direct flight to Macon, Georgia. That is the 
statement of fact Ah'm making!" 

"Daddy you can't!" Sarah said. 

"You just sit there and be quiet, Sarah baby. Ah know what Ah can do." 

"I won't go!" 

"Ah believe you will." 

"You can't make me go!" 

"Ah don't make statements unless Ah know what Ah'm talkin' about," Cy said, 
suddenly angered. "There ain't no marriage here. There ain't nothin' legal 
here. And there ain't no reason why we couldn't get a nice simple 
annulment-even if we needed it." 

"Yes, there is!" 

"What d'you mean?" 

"I mean we gotta stay married," Sarah shouted. " 'Cause I'm gonna have a 
baby. That's what I mean!" 

Bernie winced. Suddenly the game was over. Woman's troubles! That's what 
Mike had called it and Bernie remembered what he had said in return. Why 
couldn't you confide in me, he thought. There's so much you wanted to tell 
me. Why didn't you tell me? Bernie knew why, and he felt ashamed. 

"Honey," Rose said, "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Are you sure about that, girl?" 

"Honey, why didn't you tell me? They don't tell me anything!" 

"Yes, I'm sure!" Sarah had stopped playing too. She sat rigid, oblivious of 
her mother's arms holding her and her mother's hand stroking her long 
honey-colored hair. She was the goddess of fertility, carved of stone, smug, 
obese with life, and she smiled in the knowledge of this weapon inside her-a 
weapon they had planted together, she and Mike, while the plump partridge 
cackled to her radio parts and the child-man Bernie sat in his kitchen 
watching the world go by. 

"Mike took me to the doctor and he said I was pregnant," Sarah said. "And I 
was happy about it. And Mike was, too! And the doctor shook hands with Mike 
and he said he was happy for us." 

"Well now," Cy said finally, "Ain't that nice? Ain't that real nice and 
simple!" He chuckled. "Gonna have a baby. Don't seem like they been married 
hardly long enough. What is it, three weeks now? 'Course, Ah ain't much good 
at figuring-" He turned to Mike. "You ain't been doin' a little playing 
around, maybe? Kinda warmin' up for the honeymoon, like they say?" 

"Ah don't think that's necessary," Rose said. 

"'Course, it's necessary!" His eyes suddenly seared her. "Ah like to know 
the facts, that's all!" He turned his attention back to Mike. "Ain't that 
right? Hey, I'm talkin' to you!" He pointed to Mike who only stared back at 
him from the couch. "That boy don't say much, but he sure is eloquent in 
other ways!" 

"Cy!" 

"Not that Ah blame him. Hell, that's the nicest little piece a man could 
find in a month of Sundays." He grinned hard at Mike. "Ain't that right, 
Son?" 

"Ah won't stand-" 

"And where were you when all this punchin' was going on, huh?" Cy suddenly 
spat the words at Rose, cutting her off. "Huh? With your hair all painted 
the color it used to be and that fancy garage with the fancy lamps, what 
kinda mother-daughter act you been runnin' in this town? Huh?" 

Rose choked off a cry with her hands that covered her face and shrank back 
on the couch. But Bernie heard the cry. It went through him and made him 
shake with fury. Suddenly his fists doubled and his knuckles went white. 

"That's enough!" Bernie said and his voice was a command. "Enough!" 

The big man looked at Bernie's fists, then his eyes moved up Bernie's arms 
and over his chest and up over the cords in his throat that strained against 
his skin and into his eyes-and he grinned. Then his mouth formed a single 
word and Bernie was horrified. The man turned from him, still grinning. 

"Ah swear," the man said and suddenly he was laughing, pointing at Rose who 
huddled on the couch, her hands pressed against her face. "Boys, it's been a 
long time since Ah seen that woman so riled up. Ah swear, it takes nothin' 
but ole Cy to get that Georgia blood poundin'!" 

He threw up his arms. "Hell, you know me, honey, Ah'm just blowin' off 
steam. Ain't Ah?" He laughed. "But Ah know when Ah'm licked. Don't Ah 
always? And Ah'll tell you what we're gonna do. Yes, sir, before Ah get on 
that plane and leave this old town, we're gonna go out on this town and have 
ourselves a big feed! How's that sound?" 

Bernie shook his head, horrified. His fists suddenly felt ridiculous and he 
couldn't keep them tight. 

"Yes, sir, we're gonna have that feed right now." Cy turned to Mike. "Now, 
come on, boy, stop that little woman from cryin' before she shakes that baby 
out before it's due!" 

Mike grinned at this, feeling the tension break. He glanced at Bernie, who 
stared at him in silent warning, but it was lost. 

"And how about you, gal?" Cy said to Rose. "You got all that poison squeezed 
outta you? Huh?" He laughed. 

"Oh!" Rose gasped, beginning to melt. 

"Then suppose you turn that energy to motion, Rose honey, and pile those two 
kids in the car while Ah shake the hand of this gentleman here." 

Bernie backed away, still frowning. He looked past the big man. They were 
leaving. He thought of calling out to them. He thought of giving his warning 
even though he didn't know what the hell he wanted to warn them about. He 
thought of shouting, but even while he thought of it they were gone. He 
reached out instead and accepted the hand that demanded his. 

"Ah'm doing this now because I may not be seeing you again," Cy said. "But 
it's been a pleasure meetin' and talkin' with you." 

Bernie nodded. 

At the doorway, the man turned back. He was grinning. "Ah hope the next time 
we meet it'll be under different circumstances. Ah believe you can count on 
that to be a fact." 

Bernie nodded because he believed it. When his doorway was finally free, he 
moved to it and snapped the lock. He looked around the room, feeling the 
panic that had started from the man's single unspoken word to him. 

Finally he dared leave the door and found the bottle in his cupboard. He 
poured some liquor into the glass and drank it quickly. He poured another 
and stared into the glass and suddenly he was talking to Madge. It was a 
long time ago, but it was now and he stared into the glass and he was 
horrified. 

"It's not true," Bernie said desperately. "It can't be!" 

 CHAPTER NINE 

The lights came back slowly, very blue and very dim, irritating because of 
their persistence, and lack of illumination. Bernie squinted angrily into 
them, trying to focus, trying to pinpoint some object that might be 
familiar, trying to break through the mist of intoxication that rode the air 
around his face like swirls of cotton candy, thick, sweet, sparkling and 
awesome, distorting everything into a world of make-believe. A fantastic 
world suspended somewhere between here and reality, blending colors together 
into gentler contrast and softening corners so they were less brutal, less 
demanding. He sighed with gratitude. 

"Who-eee!" he said at last and he didn't know why he said it. Someone behind 
him laughed and said it too and then hands with fingers clamped over his 
waist, kneading his flesh and pushing him forward through the doorway into 
the apartment. 

"Hey, man, where are you?" someone said and Bernie shrugged. He squinted 
through the maze of things. Shapes and placement of furnishings helped him 
get his bearings, and he moved instinctively to the right, and, trusting on 
memory, he eased himself down through space until he was on his couch. He 
searched over the slip cover to find the edge so he could lie down without 
the fear of falling off into nothingness. 

"Man, it's nothing but dark in here!" someone said to him. 

Bernie let his head fall back against the couch and closed his eyes. Things 
were clearer that way. He moved his head from side to side, trying to keep 
his breathing even, but it was impossible. Breathing in was no problem, but 
pushing the air out seemed to take all his strength. 

"Whoo-eee!" He fought it desperately. The sugar mixed in the air was making 
him sick and he tried to avoid it, to filter it out by pursing his lips and 
letting in just a wisp at a time. But it only made him dizzy. He laughed and 
suddenly a splash of vinegar spilled up from the back of his throat and he 
swallowed it back and cringed. 

"Oh, God," he said between breaths, "I'm sick!" 

Someone laughed. 

Bernie heard the laugh and he laughed too. He didn't know why. It had just 
become easier than talking. At first it had irritated him, like the hand 
that had moved along the underside of the bar and dropped onto his leg and 
pressed against his thigh. The music from the juke box had irritated him 
too. 

Even now he could still hear it in his mind. It irritated him the more now 
because it was barely discernible, yet it persisted and he wished it would 
either come or go, be or not be, instead of in suspension, an in-between 
condition that confused him and made him fight for breath while he waited 
for the sickness to pass. 

"Where's the lights?" he heard someone say. 

"Don't turn on the lights," Bernie said. "Please!" He managed to cover his 
eyes in case his plea was unheeded. "I'm sick!" 

"You're just a little stoned." 

"More than that." 

"I know how it is." 

Who are you and how the hell do you know anything? Bernie tried to peer 
through the blue-and-silver strands that floated in front of his eyes. It 
was too much. It was too thick. Soon he would be asleep and the tide would 
pass. 

"I just wanna find that bottle you were talking about." 

Bottle? Well, now, tall-in-the-saddle, Ah believe it's on the counter where 
Ah left it, Podner. And the glass too! Ah believe you can count on that to 
be a fact. Bernie grinned. 

What's a cowpuncher? He laughed and sure as hell someone else laughed too. 

"Hey, man, lookee here-all set up and waiting for me!" 

Yeah, man! How about that? 

"That's good stuff," someone said and Bernie frowned because someone was 
coming toward him. "Wanna swig?" 

Bernie shook his head. There was someone in the shadows. He tried to see 
past the bottle that was in front of his face, but he couldn't focus. No 
more, he thought. I'm sick! 

The shadow slid into a big, grey ball over the black, upholstered chair. 
Soon it would go away. Soon the blackness would shatter into tiny specks of 
grey and filter out and disappear. 

"Hey, don't go to sleep on me." 

"I'm not asleep," Bernie said, though he was lying. 

"Sure you don't wanna swig?" Bernie shook his head. 

"Neither do I," someone said, "but I'm gonna need it." 

It was followed by a laugh. Bernie knew it was his turn to laugh back, but 
he couldn't manage it. He dug his hands deeper into the couch, pressing them 
against his thighs. He fought back a new tide of vinegar that was pushing up 
into his throat. He swallowed desperately. Soon it would be conquered and he 
could breathe again. Soon.... 

"You all right?" 

"I'm all right." 

"Yes, sir, this is real nice." It was the cowpuncher from Texas who was 
talking. The rodeo boy, and Bernie wondered why he'd been so confused. It 
was so silly! He could have wept with relief. Why, it was a party! It was 
like the Wild West on television, and it was real nice! "Yes, sir, this is 
real nice. You must do pretty good." 

"Pretty good." 

"What you say your name was?" 

"Bernie." 

"That ain't your real name, is it?" 

Bernie frowned. Wasn't it? He tried again to focus on the glob of grey that 
was sprawled on his armchair. Wasn't it? What a ridiculous question! He 
peered at the figure, following the outline of his shadow, remembering more 
than seeing the denim shirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, the 
bulbous, chocolate-stained arms with biceps that swelled out, the face with 
the piercing eyes that seemed friendly, yet that hinted at times they could 
as easily be venomous. 

"Sure it is," Bernie said and he wondered if he had missed something again. 
This was his day for missing things. He looked around, wondering if there 
were someone else in the room. 

"Mine's Jack." 

Bernie nodded. That was Jack. Terrific! "See, here's my I.D." 

Bernie winced at the hand and the wallet that pushed through the darkness 
and brushed against his face. He drew back, twisting away from it. Who the 
hell can read in the dark? I'm not that drunk. What's your game? What? 

"What?" 

"I just wanna show you I'm not lying." 

Bernie shrugged. His hands twitched under the slip cover, simulating a 
gesture, and he thought, how ridiculous ... How ridiculous! and the couch 
suddenly dipped and he slid against something that was coarse like cloth, 
scraping his face as it jerked away. Then his face brushed against a cool 
surface that was firm and hard and felt like skin. 

"C'mon," Bernie said, angrily. He strained against the arm that locked 
around his neck and half-scowled, half-grinned. "C'mon, Mike, dammit!" 

"What's the matter," someone whispered. 

"I got a headache, dammit!" 

"What you need is a drink. How about a swig?" 

"No, dammit, I'm sick!" 

"Hey, I got something for you. I got something you'll like," someone 
whispered. 

Bernie swung out in the darkness at the figure that was upsetting his couch. 
He pushed it and it laughed. He pushed it again, trying to free himself of 
it. 

"You damn little fool, let go!" he said hotly. 

"What's the matter, baby?" 

"I'm sick!" 

"What you need is a drink." 

"No!" Bernie felt the bottle pushed against his mouth. "I said, no!" Strong 
fingers clamped over his head, grabbing his hair and tilting his head back. 

"Come on, hen, swig!" 

"No-please! I'll be sick!" 

"Drink up!" 

"Honest to God!" 

"One more!" 

"I'll be-" 

Bernie forced the liquor down because he was too tired to fight. 
Surprisingly it didn't come back up. In fact it warmed him and he thought 
maybe he did need it. He slid forward on the couch, lying on his back, and 
covered his face with an arm. So tired ... tired.... 

A vise gripped his wrist, pulling it away from his face. Bernie turned his 
head from side to side as he felt a great weight crushing him, jabbing at 
him, pinning him down on the couch. Why didn't they just go away and let him 
sleep? 

"So tired." 

"Hey, you asleep?" 

"So tired." 

"Hey, I got something for you, baby. Lookee here!" 

"Tired." 

"That's all right. Just relax." 

The voice became a whisper and it lulled him. He was suddenly freed and 
looked up at the figure that stood over him, peering through his drapes. 
Bernie frowned. Why was he looking through the drapes? Was he looking for 
help? The damn fool! There was nothing out there. He could have wept with 
pity for this fool who peered through his drapes for help. 

"Don't go," Bernie said suddenly. 

"Just relax," someone said. "I'm coming." 

"I said come here!" Bernie said and his voice was a command. 

How funny that he would say that! How dare he be left alone! Things began to 
spin and he spun with them, deeper and deeper, as he felt himself drawn 
down. He let his body go limp while he was swept away and under his breath, 
he said, "It is, it is, it must be . . 

* * * 

Madge looked at the clock again. It was ten minutes to one. She frowned 
impatiently. Why the hell didn't he call her? All day she had waited around 
her apartment, waiting for the telephone to ring. With each hour her 
irritation had increased. She'd waited till the last possible minute before 
leaving for work. 

Maybe he got tied up with Mike and Sarah. She wondered if Sarah's father had 
arrived. He must have. And Bernie probably had to go somewhere with them or 
entertain them. But he could have called. He could have slipped away 
sometime. It would only take a few moments ... unless he didn't want to! 

Bastard! He'd nodded his head as though he understood. Shallow hollow 
imitation of a man! Pathetic whimpering child-man! He had played the game 
until he could get away. In his mind he must have been laughing at her, 
leading her to think she had given him something wonderful, something more 
than just her flesh, something deeper. 

Madge glanced about the dining room of the Pancake House. It was almost 
deserted now. She tried to forget the clock. She glanced at the guy sitting 
at the far end of the counter. She was aware he'd been watching her. When 
their eyes met, he grinned. Madge turned away, taking a deep drag from her 
cigarette. Not now, she thought. Not any more. 

Madge stared into her coffee cup. She tried to free herself from thoughts 
that were stupid and trite. She tried to think, how funny it was, how funny 
she was. What would anyone say who could look into her mind and her 
thoughts? Poor, stupid girl, she thought. Poor, stupid, dumb bitch, Madge. 
Perverted, she thought. She had to be to love a person like Bernie. How else 
could she explain the reasons for everything ever since he had grinned at 
her with those hollow eyes that had fascinated her, drawing by their hunger 
a hunger deep inside her that she hadn't even known existed. Lying in her 
bed from that night on, whispering into the thick cushion of her pillow, 
saying, "I need, I need...." and not knowing why, but knowing it was true. 

