A small, colored spotlight swung around on me.
“Thank you, thank you,” I said, as somebody else shoved a mike in my paw. The room quieted, suddenly.
“I have something rawther new, poetic friends…” I heard Fay choke back a gasp.
“—and if I may I’d like to try it—”
Scattered applause. Somebody said, “Bravo!” Another said, “Hear, hear!”
I tried to looked dignified and aloof. But still interested. It wasn’t easy. I said, “First of all, it’s real gone to be heah. A really delicious setting!”
Chester applauded.
“I tried this approach in Wallah Wallah—with really slashing effect…”
A hush, spoiled only by the rustle of a few papers. “It is called,” I said dramatically, “Silent Recitation!”
A questioning, interested murmur ran through the small gathering. Fay looked flabbergasted.
“It is performed like this,” I continued. I was glad I’d finished the beer. “I will suggest one word. Then we must have absolute quiet. My lips will move, I may make motions with my hands, and I will utter words silently. They will be in ottava rima, so attune your thinking thusly. The idea is to set a mood—and let your own imagination and ingenuity complete the thought…Now! The word I utter will be—”
Someone had turned off the music. The quiet was astonishing.
“Wind!” I said.
I moved my lips, waving my arms as though I were being buffeted by a breeze, then held my arms outstretched, as if in complete rapture. It wasn’t difficult with the two best looking dolls in the room at my table.
The acolytes were spellbound. I held it for about a minute, which is a long time, really. I lowered my arms slowly, and backed out of the spotlight.
The tight silence was followed by a crash of applause. Even Fay, still puzzled, joined in the accolade. It had gone over so well I found myself blushing. The applause continued. I sat down and Marie looked at me in wonderment.
“Percy, you really slayed ’em!”
“’Twas nothing,” I said.
“Look, they want some more,” Fay said.
I heard Chester’s reedy, effeminate voice. “Marvelous, wonderful!”
I felt like going through the floor. I’d read in the papers about a ‘silent’ piano recital, and I’d cooked this up. A whiskey-and-liberation silliness.
The spotlight found me again. As it did so, I found an idea.
“Well, go on, Percy—please,” Marie urged.
I bowed and got up again. The racket faded quickly. I had their attention again, and maybe I could use it.
“This time, my friends, the word will be of an entirely different nature. Think now in terms of blank verse, commonly called iambic pentameter, though not necessarily so…are you ready?”
I went through the hocus-pocus again. The wait. The word.
“Murder!” I said loudly.
Several gasps, then stillness. I let my lips move, made motions with my hands to indicate a man driving a car. Then, the sudden awareness of something ahead, in front of the vehicle, a twist of the facial muscles to indicate fear, apprehension—a jolt as contact was made, a quick look back, indecision, the birth of a sudden horrible idea, gazing all around—then shifting quickly and driving wildly away from the scene of death…
When I stepped away, the room was almost too quiet.
Several gasps of protest, only scattered applause.
“That was—awful!” Marie breathed.
“God! It sure was,” Fay agreed.
I rose again, into the spotlight. “Friends, please excuse me. It was just poetry—I’m sorry if some are disagreeably upset…”
More applause this time. But I’d lost. The mike was taken away. I sat at the table, hating myself.
A bad thing, perhaps—but it might do the trick…
“Well, that was a gasser,” Marie said, gurgling beer. Another bottle had appeared in front of me, and I gulped, too. I glanced at Fay. She looked rather chilly and withdrawn. She stood up, excused herself and pointed at a spot where the rest rooms were.
“One of our—members was just killed the other day by a hit-and-runner,” Marie said. “Of course, you couldn’t have known that—”
“Oh, hell! I’m sorry…”
“I think they dig you, but it’s a shock for ’em.”
Chester moved onto the platform, and the spotlight followed him. He cleared his throat, craning his long neck.
