Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 37, No. 6, June 1992

Double Image by Robert W. Alexander

I have a small apartment and a color television, but every time something goes wrong with one set, I have to junk it and steal another. I’m a small-time burglar who struggles to make ends meet; otherwise, I’d buy a color TV and stop worrying. I stay glued to the set until the last color show is over, then go out and earn my livelihood by stealing whatever isn’t too risky.

But a neighbor moved next door to me three months ago, a most beautiful neighbor, who has piles of deep-toned red hair, brown inquisitive eyes forever changing expression, and an outstanding... I mean to say, she’s a dancer and naturally has a trim, presentable appearance.

Hazel isn’t at all like the other tenants. She embarrasses me at times, even though we’re pretty good friends. She lets me run errands for her, so I wasn’t a bit surprised when, during my last TV crisis, she rushed to my aid, but she insisted on giving more help than I wanted.

What could I do?

“For crying out loud, Albert,” she groaned. “Who’d you buy this one from?”

It was the third set she had seen in my place in as many weeks. Of course, Hazel doesn’t know I steal the things.

While I mumbled, she looked behind the set and found the label, Morton’s TV, with their phone number.

“I’m going to call them,” she said.

“Oh, no, no,” I rattled. “Don’t bother tonight.”

I don’t have a phone, but she does. She took my hand and physically pulled me over to her place. She’s surprisingly strong for being only five foot four. As a matter of fact, we’re both the same height.

“You’re too easygoing,” she said as we crossed the balcony. “It’s not eight yet. They’re open till nine.”

She wouldn’t hear babbled protests. With a determined wink, she phoned and upbraided them with chosen words for selling me a poor set.

“Relax,” she said. “They’re sending a man right over.”

“Relax?” I repeated. “Thanks, ever. I’ll run next door and wait for him.”

As I dashed to my place, plan one formed: don’t answer the door. I discarded it for plan two: hide the TV in my kitchen (I only have a bachelor apartment) and tell the serviceman he had the wrong address, that I didn’t even own a television.

But I plotted without consulting Hazel, who had followed me back. She just prances in any time, as though we’re intimate family members.

The first day I met Hazel, and her boyfriend, I was sitting on the balcony drinking coffee when she ventured out. I guess she thought it was a private balcony.

Having just gotten up, she stretched, yawned, and then leaned on the railing. One look at her and my mouthful of coffee jumped into my windpipe. Oh, she wore a flimsy white thing for a robe, but, my gracious! It was way too short and far too scanty to be construed a bathrobe.

Hazel has remarkable reserve during perplexing situations. After her first surprise, she recovered her poise instantly.

“You don’t have another cup?” she asked, meaning some of my coffee.

I hastily assured her I did, but just then we both heard her door buzzer.

“It’s open, Sam,” she called. “It’s just my boyfriend,” she told me.

He was a big guy with a square jaw, muscled arms, and hands the size of waffles.

“This is Sam Cutter,” she said. “I’m Hazel Sedure.”

“I’m Albert. Albert Freckle,” I said, offering him my small hand. He glowered down at me a moment, then exploded a laugh in my face.

“Ha!” he boomed. “Hello, Albert,” he said, making my name sound ridiculous. He caught up my hand and crushed it to a pulp. He applied the terrible pressure longer than necessary to get me to wince in front of Hazel, but I didn’t. I bit on my dentures and kept the tears from my eyes as though my life depended on Hazel’s not knowing I was losing a hand.

“Isn’t he cute?” Hazel said. “He’s getting me coffee.”

“I’ll fetch us all a cup,” I said hurriedly. Sam had to release my hand. I stumbled in my kitchen with aching fingers, but I was more hurt by what Hazel had said. She didn’t realize it was an affront for a woman to call a man “cute.” Besides, I’m as tall as she is.

I couldn’t balance three cups with my throbbing hand, so I used a silver tray I’d acquired erroneously. Sam accepted a cup, then stared at me and again emitted a vulgar laugh.

“Sorry,” he said. “You look like my uncle.”

I certainly resented that! If anything, I’m a year or two younger than Sam Cutter. I’m twenty-seven. I lost my teeth because of bad water, though I’ll admit I lost some of the front ones sticking up for my rights before I learned I wasn’t endowed to offer physical contention.