"I don't!" Madge said suddenly, under her breath, but aloud so her ears 
could hear and understand. She clenched her hand and fought an impulse to 
smash the cup with it. "I don't, I don't!" 

She didn't need him or anyone else. If she wanted someone, she could grab 
him. She could have anyone she wanted. As if she wanted anyone! 

Hey, you ... Yes, you, you beautiful son-of-a-bitch, what are you staring at 
me for? Why do you just sit there? Why don't you say what you want? Haven't 
you got a tongue, you son-of-a-bitch? You want me? Why don't you ask? ... 
five, six, seven, eight ... Hey, dark-eyes, come on over here. 

You don't have to look at the door. There's nobody better coming in. Come on 
over. You wanna screw me, honey? ... seven, six, five, four ... You wanna go 
over to my place or your place or somebody's place and get naked? Just say 
the word, honey, because I'm easy. Anybody'll tell you that. 

Don't let this pretty face fool you ... four, five, six, seven ... You wanna 
put it to me? You wanna screw me and I'll screw you right back till all hell 
breaks loose because I'm perverted. I'm so damn perverted you'll think 
you're in heaven. And you can thank him, the son-of-a-bitch! Blame him, 
because it's his fault, the dirty goddamn useless son-of-a-bitch! 

Madge got up suddenly and hurried across the dining room, heading for the 
restrooms. The words were still racing in her mind and she leaned against 
the wall, trying to catch her breath and suppress the thoughts. She looked 
at her face in the mirror above the washbasin, and it was all suddenly 
funny. She laughed until the trembling played itself out. 

When she came out of the restroom, the guy at the counter was gone. She 
didn't care. She fished through her tip money for dimes while she headed for 
the phone-booth. She dialed a number and waited. 

"Post Bar-we're closed," a voice said. It was the owner's wife. 

"This is Madge," 'she said. "Jan's neighbor?" 

"Oh, how nice!" the woman said. "We were just closing up. We have a relief 
man, you know, till Jan gets back and Pete likes to check out himself with 
new help." 

Madge nodded impatiently, then answered questions about Jan, Jan's mother 
and the trip. 

"I wondered," Madge said finally. "I'm trying to locate Bernie, Bernie 
Evans? I thought he might have stopped there." 

"Who?" 

"Bernie. The fellow that works at the Casita?" 

"Oh!" the woman replied, "Jan's boyfriend." 

"That's right." 

"He was in here for quite a while." 

"Oh?" Madge frowned. "Are you sure? The tall boy with reddish hair-Bernie 
Evans?" 

"Oh yes, because I asked him about Jan....Just a minute, Pete," she said, 
away from the phone, then, "Honey, I have to go. We have to check out and 
the kids are waiting in the car. You know how they fuss, especially at this 
hour. You'll have to come over some time. But I suppose you do, only I'm 
never here." She laughed. 

"Did he say where he was going," Madge said impatiently. 

"No, they just left when we closed. I'm afraid they were pretty drunk, 
though." 

"They?" She tried to keep her voice casual. "Was Bernie with someone?" 

The woman laughed. "If you're keeping tabs on him for Jan, don't worry. He's 
not stepping out on her. He was with another boy." 

"Oh, I see," Madge said. 

"One of those rodeo people I think. You know, they're in town because of the 
rodeo this week. We get lots of them. They practically take over Phoenix. 
Pete was kinda worried about this guy, though. He was an awfully big fellow, 
and he kind of looked like trouble. You know, you can sometimes tell. He 
just sat in a corner and looked at everyone who came in. Like he was waiting 
for someone. Kind of good-looking, I might add"-she laughed in a rough sort 
of way ... I'm coming, Pete-" 

Madge carefully set the receiver back into its cradle while the woman was 
still talking. She stared at the phone for a long moment before leaving the 
booth. She finished her shift, working automatically, then left the 
restaurant, heading across the parking lot to her car. 

"Hey, what's the rush?" 

She looked at the red convertible pulled partway into one of the parking 
stalls. The guy from the counter flashed a broad smile as though he expected 
she'd know he'd been waiting for her. 

In the dimness of the shadows Madge looked at him coldly, then forced a 
smile, moving toward his car. 

"Got a date?" he said. 

"That's up to you," Madge said, and in her mind she added, "Goddamn Bernie 
Evans-Goddamn him to hell!" 

 CHAPTER TEN 

The liquor was strong and the water was warm, but she swallowed it hungrily. 
She didn't like the taste, but the effect was right. It helped her to keep 
from screaming as she felt his hand move down over her blouse and close over 
one of her breasts, squeezing it demandingly. In the bright moonlight that 
sifted through the blinds she saw his eyes sparkle with anticipation as they 
searched her face, trying to coax the same response from her. 

"Wow!" he said, "I think they're real!" He laughed slightly at his joke, 
born out of nervousness, and then retracted it with a frown as she scowled 
at him. 

Madge finished her drink and handed him the glass. He quickly mixed her 
another, not bothering with measurements. He finished his own, then stood 
for a moment, awkwardly, and looked at Madge, who sat rigidly on the edge of 
the bed. 

"Hey, are you sure you've done this before?" 

Madge laughed. Little boys and big men, and how do you tell the difference? 
She grinned at her drink and it was half gone already. How do you tell the 
difference? she thought. What does it matter? 

Like a high school child searching in the dark for something new and 
different and wonderful, listening and memorizing and later repeating in a 
similar darkness. And it would be good. It would be wonderful. She knew it 
would be good-but not quite good enough. Suddenly she wanted to be away, to 
turn her rage in the right direction, to let it spend itself in motion until 
it was gone and he was destroyed, completely destroyed-the way she was 
destroyed. 

"Nobody like me before, though," he said finally and he grinned. He started 
unbuttoning his shirt. "Baby, I'm the most." 

She watched him strip, letting him think she was impressed. She stared 
openly at his chest, caked with muscle, blackened into silhouette by the 
moonlight behind him. He grinned at her look, reassured by her show of 
interest. He flexed his breasts. 

"You like?" 

"Oh, yes," Madge said flatly. 

He slid down beside her and kissed her demandingly. Madge forced herself 
to-respond. She felt the slight stirrings inside her and tried to quicken 
them. While his arms drew her in, she felt out his body and the muscles that 
moved with his breathing and it was starting inside her. She was glad it was 
starting and she was forgetting. Already she was forgetting and she wanted 
to laugh. 

She drew away and laughed while she found her glass. She laughed softly into 
the glass while his fingers slipped the buttons of her green uniform and 
pushed away the pink slip, guiding out a breast. She peered at his face 
through the tumbler. She regarded his grin, distorted by the liquid between 
them, and tried to copy it. 

She tried to empty her mind, to erase everything except the warm moistness 
of his mouth drawing her nipples out, suckling against her, greedily, 
desperately trying to communicate. She thought of humming while his lips 
burned a path up over her breasts and under her throat and she felt his 
breath splashing on her skin. 

"Let's do it," she said finally. 

"What's the rush?" he whispered. He guided her down on the bed and eased 
himself beside her. His lips brushed lightly over hers. 

"I think you're beautiful," she heard him whisper. "I almost wish we'd met 
some other way. I mean-" 

"I'll tell you what," Madge said, suddenly cutting into his words. "Let's 
play drug store. I'll show you my prescription and you see if you can fill 
it!" She laughed loudly and looked at him. Her face was animated. He drew 
away. 

"Hey!" he said, frowning. 

"Hey, what?" 

"Well, I mean ... Christ, you're turning me off, Baby." 

"Am I?" Madge said. "You're the one who wants to talk. What do you want me 
to say? I love you?" 

No!" 

"Well, then, shut up. Just pay me and let's do it." 

"Pay?" 

Madge raised herself on an elbow. "Honey, you don't think I do this for 
kicks?" 

His face suddenly went hard and he drew farther away. Even in the dark she 
could see the color gathering and finally his anger materialized. 

"Why, you two-bit whore," he said. His voice shook. "I got a good mind to 
slap the shit outta you!" 

"Pay me, honey, and you can do anything you want." 

He got up, trembling with anger. He grabbed up his shirt and started pulling 
it on. 

"Seven bucks for this place and three bottles of booze at after-hours 
prices! You could've let me know." 

"It's your party." 

"Yeah, it's my party all right!" 

"So what's the difference?" 

"You figure it out!" He grabbed up the bottles and headed for the door, 
turning at the doorway. "Believe me, if I had the dough, I'd do you. So help 
me, I'd do you!" He fumbled through his pocket with his free hand and drew 
out a coin. 

"Here!" He tossed it to her. "That's all I got left. That's your tip!" 

Madge picked up the coin that landed on the bed beside her. She looked at 
it, then closed her hand over it. 

"All right," she said, "I'm paid." 

"What?" 

"I said I'm paid." She held up the coin. "This is my price. You called it 
yourself." Her voice trembled with anger. "Now, shut up and do it or get the 
hell outta here." She threw the coin at him and laughed. "Who needs your 
goddam money?" She got up and when she was naked she ran a hand over her 
body. "Come on," she said harshly, "Or isn't there anything here you want?" 

He winced. 

"What's the matter," she said. "Aren't you man enough?" 

"You bitch!" 

She laughed and dropped down on the bed. Her legs strained apart and her 
body moved violently. Come on, you son-of-a-bitch, you useless phony 
son-of-a-bitch. Who needs you? Who the hell ever needed you? Come on and 
want me, and suddenly she felt his hard body slap against her and it took 
her breath away. She grabbed at him. Who needs anybody else? Just you! 

She heard his curses. She felt his body move in anger, drawing from it 
desire, mingling the two, and suddenly she cried out. His hand clamped over 
her mouth while she gasped. My God, what is this, what is this? and her 
breath stopped. She suddenly opened her eyes and she saw his grin, angry, 
brutal, and she felt his body moving. She moved too, desperately, reaching 
out, clawing at his back to hurt him, to return the pain, and, she thought, 
My God, what is this? and finally, Thank God! and she lay back, trembling, 
held fast, suspended, while his flesh searched inside her.... 

* * * 

She stared out the window at the electric light over the sign and watched 
the dots of light that were cars creeping by, spaced at even intervals 
between the buildings. The night air cooled her body and the pain at the 
bottom of her stomach seemed to subside. The throbbing was steady and dull 
now, almost as though she could hear it instead of feel it, and she finished 
the whiskey in her glass. 

She moved numbly across the room and picked up the bottle on the nightstand. 
She held up her glass in a silent toast to the sleeping form on the bed. She 
looked at his body, inert now, harmless-looking, deflated. She turned away. 

In a moment she would come back and put life back into that body. She 
grinned at the world that waited outside the window. In a moment she would 
come back and whisper a word that would erase the sight of his face, and 
make beauty out of ugliness. She closed her eyes and she could see him and 
the word called back to her, Bernie, Bernie, and she could see him. 

She opened her eyes and she could see him and she knew she had waited a 
moment too long. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

"Howdy, friend." 

Bernie opened his eyes, awakened by the voice. For a moment he stared 
blankly at the figure on his black leather chair. 

"Who are you?" Bernie said, but even as he said it he realized the question 
was unnecessary. 

"Ah hope you don't mind, Ah helped myself to a little drink here," Cy said, 
gesturing with a glass. He smiled warmly. "Looks like there mightta been a 
little party here earlier tonight. Little celebration, huh?" 

Bernie didn't respond, but pushed himself to a sitting position on the 
couch. Even as he moved he felt the blood rush to his head and surge 
through, beating dully, steadily, against the back of his neck. He rubbed 
his temples. He had hoped the morning would be back before he came to. He 
couldn't remember why, but he knew he'd wanted desperately to avoid the 
night. 

He got up and moved cautiously down the hallway to the bathroom to pour 
water on his neck and cool the blood that seemed to be pushing faster with 
each moment. 

"Little tipsy, eh?" Cy chuckled. "Boy, Ah should be too. We had some 
celebration!" He continued talking after Bernie disappeared into the 
bathroom. "Say, you shouldda come along with us. We had ourselves a time. 
You shouldda seen them gals living it up. Made a day of it. Regular family 
outing." Cy laughed loudly. "Yes sir, you shouldda seen that gal go!" He 
took a sip of his drink. "Ah almost forgot how good that stuff was. Almost 
makes a man forget what he came for. 

"We had a big feed at one of those spots on the main drag. Them kids had 
chicken." He laughed. "Boy, you shouldda seen 'em go after that ole bird! 
That's fun to watch." His grin broadened and his thick brows slid together 
as he talked. "Yes sir, you shouldda seen them tear after that stuff. 
Enthusiasm, that's what Ah call it-real enthusiasm! 

"'Course, back home we get so damn much chicken. Man comes away, likes to 
try something a little different." 

Bernie emerged from the bathroom, passing Cy, and headed into the 
kitchenette. His face was still wet and beads of water streaked down his 
cheeks. He began searching his refrigerator for some milk. 

"Hope you don't mind my busting in like this," Cy said. "Door was open so Ah 
just came right on in." 

"I don't mind," Bernie said blankly. He was still too drunk to give a damn 
about anything. 

"Man gets kinda lonesome sittin' in the BelPlaines Motel. Ain't like back 
home, you know, where you know a lot of people and can get things done 
quick. Here, you gotta walk around and look in all different places. 
'Course, in my line of business, you learn lots of tricks, you know." 

Bernie nodded slightly, though he didn't have any idea what the man was 
saying. He was only aware of a new tide of vinegar threatening just behind 
his throat. If he just waited, the man would go away. If he could just hold 
out.... 

"You learn to spot what you're looking for," the big man continued. "There's 
signs, you know. Ah can tell. Ah dealt with 'em all my life." He laughed 
loudly. "Hell, they might as well be wearin' 'em in big neon lights." 

Bernie blinked his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said 
simply. 

"Just gassing. Just gassing about my line of business," the big man said and 
he w-edged himself into one of the wrought-iron barstools. 

"I'm sorry," Bernie managed, "I'm afraid I'm not very good company. I don't 
feel well." 

"That's all right, fella," Cy said laughing. "Ah know how it is. Ah been 
down that road, hell, how many times?" He pointed a thick, red finger at 
Bernie. "But you're smart. You do your drinkin' at home. That's smart. If 
you wanna play around, you get yourself a nice place like this, nice and 
cozy-like, and you ain't got nothin' to worry about. We got a sayin' in my 
line of business. We say, two is hearsay-three's a fact." 

Cy laughed at this and looked at Bernie for response. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bernie heard himself say. 

"Just gassing, boy," Cy said with a gesture. "Oh, Ah run into all kinds in 
my time. Sometimes, just for a kick, we'd cruise around the downtown area-me 
and another fella-and we'd pick up some of these guys. You wanna see 
something funny, you wanna see some white-faced scared boys when old Cy 
steps outta the car and says, 'All right, fella, let's see some I.D.'" 

Bernie frowned. I.D. You wanna see my I.D.? You wanna see my-Hey, lookee 
here! All set up and waitin'! Enthusiasm, real enthusiasm ... Bernie winced, 
confused, and tried to remember. 

