Man Drowning

by Henry Kuttner

  I played it as safe as I could, not saying much, staying out of the way most of the time. The Countess had got back around six and then I didn’t see her for a while. I figured she might not be feeling too good because of her blistered hands. She had slapped on a couple of Band-aids, and they made her nervous.

  For myself, I was embarrassed every time I thought of the Count. I couldn’t tell how much he knew or guessed. After a while I went into my room and lay down. I tried to make some plans, but nothing clicked. I couldn’t think straight. All my ideas were jumbled up, and they wouldn’t sort themselves out into any kind of order. After about half an hour I heard a car drive up and stop, and then Rafael opened my door.

  “Fella want to see you, Nick.”

  “Be right with you,” I said. My stomach was queasy, because I thought it might be Lieutenant Hobson about Gavotte again. But when I crossed the patio I glanced out toward the open part, and there was a yellow Cadillac—at least, the lines said Cadillac, and it looked light. I detoured to make sure, because it was getting dark. The sun was down beyond the mountains on the horizon, and the air felt cold.

  McElroy was in the living room, looking through a magazine. He was alone.

  “Banning.”

  He tossed the magazine down and came toward me, ready for a man-to-man talk. But it was all bluff. I could see that. He was watching me too carefully.

  “Well?”

  “You’re the fellow I want to see. I came out here to talk to you.”

  “Nice of you.”

  “Banning, what’s the use of trying to start trouble? It won’t get you anywhere.”

  “Never can tell.”

  “There wasn’t any Mexican divorce. I found that out. Sherry divorced you in Las Vegas, and it was perfectly legal.”

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “You…you could use five hundred, couldn’t you?”

  That stopped me cold. I stared at him, trying to figure it out. He might be afraid of me; hell, he was. And he might be afraid of my influencing Sherry. But he had the hole card that could take the pot any time: money. He must have known that. He could give Sherry what she wanted, and all he had to do was play that card and take the pot. Why should he offer me a red cent?

  I said, “What do you think you’re buying?”

  His eyes slid away. He smoothed back his slick yellow hair and opened his mouth and closed it again.

  “Well, I…what’s the use of doing things the hard way? It—well, if we could…”

  De Anza had told me a few nights ago that he was buying my freedom. McElroy didn’t even know that much. I saw then that he didn’t quite understand what he was doing.

  “You want me to stop seeing Sherry? Is that it?”

  “Yes, that’s it. There’s no reason—”

  “Or do you want me to run out?”

  He blinked, thinking it over. I laughed.

  “Suppose I took your dough. What makes you think I wouldn’t double-cross you the first chance that came along?”

  “Why don’t you stay away from Sherry? We’ll be in Chicago—”

  “What the hell would I do with five hundred bucks?” I asked. “Do you want to pay me three thousand? Then we might do business.”

  He chewed his lip. I thought I could see the angles, now. He was scared, that was all. As simple as that. He was ninety-nine per cent sure everything would work out his way, but he had a stripe down his back. All he had ever had was money, and not a damn thing else. It had always been enough. It had always got him what he wanted. Right now, it didn’t make any sense; it wouldn’t buy me, because nothing short of three grand would get me what I wanted, and if I had that much, Mac would be cutting his own throat with Sherry. Because, if it came to an even choice, I knew she’d take me.

  It was like a kid trying to bribe a bigger one not to beat him up. He’d got the habit. Money had always worked before. So without even thinking it out he’d gone ahead and used the same old routine, and I wasn’t following the rules.

  I remembered that kid story about money that turned into dead leaves. For the first time in my life, everybody was handing out dough; all I had to do was reach for it. Twenty from the Countess the first day, and a couple of hundred later, eight hundred or so in chips at the casino, now McElroy with five hundred. All told it came to about fifteen hundred, if I’d been able to keep it. If I could sell the Buick, I might have got it up to three grand, but the way things were turning out it was the old dead-leaves gag. All of it had been money I couldn’t use to get what I really wanted.