“Sam, he does not,” Hazel chided him. “Maybe the same size, but Albert’s better looking. Be nice, Sam. After all, Albert’s my neighbor. I’ll feel safe with him next door.”

“Yeah,” Sam grinned. “I’ll feel safe, too.” He laughed, flashing his white teeth like a showoff. Sam has dark curly hair, and big as he is, I suppose women find him handsome.

He tolerated my being around Hazel. Hazel likes to play cards, and dashes over to my place or has me over to hers when she is bored. I enjoy her company more than she knows. I’ve never dated. I could never afford it. By the time I pay rent, utilities, and feed myself, I’m lucky to make ends meet. I’ve always wanted to date girls, of course, but a fellow my size would need scads of money to win favor from any girl.

Sam didn’t even frown when he caught me playing cards with Hazel. I kept my eyes on my cards, stirred my coffee, and busied myself in other ways, but Hazel was certainly a revelation to me. I was amazed to learn that girls are like other people. At least, Hazel is.

When she plopped herself down in my chair to wait for the serviceman, I could feel the perspiration bead on my forehead as I chewed an index fingernail. Hazel wrinkled her nose encouragingly.

“He’ll be here soon,” she said. “Honest, Albert, I know you like TV, but this is ridiculous. Stop fretting.”

I suffered double apoplexy when the man from Morton’s TV knocked on the door.

“I hope you can fix it,” Hazel greeted him. “This is the third set Mr. Freckle has had this month.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, taking his eyes from her to inventory me. Then he stalked over to the set, pulled it out from the wall and gave us both a curious glance before he got down on his knees behind it. He was no dummy.

His head suddenly popped up and he looked me squarely in the eyes. “Where’d you get this set, Mr. Freckle? It’s never been set up for service.”

I felt the thyroid cartilage in my thin neck bobble. “From a man,” I said.

He got up slowly and placed his screwdriver-holding hand on his hip. “You didn’t buy it from me,” he said ominously, then suddenly whipped his accusing eyes to Hazel. “I thought it was phony. Your name wasn’t listed among my customers.” He turned his set jaw towards me. “This set was stolen from my store. I’m calling the police.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

Hazel puzzled a moment, biting at her lip. “Don’t worry about it, Albert,” she said. “It only means, if the man’s right, that you might have purchased a stolen set.”

“That’s what happened,” I agreed.

After he used Hazel’s phone it was only minutes before two policemen arrived. One was a lieutenant named Maxson, a stocky man with a tired face, and he was all business. He listened to Mr. Morton’s assertions, asked Hazel what part she had in it, and then turned to me. He wanted a description of the man from whom I’d bought it.

“He was a big, short man. I mean,” I corrected, “he was stout. Husky and small.”

“What’d he look like?”

“He had mean eyes—”

“Be more specific.”

“He had gray hair except where he was bald. Large, ah, blue mean eyes, a mustache, and he talked with a slur.”

“What kind of slur?”

“Ah, like a Swede with a Spanish accent.”

Morton interrupted. “If you want my opinion, this is the guy who swiped it.” He nodded toward me.

Hazel rallied to my defense. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she admonished. “If he stole it from you, would he phone you to come fix it?”

“Yeah!” I echoed. “Would I?”

Morton wouldn’t concede a thing. Angrily he said, “It’s got my label. It’s my set, but I never sold it. I’m taking it.”

Lieutenant Maxson wouldn’t let him. He explained that it had to be impounded and later identified with a factory invoice. He got Morton to help the uniformed officer take it to the station in Morton’s truck.

I admired the way Morton and the policeman easily carried the set to the door. It was heavy. I had struggled for two of the wee hours in the morning to get it upstairs.

“How much did you pay for it?” the lieutenant asked me.

“Three hundred dollars.”

“There you are!” Morton exploded at the door. “This set costs six hundred dollars. He knew it was stolen.”

“I did not,” I said, alarmed when the lieutenant regarded me with a frown. “The man said it was guaranteed unconditionally for two years, and if I ever had any trouble I was to call him.” I figured my best bet was to cast suspicion on Morton, and quickly. I looked at him. “I think you’ve got a racket,” I said. “You send a guy out and sell a set cheap, and then you come along, claim it was stolen, and take it back.”

Morton was furious. He set his end of the set down like he meant to punch me. The lieutenant waved him back.