"Hell, it ain't only back home," the big man said, "Like, last night, for 
example. Ah took me a walk downtown, kinda lookin' around. A man gets 
restless sittin' in the Bel-Plaines Motel. Ah see them all standin' on the 
street corners or settin' on the bus-bench like they're waitin' for a bus. 
Standin' in their white pants, waiting for some rich bastard in his fancy 
car to come circlin' around. Settin' there with their knees spread 
apart-settin' there like they just don't give a damn for nothin' and waitin' 
for that ole car to come circlin' back sure as hell! 

"Course, back home, you know 'em. You want somethin' done you use 'em. Just 
takes the right amount of cash. And that amount don't have to be much. They 
got neon signs flashin' on and off just like the rest of the come-on-and-buy 
signs flashin' up and down the street!" 

"Ah do believe," Cy said and he laughed. "Ah do believe this liquor is 
workin' mah tongue right off its hinges." He picked up the bottle. "You 
don't mind if Ah just kill this bottle?" 

"I don't mind." 

"Care for a snort?" 

"No." 

"You go downtown very much?" 

"Sometimes." 

"Do a little shoppin', eh?" He laughed. 

Bernie opened his mouth to speak. 

"Oh, no," the big man said, cutting him off. "You work downtown, don't you? 
In the restaurant business, if Ah'm not mistaken." 

"Look-Cy," Bernie said, trying desperately to keep control. "I don't know 
what you're driving at, but I wish you would go! I'm sorry, but I wish to 
hell you'd leave!" 

"Well now," Cy said, moving as though to rise, "As a matter-of-fact, Ah was 
just about to. Ah didn't mean to rile you up with my gassin' here. Ah guess 
Ah didn't realize how sick you are, boy." 

"I'm not-sick!" 

"Well now, Ah don't know about that," the man said. Ah wouldn't be too sure. 
Ah might know a little more about these things than a lot of folks, being in 
my-" 

"I'm not sick!" 

"-line of business, and it seems to me you might be better off back in 
Chicago." He nodded sagely. "Yes sir, Ah believe you might be better off 
there where your folks can kinda look after you." He got up, finishing the 
last of his drink, then turned back to Bernie again. "And Ah believe it 
might be best to take that boy of yours back there with you. Ah believe that 
might be best for everyone all the way around!" 

"I'm not sick!" 

"Ah say you are!" the big man roared. "Ah say you must be sick. Ah say, a 
man who would take that boy-a seventeen-year-old boy across the state line 
outta the state of Illinois into the state of Arizona is sick. Ah say a man 
who ain't no legal guardian, who ain't no uncle, who ain't no blood relative 
at all, who takes a seventeen-year-old boy into his house and feeds him and 
buys him presents and keeps him lock, stock, and barrel is sick! Ah say that 
man, he damn well better be sick." 

"That's a lie!" 

"No, boy, that's a fact!" 

Bernie shook his head wildly. He felt the fury raging inside him. He 
clenched his hands together and realized his strength. 

"I never in my life touched that boy!" 

"That may be the fact," the man said, grinning. 

"It is!" Bernie searched the face that smiled at him and shook his head at 
the thick lips that curled upward, deliberately saying something with their 
silence. 

"I never in my life-touched-anyone-that way!" 

"Is that a fact?" 

"It is!" Bernie turned away finally, unable to stand that grin any longer. 
"I swear to God!" He backed away, into the kitchenette. "I swear to God!" He 
moved along the cupboard, desperately touching things, speaking to the 
cupboard doors, to his refrigerator, to his range and the glasses and the 
water faucet and the ceiling. "I swear to God!" And he suddenly spun around 
and slammed his fists on the counter top. 

"What are you trying to do to me?" he said harshly, "My God, what are you 
trying to do to me...?" 

* * * 

Rose stood her full height in the doorway and there was strength in her 
eyes. She stared at the big man, her face white with anger. The big man only 
frowned, openly showing his displeasure at being interrupted. 

"What are you doing here," he said and Bernie's question was left 
unanswered. 

"You said you'd stay with me," Rose said, trembling with anger. "Ah called 
the Bel-Plaines Motel and you weren't there. So Ah came here." 

"Well, you go back there and wait, hear?" Cy said. 

"No, Ah'm not going back there. Ah'm never going back there. Ah want to talk 
to you, Cy-right here and now. Ah want to know what you told those 
children." 

"Ah didn't say nothin'," Cy said. Then he frowned because her strength, such 
as it was, had evinced a denial from him. He scowled impatiently, trying to 
regain his advantage. "Now, you get outta here," he said. 

"Ah want to know what you said to that girl." Rose said, suddenly grabbing 
his sleeve and jerking it violently. "Do you hear me? Ah want to know what 
you told that child." 

Cy spun around, freeing himself, and he raised an arm. 

"Don't grab at me, goddammit, or Ah'll slap you on your ass! Ah told her 
facts, that's what Ah told her!" 

"Lies!" Rose screamed. 

"Ah told her facts," Cy hissed. "Ah know what the hell Ah'm talkin' about!" 
He flashed a look at Bernie and suddenly Bernie remembered his question. 
What are you trying to do to me? What? What? What did you tell that girl? Oh 
my God! 

"Now, you get outta here, or shut up-hear?" Cy said. "You had your chance. 
Now Ah'm takin' over!" 

He pushed Rose away and she sank on the couch, defeated. 

"What kind of dirty man are you?" she said and her hands moved up, covering 
her face. 

"Don't call me dirt," the big man said, paling. Ah'll tell you what dirt 
is." As he spoke, he looked at Bernie. "Ah'll tell you what dirt is, Rose. 
There's things goin' on in this place that would make your hair turn back to 
its nat'ral color. That's what Ah'll tell you about dirt." 

"That's not true," Bernie snapped. 

"Ah don't say nothin', boy, unless Ah know it for a fact!" 

"Not true!" 

"Maybe it is and maybe it ain't," he said. "There's some folks that might 
believe it is. There's a fella Ah happen to know, for example, who might 
believe it is. A young fella from Odessa, Texas, who Ah happened to make an 
acquaintance with while Ah was walkin' around downtown last night. You might 
know this fella. A real operator-took me for a chunk of cash to find out 
something. He found out all right. He found out for hisself whether it is or 
whether it ain't-You know who Ah'm talkin' about? Fella named Jack? You know 
anybody named Jack? You know any Jacks, boy?-Ah'm askin' you a question 
about r boy named Jack who might believe it is a fact!" 

For a moment Bernie stood rigid, his breath lost somewhere deep inside him 
as realization rushed in, suddenly, horribly clear. Bernie cried aloud. It 
was an animal cry, foreign even to his own ears, and with it spewed out his 
strength. His fists were gone and instead his fingers curled like talons, 
raised in front of him harmlessly and they struck out while the big man 
laughed and stepped aside and watched him move blindly up the hallway for 
escape. 

"Ah figured you might recollect that particular boy," Cy called after him. 

"Why?" Rose said wearily, "Just tell me why!" 

"What d'you mean, why? You didn't think Ah was gonna stand by and watch, did 
you? Did you think Ah was gonna stand by and watch while that punk kid moved 
into my little gal?" He laughed bitterly. "You don't know me too well, 
Rose." 

"What are you saying?" 

"You think that's what Ah worked for? Worked my ass off for twenty-two years 
on the police force of Macon, Georgia, to produce a good lay for some 
wide-eyed Spic kid to get his rocks off on? You don't know me too well. Ol' 
Cy don't smile and say, 'ain't that nice' when some little gutter-rat from 
the south side of Chicago says to me, 'Ah'm gonna make you a grandpa. Yes 
sir, Ah'm gonna make you a grandpa whether you like it or not!' " 

"You promised me," Rose said. "You promised you wouldn't make trouble!" 

"Ah didn't promise nothin'!" Cy said, turning away. 

"Yes you did," Rose shouted. "While Ah was layin' in your arms you promised 
me! That was the only reason Ah let you-" 

"What are you talkin' about?" He said sharply. 

"That was the only reason!" 

"A lie!" He spat, his eyes suddenly narrowed. "You wanted it. That was the 
reason." 

"Ah never did," she said. "Why can't you understand that? Ah never in my 
life wanted you!" 

She turned and bolted out the doorway. She heard his footsteps behind her 
and she yelled, stupidly, wildly, and ran down the drive to her car parked 
at the curb. 

"You come back here, gal!" he shouted. "You hear me, Rose?" He moved forward 
down the middle of the street, following the diminishing red taillights of 
her car, his arms stretched out toward it while he trembled with humiliation 
and mounting rage. 

"Ah'm telling you to come back here!" he screamed.... 

* * * 

In his dressing room Bernie tried to recapture his balance or at least his 
breathing. In his madness things were distorted, ordinary things, and he 
stood for a long time as though he had discovered some new place. He looked 
about, wondering, his distraction causing the blood to ebb, making room for 
the air that slid audibly into his throat. 

The sound of his breathing held him suspended while his eyes slowly scanned 
the walls, the bureau, seeing as though for the first time the tangle of 
clothes and boxes and the wire hangers and the suitcase carefully packed. 

Suddenly he kicked it with his foot, scattering the clothes. He reached past 
them through the debris into a corner of the closet, pushing things aside 
until he found the rifle. 

"Now!" he said and he was laughing. "Now I'll kill you." Even as he emerged 
from the dressing room he realized he was alone. "So help me God, I'll kill 
you!" 

He sank to the floor, repeating his vow and the rifle lay harmlessly across 
his lap. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

A man named Billings came into Captain Williams' office on the second floor 
of the Municipal Building. He handed the captain several sheets of 
typewritten pages held together at a corner by a large staple. 

"Cyrus Cartell," Billings said and sat down in the chair opposite the 
captain's desk, talking while the captain glanced over the pages. "He worked 
for the Citizen's Patrol in Macon, Georgia." 

"What the hell is that?" 

"Door-checker." 

The captain shook his head. "Not quite. It's one of those semi-private 
'security' organizations that crop up everywhere race relations get hot. He 
used to be with the regular police force as a matter-of-fact. But I guess he 
was too trigger-happy. Anyway they got rid of him quick after some kind of a 
stink ... kind of a sadist mess, I think." 

"That's a rough town," the captain said. 

"Yeah, but the captain, it seems, was a little too rough. Shot up a bunch of 
kids once-killed one of them. Accident, according to the report. But it 
seems the papers there never got along too well with Captain Cartell. Wrong 
politics. They raised a fuss. Wire service got hold of it and the thing kind 
of mushroomed and the old boy took the ax." 

Captain Williams nodded as he read the details for himself. 

"What was he doing in Phoenix?" the captain said finally. 

"His ex-wife and daughter live here. They've got a trailer home out in 
Mesa." Billings consulted his notebook. "Sun Valley Trailer Court. It's near 
the General Electric plant out there. 

"It seems she quit the old boy the same time the department did. Copped a 
mental-cruelty plea. Under the circumstances she didn't have any trouble 
getting free of him and she got custody of the girl. They've been out here 
ever since." 

"This ex-wife of his-" the captain said, trying to organize a maze of ideas 
that suddenly crowded his mind. 

"Rose Cartell, nee and now Bianca." 

"What sort of woman is she?" 

"Pretty hot dish, I guess, if you can believe everything those gals at the 
General Electric plant have to say. Of course, you know how women talk about 
women-especially women on the job. I guess she had quite a string of 'em. 
She's no spring chicken, but it seems she hasn't been letting any grass grow 
under her trailer." 

Billings grinned at his witticism. 

"I'm not interested in guesses," the captain said impatiently. 

"These things take time, Mike," Billings said, shrugging. "We're working on 
it." 

"Good. And while you're working on that, I also want some dope on a guy 
named Mike Alvarez. Or Miguel, or whatever it is. His little story will 
start in Chicago, I think." 

"The kid that married the daughter?" 

The captain nodded. It was his special nod of finality rather than a 
response to the question and Billings knew the interview was over. He closed 
his notebook and left the office. 

Captain Williams picked up the fingerprint report and read it again. There 
were plenty of prints all over the room. The dead man's, Bernie's and some 
yet to be identified. But it was the rifle that bothered the captain. It 
bothered him because there were no prints on it. He wasn't quite sure why, 
but he had expected their absence. 

"I wiped them off," Bernie had said. 

"Why?" 

"Well-at first I was going to run away. Then, afterwards, I changed my mind. 
I decided to take my punishment." 

Nonsense! The captain pushed the report aside. To kill a man is possible-to 
confess is possible-but to refuse even a chance of a lesser charge ... 
especially when such a man as this was involved. It formulated another 
crime. 

It was like a dying man refusing help. A dying man, the captain thought, and 
again he recalled the look on Bernie's face as he sat in one of the 
detention rooms on the basement floor of the police station. A strange look 
of satisfaction, as though he had some secret or some plan already set into 
motion. 

Captain Williams left his office, heading across the street to the police 
station. At the bottom of a wide stairway that led to the detention room he 
talked with a uniformed guard, then entered one of the small rooms. Bernie 
was sitting on one of the benches that -lined the walls. His eyes were 
closed, but he was awake, and he looked up when the captain came in. 

"Feel better?" 

Bernie nodded. 

"I've made arrangements for a psychiatrist to look in on you this 
afternoon," the captain said. "I'm thinking of having you moved to a 
hospital." 

Bernie nodded. 

"You don't object?" 

Bernie shrugged. 

"If it was me, I'd scream like hell," the captain said. 

"I just don't care," Bernie said. "Not any more." 

"I want to know what the hell happened in that motel room!" 

"I confessed, didn't I?" 

"It's not that easy," the captain said. "If I believed everything everybody 
told me, I'd still be writing tickets for parking violations." 

"But I did it!" 

"And on the way out of that cabin you said you didn't do anything." 

"That was-something else." 

"Like what?" 

"None of your business!" Bernie said hotly. "I said I killed him and that's 
it." 

"I don't believe you," the captain said just as hotly. "My job is to find 
out the truth. If not from you, then from someone else. I'm very good at my 
job ... and when I do find out, I'll come back here and tell you." 

"I told you the truth," Bernie said, suddenly agitated. 

"You haven't told me anything." 

"I took the gun...." 

"Whose gun?" 

"It was Mike's. I'd bought it for him for his birthday. I drove out to that 
motel and I shot him." 

"Why?" 

"Because he was bugging me." 

"How was he bugging you?" 

"I don't...." 

Bernie started to speak, then paused. For a moment he stared at Captain 
Williams as though weighing the man. Then he made a decision and suddenly he 
was talking. 

"He was a nut," Bernie said, beginning to lose control. "A lewd, vicious 
nut. He was trying to turn her against him by suggesting there was something 
going on between me and Mike!" 

"Who?" 

"Sarah. Why do you think he came down here? He was trying to break them up. 
They'd faked the papers, you know. But now she's pregnant, and he's madder 
than hell. He was going to get me in trouble if I didn't take that kid away 
from her. Don't you see? He was trying to say-" 

"Take it easy," the captain said, breaking into Bernie's words, which had 
grown to shouts. The captain moved to Bernie, put a hand on his trembling 
shoulder. "Just keep it cool," he said. "Just relax." 

"I won't relax!" Bernie looked at the captain and his eyes blazed. He 
frowned at the hand on his shoulder. 

"Just relax," someone said, and then he said, "I'm coming. Hey, lookee here! 
Man, oh man!" 

"Take your hand off me, you son-of-a-bitch!" He reached out and, with a cry, 
pushed the captain's hand from his shoulder. "Don't touch me!" His breathing 
was harsh, and suddenly he jumped up, swinging at the captain. "Don't you 
touch me, you son-of-a-bitch!" 