  McElroy had taken out his wallet, I looked at the hand-tooled leather in his hand. I don’t know what makes guys that way, but I’ve seen plenty of them. They’re always just a little nervous because they’re afraid something will come along, some day, that they can’t handle. Deep down, they’re afraid of everything, just a little. So they try to take out insurance, one way or another. Some of them are blow-hards. Others pretend they don’t give a damn what happens. McElroy probably had always figured his money made him as safe as anything could, so he was just trying to buy out of trouble—without even being sure it was trouble. After all, what could I do? I could take a swing at him; that was about all.

  But he couldn’t be sure, and all his life, I suppose, he’d never been sure what the other guy could do to him.

  I almost felt sorry for the bastard.

  And then I hated the bastard.

  Because, fooling with his wallet, he carefully let me see two plane tickets that said Chicago on them. His face took on a smirk that needed wiping off.

  So Sherry was going with him. I felt a hot sting in my chest. I took a step toward him. He raised his head and looked at me like a scared rabbit.

  “Banning—” he said.

  Before he could say anything else, Mrs. De Anza came into the room.

  “The first thing is a drink,” she said, heading for the bar. “Mac, you must want something or you wouldn’t be here. What is it, good advice? Cut your throat. Everybody should do that. What are you having?”

  “I’ll tend the bar,” I said, starting toward her.

  “How gallant you are tonight. Whisky and soda. Lots of whisky.” She was wearing another dress, bright green, and a green turban. She was still wound up tight as a main-spring. The load of costume jewelry was jumping. Her orange lipstick was put on carelessly, as usual. Her eyes didn’t look like mud any more; they had a shining hardness to them, like metal.

  “I was out at the ranch today and took the short cut back,” McElroy said. “Then I saw your place and thought you might give me a drink. How are you, Mrs. De Anza? You did all right in town, I hear.”

  “Pounds and pence and shillings,” she said, and glanced at me. I took an ice-tray out of the small refrigerator behind the bar. “What are you having, Mac?” she asked him.

  “Oh…the same.”

  “Two whiskys and sodas, at least, Nick.”

  “Not too strong. I’ve got to drive.”

  “And how were all the sheep? Dragging their tails? Hurry up, Nick.”

  “Sheep? It’s cattle, dairy cattle.”

  “How boring. Cigarette. Cigarette? Thanks, Mac.”

  I finished the drinks and passed them around. Mrs. De Anza took a sip of hers, raised her eyebrows at me, and took it back to the bar.

  “Perhaps I’d better mix my own,” she said. “There’s so much ice in this.”

  “I’ll fix it,” I said.

  “Never mind. You might put in too much soda next time.”

  She poured plenty of whisky and squirted a half-inch of soda on top of it. I didn’t say anything. All I could do was try.

  “Hurt your hands?” Mac asked her.

  “You should see my feet.” She pressed a Band-aid back in place on her palm. “Want to stay for dinner? Cigarette. Somebody.”

  She had finished her drink and went over to fix another, waving me away. After that, s
he found a record album and told me to stack the discs on the phonograph. It was noisy stuff, with a lot of percussion. I turned it low.

  “Well?” the Countess asked McElroy. “Dinner or not?”

  He didn’t look at me, but after a moment he nodded.

  “I’d like to. Thanks.”

  So he thought it wasn’t settled.

  Mrs. De Anza kicked back the carpet, knelt, and began to work on the safe. “Feel like some gambling tonight, Mac? I’m going to stay up all night anyhow, so I might as well keep busy. No sleep for me.”

  “I’ll drive you in when you’re ready,” he said. “But I’m trying to arrange things so I can fly to Chicago. There’s some business about putting up a bond with the police—I don’t know. My lawyer’s handling it. He says there’ll be no trouble. As soon as I get word, I’ll be ready to go, and I’m waiting on that.”

  He was talking at me. I let it slide past.

  The Countess swore.