“Don’t forget,” Hazel cut in, “Mr. Freckle will be in the market for another set.”

“I don’t want none of his junky stuff,” I said, then turned to Lieutenant Maxson and complained about losing my mythical money. He didn’t hear me. He was busy shoving the ruffled TV man outside. I thought I had fared pretty good, until Maxson turned around and triggered the guillotine.

“Come down to the station in the morning,” he said.

I felt sick again. “Why?” I protested. “It appears the set was stolen, but he got it back.”

“I need your statement,” he said, tapping a cigarette. His eyes again bored into mine. “Routine. Who you are, where you work, and your whereabouts when the set was stolen.”

“Of course,” I nodded.

I closed the door after him, knowing I couldn’t go to the police station in the morning. Color television had upset my whole life. I’d have to leave my hometown where I knew how to pilfer and peddle safely.

“You’re pale,” Hazel said. She pulled me over to her place. “You need a drink. What’ll you have?”

I was in shock. “Adrenaline over the rocks.”

She laughed at my pathetic attempt to smile. When she gave me a drink I tilted the glass and swallowed large gulps.

“Albert, you’re a crook,” she said.

“You’re smiling—”

“I’m nearly hysterical.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said indignantly. “You don’t believe—” I could see that she did.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Run.” I was amazed she wasn’t angry. “I don’t have a job. He’ll know I stole it.”

“You don’t work?”

“People won’t hire me. I can’t do anything.”

“You just steal?”

“Little things.”

“The TV was pretty big.”

“A big mistake.”

She bit her lip and studied me. When she does that, I get nervous and squirm. I’m suddenly conscious of how beautiful she is.

“Albert, do you like me?” she asked.

I had never dared think about it. The blood rushed to my face. I tried to drink from my empty glass, and the ice cube slipped into my mouth.

“As ah friend,” I garbled.

She cocked her head. “No other way?”

“You have a boyfriend,” I said desperately. “I’d never presume—”

“Albert, don’t be shy! Look, do you like me well enough to trust me?”

I nodded.

“All right, then. I’ll help you. You can go to the station tomorrow and bluff it through. Tell them you were with me the night you stole the set. I’ll back you up.”

“At four in the morning? Never!”

“Oh, brother,” she sighed. “You’re impossible. Tell you what, Albert. Sam will be here after work. He’ll fix a story for you.”

“Don’t tell Sam,” I protested.

“Take it easy. Sam’s been in and out of jams so many times he even lies to himself.”

“Sam?” I thought Sam was a respectable bartender at the roadhouse where Hazel danced, but I’d never been there because I couldn’t afford it. I still didn’t want Sam to know about me. I didn’t trust him.

I pleaded for her not to tell Sam, but she shook her head. “You need an out.”

We were playing cards when Sam arrived. Hazel told him everything.

“Him?” he said, pointing a finger at me. “A thief? I don’t believe it.” He slammed a fist on the table that sent our cards flying and roared with disgusting mirth. “I don’t believe it,” he repeated.

“Stop it, Sam,” Hazel petulantly cautioned him. “Come on now. You’re the expert with alibis. What should he tell them?”

Sam thumbed his chin thoughtfully, staring at me like I was on exhibit. “A cinch,” he said, flashing his oversized teeth. “He tells the cops he works for me at Marty’s. What night?”

“Tuesday — way past midnight.”

“So you were working Tuesday night till Wednesday morning. Tell ’em you mop up the place. You’re the flunky. Have the cops call the club. I’ll have it fixed for you.”

Intuition told me to agree, go next door, pack my bag, and leave town forever. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I said, starting to get up.

He grabbed my arm. “Wait,” he said. “Maybe there’s a way.”

“Now, Sam,” Hazel warned. “No strings.”

That was exactly what I was afraid of. Sam had studied me like I was expendable. His strings could be ropes and chains.

“I got an idea,” Sam said.

“Don’t pull Albert into any of your schemes,” Hazel threatened.

“Will you listen?” Sam growled. “I’m doing him a favor. The peanut doesn’t have a TV, does he? Ya want him to sit over there and cry? I’m gonna get him one without risk.”

“A color set?” Hazel asked dubiously.

“Sure. Color.”

“Where?”

“At Marty’s.”

“Rob your uncle?”

“In a way. The place is gonna be robbed. You know how business is. Uncle Marty had to let you and the girls go. I served the most drinks to myself tonight.”