The captain dodged Bernie's fists. He struggled to pin Bernie's arms down, 
but Bernie proved surprisingly strong. The yelling alerted the uniformed 
guard outside the door, and in a moment he was in and behind Bernie, pinning 
him. Bernie's screaming increased and he fought desperately to free himself. 

"Give me back my car-keys," he yelled. And then the words gave way to noises 
that reverberated through the small room, piercing, insane, and his head 
thrashed from side to side. 

Suddenly the captain slapped Bernie across the face. 

The screaming stopped and Bernie stared at the captain blankly for a moment. 
Then his head dropped and he began sobbing quietly. The captain signaled the 
man to release Bernie and the man obeyed, leaving the room again. 

When they were alone, the captain sat down on one of the benches. He took 
out his cigarettes and lit two of them, then moved to Bernie and handed him 
one. Bernie accepted it. He took a deep drag, forced out the last sob, wiped 
the tears away with the back of his hand. 

"I'm sorry," Bernie said at last. 

"Is it that bad?" the captain said. 

"I guess so," Bernie said wearily.... 

* * * 

"I've had doubts. I've always had doubts myself. I guess everybody does. But 
mine stay with me and they pile up. Ever since I was little-especially when 
I was little. Sometimes I think I'm still little-inside." 

Now that Bernie was talking, he talked incessantly. And the captain 
listened. Outside the sun had reached the top of the building and was 
already moving down the other side, causing little shadows like black 
fingers on the window ledge. They seemed to grow as the captain watched 
them, slowly spreading over the wall, reaching for the ground. 

"It's just doubt, you see, and I could live with it. As long as I have 
doubts I can live with them. I can live with myself. But what if I lose 
them? What if someone turns on a light and takes the doubt away? How can I 
live then? 

"That's what that man was doing to me. Don't you see what he was doing to 
me? He hired this guy, you know, to get me drunk and then he says things 
happened! I don't know what happened. But he says I did things and I don't 
know. Even now I don't know. I don't know anything for sure." 

Bernie leaned forward, drawing a hand across his face. 

"Let's talk about Mike," the captain said, realizing Bernie was beginning to 
lose control again. "He seems like a hell of a nice kid." 

"Yeah." 

"How did you meet him?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"Not especially. I just thought you might want to tell me about it." 

"He was just there. I was lonesome and he was there, I guess. I met him in 
an alley behind a bar. I was heading for my car and he was removing the 
hub-caps from it. It was as simple as that. It was either turn him in or 
take him in-or be taken in...." 

Bernie laughed and turned away from the captain. "Anyway, he kept hanging 
around and I kind of got used to him. Then, when I decided to come out here, 
he wanted to come along. 

His mother said it was okay, so I brought him with me. For the summer, I 
supposed." 

"His mother agreed?" 

"Oh, sure. She was glad to have him off her back. He was what they call a 
juvenile delinquent. He stole things-and sold things-and no one ever told 
him right from wrong. Even I didn't get around to that." 

"Was there anything between you?" 

"Well, of course," Bernie said sharply. "It was like father and son. No, it 
was more than that. It was more deliberate. His own father was too busy 
getting drunk and making more babies to worry about Mike. So I just took 
over. Hell, I didn't have anything else to worry about." 

"Was there anything between you?" the captain said again. 

"I already told you." 

"I'm talking about sex." 

"Well, how can you divorce sex from anything," Bernie said. He scowled and 
got up, moving to the opposite wall, facing it. "We weren't having any 
relations if that's what you mean!" 

"Tell me about the guy who got you drunk," the captain said. "Where did you 
meet him." 

"At the Post Bar. That's near where I work. I don't remember much except I 
was talking to him and he kept buying me drinks." 

"Do you remember his name?" 

"Just 'Jack'," Bernie said. 

"Do you remember what he looked like?" 

Bernie shook his head. "I never saw him too clearly. But he was a big guy. 
He was from Texas, you know. But I never really saw his face. It was always 
so dark. I just remember he was big. And I remember his eyes. They had a 
fierce look, as though he hated me. Even when he laughed he had that look." 
Bernie winced, remembering. "I didn't know what it was at the time." 

"Tell me about Sarah," the captain said. "Had Mike been going with her 
long?" 

"How do I know," Bernie said crisply. Suddenly he was agitated. "Why don't 
you ask him? I was working-he was living it up. How did I know what was 
going on? All of a sudden he drops this bomb ... getting married! So what do 
I do? I play hurt and bow out. 'Don't tell me-tell your mother!' " 

Bernie shrugged futilely, recovering from his outburst. "I don't know her at 
all. Or Mike either for that matter. I guess I didn't give them a chance to 
know me. I hurt them pretty bad, I guess." 

Bernie moved back to the bench and sat down wearily. 

"When I heard her old man was coming out here to break them up, I was glad. 
Then he started saying things to Mike and Rose and Sarah and it made me sick 
because I realized I'd been thinking the same things. I realized we were 
a-like. He was saying them, but I was thinking them!" Bernie covered his 
face with his hands. "I even thought-he might kill Mike. My God...?" 

"Take it easy," the captain said and it was a command. 

"My God!" Bernie said. "How ugly can a person be!" 

"I said that's enough!" 

"I'm all right." Bernie drew his hands away. His face was calm. Suddenly he 
grinned. "You know, it's a funny thing." 

"What's funny?" said Captain Williams. 

"I had a dream once. One of those over-and-over dreams. I was running up a 
hill. It was all green like one of those full-page cigarette ads in a 
magazine. At the top, I felt free and apart from the whole world. And I kept 
getting lighter and lighter. I didn't know why. Then I looked back and it 
was all red. And I realized the reason I was getting lighter was because I 
was-bleeding." 

Bernie looked at the captain as though seeing him for the first time. "Isn't 
that funny?" Bernie said and he laughed. 

 CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

Captain Williams stared at his image in the mirror over the back bar at 
Jako's Cocktail Lounge, a small bar around the corner from the Municipal 
Building. He looked at the coalblack hair streaked with silver and the face, 
still somewhat youthful, strong but tired-looking, with eyes that were soft. 
He frowned. They were that. Everybody knew it. Even though he made a lot of 
noise, everybody knew the captain was soft. It showed through his eyes. He 
shrugged disgustedly and focused on his drink again. Why the hell did they 
put mirrors in bars? 

He finished his drink and ordered another. "Scotch and water?" the bartender 
said. "Please," said the captain and he scowled. If that man didn't know 
what the captain drank by now, what the hell was he doing behind the bar? He 
fished his last cigarette from the pack and lit it. He glanced at the clock 
again. He frowned. He didn't usually drink in the daytime, but sometimes he 
needed a bracer. Actually he shouldn't drink at all. It just made things 
more difficult, even though he drank to make them easier. 

He finished the drink, then got up and started back to his office. 

At the corner he glanced across the street toward the police station. The 
ambulance was gone and he felt somewhat relieved. The last attack had been a 
bad one. Bernie had gone into convulsions, then stopped breathing. Even the 
sedative hadn't helped and the man who guarded Bernie's door had worked over 
him until the respirator arrived. Then they took him to the State Hospital 
on Twenty-Fourth Street, where he could be kept asleep. 

But for how long? It was a hell of a way of putting it, but that's what it 
amounted to. People who sleep must wake up. If they are to stay awake, they 
must be given a reason to do so. They must be told-but told what? The 
captain frowned. That's what he had to find out. He had to learn what had 
happened in that motel room. He had to find out the truth-and hope it was a 
truth that perhaps even Bernie didn't know. 

It was a lot to ask of chance. Captain Williams scowled. Too many 
thoughts-too damn many thoughts ... He entered his office and collided with 
a corner of his desk as he moved around it. Too damn many thoughts! He 
should never have stopped at Jako's. He knew better! He wasn't tight, 
dammit, but it did mar his thinking. It sharpened it and too many things 
came at once. 

He dropped into his chair and picked up the fingerprint report again. New 
names had been added. Prints belonging to Rose had been identified in the 
motel room, also some of the daughter, Sarah's. There were none belonging to 
Mike. 

That didn't matter. Whoever came in didn't have to touch anything except the 
gun and of course that was wiped clean. Where was Bernie at the time? Caught 
in the same surprise as Cy? Too late to stop the killer. So why did the 
killer let Bernie live? Because the killer knew Bernie would never give him 
away? Nonsense! What killer could be that sure? 

Mike? 

Even Mike. For all Mike knew, Bernie hated him. Bernie gave him cause to 
think that. He went out of his way to give him cause to think that. 

Perhaps the killer didn't see Bernie. That was possible, but not probable. 
The killer saw Bernie, but maybe Bernie didn't see the killer. That was more 
likely. The killer had knocked him out. No, Bernie would have seen him 
first. Perhaps he was out when the killer arrived. That was more likely. The 
big man knocked him out or pushed him or something, and Bernie was out cold 
when the killer arrived. 

When he came to, Bernie saw the big man was dead. And he thought Mike had 
done it. 

The captain fished for a cigarette. Damn! He had forgotten to buy a pack 
before he'd left the bar. How had Mike put it? 

"He took the rifle and left. He told me to stay here." 

"And did you?" 

"Yes, sir," Mike said. 

Did he? He may have. But Bernie didn't know! He might have thought Mike did 
go there. And if he didn't know for sure, then the chance of a truth that 
Bernie didn't know was multiplied. 

It could have been someone else. 

Jack ... the drifter hired to compromise Bernie.... 

Why would the drifter kill the big man? He was getting his money. Cy's 
wallet was on the floor and there was a ten-dollar bill in his hand. It was 
clenched there long after death. No, the captain thought, you don't kill a 
man for ten dollars-then leave the money in his hand. 

But the gun was Bernie's-or at least Mike's. It was still plausible. Bernie 
was probably telling the truth about that. He might have brought the gun 
with him, probably in a rage, to threaten the big man, to try and frighten 
him off. It would be a stupid move against such a man or one made in sheer 
desperation. The latter was possible in Bernie's case. 

The captain's thoughts were interrupted by Patowski entering with a large 
index folder which he handed to Captain Williams. 

"I had to wait for the lab report," the younger officer said, sitting in the 
chair opposite the captain's desk. "It was the same gun, all right. The 
bullets matched." 

The captain grunted. "And what about this guy Jack? Has he been picked up 
yet?" 

"Not yet. But we'll get him," Patowski said, grinning. 

"You seem very confident." 

"Well, that's what Mr. Billings said," the officer added quickly, the grin 
disappearing. "We have a good description from the people at the Post Bar. 
We have a pick-up on him in Houston and Dallas, too." 

"I doubt if he went that way," the captain said. "Probably headed for 
California. That's where they usually go from here." 

"There weren't too many people registered at the Bel-Plaines," the officer 
continued. "The front part had some tenants, but the back row of cabins was 
almost empty. That's probably why no one heard the shot-or thought it was 
traffic. There was only one old couple from Illinois in the 
section-vacationers. But they checked out before morning. We got the dope on 
them from the desk clerk, though. We'll catch up with them." 

"Good," the captain said. He looked up from the folder. 

"You know where the Sun Valley Motor Court is in Mesa?" Patowski nodded. 

I want you to go over there and nose around that park. Never mind the mother 
and daughter right now. I want you to talk to the neighbors, the people 
across the way and the people who run the place. You know what I mean?" 

"Yes, sir," the officer said rising. Then he added, "What am I suppose to 
find out?" 

"How the hell do I know?" the captain said. "Just go." 

The officer obeyed and the captain went back to the index folder. 

"And another thing," the captain said as the officer was leaving. "Get rid 
of that damn uniform!" 

Captain Williams growled under his breath. 

Monkey suits ."..'I 

* * * 

Captain Williams slid into the corner booth at the Pancake House, which was 
on First Street diagonally across the street from his office. He'd intended 
to have a sandwich before heading out to the Mesa suburb, but decided not to 
take the time and settled for a quick coffee instead. 

The pretty waitress in the green uniform hesitated after she set the cup in 
front of him. Finally she spoke. 

"I wondered," she said, and she frowned, trying to sound off-hand, but the 
captain could see that she was nervous. "I just wondered about that motel 
thing last night. I read about it in the paper this morning." 

"Oh?" 

"I mean ... I wondered if you were working on that." 

"A lot of people are," the captain said. 

"I was wondering about Bernie-Bernie Evans. I saw them taking someone away 
in an ambulance across the street. It was Bernie, wasn't it." 

"Yes," the captain said. "He's at State Hospital." 

"State?" she said, "That's the mental hospital." 

"He's had a pretty bad shock, I'm afraid." 

"Is he-all right?" 

"It's hard to tell yet," the captain said and he watched the girl curiously 
as she started to leave, then turn back. 

"I wondered," she said, "When you find out how he is-I'd certainly 
appreciate if you'd tell me." She tried to smile, then shrugged. "I mean, if 
you can." 

The captain smiled. "I'd be glad to," he said, then he added. "Are you a 
friend of Bernie's?" 

The waitress frowned, as though it were a difficult question. 

"I don't know him too well," she said at last, and her voice had grown 
distant. Then she recovered as she became aware the captain was staring at 
her. She managed a slight answering smile. "He used to come in here quite a 
bit." 

Captain Williams nodded. He watched the girl as she disappeared behind the 
heavy doors that led to the kitchen of the restaurant. 

How many lonely people there are in the world, he thought. He glanced toward 
the doors again. Behind them she was crying, he supposed. 

When she stood in front of him, he could see that she had been crying. And 
when she left, heading toward the kitchen, he knew she was about to cry 
again. 

The captain finished his coffee, then left the restaurant. 

 CHAPTER FOURTEEN 

Bernie opened his eyes and stared up at the small light fixture that hung 
from a chain directly over him. He looked about the small room wonderingly. 
His throat felt very dry and his whole body seemed to be floating on the 
narrow bed. He looked down at the sheet that covered him. It was like a 
morgue. He'd never seen one, but it was as he would imagine it. 

He tried to move his arms, but something held them at his sides. He didn't 
know if it were something real or just something in his mind. At any rate, 
they wouldn't move. He tried to turn his head. That worked all right. His 
arms must be strapped. How funny! He smiled at the thought. It didn't really 
matter, since he had nothing to do with his arms anyway. And he didn't blame 
them for tying him down. 

His face reddened slightly as he remembered. God, what a fool he'd made of 
himself! No wonder they tied him down. 

But he was always doing that. How foolish he must have looked, for instance, 
laughing at the dance and nobody paid any attention to him because they knew 
he was drunk. What a silly fool! And what must Mike have thought later that 
night when he'd come in and found Bernie sitting in the middle of the floor 
with the rifle across his lap. What a fool, he must have thought. 

Rose, too. He remembered how she'd looked at him, wild, still trembling, as 
though the big man were still chasing her down the middle of the street. 

It seemed like a long time ago. But it was only yesterday. 

"I gotta use your car," Mike had said. His breath was rasping, his eyes were 
wide with fear. 

"It's Sarah," Mike said. "We gotta find her!" 

"Sarah?" Bernie looked at the two people who stood over him, and he frowned 
in confusion. "Sarah?" He stared wonderingly at the rifle, like a child's 
toy across his lap. He pushed it away. 

"She's gone," Mike said. "She took off somewhere and we gotta find her." 

"Ah'm worried sick," Rose said. She dropped down on the couch. "Ah don't 
know what he told that child, but Ah'm worried sick, Ah tell you. Ah don't 
know what to do." 

"What?" Bernie said. He shook his head in confusion. 