  “Missed the combination,” she said. “I’m too jittery. Oh, let it go till later, there’s no hurry.” She stood up, kicked the rug back over the unopened safe, and glanced at me. “All right, all right,” she said. “Nick will take me in. Do you feel lucky tonight, Nick? I don’t. Some time after dinner, say. The later the better. Nick.”

  “…Yes?”

  “Tell Nita there’ll be another guest. She’ll want to break an extra egg, no doubt. Turn up the volume on that music, while you’re at it. I like my dissonance loud. Another drink. Mac?”

  “I have to drive.”

  I spun the radio knob as I went past and the music blared out harshly.

  In the kitchen Benita was washing up pots and pans, and Rafael was reading a comic book. I passed the word. Rafael was too busy with “Wonder Woman” to notice me, but Benita nodded and made a few gestures. I went on out into the patio. The moon was rising. Down the slope, fingers of cactus stuck up like corral, the same colors, in the soft cool light.

  I walked around toward the garage. The yellow Cadillac looked good, low and powerful and with nice lines. There wasn’t light enough to show up the dents and scratches.

  I could hear the music from the house.

  So McElroy was arranging to put up bond and go to Chicago. With Sherry. Tonight, maybe.

  While I tagged along after the Countess and watched her play roulette. She might even hand me out a few chips.

  And with Mrs. De Anza hopped up this way, anything might happen. I knew how much Nembutal it took to put her to sleep. There were other angles, too. She might drink too much and pass out. She might not remember what happened, afterward. I didn’t even try to plan ahead. After dinner the Countess would transfer the dough in the safe—probably all of it—to her purse, and then we’d be going into Phoenix, alone together. I could figure some way to get hold of that money. Somehow, some way, I’d manage it.

  And a hell of a lot of good it would do me if Sherry and McElroy were on the Chicago plane.

  I stood there for a while, thinking. Then I knew the answer.

  Something happened inside my head. I could see what I was going to do, all in one split second. I saw myself going into the garage and getting the flashlight out of the Buick. Then that clear, bright figure that was me opened the luggage compartment and took out a Stillson. Part of an old tarp was hanging from a nail, and I pulled it down and shook it out. The tarp was to keep my clothes from getting dirty.

  The only other thing I’d need was a piece of rag.

  I saw myself crawling under the Cadillac and using the Stillson, padding the jaws with rag so it wouldn’t leave marks. Afterward, I smeared grease back on the bolts and got out from under the car. I put the Stillson, the flashlight and the tarp where I’d found them, and threw the greasy rag in a corner. I brushed off my clothes and looked down to see if any oil had spilled on me….

  There wasn’t any oil. I hadn’t moved. It had all happened inside my head.

  Jesus…what was I getting into?

  I walked away fast. I headed for my room and sat on the bed, nervous as a cat. All right, it was only a daydream. Everybody has them. But I was getting awfully close to the edge. It wouldn’t have taken much to push me right over it and arrange a nice little crack-up for McElroy.

  He was taking Sherry away from me.

  Well, hadn’t I done the same thing to Ed Gavotte? But that was different. Sherry had been my wife.

  Gavotte hadn’t seen it that way, though.

  And then I thought: Gavotte was too gutless to hold Sherry. He’d got himself backed into a corner. That was why he’d tried to kill me—because I had something he didn’t have.

  And McElroy had something I didn’t have, too—dough. Not another thing, not a single thing. If I had three thousand dollars in my pocket, I thought I knew what Sherry would do.

  It’s easy to go over the line. Every time I remembered the safe with all the money in it, I had to push the idea out of my head. Because it wasn’t any good. Not unless I could get somebody to lend or give me the cash. The money wouldn’t be any use to me if I stole it, because I just wasn’t smart enough to get away with a straight robbery.

  Anyway, why should I turn thief? I felt the pressure. All along I’d been pushed a little, not hard, but enough so I felt it. Well, I could shove too. If I shoved in the right direction, maybe something would give.

  Now De Anza and his wife didn’t care much about money. They took it for granted, so three grand wasn’t especially important to them. They could give me that much without feeling it. But they wouldn’t, unless…

  There my thoughts stopped.