“I can believe that,” Hazel agreed.

She was frowning at him, and I thought I detected an estrangement developing. I hoped Hazel had been Sam’s girlfriend only to hold a job. Along with the bait of a free color set, I was tempted to stay.

Sam ignored her retort. “Here’s how it is,” he explained on one side of his face. “I sold Marty’s liquor stock and fixtures. The guy’s got a van to haul it away, out of state. Can’t be traced.”

Hazel frowned. “You crossed your uncle?”

“Sure. Marty’s got insurance. He’ll make out like a bandit, collect full value. He can redo the joint in style and hire everybody back.”

“He’ll kill you.”

“Not Uncle Marty. He’ll go for the idea, but if I told him now, he’d want the five grand I’m getting. You know him.”

“I sure do,” Hazel flared. “You both talked me into perjuring myself when you burned his place in the East. A sure thing, you said. I spent six months in jail.”

“All right. I served two years. It was Marty’s idea. He owes me this. Pure fluke we were caught. I took the rap—”

“We took the rap,” Hazel stormed. “Look what it did to my career. I can’t get a decent job, and the money he promised — you promised — for that six months. Ha!”

“Easy, baby,” Sam soothed. “I’m doing this for us. Marty will make out with the insurance. I’ll see he pays you.”

“Ha!” Hazel said. “What about Albert?”

Sam was glad to change the subject. “Just a favor. He’s your friend. I’ll let him take the TV from Marty’s office before the place is cleaned out.”

Much as I wanted a color set, I decided to decline the offer. “Thanks, but—”

Sam’s face turned mean. “Listen, shrimp! Without me, you go to jail. And don’t think of running. You know too much. Besides, I need a favor from you, too.”

“What favor?” Hazel asked.

“He’s got to pose as my uncle.” He turned to her. “Now don’t look like that. These guys have heard Marty’s a midget — like him. They think Marty’s a part of it. The liquor alone is worth ten grand, but they don’t want a squawk from the owner. Look! All Albert has to do is put on one of my uncle’s suits and stand around. I’ll get him one.”

“Then what?” Hazel said.

“Nothing. The guy will hand him the dough, and Albert slips it to me. Won’t take two hours.”

I could only nod agreement when Hazel eyed me sympathetically. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“So what’s to be sorry?” Sam asked. “We all make out. Shorty even gets a color TV. No problems.”

I worried about it all night. I had the feeling that Sam had conjured the whole scheme when he learned about my trouble; that he had other plans for me he wasn’t telling. In the morning I was on the verge of packing my bag and running, but Hazel came over, primly dressed in a white cheongsam with breathtaking slits from the hem upward.

“I’ll drive you down,” she offered.

Without her to bolster me, I’d never have gone to the police station. She waited in her car as I entered the place with a palpitating heart. Lieutenant Maxson was there. He listened to my story, taking notes, and then called the nightclub.

“Does an Albert Freckle work for you?” he asked.

I heard the voice boom back on the phone. “Who? Naw! Never heard of him.”

Maxson hung up the phone and drew a circle on his scratch pad. “You hear him?” he asked.

I nodded, almost with relief. I guessed Sam’s plans had not worked out; possibly the other people wouldn’t lie. Jail didn’t look too bad to me. If they had color television, I thought I’d stay.

“Why’d you say you worked there?” Maxson suddenly barked. He startled me back to reality. His fist clenched, and he was working his fingers angrily, like he wished he had them around my neck. I didn’t answer.

He picked up a pen. “Okay, so you stole the set. What’s your record?”

“I haven’t a record.”

“How many arrests?”

“I never have—”

He threw down his pen. I lost all interest in jail when he leaned forward with an ugly expression. “I’ll advise you,” he snarled. “You’re arrested, now! If you’re gonna lie—”

His phone rang and he picked it up. “Hold it a minute,” he said into the mouthpiece. He held the phone against his chest and scowled at me. “You want to drag this out? Or do you want to make it easy on yourself?”

“Make it easy on myself,” I meekly assented.

He liked my answer. “You’re smart.” He put the phone to his ear. “This is Lieutenant Max-son.” I couldn’t hear the other voice this time. “Yeah,” Max-son acknowledged, “I’ve got Albert Freckle here. Who’re you? What’s your connection in this? He what? I just called Marty’s.” I watched Maxson start flipping his pen. “Nights, huh?” he said. “What about midnight till dawn last Wednesday... I see.”