"What, what, what, what!" Rose said. "You just sit there, Bernie-you just 
sit there! You don't understand anything. Did you see that man grab at me? 
Did you see him chase me right outside your door and grab at me? Because Ah 
told him the truth. Ah finally told him in words what he shouldda known, 
because Ah told him the same thing every day of his rotten life. And now 
she's gone and Ah'm worried sick, Ah tell you." 

Mike suddenly turned to Rose. "I'll use your car," he said and it was a 
command. 

"Wait," Bernie said. He got up off the floor. He didn't know why, but he had 
to stop Mike. He knew this by instinct and he grabbed Mike by the shoulders 
and pushed him down on the couch next to Rose. "Just wait!" He fought 
desperately to clear his mind. 

"Ah can't keep up with it," Rose said. "Ah just can't keep up with it any 
more. Ah called all her girl friends and checked all the trailers in the 
court where she might be. Then Ah thought she might've come here. Even 
though that man might still be here, Ah came back." 

"We gotta find her," said Mike. 

"Ah should never have left her alone while that man was in this town," Rose 
was saying. "That's what happened to her. Ah know it!" Her hands began to 
work desperately. "If he took that child away, if that's what happened to 
her...." 

"I'll kill him," Mike said, almost under his breath. His eyes blazed with 
strength. 

"Now listen," Bernie snapped, suddenly finding his voice. "Now listen, Mike, 
you stay here. You hear me? You stay here and wait till I come back." 

"Where are you going?" Rose said. 

"There's something I have to do," Bernie said. 

But while he was still talking, Sarah appeared in the doorway and the words 
died on his lips. 

She was wearing her Sunday dress, the one she'd been saving for the trip. 
But it was wrinkled now. She clutched a small beaded purse in her hands 
while she looked from one to the other. 

"He's gone," she said finally. 

"Thank goodness!" said Rose. She ran to Sarah. "Thank goodness you're all 
right! Ah was so worried! You gave us such a scare, honey." She ran her hand 
over Sarah's long hair, fussing stupidly with it. "Ah was so worried, honey. 
It's past three A.M. Do you know that?" 

"He's gone," Sarah said again. 

"Who, honey?" Rose said, and suddenly her hands tightened on Sarah's 
shoulder. "Honey, what happened?" 

"Nothing, Mama," Sarah said simply. "Nothing happened." 

"Baby, what are you talkin' about?" Rose shook her daughter roughly. "Where 
did you go, Sarah?" 

"I went to the Bel-Plaines Motel." 

"Sarah!" 

"I went to see my daddy." She spoke calmly. "He wasn't there, but I waited 
for him. I went to tell him to please go back home and leave us alone. I 
went to tell him I was happy and to please be happy too." 

"Oh baby, baby!" Rose led her daughter to the couch and sat down next to 
her. 

Bernie watched them in wonder. "I was going," he said and he pointed at the 
door. "I was going." But he said it under his breath and no one heard him. 
"Baby, you shouldn't have gone there." 

"I had to, Mama. Don't you see. Someone had to." 

"If that man hurt you, honey ... If that man laid a hand on you...." 

"He didn't hurt me," Sarah said, twisting and untwisting the chain of her 
purse. "They stopped him. They were gonna call the police!" 

"They?" Rose frowned, searching her daughter's eyes. "Who, honey?" Suddenly 
Rose's voice was strong. "Sarah, Ah want to know what happened there! Now 
you tell me!" 

"He wanted me to go away with him. When he came in, I was afraid because he 
didn't look like my daddy. He said I was trash. He said he knew all about 
what was going on in that trailer, and I was trash!" 

"Oh, baby!" 

"And he said I wanted it!" 

"Honey!" 

"He said I always wanted him-" 

"Oh, my God!" 

"He grabbed at me and tore my new dress-" 

"He tried to kiss me! He tried to kiss me. Mama! Not his way! The way-the 
way-" and she looked at Mike and there was terror in her face. 

"Ah shouldda known," Rose cried. "All along Ah shouldda known." Suddenly she 
hugged Sarah tightly, and her hands worked desperately through Sarah's 
golden hair, trying to smooth it out, to put the long strands back in place. 
While she worked, she said over and over, and it was a cry, "Ah shouldda 
known!" 

"I'm all right," Sarah said, recovering slightly and pushing away from her 
mother. "Honest I am!" She tried to smile. "I screamed and people came in 
and they pulled him away and the held him and they were gonna call the 
police and I said, it's all right, he's my daddy!" She laughed suddenly, 
wildly. "He's my daddy!" The laughter died as quickly as it had been born. 
She stared forward, not looking at anyone. "They let him go and he went 
away. And he'll never bother us again." 

"Honey, you shouldn't have. You shouldn't have." 

"I had to, Mama!" Sarah said angrily. She withdrew a small handkerchief from 
her purse and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Now I have to go home and 
finish my packing." 

"Sure you do, honey," Rose whispered, moving to her daughter again. "But 
first you're gonna have a nice bath and a nice nap." 

"I have to finish my packing," Sarah said sharply. 

"All right, honey," Rose said, drawing away. She followed her daughter out 
of the apartment. At the doorway, she turned back. 

"Bernie," Rose said, "about Cy...." Her voice was touched with nervousness. 
"Ah don't think we need the police. Whatever he did, Ah guess he couldn't 
help it." 

Bernie nodded, agreeing. After Rose left he looked at Mike, who was staring 
at him, and Bernie knew he was staring because Bernie had agreed. 

Finally Mike got up and moved up the short hallway to the dressing room. 
After a moment he came back with a small red carton of shells he'd been 
saving in one of the bureau drawers and Bernie watched while Mike began to 
load the rifle. 

"Get out of the way," Mike said to Bernie, who had moved to the door, 
blocking it. 

"Put the gun away," Bernie said. "Put it back in the closet." 

"Get out of my way or I'll have to shoot you, too." 

"Listen to me, Mike," Bernie said and suddenly his mind was clear. "You've 
got to be happy. Do you understand that? You owe that to me. Otherwise what 
was it all for?" 

"Aw, Bernie, for-" 

"Shut up! I'm telling you something. You've got to live a long, long time. 
You've got to live two lifetimes-yours and mine! Do you understand that? 
Whether you know it or not, you owe that to me and nothing can change it-not 
even you." 

Bernie reached out and took the gun from Mike. 

"You just stay here," he said. "Do you understand that?" 

Bernie stared up at the light fixture and it seemed to sway while he watched 
it. In one ear and out the other. The little bastard, Bernie thought, and he 
grinned. But it was Bernie's fault, because Bernie had never taught him to 
obey. He'd taught him to do some tricks that were real cute, but he'd never 
taught him to obey. 

It didn't matter. He closed his eyes again. He must lie still. They were 
watching him and he must lie still and breathe evenly so they'd see he was 
all right. Then they'd have to free his arms. 

He smiled a secretive smile. 

Sooner or later they'd have to let him go and then he could move and 
everything would be all right. 

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN 

Captain Williams pulled out of the wide four-lane entrance of the Sun Valley 
Motor Court and headed south on 52nd Street toward the older section of 
town. Ahead of him the famed South Mountain marked the edge of the city, 
beyond it lay the desert, flat spreads of tarnished yellow sand broken only 
by little clumps of desert plants and the tall cactus, ancient, fading, 
stretching their arms toward the sky. 

He glanced down at the address scrawled on the clipboard that hung on his 
dashboard. At South Road he turned west and headed for a through street that 
would take him to the foot of the mountain. 

As he drove he thought back to Rose Bianca, whom he had just left sitting 
beside her daughter in the tiny trailer. He recalled the look on her face as 
she told him about Sarah's encounter with her daddy at the Bel-Plaines 
Motel. Sarah herself had said very little, but the story checked with 
Billings' report from several guests at the motel. 

"Must have been quite a row," Billings had said, "Old couple in the next 
cabin were up. Vacationers-packing to leave, actually. They thought someone 
was getting raped in there. They called the night clerk who lives behind the 
office and he came in and broke it up. 

"She was in a pretty bad state according to the old couple. They drove her 
to Evans' place on their way out of town. That was about three A.M." 

Captain Williams frowned. What a time the girl had picked to see her father! 
He thought about Rose's description of the big man chasing her to her car. 
Funny to think about, but at the same time sad. A mountain of strength, 
toppled suddenly, drunk with scotch and smashed pride, blubbering like a 
child in the middle of the street. 

Sometimes strength is just a front for weakness, the captain thought. The 
big man made a lot of noise, but he didn't really do much else-to Rose. 
Everyone, it seemed, fell victim to the big man-except Rose. And that was 
curious. Even innocent children, guilty perhaps of some transgression, but 
nothing to match the magnitude of the punishment being dealt out. 

Perhaps because the punishment was Rose's in his mind. Perhaps, in his mind, 
there was no punishment dreadful enough to reciprocate for what she might 
have been doing to him. The captain thought about the police record on the 
big man. His brutal methods, growing, building-and now this. An attack on 
his daughter, somewhat outshining in magnitude a long-range bullet fired 
into a crowd of street vandals. 

Trying to protect what was his ... a rationalization of something deeper. 
Perhaps trying to get back something that was lost. Seeing through the haze 
of bitterness and humiliation, not the little girl who was his daughter but 
someone else, someone from the past-a young Rose, perhaps, or at least a 
willing Rose who, just a few hours before that, had led him to believe he 
was still in command-a willing Rose who had almost distracted him from his 
purpose. 

Sometimes, the captain decided, a show of weakness is just a cover for 
strength. He was thinking of Rose again. He remembered the woman sitting 
next to her daughter on the miniature couch in the tiny trailer home. He 
remembered the slumped figure, a portrait of softness to match her 
plumpness, fussing over the girl like a mother partridge over her chick, 
smoothing back her long golden hair, looking frightened and yet incongruous 
in the mother role. 

Too much the mother, the captain thought ... too much affection ... More 
than the girl needed or wanted. As though It were a means on Rose's part, 
perhaps to justify a deficiency that she recognized within herself. An 
excess of decorum used by people who sin too much. 

He thought about the comments from the women who worked with Rose at the 
electronics plant. Exaggerated, maybe, but exaggeration of something that 
must exist. 

A hungry woman, the captain thought. Clinging to youth, manifesting it in 
herself, in her appearance and in her dress, clinging to it in the form of 
her daughter, copying her, moving with her side by side, playing the game of 
youth along with her and, as payment for the nights she played alone at 
being young, a forced maternity that in her mind was as real and as vital as 
the feel and weight of a lover's arms. 

How much mother love would it take, the captain wondered, to counterbalance 
her weakness? Would it be enough to make her move to leave that tiny trailer 
and race with the dawn toward that motel room where in one righteous move 
she could equal a hundred years of fussing and primping and hiding-and 
crying? 

What must she have thought as she stared down at the sleeping form of her 
daughter in the tiny bedroom of that trailer? How much of her own guilt 
could she have passed on to that hideous bulk that was as much responsible 
in the making of this child as she was? How those eyes must have burned as 
she stared down at the little girl, a carbon copy of herself, and listened 
to the breathing that was agitated with terror and hurt and disillusion! 

Captain Williams remembered Rose's eyes. He had watched them while she 
talked, he had seen the fury that flashed behind them, well-guarded but 
breaking through at times. 

It was strength. Behind the fury it was strength the captain saw in Rose's 
eyes. 

How much strength, he wondered, does it take to cover guilt? On the other 
side of the balance, how much guilt does it take to unleash that strength-in 
the guise of righteousness...? 

* * * 

Captain Williams pulled his car to a halt in front of a duplex, ancient, 
greyed, one of many in the tract at the foot of South Mountain. 

He pushed the doorbell. While he waited for an answer, he watched a group of 
Negro children pushing an old wheelbarrow over the flat brown sand in the 
vacant lot across the street. One of them had spotted the captain and quit 
the game to stare at him. 

The child, whose spindly sun-browned legs looked like poles sticking out 
from the mass of denim of his cut away jeans, edged forward cautiously till 
he was just across the street. The captain watched him out of the corner of 
his eye and, as the boy grew bolder and stepped off the curb, the captain 
turned suddenly. 

"Bang!" he said, and the boy's eyes widened. Then he turned and ran to join 
his own group again. The captain grinned. 

"Kids!" he muttered. He turned back to the door and scowled impatiently at 
it. He rang the bell again, then knocked on the dry, blistered wood. 

Finally he heard someone approaching. 

"Is this the Banderro residence?" he said to the small heavy-set woman who 
finally had answered his knock and was frowning at him in the doorway. 

She nodded. She was typically old-country, with the usual built-in fear of 
strangers, especially strangers on her front porch. Her eyes were small and 
dark and they darted past him to see his car. She reacted as he would have 
expected at the tell-tale cream finish with the familiar blue shield and 
emblem on the door. 

"Is Tony Banderro in?" the captain said. He tried to sound casual so as not 
to frighten the woman even though he knew it would do no good. She looked 
uncertainly back into the house, then pulled the door wider. 

"Come in," she said. "I call him." 

The captain followed the woman into a small parlor that was crowded with 
furniture, old but neatly kept, and watched while she climbed the stairs to 
the second floor, moving slowly, labored, taking each of the stairs 
separately. 

He looked about the room. It was dim, facing the shade, and crowded with 
religious pictures and statues and small studio pictures of people in 
cardboard frames on the mantle. There was no air-conditioning, only a large 
window fan that whirred loudly. 

Finally two legs emerged from the landing on the stairs and as they 
descended into view the captain replaced a small statue he had been 
examining, and turned to face Tony Banderro. 

"Yeah?" the man said, and the captain nodded a greeting. 

"Are you Tony Banderro?" 

"That's right," he said. "Why?" 

The captain dropped into one of the large overstuffed chairs, even though he 
wasn't invited to sit. "I'm Mike Williams," the captain said. "I work for 
the Phoenix Police Department." 

"Oh?" 

"I have a small problem and I thought you might be able to help me out-if 
I'm not imposing." 

"What kinda problem," Tony said skeptically. Then he grinned slightly and 
shrugged. "Sure. I mean, what can I do for you?" He sat down on the couch 
opposite the captain. He was nervous and it showed because he tried to hide 
it. "I'm always glad to help the law. You know, I got a friend on the force. 
In fact I was thinking of being a cop myself once. I got the right build for 
it." 

"Well, we could certainly use more fellows like you in this town," the 
captain said and he smiled warmly. "By the way, what do you do, Tony?" 

"Me? Well, I'm kinda between jobs right now." The captain nodded. 

"I usually work on construction, you know. That's my trade. But they all lay 
off in the summer. Too damn hot." 

"You've had quite a few jobs in the past year, haven't you?" the captain 
said. "You move around quite a bit, it seems." 

"So what?" Tony frowned uncertainly at the captain. "I don't like working 
inside. I told you I'm a construction man." 

"So you did." 

"Anyhow, how do you know so much about me?" 

"According to my information," the captain said, ignoring the question, 
"Your last place of employment was the General Electric plant in Mesa. That 
was for two weeks. Is that correct?" 

"Hey, what is this?" Tony said, and suddenly he lost his grin, replacing it 
with an angry frown. "What are you leading up to?" 

"Nothing much," the captain said. "I just wondered how well you know Rose 
Bianca, formerly Rose Cartell." 

"Now listen, cop, and get this straight! I didn't have anything to do with 
that-see? I didn't have anything to do with that!" 

"Call me captain," the captain said, and the younger man retreated. He moved 
nervously toward the window. "Son-of-a-bitch," he said under his breath, and 
he slammed his fist into his palm and he turned back to the captain. "Just 
call me lucky," he said and he jabbed a thumb against his chest. "That's 
me." 