“Folks—Percy was wonderful. He didn’t know about—Louise Schmidt…”
He climbed down, looking and sounding rather inadequate. The atmosphere had chilled considerably. If my psycho was actually in the room, this might develop into something very foolish indeed.
At that moment Rita Snell appeared. She didn’t sit down. Her eyes were full of fire.
“I think you’re disgusting,” she said.
I shrugged.
“And you call yourself a man! Revolting…” She wiggled off, her buttocks swinging angrily.
“Well—” Marie said.
“She got the last word, after all,” I said.
“Oh, forget her, and look at me, Percy.”
I shook myself and did as I was told. I forgot Rita entirely.
“Percy, you going to be in town long?”
“A few days.”
“Tomorrow night’s Saturday—but big one. You dig me?”
“Could be.”
“Well, we’re the only Goddard in the phone book—do you still read me?”
“The type is a foot high, and looks good.”
She giggled. Her tongue flirted over those lush, red lips. “I mean, Fay hasn’t got you roped, has she?”
I shook my head. Her knee contacted mine under the table. I contacted in return, as the skin along the back of my neck got goose-pimpled.
We were calmly drinking our beer as Fay sat down.
“Kid, you look beat,” Marie said.
“I’m—all right, now. This lug is so full of surprises…”
“Mmmmmm,” Marie murmured.
“Want to go?” I asked Fay.
“Percy, you don’t have to—”
Fay and I stood up, and so did Marie. She held her hand out again, that soft little hand so full of surprises, and she didn’t disappoint me. Not at all.
“If I had my car I’d drive you both in,” she said, pleasantly.
“Don’t you have any transportation?” Fay asked.
“Go ahead, kids. I’ll call a cab. No other interesting males around.”
Fay glanced at me, and I said it. “You can ride with us, Marie.”
“Well? I mean, if it’s all right, I’d like to.”
It was settled, and that little nipping along my spine indicated I was riding my luck. We picked up our jackets and strolled outside. I hadn’t gotten any fond goodbyes from the Jollies, and right then it was mutual.
The temperature had skidded. The grass underfoot was slick with frost. One car was already moving out of the parking area. I’d broken up their precious meeting.
Moving toward my crate, we were all quiet, for a change. I worked the wads of cotton from my cheeks, and in the near darkness bent over and spit them out. I took off the idiotic glasses. Neither of the gals seemed to notice I had put the silly beret in my hip pocket. Enough is enough.
I fiddled with the throttle, choke and starter, and coaxed the old car into life. Fay sat in the middle, snuggled up against me, ostensibly for warmth. I didn’t mind at all.
We were doing fine until I hit those sharp curves where the road ran along near a cliff, above the river. On the last sharp point, I turned the wheel, the way you do, and nothing happened. My right foot poked frantically at the brake pedal—and again, nothing happened. We were headed straight for the edge of the embankment.
“God!” Fay cried, stiffening.
No time to answer. Marie screamed as we shot out and crunchingly down. Someone’s fingers knifed into my right arm as I pushed my
left one in front of my face.
A crash of metal on rock, a rush of cold air as the door on Marie’s side appeared to crumple—we tilted crazily, another hard jolt, then water on the windshield, cold, icy water gushing inside, rising swiftly. I sucked in air.
I remember having a hold on Fay’s arm. Marie seemed to be out already. Time didn’t exist. Black water all about us. I fought and struggled outward, still holding Fay’s arm…
Free of the car, feeling the grip of the current, my chest throbbing, I fought upward. Up through the inky coldness—my one desperate thought on survival.
At last I reached the surface. I sucked in ozone, gulped it, gasping like a fish. I got Fay up too, somehow. Treading water, I raised her head above the surface. She looked very cold and small and pale—and very limp.
Then I saw headlights shining over the water, a flashlight caught us full on. Shouts. Someone scrambling down the rocky shore…
I swam, feeling an awful weakness in my legs…The shore seemed a mile away. My strokes slowed, the lights wavered, the water had a thousand fingers pulling me downward…
CHAPTER SEVEN
Awareness came swiftly, throbbingly. I was on my back, and part of my lower anatomy felt numb. The rest of me ached. Voices, far away. An odor of ether. Warmth, a weight of blankets over me.