He banged the phone down and glared across his desk toward me. His voice went up a tone. “Were you gonna confess?”

I gathered it was Sam who called. “Uh, no. I just wanted to make it easy on myself.”

“You’re a nut,” he growled. “Why didn’t you say you worked nights — that your boss would call?”

“You didn’t, uh—”

“Get out of here.”

I told Hazel how close it had been. She accelerated her little car angrily. “I called the fool. He’d slept in. He always goofs at the crucial time. Can’t trust him.”

“I hold the same opinion,” I ventured. “I’m still in trouble. The lieutenant is bound to doublecheck with the club. Then what happens?”

“Sam’s at the club yet. Everything’s okay. Sam does know the angles.”

“He got you in trouble once.”

“Once? Hah!”

“More than once?”

Hazel thoughtfully lit a cigarette at a signal. “Albert,” she said confidentially, letting me replace the lighter, “I met Sam years ago when I was young and starry-eyed. I was infatuated with him, and he had ideas how to go places fast. I’m not excusing myself. I was seventeen and should have known better.”

I’m a good listener. I just sat there.

“He’s been my boyfriend for eight years, because I don’t dare date anyone else. He could send me to jail. He had me blackmail a wealthy man. Set it up so I performed the whole operation, but it backfired. The man called the police.

“Of course, Sam got me away, hid me out, but I’m wanted. Sam has a hold over me.”

“I don’t like him,” I admitted.

“Oh, he treats me all right. I’m like a possession to him. He even has other girlfriends.”

“I’d never stand for that.”

She laughed. “I do. I encourage him. I’d give anything to be rid of Sam.”

“I see,” I said seriously. I shouldn’t have. It alarmed her. She braked to the curb.

“Albert, I was just talking,” she said hurriedly. “Don’t get any ideas. Sam can be mean. Whatever you do, don’t mention what I said.” She started the car again. “Albert, Sam and Marty aren’t above killing. There’s rumors about them.”

“He can keep the color set,” I said.

“Oh, now,” she said with a pseudo gaiety, “You’ll be earning it. It’s best you play along, Albert.”

She assured me I had nothing to fear. Sam was sure to have Marty miles away. “I’m glad you won’t meet him. He may be small, your size, but Marty is vicious. My, it’s hot today!” We talked weather until we reached the apartment. I held my hand out for her key, and after I unlocked her door, I said, “You’re sweet.” I stood there stupefied by her nearness, her perfume and femininity, as her eyes searched mine. It was the first time I had given her the least inclination I wildly worshiped her. I fled to my own place.

In my room I cringed, and pounded a hand to my forehead. To think I had said that to Hazel! My hands were still trembling when she walked in from the balcony.

“Albert, you forgot to return my key,” she said.

I gave it to her and ran for the refrigerator. “Would you like a beer?” I asked, jerking the door open. I didn’t have any. I was elated. I could run to the store and avoid facing her.

“No, thank you.” She came up and took my arm. I felt dizzy. “Albert, tell me about yourself.”

An aunt raised me. She died when I was twelve, and I was on my own. I told her about selling papers; how other kids pushed me off my corner.

“Then you started stealing?”

“Little things that people wouldn’t raise a fuss about. I was hungry most of the time, or I’d probably be bigger. I saved my money—”

“What for?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“No, I won’t.” She sounded sincere. I didn’t look at her.

“I lived on hamburgers,” I said. “I never got enough of them. I thought the greatest thing in the world would be to own a hamburger stand.”

“No fooling?” she said. “You know, I always wanted my own cafe. I was a waitress when Sam—”

“When Sam what?” Sam asked. He came in from the balcony.

“When you spirited me away,” Hazel mimicked in a falsetto voice. Sam’s sudden appearance hadn’t startled her.

Sam sat down and forcibly pulled Hazel onto his lap. He smirked at me. “Got off clean, huh, Shorty? I told you.”

Hazel struggled out of his grasp and stood up. She avoided Sam’s eyes, which perceptibly narrowed in surprise. He looked at me. “It’s set for Sunday night,” he said. “You be here. I’ll come here at midnight with Marty’s clothes. Then we’ll go down and take care of things. It’s simple.”