"Take it easy," the captain said. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm 
just looking for information. Actually I'm seeing quite a few people who 
knew the Cartells, also a guy named Bernie Evans who I think might be the 
man we're looking for." 

"I never heard of him." 

"But you do know Rose." 

"Yeah. We're friends. So what? She's got lots of friends." 

"You're more than friends, aren't you?" the captain said. 

"She likes me," Tony said hotly. "So what?-I like her!" 

"You met at the plant." 

"That's right." 

"Two weeks later you quit your job and you haven't worked since." 

"So what?" 

"I haven't got time to play games," the captain said. "As a matter-of-fact I 
just left a trailer park in Mesa. On my way out I stopped to talk with a 
young fellow in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses. Nice fellow. He tells me 
that according to the neighbors you've been spending quite a few evenings at 
that trailer park." 

"Who told you that? He's a lying bastard if he told you that." 

"I don't think so," the captain said. "I know him pretty well. He works for 
me." 

"Well, so what?" Tony said. "Hey, if you guys think I killed her old man, 
you're barking up the wrong tree! I mean, let's face it! I been going around 
with Rose. Sure. She likes me, so what the hell? But it's not thick-I mean 
she's all right. She's generous and, I mean, I look after myself. But...." 
Tony shook his head, suddenly lost for words, and he laughed to cover his 
nervousness. "Geez, you guys really scrounge around for a pigeon!" 

"I'm not looking for a pigeon," the captain said. "As a matter-of-fact I've 
got one. It's a killer I want. 

"Well, I ain't your man," Tony said. 

"When was the last time you saw Rose?" 

"Two days ago," Tony said. "Honest." He raised his hand in an oath. "She 
told me her old man was coming to town and she wanted me to fade. She was 
afraid of him. She said he was some kind of a nut." Tony shrugged. "I didn't 
give a damn. I mean, she was divorced, you know. But that's the way she 
wanted it. So I stayed clear. That's the truth." 

"What have you been doing?" 

"Nothing," Tony said. "I been sticking around the house. You ask Ma. She'll 
tell you." 

"How about last night?" the captain said. 

Tony's fists worked nervously, tracing over the edge of the slip-cover on 
the couch. The captain watched him closely and finally Tony looked up. 

"I can't stay home all the time," he said angrily. "I mean, just look at 
this dump! So I went out-so what?" 

"Where?" 

"Everywhere." Tony got up and crossed the room, talking more easily as he 
gained distance from the captain, whose eyes never seemed to let up. "I 
stopped at Jack's for one. Then I went over to the Seven Seas and Jako's-I 
was just cruising, you know? You can check. I was in all those places. And I 
went to the Round-Up, too. Yeah, and the Red Mill on Adams Street." 

"And then where?" 

While Tony talked, the captain had risen and moved to the window. He was 
looking out at the lot behind the house. 

"That's a good-looking car you've got out there," he said, turning back to 
Tony. "You should park it on the street instead of hiding it out back." 

"I'm not hiding it out back!" Tony said hotly. "I always park it there. It's 
shady." 

"Red convertible." The captain nodded. "I like red convertibles. You don't 
see many of them around." 

"There's lots of them," Tony said. 

"Not with your license plates, though. That always checks out no matter what 
name you put down on a hotel register. Didn't you know they always put down 
your license-plate number on motel registers?" 

"Of course, I know it," Tony shouted and then he slammed a fist into his 
palm again. "I'm telling you, you're looking at Mr. Lucky. That's me, boy! 
For two days I stay out of his wayI don't call, I don't come around and what 
happens? Boy, it couldn't happen to anyone else!" 

Tony moved back into the room, his palms turned out in a futile gesture. 
"How did I know he was staying at the Bel-Plaines Motel? I didn't know the 
guy. I didn't even know what he looked like. 

"So, what am I suppose to do-knock around the house for two days? I went out 
for some laughs, that's all. I had some drinks, then I picked up this chick 
and we had a few laughs. That's all!" 

"Who was the girl?" 

"How do I know," Tony said. "I just met her. She gives me the nod. I was 
drinking, so what the hell!" 

"And you don't know her name?" 

"Who asks?" Tony said. "She's a waitress. One of the girls at the Pancake 
House." 

Tony dropped down on the couch again, scowling angrily as he remembered 
Madge. Two-bit whore! he thought. Dirty, perverted bitch! If they thought he 
was such a goddamn pig, they should learn about her! Damn broad! And, he 
thought, it wasn't worth it. He looked up at the captain, who was staring at 
him from the window, and he thought, It damn well wasn't worth it. 

"Mr. Lucky," he said and he smiled bitterly, "that's me." 

Captain Williams moved away from the window. Suddenly he was thinking of a 
pretty waitress in a green uniform who had been crying, and he knew 
instinctively this was the girl Tony was talking about. 

The captain sat down in the chair opposite the couch, drawing out his pack 
of cigarettes. Tony looked up at him, defeated, and the captain grinned. 

"Tell me about this waitress," the captain said and he offered Tony a 
cigarette.... 

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

A man named Jack sat slumped on one of the benches in the detention cell on 
the basement floor of the police station. He looked up and grinned with one 
side of his mouth when Captain Williams stepped into the room, followed by 
an officer in uniform. 

The captain winced at the sight of the man, massive in proportion, 
thick-chested and powerfully built, giving him the illusion of a giant, even 
though he was actually not much taller than-the captain. It was the man's 
eyes that startled the captain. They were fierce and they were venomous. But 
they fascinated and, complimented by his easy grin, it was difficult to look 
beyond them. 

They were the source of his strength and they seemed to control even his 
slightest movements, movements cat-like, liquid, easy as his grin, as he 
slid forward on the bench, settling his shoulders back, preparing to meet 
the captain's eyes, to match them, to overpower them. The grin was an 
outward sign of his confidence and it was touched with contempt which the 
captain recognized-yet the captain only smiled. 

Under the open denim jacket, Jack's dark skin glistened, stretched over 
heavy muscular breasts matted with black hair that continued over thick 
upper arms that bulged from his sleeveless shirt. His skin was dark, not 
from the sun but from a mixture of antecedents, giving him the look of a 
Latin, Mexican or Spaniard despite facial structure and thick bluish lips 
that were unmistakably Negroid. 

"John William Marshell?" the captain said. The man winced slightly at 
hearing his name. He recovered immediately, however, and the grin returned. 

"They call me Jack," he said and then he gestured slightly with one hand 
toward the bench opposite him. "Sit down, man." 

"Thank you," the captain said. He moved to the bench. The officer remained 
by the door. Jack flashed him a look, but the officer did not respond. He 
only stared at Jack, his thumbs hooked under a wide belt that held the 
holster of his police revolver. 

"They tell me you had a little drinking party last night," the captain said. 

"I did have a few," Jack said, and he shrugged slightly. 

"And then you skipped town." 

"Skipped?" 

"You were picked up in Indio," the captain said. "Where were you 
heading-L.A.?" 

"Goin' to Californ-i-a," Jack said, grinning, gesturing, mimicking a song, 
"where everything is green." 

The captain frowned. How well he knew the type! All his life he'd dealt with 
them. The typical small-town hood. The quick-buck artist with the smooth 
answers, showing a sort of brilliance when caught-but usually only when 
caught. And they were always caught. 

How could they help but be caught? The clothes, the look, the manner, the 
outward contempt and the pride-especially the pride. Wearing it like a neon 
sign, displaying their trade. Yet there was a sort of honesty about it, a 
stupid honesty, this deliberate throw-off of respectability or rather the 
show of it. 

But it was wrong nonetheless. He thought of the report he'd just read on 
John William Marshell. Half his life spent behind bars-how brilliant can one 
person be? Everything from petty thievery to prostitution. Only a week ago 
he'd been released from the prison at Fort Worth where he'd served five 
years for armed robbery. Five years-a gas station outside of town and the 
take not much over fifty dollars. How brilliant can a person be? 

"You just got out of prison a week ago," the captain said, "Are you ready to 
go back now, Mr. Marshell?" 

Jack stirred uneasily, but his composure was not shaken. He shrugged one 
shoulder slightly. "I ain't done anything," he said. 

"How much did the big man pay you for your services?" 

"Who?" 

"You know who." 

Jack shrugged. "Like I said, I met this guy Bernie at a bar. We got talking. 
We get a little high. The bar closes so we go over to his place and have a 
few more. Then he craps out and old Jack takes off." 

"How much did the big man pay you?" 

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." 

"Where did you meet Cy Cartell?" 

"I don't know where." 

"Downtown?" 

"I don't know." 

"Maybe at the Round-Up? You know, that little bar across the street from the 
Post Office? Maybe you met him there. Maybe you sat at the end of the bar 
and drank bourbon-" 

"Look, mister, you got-" 

"-and seven-up, then moved to a back booth and had two more and a 
cheeseburger and french fries. Is that possible?" The captain tilted his 
head and grinned slightly. "I mean, it is possible, isn't it?" 

Jack frowned and drew himself up. He rubbed a hand slowly over his thigh. 
The captain watched him and he knew that behind the complacency a brilliant 
mind was at work. 

"It was a gag," Jack said finally. "There was no money changed hands-nothing 
like that. This guy wanted to play a joke, that's all. Man, I love a good 
laugh." 

"It didn't turn out very funny, I'm afraid," the captain said. "Not for the 
big man and not for you either." 

"You can't pin that on me." 

"I just want the truth," the captain said. "I want to know what happened in 
Bernie Evans' apartment." 

"What's that got to do with it?" 

"Maybe nothing," the captain said. "Maybe I just want to know. What happened 
between you and Bernie Evans?" 

"Nothing." 

"That's not true." 

"I don't lie, Mister," Jack said, and suddenly his grin was gone. 

"That's not true either, is it?" the captain said. "Now, tell me the facts. 
How much did the big man pay you?" 

"Nothing," Jack spat, and his eyes narrowed as he met the captain's look. 

In a moment the captain was across the room. Before Jack realized what was 
happening, the captain had seized the front of his shirt, twisting the denim 
tightly, choking him, and pulled him up off the bench. "How much?" 

Jack's face registered surprise at the force that suddenly pinned him 
against the wall. His hands snapped into fists and his arm cocked 
automatically, ready to strike. 

"Come on," the captain hissed, "Try it!" 

"Lemme go!" Jack's eyes flashed. His tone was a warning. His fists shook 
from the tension as his arms swelled and went hard, as though wanting to 
spring but unable. The cords in his neck jutted against his skin and his 
face became hideous, not only with fury but with repulsion at being touched, 
being handled, being challenged. 

"I mean it," Jack whispered. "Don't touch me!" 

"How much?" the captain said, and he deliberately pushed his palm against 
the man's face, rubbing his hand hard across his skin. Jack twisted his face 
away, trying to avoid the captain's touch. 

"How much?" 

"I said, nothing!" Jack suddenly screamed. "You're lying." 

"I said nothing!" 

"What happened between you and Bernie Evans in his apartment?" 

"Nothing...!" 

* * * 

Captain Williams pulled onto the shallow apron in front of the Granada 
Apartments on Twentieth Avenue. He hesitated a moment before getting out of 
his car. His mind was still on the man he had just left sitting on a bench 
in the small basement room of the police station. He sat a moment, thinking 
of the man's face. He had stared at it for a long moment after he asked his 
final question. But it hadn't flinched, the look never wavered. 

"What happened between you and Bernie Evans in his apartment?" 

"Nothing." 

The captain hadn't asked anything after that. He had only stared at the man, 
sleek, vicious, contemptuous-a mark of his race more significant than the 
color of his skin-as fierce and as crudely awesome as a panther, charged 
with animal beauty at once compelling and repulsive, and, like an animal 
governed by instinct, incognizant of moral values. Yet, even while the 
captain searched the man's face, he had known there was nothing more to find 
out. It was simple truth and the captain realized it. 

He realized, too, that was all he'd wanted to learn from Jack. It was the 
only reason he'd entered that basement room to talk with him. Everything 
else he had known already. He wondered now if this were the truth he was 
looking for. He wondered if this were the truth that Bernie didn't know. 

Captain Williams rang the doorbell of Madge's apartment. What the hell was 
he looking for? He wondered what the hell he wanted with Madge. Perhaps he 
already had a killer and had known it all along. Perhaps Bernie had known 
it, too. How simple it was! 

Bernie had taken the rifle from Mike, had gone to the motel to find Cy 
Cartell, had shot him and then called the police. It was as simple as that. 

Perhaps the captain was a fool for refusing to believe this was the truth. 
Perhaps his instincts were giving out. Perhaps he was falling into the trap 
that people sometimes do, believing only what he wanted. He believed Jack, 
but he didn't believe Bernie. Why? It should be just the opposite. Bernie 
had every reason to tell the truth. He didn't have to wait for the police. 
He could have run away. 

Even if Jack were lying, what did that have to do with the big man's death? 
It was a separate crime. The big man had no further business with Jack. He 
had used him and he had paid him-or would have. Didn't he have the money in 
his hand? Wasn't he willing to pay? Wasn't it worth it to watch that boy 
crawl? He had the money in his hand.... 

The captain frowned. He was back to that again. He had dismissed the idea 
once and now he had to dismiss it again. You don't kill a man for ten 
dollars, then leave the money in his hand.... 

"All right," she said, "I'm paid!" And she threw the coin at him and 
laughed.... 

It was Madge! Suddenly he was thinking of Tony Banderro's terrible 
confession about his escapade with the pretty waitress in the motel room. 

"Just pay me and let's do it," and she threw the coin at him and laughed. 

As if it were a joke, a terrible joke about the money-Because it wasn't the 
money she wanted! It was something else and the money was only a means. 
Something else-suddenly the captain had a thought, a wild thought. It didn't 
fit and it didn't make sense, yet.... 

"Hi," someone said. The captain turned and saw a figure moving toward him 
across the patio. He recovered from his thoughts, pushing them aside, and 
nodded a greeting at Jan. 

"You looking for Madge?" 

"That's right," the captain said, realizing from the description by the 
people at the Post Bar that this was Jan, the barmaid, Madge's neighbor, 
Bernie's friend. 

"You must be Jan," the captain said. 

"Check," said Jan and she switched the drink she was holding from one hand 
to the other, extending her free hand to the captain. "And you must be the 
Law." 

"How are things in the big city?" the captain said, accepting a hand damp 
from holding the glass. "I understand you've been in New York. Your mother, 
wasn't it?" 

Jan nodded. "Poor old thing. She almost took the count." Jan laughed. "She's 
okay now, though. So, how about all the excitement? It seems like all hell 
broke loose for my little Bernie, didn't it?" 

"There's been some trouble," the captain admitted. 

"I figured there was gonna be a row when that old bastard got here," she 
said. "But I never dreamed it would end this way. It's kinda scary, isn't 
it?" 

"Why do you say that?" 

"You just don't think those things happen with people you know. You read 
about 'em in the papers. But they're just stories. You know what I mean?" 
Jan shook her head sadly. "I just never would've thought Bernie had it in 
him. I suppose he figured it was something he had to do." 

"Do you believe he did it?" 

"The papers say he admitted it," Jan said. "And if Bernie says he did it, 
then he did it. I don't know Bernie long, but I know him good, Mister. If 
that old son-of-a-bitch needed killing, then, by God, Bernie had it in him 
to do it." She smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I knew he had something-I 
used to wish it was for me." 

"You're fond of him, aren't you?" 

