Kill as Directed

Eleven

For days he fought the thought back. As he pushed it down in one area of his brain, it rose in another. It invaded and occupied his work, such as it was. It intruded on his sleep, interfered with his meals, his drinking, even his sex life; he was now frequently impotent when he was with her, and irritable, and the fact that she soothed him, and understood, only seemed to make it worse. He lost weight, there was a tightness about his mouth, his eyes acquired a glitter that appalled him. I’m beginning to look like a psychotic, he told himself. And it is psychotic. Who thinks of murder but a lunatic? How in God’s name did I get into this mess? Caught, lashed, hog-tied in a criminal conspiracy. He, Harry Brown. Harrison Brown, M.D. And thinking thoughts of murder to get out of it!

It’s ridiculous, he thought. It isn’t happening. I’ve got to shake this off. Get out from under. Somehow.

The phone call settled it.

It came on a broiling Monday at one o’clock in the afternoon. Kurt Gresham’s voice curtseyed over the wire: “Harry? How are you, boy?”

“All right,” Harry said.

“Harry, can you come over to the office today?”

“What time, Kurt?” That voice made him sick.

“Two-thirty fit into your schedule?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you so much, Harry.” The snick of Gresham’s connection being broken sounded like something out of an execution.

At two-thirty Dr. Brown was ushered into the presence. The presence was garbed in cool blue, with a startling white tie. The pink globular face was crinkled with pleasure.

“Ah, Harry, right on the dot. That’s good. How are you, boy?”

“All right. What’s more to the point, how are you?”

“I know, you’re going to scold me for not keeping my last two appointments.”

“That’s not very smart, Kurt.”

“I know, I know,” Gresham signed. “Press of business. Small emergencies. But they add up, Harry. I can’t even plan on leaving the city this summer except for weekends. But in September” — he smiled cheerily — “we’ll be going off on a nice long vacation.”

“Oh?” said Harry. Karen hadn’t said anything about going with him. He settled back in his chair. The office was deliciously cool. The view from the fifty-fifth floor was entrancing.

“Harry.”

“Yes? Oh, I beg your pardon.”

“You like beautiful things, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“There’s so much beauty in the world. Unfortunately, a great deal of it is so expensive, eh, my boy?”

“Yes.” What was Gresham driving at?

The millionaire raised the lid of the humidor on his desk.

“Cigar?”

“No, thanks.”

The little round, red-lipped mouth thrust the cigar straight out as the little pudgy pink hand held a lighter to it. Gresham puffed slowly, smiling. Then he took the cigar out between thumb and forefinger.

“Do you have a passport, Harry?”

“No.”

“We’ll arrange that for you.”

Harry blinked. “A passport? What for?”

Holding the cigar between thumb and forefinger, palm exposed, fingers curled daintily, Gresham puffed again. Then he said, “For our vacation, of course.”

Harry almost laughed. “You mean it’s me you’re expecting to go with you?”

The pinkish globe crinkled benignly. “On September first I’m leaving on a trip to Europe and the Far East. I’ll be gone six weeks, possibly two months. With a bad heart, I naturally want my doctor to accompany me. As my doctor you’ll be paid a generous fee; as my guest, all expenses paid. Sound attractive, Harry?”

“And all I have to do is take care of you?”

Gresham chuckled. “There may be another chore or two. We’ll cross that bridge when we build it.”

What now? Harry thought. Am I promoted to be one of his executioners? He’s been working me in slowly from the very first meeting, spinning the web, tightening, closing it. He’s sure of me now; I’m one of his boys.

A perverse impulse made Harry say, “I’m afraid it’s not possible, Kurt.”

“Let’s not play games, Harry.” The pink deepened, the tone soured.

“I’m a doctor, Kurt. I can’t walk out on my patients.”

The cigar was dropped into an ash tray. “You’re a difficult young man, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry said innocently, wondering as he said it what he thought he was doing. Why was he baiting Gresham? He knew he could not win. I’m like a kid playing with matches, he thought — I know it’s dangerous, but it excites me.

“Harry, you can be very valuable to me, and I to you. I have big plans for you.” So Big Man was still giving it the soft sell. “So let’s not waste time fencing. Think of me as a father...”

Who, Harry thought, is kidding whom? “What about my patients, Dad?”

That did it. He saw Gresham’s ears take fire while the rest of the fat face became the color of ash and the unpigmented eyes hardened into slag. “I’m giving you plenty of notice, Harry. Doctors can always turn over their patients to other doctors. Make your arrangements.”

“And if I don’t?” I’m trying to commit suicide, Harry thought, that’s it. He had an almost overwhelming desire to get up and go around Gresham’s desk and tip the big chair over and put his foot on the big round face, and grind.