“You’re sure?” Hazel questioned.

“Definitely! It’s a smarter plan than I knew.” He laughed.

By Sunday my apprehension had grown, and I was ready to run. Hazel knew it. She wouldn’t let me out of her sight. She had me over to dinner, and we played cards until Sam arrived. It was after midnight, and he had a large bag of clothes with him.

“Here, put these on,” he ordered, grabbing my arm. He roughly reached for my belt as though to undress me right there in front of Hazel.

“Just a moment,” I admonished him angrily.

Sam removed a small cigar from his mouth with a nasty laugh. I grabbed the clothes and hurried out before Hazel saw me blush. “Hurry up,” he called after me.

It was an expensive jet black suit, and fit nicely except that the cuffs hung at my shoes. Sam had brought a whole outfit, shirt, tie, clasp, even black shoes, and I got a surprise there. The shoes had three-inch heels. They made the pants fit.

I looked in my mirror, amazed. There I was, a tall five-foot-seven. I knew, if I never did anything else in my life, I had to get shoes like them. There was also a dark hat with a jaunty curved brim and a green feather in the band. Wrapped in a separate bag was a wrist-watch and a ring, and even a wallet with Marty Cutter’s initials. It contained his driver’s license and laminated identifications, plus fifty dollars in bills.

The ring looked like a genuine ruby. I slipped it and the watch on, dubiously. Sam hadn’t said I might have to identify myself. I knew I was in for an ordeal, and hoped I had a nimble enough wit to carry it off.

There was one compensation; Hazel would see me dressed up. I set the hat to my advantage and hurried back to show her. The honest admiration in her eyes thrilled me.

“Albert, you’re positively handsome!” she exclaimed.

She stood up to inspect me as Sam broke out laughing. Our eye levels had changed. I beamed down on Hazel.

Sam stopped laughing. “Leave the fifty bucks in the wallet,” he warned. He got up suddenly when Hazel started adjusting my tie. I started to blush, then flushed deep red when Sam spun Hazel away and forced her to kiss him. She barely tolerated it.

Sam looked impatiently at his watch. “Let’s go,” he said. As Hazel wished us luck, Sam advised, “This won’t take luck.”

Outside Sam guided me to his car. “We’ll use mine,” he said. “I don’t trust your wreck.”

“What about the TV?” I asked.

“It’ll fit in my trunk. Come on!” It was an order.

We rode in silence until I asked, “Will I have to talk to the men?”

“Huh? Oh! No.”

“Then why do I have all your uncle’s things?”

“For in case. Look, shorty, I’ll do the talking. Just sit there and stop yapping.”

The club was dark. Sam parked in back, where I was alarmed to see a late model sedan. “It’s Marty’s,” Sam explained as he used his key on the rear kitchen door. “It’s here when he uses his sports job.”

Night-lights on the stoves guided us through the kitchen. Sam snapped on a single light to see our way across the dance floor, but the bulb was no match for the darkness in the vast room. It was eerie to follow him across the floor.

I had difficulty keeping up. I wasn’t used to the shoes. I seemed to be falling forward and had to arch my back to maintain balance. Climbing the office stairs was worse, but I floundered to the office door that Sam opened. He switched on the light.

“TV’s over in the corner,” he said, and shoved me impatiently.

I barely avoided falling. The television was nice, a twenty-five inch rectangular. Then suddenly someone chuckled.

“Perfect!” a pitched voice said from the left.

I whirled. Sam didn’t have to tell me the man coming from the private bath in the office was his uncle. He had on a black suit just like the one I was wearing. More appalling, there was a revolver balanced in his hand, pointed directly at me.

“I told you,” Sam said, as he leaned back against the closed door, which apparently was the only way in or out. “Same size and all. Look how your suit fits. Burned to a crisp, who’s gonna know it ain’t you?”

I stood frozen. Even without a gun, Marty wasn’t pleasant to look at. His face was creased with hate lines, and he had beady eyes that appraised me with baleful promise.

“You’re certain no one will look for him?”

“No one — except the police, who will think he took a powder. The fry cook’s gonna say he’s the Albert Freckle who works for us. That part’s taken care of.”

Marty rubbed a finger across his thin lips. I guessed him to be in his early forties. “There’re a few details,” he said.

“Right. Like the five thousand.”

“When we collect the insurance.”

“You said in advance.”