"Sure I am," Jan said, "But not the way you think. I haven't got time for 
that. I've been stung too many times. It's too expensive, if you know what I 
mean." She grinned suddenly and took a long drink from her glass. "That's a 
tip I have for young people," she said. "Don't love people who can't love 
you." 

"Are you talking about Bernie?" 

"Hell no," she said and suddenly sounded angry. "He's too smart for that. He 
only loves that kid and he knows the little bastard loves him. Not the way 
people might think, but the way Bernie wants it. He's probably in his glory 
now because he pulled the plug on that guy. He probably thinks he did 
something great and it doesn't matter if the kid knows it or not. That's 
love, Mister." 

Jan laughed suddenly. "Poor Mike doesn't know what the hell's going on." 

"But you do." 

"I always did," Jan said simply. "I knew he was hot for that kid. Bernie 
didn't even know it himself. But I did. There's lots of nights when I knew 
it. That's what's driving him buggy, you know." She laughed. "You know he's 
a screwball, don't you?" 

The captain nodded. 

"He'll do anything with anybody else, but he'll never touch that kid." She 
shook her head. "Kinda sad." 

Jan looked into her glass, then she grinned at the captain. "I guess I'm a 
little tight." She finished the drink. "Hey, I just had a great idea. Let's 
go over to my place and I'll fix you a drink." 

"Thank you," the captain said, "But I'm afraid I don't have time right now." 

"Hell, it's early." 

"I'm afraid I'm here on business." 

"Oh, that's right, you came to see Madge." 

"Yes," the captain said, "but apparently she isn't in." 

"Sure she is," Jan said. "She's probably still asleep. "I gave her some 
stuff. She's in pretty bad shape, you know." 

"Oh?" 

"It's what I was talking about," Jan said. "Didn't you know about her?" 

"What about her?" 

"Oh, that's right," she said, and she grinned. "It was me Bernie was always 
with. You didn't know about Madge." 

"What about Madge?" the captain said, suddenly alert. 

"I thought everybody knew by now," Jan said. "It wasn't me that was being 
hurt. I told you I was too smart for that." 

The captain frowned and turned back to the door. He remembered the look in a 
waitress' eyes. He had known then, even though he hadn't been able to label 
it. He had known when he sat in that dingy parlor at the foot of the 
mountain and listened to a story of perversion, a story of obscenity that 
had repulsed even the small-time gigolo with a yen for thrills. He had known 
when he'd stared at Jack and Jack had said, "Nothing." He didn't know why he 
knew it, but he did. And now he knew something else. 

"What did you give her?" he said to Jan. "What?" 

"What kind of stuff did you give her?" 

"Just some sleeping pills," Jan said. "I bought her a bottle this morning-" 

The captain pushed himself against the door, at the same time twisting the 
doorknob roughly. 

"Oh my God!" Jan said. 

The captain stepped back, then threw his shoulder against the light, panel 
door. The flimsy lock gave with a sharp screech as the wood around it 
splintered. He stepped into the living room. From where he stood he could 
see her in the next room. 

"Madge, Baby!" Jan cried and she ran past the captain into the small 
bedroom. "Madge, baby, wake up!" 

Jan bent over her neighbor who was lying on the bed, her face buried in the 
crumpled bedspread. She turned her over and shook her roughly. 

"Madge, baby, wake up, Goddam you...!" 

 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

Captain Williams sat on the window ledge in his office, staring down at the 
street. How different people were in the daytime, he thought. He glanced 
across the street at the restaurant bathed in sunlight and watched a 
white-haired waitress in a green uniform as she scurried past the window, 
juggling her plate lunches through the busy dining room jammed with noontime 
shoppers. 

How different, he thought, and he was thinking of the girl he'd just left 
lying on the bed, bathed in sunlight, looking suddenly very young and 
smiling, as though a great burden had suddenly been lifted from her. He 
wondered what she must have been thinking as she lay there waiting for 
sleep. 

"Don't love people who can't love you...." 

That's what Jan had said and she'd been talking about Madge. What could come 
of that kind of futility, the captain wondered. 

He remembered his talk with the people at the Post Bar. What must Madge have 
thought when the woman told her Bernie had been there all evening? And with 
Jack? What must she have been thinking when she got into that red 
convertible? 

What might she have thought if she had suddenly seen Bernie at that motel? 

It was possible ... she could have seen Bernie. The unit she was in was not 
too far from Cartell's place. Bernie would have had to drive by it to reach 
the big man's cabin. Suppose she'd been at the window and had seen him ... 
what might she have done? 

What might she have thought he was doing there? Half-drunk, hurt, furious, 
not only from the pain of her debauch with Tony, her self-inflicted 
punishment, but with the pain of what he was doing to her, still hearing the 
ring of the woman's words in her ears-" ... if you're keeping tabs on him 
for Jan, don't worry. He's with another boy." 

Perhaps she had only meant to confront him. Perhaps she had only meant to 
stand in that doorway and laugh. But when she saw them together-Bernie and 
Cy-SITTING ON THE BED, LAUGHING, CY'S WALLET IN HIS HANDS.... 

The captain winced at the idea that was going through his mind ... sitting 
on the bed ugly, obese, laughing, a ten-dollar bill clutched in his 
hand,.... 

"No!" the captain said aloud. 

Yet it was possible. She would have seen the rifle. The instinct to hurt, to 
destroy, taking over, ruling out thought. Had she grabbed up the rifle and, 
while he stared at her in disbelief, fired it? 

It was Bernie she was trying to hurt! 

A wild shot, a senseless move, something that happened in a nightmare. No 
more real than the rest of the night, or the other nights when she had done 
the same thing-worse things to him in her mind-and Bernie knew it, too. 

It was Madge that Bernie was protecting! 

He had felt the guilt of what he was doing to her when he saw the hatred in 
her eyes. Was it possible? Could he suddenly have realized it-or could he 
have known all along how she felt? Perhaps he had the same feelings-but 
wasn't able to surrender to them. 

Perhaps he realized how he'd wronged her, that all he could do now was try 
and protect her. He had wiped the gun clean and called the police and, in 
that way, told her that he did love her. It was the only way he could say it 
and it was eloquent, more eloquent than he'd ever been in his life. 

Captain Williams sighed wearily. Too many thoughts ... Too many thoughts. To 
hate that much ... to hate at all ... to take her own life and let Bernie 
keep on paying ... He remembered her face as she lay on the bed. He 
remembered the smile. 

No, he thought, she would have done any thing for him-even if he were never 
to know it. That's what love does, mister. Jan had said it. It cries out to 
destroy, but it never does. The big man loved Rose and struck out at 
everything except her-and Madge loved Bernie. She could have fired the rifle 
in a moment of madness. 

But after the madness had passed she would have been sorry. She would never 
go away and allow Bernie to carry that burden for her. If she had, there 
would have been a different smile on her face, a wicked smile and it would 
show after death and would repel. 

No, the captain thought. He would have seen it, because he'd been looking 
for it especially, when he broke down her door. But it wasn't there ... not 
a trace of it. 

Captain Williams moved away from the window. Perhaps Bernie's truth was the 
real truth after all and there was nothing more to learn. Madge must have 
thought what Jan had thought-that Bernie had committed an act of supreme 
sacrifice, but not for her. She knew it. Jan knew it. Even Bernie knew it, 
and Captain Williams wondered if he didn't know it, too. Perhaps he'd known 
it all along. 

Yet ... the captain found himself considering an idea he'd had earlier, one 
that had crossed his mind while he stood at Madge's door, that had been 
interrupted by Jan's appearance, then by the tragedy of Madge's death. What 
was it that had bothered him? Something about Jack ... something Jack had 
said.... 

"What happened between you and Bernie in his apartment?" 

"Nothing!" 

Captain Williams suddenly realized it was not what Jack had said that 
bothered him, but the way he said it.... 

* * * 

Bernie looked up when he heard the key turning in the lock. He smiled when 
Mike came in. The captain had kept his promise and arranged for Mike to 
visit him. He opened his mouth to speak, waited till the white-uniformed 
guard was gone and listened for the key to turn again in the lock. Then he 
sat up and laughed at Mike, who stood awkwardly in the doorway. 

"Well, come on in," Bernie said. "I'm not going to bite you." 

"How are you?" Mike said. 

"Great!" Bernie pushed the covers aside and swung his legs out onto the 
floor. "Now don't laugh," he said. "This is what everybody wears in a 
hospital." He was referring to the long hospital gown that fell almost to 
his ankles. He hoisted the overlong sleeves up to his elbows. "It's like 
being in drag." 

"The captain said you were pretty sick," Mike said and moved hesitantly 
toward Bernie. Bernie could see he was embarrassed. 

"Well, I was," Bernie said. "You should've seen me. I about killed a dozen 
nurses-and they're big guys too!" 

Mike laughed. 

"They had to strap me down, too." 

"They did?" Mike's eyes widened. 

"Yes, they did," Bernie said, imitating Mike's wonder. He showed Mike the 
strap that hung from the underside of the bed. "But I got an itch and they 
had to untie me." He grabbed Mike, pulling him closer. "Damn you!" he said, 
"don't be so scared of me." 

"I'm not," Mike said, reddening. 

"The hell you're not." Bernie said. "You look like you're gonna faint." 

"I am not!" Mike said, frowning. "I was just worried about you." 

"You were?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, I'll tell you when to start worrying about me, okay? Now sit down 
here and tell me how you are." 

Mike obeyed and sat on the bed next to Bernie. 

"We're fine." 

"And how is Sarah?" 

"She's okay now." Mike grinned, losing some of his awkwardness. "Hey, 
Bernie, Sarah and me are staying at your apartment-till you get back. Is 
that okay?" 

"I guess so." Bernie laughed softly. "What else do you want to tell me?" 

"Well, I brought your car keys. I thought maybe you might want them." 

"You did, eh?" Bernie took the ring of keys. He looked at them for a moment. 
How can you go anywhere, he thought, when you don't even know who you are? 
His fingers worked over the keys, pushing them along the chain like the 
beads of a rosary. 

"Of course, if you want, I can take care of your car for you," Mike said. 
"Till you get back, I mean...." 

"Well now," Bernie said finally, "I certainly appreciate that." He looked at 
Mike, wincing, as though it were a stranger sitting next to him. "And the 
baby," he said. "How is the baby?" 

"Well, it ain't been born yet." 

"I know that," Bernie said. He picked up one of Mike's hands and studied it, 
tracing the lines in his palm with a fingertip. "I see that you're going to 
be a father." 

"Hey, if it's a boy," Mike said, "We're gonna name him Bernie after you." 

"Don't you dare," Bernie said harshly. He pushed Mike's hand away. "Call him 
Frank. That's your papa's name." 

"I can call him anything I want," Mike said hotly, showing his 
disappointment at Bernie's reaction to his gesture. 

"Anyway, you're going to be a father," Bernie said, ignoring him, "and that 
means you'll have certain responsibilities." 

"I know that." 

"I don't know what you know, so I have to tell you everything," Bernie said. 
"As soon as you get to Chicago, you have to start looking for a job. Is that 
clear?" 

"We can't go to Chicago." 

"Why not? I gave you the money for the tickets." 

"Yeah, but they won't let us go." 

"Oh!" Bernie shrugged. "Well, that's no big problem. I'll fix that up. And 
you might as well take my car too. Drive it to Chicago." 

"No kidding?" 

"You can save the train money for when you get there." Bernie looked 
uneasily toward the door. "And remember, soon as you get there, you start 
looking for a job." 

"Hey, but what'll you-" 

"Never mind," Bernie said, cutting him off. "They're gonna throw you outta 
here in a few minutes, so just listen to me." 

"Yeah, but-" 

"Listen," Bernie said sharply. "No more running around the streets, okay?" 

"Well, natur-" 

"And no more sleeping till noon." 

"Oh-" 

"Say it!" 

"Okay." 

"That's the biggest thing in the world your little girl is making for you, 
Mike. Do you realize that?" Bernie grabbed Mike's hair, tugging it roughly. 
"Do you?" 

"Ooow!" 

"Tell me." 

"Yes," Mike hollered. "Now let go." 

"And she'll probably make you a dozen more like your mama did. You'd like 
that, wouldn't you?" 

"I dunno." 

"Well, I do," Bernie said, releasing him. "And here's something else I know. 
If they all resemble you, they're going to have a hell of a job growing up." 

"How come?" 

"How come?" Bernie smiled sadly. "You bug! What can you give them, huh? What 
can you give them that your papa didn't give you? Huh? All you have is 
instinct. Do you know what that is?" 

Mike shook his head. 

"There's so much I wanted to tell you," Bernie said. "I hold my hand out 
so-" He extended a hand, touching Mike's face, and Mike's face moved against 
it. Bernie grinned. "I'm gonna tell you a story. You wanna hear it?" 

"I guess so." 

"Well, you're going to hear it, whether you like it or not?" Bernie said. 
"It's about a little dog I used to have." 

"I didn't know you had a dog." 

"Shhh! I'm telling a story. It was just a mutt I found in an alley once, but 
I took him in. And I fixed a bed for him in a corner to sleep. In the 
mornings I'd pour his breakfast in a bowl. I didn't teach him anything. I 
just let him play and cleaned up after him. Then one day he got too big to 
play and decided he needed other dogs. He all but scratched my door down 
till I finally put him in the car and took him back to the alley where I 
found him. He didn't even look back." 

"When was that?" Mike said. "Oh, not so long ago," Bernie said. Then he 
smiled, recovering from his thoughts. "Now you better get going. Okay?" 

"Okay, but...." Mike stammered, looking at the key chain in Bernie's hand. 

Bernie laughed. "Oh, yes." He refastened the chain he'd been toying with 
while he'd been talking. "Here you are. Now you better beat it." 

"You sure they'll let us go?" 

"I told you I'd fix it, didn't I? Don't I always fix everything?" 

"I guess so," Mike said. He got up, pausing at the door. "Well," he said, 
then shrugged awkwardly. 

"Well, what?" Bernie said impatiently. "Just go!" 

"I have to say good-bye, don't I?" Mike said. 

"Okay, say it." 

"Well, good-by, I guess." 

"Good-by." 

Bernie stared at the door for a long time after Mike had left. There was so 
much I wanted to tell you, he thought. It was all true what the big man 
said. None of it was real, but it was all the truth! 

"You damn little fool," he said aloud. He went to the door, but it was 
locked. "You lay down with fire and never once got burnt!" He turned away 
from the door, searching around the room for another way out. "I gave you 
glory and you'll never know it!" 

His fingers trembled as he watched them. They moved almost on their own and 
he stared at them, horrified. 

"It's all right, baby," he whispered. "Don't cry, baby!" He was frightened. 
"It's all right! It's all right!" And he knew it was all right. It's coming! 
It's coming! Thank God! It's coming now and it's all right! 

Suddenly it was, and he closed his eyes. Suddenly he wondered why he'd been 
afraid. It was beautiful. Like a cigarette ad in a magazine. He smiled and 
wondered why he'd been afraid. 

He opened his eyes and Madge was there. What are you doing here? He frowned 
because he was surprised. Then he smiled because she was there. But the 
smile died on his face. He saw right through her, and the smile died, and 
suddenly there was terror. 

Oh my God! He drew his arms across his face, shutting out the light. It was 
too late. Deeper and deeper he felt himself drawn into the black water that 
crept over his face, pouring out of his wrists, burning him. He let it carry 
him. He let his body go limp while he was swept away and, under his breath, 
he said, It is, it is! 