I opened my eyes, seeing only a white ceiling, then bedposts, then a round-faced man I’d known for a long time, Dr. Amos Schiller. A nurse.
I knew the odor and surroundings only too well. I was in Layton General Hospital, again.
Remembrance came swiftly, too. I tried to jerk upright, and the nurse pushed me back, gently. “Easy, Mark—” Schiller said.
“Fay—” I said, my voice creaky. “And Marie!”
“Marie is all right, Mark.”
“Damn it all, I pulled Fay out—”
The nurse cleared her throat and left the room. Schiller looked down at me rather warmly, as he had before. “You tried, Mark. Everybody on the river-bank said so. But she was dead.”
I cursed and raved.
“Mark! It won’t do any good. A piece of metal or something sharp pierced her throat—she lost too much blood…”
I shut my eyes, my fists knotting. I swore quietly to myself. A great big brave poet. I was poison and I’d poisoned her. Another auto fatality. But this one wasn’t accidental. The steering gear had failed, so had the brakes. My car had been checked out that morning—
While I’d been inside spouting poetry and ogling girls, someone had tinkered with my car. Some fiend trying to get me…
I heard Schiller’s voice again. “—the other girl, Marie Goddard, must have fallen out or was thrown out just before your car hit the water. She was very lucky—and so are you.”
How lucky was Fay?
“But you shouldn’t have been out driving. I told you about your legs.” The lecture tone had returned. I was going to get chewed out.
I shook my head as the dizziness returned. I was too weak and sick to explain, as much as I wanted to.
“Your legs—” he began.
“To hell with my legs! I want the guy that…”
And that took just about everything I had. The room teetered. I grabbed the edge of the bed, trying to hang on. It didn’t work. And just before I rode out I remembered how slim and pretty Fay had looked in her black, snug tights…
When I came around again, things weren’t so fuzzy. I tried to wiggle my toes—and they wiggled. I moved my right leg. I moved my left leg. Sore and stiff, but I was going to—
Then I gagged, remembering. Fay’s limpness in my arms—the rush of water. Fay’s bright cheeriness, her smile, her ambitions. It rushed back to me now like a nightmare, flooding me with venom. And the hateful voice bleating—‘if I can’t get you, Jason, I’ll get your friends…’
I shouted a curse and punched the bell that would bring a nurse. The room was empty. A double window let me see the bare branches of a maple tree, a patch of sky. The sky was overcast and stormy, like my brain.
A nurse came in. “Oh—you’re awake. How do you feel, Mr. Jason?”
“Like the lower end of a sewer.”
She didn’t think it was funny. “Can you move your legs?”
I showed her.
“Fine! We were afraid—”
“Was it in the paper—this morning?”
“Of course.”
I blasted out with more profanity.
“You’re not to get upset—”
“I’ve got to get out of here!”
“I’ll—call the doctor.”
I had an answer ready when I heard voices in the hallway. Someone was protesting vehemently. Pretty soon the blabbing cooled down, and Schiller came in with Lieutenant Riley in tow.
“You can have five minutes,” Schiller said curtly. Riley grunted, his freckles standing out like red buck-shot. He was so flustered he hadn’t removed his hat. Schiller looked me over, feeling here and there with practiced hands. He checked my pulse. He backed away, nodded at Riley, and took a chair by the door. Riley scowled, then glared at me.
“What’s the big idea, Jason? Going out there and posing as Percy something-or-other, and then—I thought you was crippled!”
“So I fooled you, too.”
“No comic relief, please!”
“I was crippled for a long time. I got better. A little ruse I had in mind didn’t work, that’s all.”
“Ruse! It worked well enough to get somebody else killed.”
I felt the sick nausea rising inside me. I didn’t answer, because I didn’t have one.