Marty scowled. “What’s with you? My life insurance will be paid to you.”

“I’ll need money till we collect,” Sam whined.

“All right,” Marty snarled. He slowly walked toward me, circled me, and then strutted importantly to his desk. “It should work,” he said, sitting down, “only you missed a detail.”

“What?” Sam protested. “He’s a two-bit thief. He won’t be missed. Hazel checked him out.”

That wilted me. Where I had been on edge to make a run for it, I gave up. I stared at the floor as Marty’s high voice cackled with glee.

“You forgot to pull his teeth,” Marty announced.

“Huh?” Sam grunted.

“His teeth, you fool,” Marty snapped. “If I didn’t check the details, you’d get us hanged. Do you think an insurance company would pay double indemnity on an accident without checking the corpse? He can’t have a tooth in his head. My dentures will have to be found in his mouth.”

“I thought of the rest of it—”

“Big deal.” Marty spit. “Get some pliers — a hammer, too. Knock him out so he won’t scream his head off.”

I saved them the trouble. I just reached up and pulled out my false teeth. Without a word I put them on Marty’s desk. I didn’t relish the thought of having his dentures in my mouth, but I was far sicker knowing Hazel had helped plot my murder.

They both stared at my teeth in surprise. Marty chuckled, then threw his miserable little head back and roared along with Sam’s vulgar guffaws.

Marty removed his own dentures from his mouth and set them to the left of mine on his desk, then gave me a toothless grin as he pulled another set of teeth from his drawer and stuck them in his mouth.

“I’ll get along with my old ones,” he said. “It’s bound to work. My dentist will identify those plates when they’re found in your mouth.”

I looked at them. I could see his saliva still wet and glistening in the light.

“Want to try them on?” he asked.

I stepped back and shook my head, but Sam jumped forward and gripped my arm. “You’re gonna,” he threatened.

“No, wait!” Marty said. “He’ll break them. Wait till you knock him out, where we wreck the car.”

Then the office door opened. It was Hazel.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Marty demanded.

Hazel answered as she closed the door. “I figured something was wrong when Sam didn’t let Albert bring his car.”

“Beat it,” Marty snarled. He turned on Sam, who had a death grip on me. “Details!” he raved. “You chancing her turning us in?”

“She can’t,” Sam snarled back. He took Hazel’s arm in his other hand. “Look, baby doll, there’s a new plan, with big money in it for all of us.”

“You lied to me,” Hazel said.

“Only so you’d be convincing and get this jerk up here. Besides, Marty has sold this place. We got a bigger deal. Uncle Marty is getting burned up in a car wreck — only it’s gonna be Albert. We’ll collect double on the insurance: two hundred thousand. How about that?”

Hazel pulled away from him. She looked at the two sets of teeth on the desk.

“Mine and his,” Marty said, pointing with the gun. “With my teeth in his mouth it’s foolproof.” He watched Hazel carefully, as though he might spring at her if she made the wrong move.

“So you collect. What about me?” she asked.

“You’ll get a cut, too,” Marty said eagerly.

Sam laughed. “I told ya she’d go along.”

Hazel glared at Sam. “Don’t be so sure. Promises are cheap. I want a cash advance.”

Sam and Marty exchanged smiles. I couldn’t understand Hazel asking for money, but they did. I still couldn’t believe she was condoning my murder, but she was.

“Okay,” Marty snapped. He spun on his high heels and opened a safe behind a picture. He counted out two piles of bills, twenty-five hundred in each. “You two split five thousand now, and ten times that when you collect. Agreed?”

Hazel tucked her money into her purse. Sam reluctantly pocketed his. “You’re giving her half of my cut,” he complained.

“Right,” Marty said. “She’s your girl, and she’s going to be in this to the end.” He left the desk. “Let’s go.”

I kicked Sam in the shins. He howled, then he hit me. I woke up, tied hand and foot, in his back seat. We were alone. Sam was driving and we were following the blue sedan along an isolated road with a steep ravine on the side.

For the first time I felt fear. Pleading for my life was useless. I had to find something to Sam’s advantage to free me.

“You’re a sucker,” I said.

Sam threatened to cave my skull in for kicking him.

“A sucker,” I repeated. “Why don’t you really let it be your uncle? Collect it all.”