  There was an answer, but I couldn’t think of it. Maybe I didn’t want to think of it.

  All the same, it pushed its way up through my brain and looked at me with dull chocolate-colored eyes, and somewhere there was the king snake pouring itself sluggishly into sight.

  I kept thinking about that snake.

  And about three thousand dollars.

  My palms were sweating. I rubbed them together. Then I heard the snake moving. My stomach jumped. The sound stopped. I’d been making it myself with my hands.

  It was a crazy idea, I suppose, but, after all, it wasn’t my idea. The Countess had started it. She’d crawled into my bed last night. De Anza himself was an ex-gigolo, unless I was away off beam. And, damn it, Sherry had been whoring around ever since our divorce. She was charging McElroy three thousand bucks for just the same thing the Countess had wanted from me.

  My hands were sticky with sweat. I got up and washed them.

  I felt lousy.

  Chapter 17

  Dinner was bad. I don’t mean the food, Benita had fixed a good meal, but the Countess was on the narrow edge of a spasm. She ate hardly anything, and kept bouncing back and forth between the table and the bar. Once she went over and put in a call to Miami, but most of the time she just drank and listened to the phonograph. She’d got it turned up so high my nerves kept jumping, and McElroy and the Count weren’t very happy either. Mrs. De Anza talked all the time, about nothing in particular. The rest of us got in a word or two, whenever the record-changer put on the next platter.

  Talking to the Count still embarrassed me a little. Luckily McElroy acted as a sort of buffer. Most of the conversation was over my head, about people they knew and I didn’t, but once in a while De Anza would remember me and try to bring me into the conversation. I didn’t want in. The music was giving me a headache.

  Finally Benita came in to make coffee, while the Count went to work on one of his trick cigarettes. He still looked too young to smoke. I kept watching him, off and on, trying to guess how old he was. I was remembering what Mrs. De Anza had said about him.

  I wished McElroy would hurry up and go.

  “Nita,” the Countess said.

  “Sí, señora?”

  “Where’s my snake? I haven’t seen him around all day.”

  Benita talked Spanish fast.

 
“Well, find him. Sluggish monster. And hurry up with that coffee. I need it.”

  She might have needed it, and she drank it fast enough, but before she could sober up she was at the bar again. The Count didn’t try to stop her. He seemed to be taking everything for granted, even that damned blasting music. That never let up once, because every time an album was finished Mrs. De Anza picked out another and had me load the machine.

  After coffee we changed places, and the Count ordered his bowl of warm water and got the jade beads out of the floor safe. That reminded me of the money that was in the safe, but there didn’t seem to be much I could do about it. It wasn’t my dough. I kept looking at the carpet, over where it was. There was a design there, in blue and brown, like a cactus.

  De Anza stopped even trying to talk. He fingered his beads. McElroy and I didn’t talk much either. The Countess’ voice got higher and shriller and faster as she worked her way along the bar. She kept going back to the phone now, but she couldn’t get through to her party in Miami, whoever it was.

  “I could do it faster in a plane,” she said. She was walking back and forth, a glass in her hand. She tripped over the edge of a rug. “Why, God damn. A conspiracy? If I thought for a —” The music got too loud for me to hear her, but her lips went on moving.

  I noticed I was rubbing my thumb and forefinger together, hard. I stopped it. After a bit I noticed I’d started again. The smell of De Anza’s cigarettes was making me sick. McElroy was hunched up in his chair, looking stubborn, watching me when he thought I wasn’t noticing.

  “—charming group of waxworks. Oh, charming. You must come and see us more often, Mac. Bring your mother. Just give a good hard yank on the silver cord. Something in the Bible for everyone, isn’t there?” She looked at the Count. “Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth, while the evil days come not. Is that how it goes? No use asking you, Mac; you can’t read. How about it, Nick? Did you go to Sunday school? The almond tree shall flourish, and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail—”

  She started to laugh.