“Harry.” The prissy voice was now guttural, the grayed jowls shaking, the little womanly red mouth puckering. “You cut out this kid stuff, understand? You’d better take the blinders off. You listen to me.”

So Karen was right. “You talk as if I have no choice.”

“You don’t!”

Harry took time out to locate his cigarettes and make a ritual out of lighting one. Then he said quietly, “All right, Kurt, spell it out for me.”

“I’ll do just that, Harry. You’ve been drafted, and your hitch is for life. My life, Harry. No, you have no choice. Go AWOL and you’re a sudden casualty of the war. Indulge in loose talk, and you’ll find yourself up against the wall smoking your last cigarette. But be a good little soldier and do what you’re told, and you’ll get all sorts of citations.”

“Can you translate that from poetry into prose?”

“All right. I want you, I’ve got you, I’ll pay for you. But all the time you’re getting rich you’d better remember one thing: You can’t get out. How is my spelling, Harry?”

Harry was silent. Then he said, “I suppose there’s nothing left for me to do but ask: How rich?”

The ears faded to their normal shell pink, the ashes took on a glow, the slag melted and became Gresham’s eyes again. “Now that’s what I’ve been waiting to hear, Harry! You had me worried for a while. I find myself liking you more and more, I suppose because you stand up on your hind legs and talk back to the old boy... Why, I should think this first year should gross you more than fifty thousand.” He lit another cigar.

“How do you figure that?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you. Just for going abroad with me, Harry, you’re going to earn an extra fee of twenty-five thousand dollars. And that’s only the start. Next year you should make at least a hundred thousand. Your take will keep rising, unless I’m all wrong about you, and I don’t think I am. I have a feeling you’ve got the makings of one of my little upstairs group — my board of directors. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if you became a director in record-quick time. Sound good to you, boy?”

“Very good indeed, Pappy.”

“Then I have another goodie for you to think about,” Kurt Gresham beamed. “The moment you’re voted onto my board of directors, you’re included in my will.”

“Your will?” exclaimed Harry. The surprise in his voice was genuine.

“Ah, that throws you, does it? In our kind of operation I can’t work out a pension plan—” out of the fresh cigar smoke came a fat chuckle — “so I provide a form of social security for my faithful inner circle. My nine board members — you’d make the tenth — are down for half a million dollars apiece when I die. Do you know how much I’m worth, Harry?”

“I have no idea.”

“To tell you the truth, neither do I. Probably a hundred million. A lot depends on the state of the market. Most of it is in blue-chip investments. So it means very little to me to leave my best people half a million apiece. Actually, they’re all better off having me alive — salaries and bonuses are high, Harry, high. It will pay you to make every effort to keep this pumper of mine operating — your earnings over my lifetime will far exceed the half million you could expect on my death. However, it’s comforting to know it will be there when the fountain goes dry — eh, Harry?”

“I... Kurt, I don’t know what to say.”

Gresham kept beaming at him.

You liar, Harry thought. You conscienceless, megalomaniacal liar! You’re building me up to a dirty job, probably murder — dangling carrots in front of my nose while you lead me to the slaughterhouse.

“Then we understand each other, Harry?” Gresham simpered.

“Yes, Kurt.”

“And you’re my doctor?”

“I’m your doctor.”

“All the way?”

“All the way.”

“You’re going on a vacation with me?”

“I am.”

“You’ll be paid in full before we go. Need any money now?”

“No.”

“That’s it, then, boy. I have certain problems, but we’ll discuss those during our trip. Today I enjoyed. You’re a rough one, kid, you forced my hand. You’ll be an asset to Gresham and Company.” The fat man heaved himself out of his chair and came around the desk. Harry rose. “Thank you so much for coming,” Gresham said.

He put an arm around Harry’s shoulder and walked him toward the door.

“Love from Karen,” he said in the same warm affectionate tone.

“Oh?” Harry could not suppress a start. If Kurt Gresham felt it, he gave no sign.

“You’ve been seeing a lot of Karen lately.”

“She’s a charming woman,” Harry said stupidly.

“Look out for Tony.”

Harry stammered, “I... beg pardon?”

“Tony Mitchell.”

“Oh,” said Harry.

“Jealousy is an indecent emotion, Harry. It has no respect for the proprieties. Discretion, my boy, discretion and a decent respect for the opinions of mankind. Especially husbands. Eh?”

Gresham laughed.

Harry laughed.

The short fat arm around him tightened in a hug that for an instant alarmed Harry.

But then Kurt Gresham let him go.