“Shut up,” he growled. “Marty has papers with a lawyer that’d fix me if I crossed him. You’re the sucker,” he taunted, “making a play for Hazel. Thought I didn’t know. I wished when Hazel started get-tin’ standoffish. You stupid jerk, you didn’t know when to move in. I decided to cook your goose before Hazel ran off with you. Crazy nut!”

“With me?” I couldn’t believe it.

“Simmer down, sucker. She only has one love — money.”

I didn’t answer. I had witnessed the proof.

Marty parked the sedan with the radiator facing the cliff, parked it right at the edge. Sam parked his car directly behind it. I thought, So he could shove the sedan over the edge. Sam untied my legs and forced me to walk to the front car.

Marty had chosen a bend in the road so it might appear a driver had fallen asleep and driven off the cliff. Hazel was in the front seat with Marty, but she wouldn’t look at me.

Marty swung his door open and put his feet out, but stayed in the front seat.

“Get the gasoline out of my trunk,” he told Sam. “I’ll watch him.” He shoved a gun in my stomach.

Sam hurried to the back with Marty’s keys.

“Douse it good,” Marty hollered, “and save some to put on him.”

I saw Hazel place her burning cigarette in the car’s ashtray, then get out. “I’ll wait in Sam’s car,” she said.

As Sam finished pouring the gas over the car, I was tempted to warn Marty about the cigarette. I didn’t want to die sooner than necessary.

“Open your mouth, Albert,” Marty interrupted my thoughts. He fumbled in his pocket and brought out his new set of teeth that had been on his desk.

I clamped down in refusal. Marty grinned and rammed the gun harder into my stomach. Sam came up in back of me with an open can of gasoline.

“Shall I douse him with it?” Sam asked.

“Make him open his mouth first,” Marty said evilly.

Sam crushed my neck and forced my mouth open. Marty shoved his teeth in, watching to see if I’d get sick. I didn’t. I fitted them in place and stared back at his sinister face. It surprised him.

“Untie his hands and knock him out,” Marty ordered.

I wasn’t the least queasy about the teeth in my mouth. They were mine, and I was positive it wasn’t a mistake on Marty’s part. Hazel had switched them on the desk. She was on my side! Even if I did die, Sam and Marty would be caught. I suddenly realized if Hazel hadn’t pretended to go along, they would have killed her, too. I wished I could talk to her.

Sam confidently tugged at the ropes binding my arms behind me. With a gun in my stomach there wasn’t much I could do. I was also blocked by the open front door of the car, hemmed in on three sides like a triangle.

The second my hands were free, I knew Sam would knock me out. He made a mistake not knocking me out before he untied me. I ducked, but Sam didn’t swing. He didn’t swing because all three of us heard Hazel start the car behind us. Sam and Marty looked back to see what she was doing. I didn’t. I had a wild hunch I knew what she was up to, though I thought it hopeless.

I grabbed the gas can with the cap off, and pushed Marty back in the seat with it. Gasoline spilled onto his lap. I think Hazel saw me. Marty snarled like an animal and threw the can from him. He again brought his gun to point at me. I ducked. Sam’s rock-hard fist slammed my shoulder and smashed me to the ground. Then there was a crash, followed by a shot.

Hazel had driven Sam’s car into the rear of the sedan. The collision caused Marty to fire the gun, and also caused the car to plunge over the cliff. I heard Marty scream as it fell. There was a resounding crash, and the sedan literally exploded in flames. I heard it and saw the flash as I scrambled away, mostly rolling to avoid Sam’s feet.

My mad flight had taken me to the edge. My shoulder was paralyzed. I turned to find Sam coming toward me, walking blindly, holding his stomach. Marty’s bullet had caught him in the lower chest. He walked right up to me — then he fell. I think he was dead before he reached the flames below.

Hazel helped me to Sam’s car. She drove to the club, and we parked it and wiped off our prints. Then we drove home in her car.

The police think Sam murdered his uncle, and that Marty shot him at the last instant. Two weeks have passed, and Hazel and I seem to be in the clear. In fact, we bought a hamburger stand. Business was great the first day, but I’m in trouble again. Hazel just told me.

“I’m patient,” she said, “but it’s time you kissed me; like tonight, when you take me home.”

That’s life. I no sooner escape one problem when I’m faced with another. Kiss her tonight? I’m not even accustomed to my high-heeled shoes yet!