“Somebody rigged the steering apparatus so it would work for maybe a few minutes, then let the brake fluid out—and bingo!”
I nodded. What could I say?
Riley leaned over me, glaring. “What do you know about it, Jason? And you better tell me or I’ll book you, so help me God!”
Schiller cleared his throat.
“Sorry, Doc. But this is the second traffic fatality this guy’s been connected with, and—”
“Shut up!” I said. “I was out trying to find your boy. It could have been me or Marie on the slab—instead of Fay.”
He snorted, cooling. He took his hat off. “I told you to stay outa this, Jason.”
Schiller stood up.
“Okay, Doc. I’m outa line. Look, Jason, this Marie isn’t able to see anybody yet. You’re the only one I can talk to. What happened?”
I told him, as simply as possible. I was getting tired. He listened alertly, asking a question now and then. There was only one logical conclusion to draw. While I’d been inside the clubhouse, someone had doctored my car. There had been plenty of time. Perhaps some one inside the building had done it, I couldn’t say for sure. I hadn’t kept a time-table on comings and goings. He said he’d look into that angle.
Finally they went out, and I closed my eyes. The sap had run clear out of me. I floated away.
* * * *
I was still there on Monday. Henry had been up and Goofy Joe had sent a get-well card, obviously addressed by someone else. That afternoon, something else happened.
The door was standing open, as they are so much in hospitals, and suddenly Marie stood there, smiling. I threw the newspaper down and managed a grin. “Well—you look okay to me, Percy!”
“Cut the Percy bit. You read the paper.”
She seemed to have recovered very well—no scars showed. She ambled up to the bed. She wore a knit wool jersey outfit, and what it clung to was enough to make any sick man feel better. Her chestnut hair was caught in a pony-tail.
“I’m beating you out of this place, chum.”
“Goody.”
“I’m real sorry it was Fay,” she said simply.
I nodded.
Her full, fleshy lips trembled. She bit the lower one with strong, white teeth. She looked out of the window as a tremor passed through her. Then those large brown eyes swung back to me.
“What I really came for was to cheer you
up—”
“You have.”
“Well—I’m glad.”
“You’re quite a gal, you know that?”
“Huh?”
“I said it. You used your head, getting to shore. I read all about it in the papers.”
She shrugged. She came nearer. The corridor was quiet.
“Mark, can you use your arms? I mean, are they okay?”
“Try me, plushy.”
“Percy the poet,” she whispered, “with shoulders so wide…”
A nurse stepped into the room, and I heard her breath draw in. Marie smiled at the nurse in a sisterly way, as gals do, winked at me and swayed out. She had been close, but not quite close enough.
“Thanks,” I said to the nurse.
“Oh, you’re quite welcome.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Here I was back at the apartment, sitting on my pratt, nursing my wounds and hating the killer who still ran loose in the city. A dirty, sneaking psycho, with no more compassion than a rattlesnake in August.
I wouldn’t be fooling anybody any more about not being able to walk, either. Or about who I was. The papers, radio and TV newscasters had taken care of that. Percy the Poet. Would I ever live it down?
* * * *
“The meeting was a bust, while it lasted,” I told Henry. He’d come up about seven-thirty, and I was glad to have company.
“You shouldn’t have done it, Mark.”
“Listen, my young friend, they ate it up—till I came to the murder bit.”
He slid around in the chair. He still looked peaked, and bulky under the shirt where they’d taped his ribs.
“Why didn’t you let me know you could walk around?”
I sighed. “I don’t have to go through all that jazz, do I? I wanted to catch this laddy, this killer. If I pretended to be real helpless, I figured I could lure him up here. It didn’t work, so I tried something else—and it didn’t work, either.”
He had a smoke. “Did you learn anything at all?”
“No. A gang of dingbats, all putting on a front. What could you expect?”
He smiled wryly. “You’re always spouting off about people not using their eyes, not really seeing. What did you see?”
“I was a damned idiot,” I said.
“Yeah.”
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