 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

Captain Williams stared at Bernie for a long time and Bernie stared back. It 
was the captain who finally turned away. He glanced at the white-uniformed 
guard who stood in the doorway. 

"What happened?" the captain said. 

"The kid must have slipped it to him," the guard said. He was referring to 
the miniature jackknife that lay beside Bernie, almost invisible in the 
shallow pond of blood that crept over the tile floor, spreading almost to 
the wall. The captain picked up the little knife, wiping it clean with a 
handkerchief. It was only tin, a key chain ornament, a child's toy. 

He moved around to the other side of the body to avoid the blood and 
crouched down beside Bernie. He extended a hand toward Bernie, then drew it 
back. He looked at the guard impatiently. 

"Well, don't just stand there," he said. "Go find someone to clean up this 
mess." 

The guard obeyed and withdrew. 

When they were alone, the captain got up and moved to the window. He stared 
out for a moment, then turned back and looked at Bernie again. 

"You had to do it, didn't you?" he said, and his voice was harsh. "You had 
to play God!" 

He dipped his handkerchief into the plastic basin of water on the 
night-table beside the bed, then moved back to Bernie. He removed the arm 
that lay across his face, and began to wipe away the blood that had spilled 
over it from the little gash on his wrist. 

"You damn fool," he whispered, "Did you think you were the only one who had 
troubles?" 

When the guards returned, the captain left the room. He returned to the 
hospital lobby where he'd left Mike sitting on one of the chairs that were 
-lined up opposite the main desk. 

The captain sat down in the chair next to Mike, who stared straight ahead, 
his face blank, emotionless, the weight of what had happened clearly visible 
in his large eyes. His brown hands worked absently over the key ring. The 
captain watched his hands. Finally he spoke. 

"Did you know he was going to do this?" 

Mike shook his head. 

"Do you want to see him?" 

Mike looked at the captain, confused. He opened his mouth to speak, then 
pressed his lips in a thin line and shook his head again. 

The captain stared at Mike uncomfortably. Finally he reached out and put a 
hand on the boy's shoulder. 

"Come on," he said. "Let's get some coffee." 

Mike rose, moving automatically, and followed the captain outside to his 
car. 

When they were in traffic, Captain Williams glanced at Mike through the 
rear-view mirror. He felt his irritation growing. He gripped the wheel 
sternly and his foot pushed down hard on the accelerator. Finally he spoke. 

"That guy thought a lot of you," he said. "Did you know that?" 

"He loved me," Mike said simply. 

"Yes," the captain said, "And what about you?" 

Mike looked at the captain. The look of confusion was gone from his face. 

"I was going away, wasn't I?" 

The captain weighed this, then he nodded. "That's true," he said finally, 
and his foot eased up on the accelerator. "That's certainly true...." 

Captain Williams dropped Mike back at the State Hospital parking lot where 
Bernie's car was parked, then headed back to his office downtown. 

"Do you think it was my fault?" Mike had asked the captain. "What Bernie 
did?" 

"Don't even think about that," the captain said sternly. "It had nothing to 
do with you." 

Captain Williams knew this was true. Mike was only an excuse. Bernie's was a 
crime that had begun a long time ago. It had been planned and rehearsed 
until it was almost reality, gaining facility each time, becoming less and 
less a dream, until all it needed to materialize was an excuse, a 
justification, less than that, a mere means to make the hands actually move 
and strike out at his enemy-a self he couldn't accept. 

The captain thought about Bernie lying on the hospital floor, drained of 
life, a look of terror behind his eyes, perhaps realizing in his final 
moments, the horror of what he had done. 

"You had to play God," the captain had said and he'd moved to the window, 
trembling with anger. He had found a truth that Bernie didn't know and had 
run through the streets like a fool to tell him, even before confirming what 
he'd found, but knowing it was true. 

But Bernie only stared at him. As the captain stared back he felt his fury 
rise. He'd been made a fool of, and anger scorched his face while he stood 
at the window regaining his breath and pushing out the excitement-the 
child-like bubbling enthusiasm that accompanies victory, as he had run up 
the steps to deliver his news. 

But you didn't want the truth, Bernie. You never gave a damn about the 
truth. That was part of your crime and it was a crime. You knew Mike wasn't 
guilty of that terrible act upon the big man. You must have known it if you 
knew Mike at all. But you pretended he did because you wanted to believe it. 
You needed an excuse for your hands to move and in that way you used him and 
it was wrong.... 

But Bernie had demanded sympathy as well as to be put down for his act. The 
captain was aware of that too. At some point his labors must have ceased to 
be positive and become instead responses to something that commanded him. 
When the guilt he'd invented had taken over and come into its own, turning 
on its creator, then it was no longer sinning but illness, as real as 
physical illness. Because of that, he had demanded sympathy. 

Just as Madge had demanded sympathy ... not only in the end, but when she'd 
taken her coin and said, "I'm paid." It was more illness than sinning when 
she had begged for self-destruction, just as she had probably done so many 
times in the past-grabbing for perversion, using it, with the money only an 
excuse to strike out and destroy her enemy-an emptiness inside her that 
couldn't be filled. And because it was illness she demanded sympathy. 

There was someone else who demanded sympathy. Even though he'd done wrong, 
he was neither more nor less guilty than Bernie. The captain was thinking of 
the man who was waiting for him in one of the detention rooms at the police 
station. 

"Nothing," Jack had said, and the captain had believed him. Because, just as 
with Madge, the money had only been an excuse to strike out and destroy his 
enemy-Cy Cartell.... 

* * * 

The captain swung his car into the parking area beside the Phoenix Police 
Department and walked slowly across the soft gravel lot toward the side 
entrance. He'd been in a hurry when he'd left his office, but there was no 
reason to rush now. It had become just a sad business-like cleaning up the 
hospital floor after the tragedy. 

Of course, it was Jack. There were no surprises. It had always been Jack 
just beyond the doorway, standing in the shadows, or at the edge of a crowd, 
but he had always been there and it was his crime. 

The captain might have sensed that when he'd first met the man. It was in 
his eyes, in his look of contempt and in his smile, a smile of hate, the 
kind of hate the captain had looked for in Madge, the kind of hate it would 
have taken to kill Bernie, the kind of hate it took to kill the big man. 

The captain might have seen it, but he had been preoccupied with another 
drama, a separate drama that had nothing to do with Jack. Consequently, Jack 
had only been a drifter, a small-time thug, a stereotype-just a type. 

The captain hadn't confronted him yet and he had no proof-but he knew he was 
right. He would play a hunch and he would win-because he was right. 

Captain Williams entered the station and passed through the mesh gate behind 
the lobby desk toward Billings' office. He unlocked a large metal cabinet 
and withdrew Bernie's rifle from among the many items stored there. Then he 
carefully wrapped his handkerchief around the muzzle, gripping it by that 
end. 

How brilliant can you be, he thought as he headed for the basement room. 

He felt some of the excitement returning. It was something he couldn't 
control nor did he try to. It was part of winning. It had begun at Madge's 
door. It had been just an idea, a question, and when he had finally answered 
it, then all the other questions could be answered. 

He should have asked it earlier. But he'd been so anxious for one truth he'd 
let the other slip by unnoticed. 

While he'd stood at Madge's door, waiting for an answer from her that would 
never come, he'd suddenly found himself thinking of Jack. He was remembering 
something Tony Banderro had related about his night with Madge.... 

She held the coin in her clenched hand, then threw it at him. "Who wants 
your goddam money," she said and she laughed.... 

"What happened between you and Bernie Evans in his apartment?" the captain 
had asked Jack. 

"Nothing." It was the truth. The captain hadn't asked anything after that. 
It was what he had wanted to learn. So much so that he had let another 
truth, a more important truth, slip Dy unchallenged. It was the answer to 
the question he had asked just before it. 

"What did the big man pay you?" 

"Nothing!" Jack had said, and, in his eyes, he had said, "Who wants your 
goddam money!" And the Captain knew it was the truth.... 

What did he want, then? What could he possibly want from the big man if not 
money? When the captain answered this, he found he could find answers to 
everything else. At least, possible answers.... 

The big man thought he had found Jack. Actually, it was Jack who had found 
the big man. 

That was the reason Jack had come to Phoenix. He wasn't a drifter-he was a 
hunter. He had had but one purpose in mind, to find and destroy his enemy-an 
enemy he didn't even know. 

He'd been released from prison only a week ago-enough time to locate Cy 
Cartel!, to find out what he looked like, to find out where he could be 
found. Jack had come to Phoenix. He hung around the bars and the downtown 
street corners, watching for the big man. 

Blind luck had played into his hands. He had spotted the big man as the big 
man spotted him. 

"A man who knows the ropes don't have to look long," Cy had said. What a 
joke it must have been to Jack as he listened to the big man outlining his 
plan and offering him his few dollars, pleased that he knew how to find what 
he was looking for at the price he wanted to pay-never suspecting he was not 
the villain but the victim, his sentence passed when the gates of a prison 
in Texas swung open for John William Marshell, a stranger, someone Cy had 
never seen before and had no came to fear. 

The big man's hoax fitted perfectly into Jack's purpose. He could eat the 
man's food, drink his drinks and sit quietly and grin, because he knew his 
turn was coming. He could go along with Cy's plan. He could go to the Post 
Bar, get acquainted with Bernie Evans, then meet Cy at Bernie's apartment. 
Bernie was a perfect fall guy. When he woke up, drunk, confused, the big man 
would be dead and Jack, the drifter, would drift on. 

How simple-even for a brilliant mind! 

He got Bernie home and forced him to drink more. That was all he wanted to 
do-get Bernie drunk and let him pass out. Then he would wait for Cy Cartell. 

That's when the murder was suppose to have taken place ... but Cy Cartell 
hadn't arrived at the appointed hour. He'd been distracted. He had lingered 
with a Rose, a willing Rose who had almost made him forget what he had come 
for. 

Jack didn't know why Cartell had failed him. But his instincts told him not 
to wait, not to chance it. He had found the big man once and he would find 
him again-this time on his own terms. 

Luck was still with him when he got to the Bel-Plaines Motel. He hadn't even 
had to search out Cy's cabin. There was Bernie's car parked in one of the 
driveways pointing the way. 

It had been a repeat performance-almost identical. He pushed open the door 
and there was the big man. And there on the floor, passed out-almost as if 
he hadn't wakened since Jack had left him-lay his fall guy. And on the floor 
beside him a rifle. 

The big man had grinned at a friend and extracted a bill from his wallet. He 
had looked up, holding out the money to his employee, then suddenly was 
dead. 

That's the way it had happened, the captain thought as he entered the 
detention room. 

Jack looked up at Captain Williams from the bench, then looked at the gun 
the captain held out toward him. 

"Do you want to add some more prints on this," the captain said, "Or do you 
think we have enough?" 

It was a silly game, but the captain played it-just as in the storybooks. 
Jack looked at the rifle butt thrust at him, then looked at the captain and 
knew it was over.... 

* * * 

How brilliant can you be, the captain thought. Cy might have seen Jack 
before, but not have recognized him. Without the grin, wearing only a 
frightened look, he might have been merely one of many at the edge of a 
crowd. 

But Bernie had recognized him. Through the confusion and the shock of what 
had happened he had recognized Jack in the crowd outside the cabin when he 
left with the captain. He hadn't stopped to wonder why Jack was there. He 
only knew that he saw him, as in a dream, and he struck out at the crowd, 
screaming, plunging into it, to reach him. 

"I'll kill you!" Bernie had screamed and it was Jack he was talking to.... 

"I didn't do anything," Bernie had cried, and it was the night with Jack he 
was referring to.... 

The captain wondered. If his hunch were right-if it had been Jack in the 
crowd, then why had he come back to the cabin-unless to recover something 
left behind that might prove damaging. He wasn't too bright. His prison 
record showed that, and the captain wondered what he might have left behind. 
There was nothing there that could connect him with the crime-except, maybe, 
his fingerprints on the rifle. 

He couldn't have known that Bernie had wiped the rifle clean. 

He'd come back to recover them, but he'd come back too late. The police were 
already there, so he could only slip away. But he knew he was caught. He'd 
only been waiting in the detention room for the captain to come back. And 
when he saw the rifle butt thrust at him, he knew it was over. 

Captain Williams handed the rifle to the guard at the door, then sat on the 
bench opposite Jack. He wouldn't tell Jack that Bernie had wiped the rifle 
clean. He would spare him that. He would let Jack think that the captain was 
no more nor less brilliant than he. 

He reached for his cigarettes, extracted one, then offered one to Jack. 

"You want to tell me about it?" he said.... 

* * * 

"I'm a man," Jack said. "And there's some things it takes a man to do." He 
paused. "That's what the big man said, you know. I watched him through the 
window. Bernie had the gun and the big man was moving on him. 'It takes a 
man to pull a trigger', he says, 'and I don't see no man around here.' And 
the son-of-a bitch fainted-fainted dead away." 

Jack took a deep drag on his cigarette. 

"That's all there was to it, man. I said, 'You owe me ten dollars, mister. I 
come to collect it. And there's another debt I gotta collect-for Robert 
Joseph.' And I shot him." 

"Robert Joseph?" The captain frowned. "Who the hell is Robert Joseph?" 

"Just a name," Jack said. "Just a name on a graveyard marker. But he used to 
be ... somebody." Jack shook his head. "He was just a little fella, you 
know. And he used to cry because he was hungry. And I says, Don't cry, 
Robert Joseph, 'cause Jack'll take care of you. 

"I guess I didn't do a very good job. Nope-I got caught. I always get 
caught, man." Jack smiled sadly. "He was only eleven the last time I went 
in. That was five years ago. Five years, man! How could I take care of him? 

"I'm sittin' there in a cage and I says, 'You wait till I come out, hear?' 
But he wouldn't wait. In one ear and out the other! He ran all over this ol' 
country tryin' to do what I was doin'. And that man out there in Georgia 
wouldn't let him wait for Jack. 

"No, man. I'm sittin' there in the middle of Texas and he's layin' in the 
street with a bullet in his back. Layin' like a clump of dirt in the middle 
of the street.... 

"It was an awful big bullet for. that little back," Jack said and the liquid 
that had been building up in his eyes finally spilled over and he turned out 
his hands in a futile gesture. "It was an awful big bullet, man! Lots bigger 
than the one I used!" 

Suddenly his fists clenched and a power came into his eyes that made the 
captain wince. 

"Someone gotta pay for Robert Joseph," he said. 

"Someone will," the captain said and he moved to the officer who stood at 
the door. 

"Have him booked," he said and left the room.... 

Captain Williams sat on the window! edge of his office on the second floor 
of the Municipal Building and watched a familiar bronze-colored car as it 
slipped into traffic, then headed in the direction of the twin buttes that 
marked the edge of the city. 

His eyes lingered on the buttes, almost purple now in the blazing afternoon 
sunlight. Ironic, he thought-identical in size and shape, mirrors of one 
another. 

He caught sight of the car again as it disappeared at the end of the block. 

He smiled, admitting to himself he was pleased Mike and Sarah had stopped in 
to say good-by before leaving for Chicago. 

What a difference there was between the young man who had just left his 
office and the street urchin from Chicago's South Side described in 
Billings' report. It was amazing how much of Bernie had rubbed off on Mike. 
It was too bad Bernie hadn't been able to see that. 

The captain thought of Bernie again, also on his way to Chicago. The body 
was being shipped at the request of Bernie's mother. That was good, the 
captain thought. It was as it should be. Sooner or later Bernie had to go 
home. 


THE END
