The Seven File

Nineteen

Grant was dozing before the fireplace when a car turned into the driveway in front of the lodge. As he came to his feet, shaking his head in confusion, headlights swept brilliantly across the windows and a train of grotesque shadows leaped through the fire-lit room.

“Duke!” he cried, in a hoarse, sleep-thickened voice. “Duke, for God’s sake!” He drew the gun from his pocket and faced the front door, shaking his big head groggily as the lights passed the windows and darkness plunged back into the room. Outside the sound of a motor faded and trembled away into silence.

Duke turned on the lamp beside his chair and glanced at his watch. Hank had been stretched out on the sofa but now he sat up, his eyes switching from his brother to Grant.

“It’s only nine-thirty,” Duke said, as a step sounded on the porch. “Sociable hour for callers.”

“Get up!” Grant said, as the steps came solidly toward the front door. “Get up, damn you.”

“Put that gun away,” Duke said. His face was blurred by the shadows, but his eyes were hard splinters of light in the darkness. “We got a caller, a friend of my brother’s maybe.” Without raising his voice he said harshly, “Put it away, you fool!” Duke stood and hitched up his trousers. He looked at Hank and said, “Play along, kid. If anything slips you get it first. Then the nurse and kid.”

A knock sounded and Duke said, “You’re the host, kid. Act like it.”

Hank nodded and got slowly to his feet. As he crossed the room a second knock shook the panel, and a third sounded just as he pulled open the door. Light from behind him slanted through the doorway and touched the smiling face of the big man who stood on the porch: it was Adam Wilson, Hank saw, an amiable giant who ran a sporting goods store in Williamsboro.

“Not too late for a visit, I hope,” Adam said, smiling first at Hank, and then at Grant and Duke who stood together at the fireplace.

“No, come on in,” Hank said. “We were just sitting around talking. You haven’t met my brother, I know, or his friend, Eddie Grant.”

“Glad to meet you both,” Adam said. He smiled at them, turning his hat slowly in his big hands. “I drove out this way to see Pop Macky and I thought I’d drop in on Hank here. I heard he missed his fishing trip because he hurt his hand. A fellow out at the airport told me about it. How’s it coming along, boy?”

“It’s coming along okay,” Hank said.

Adam was staring at the dirty bandage and the deep purple color of his wrist. “You sure?” he said doubtfully.

Duke came across the room smiling. “Nice to meet you, Adam. Maybe you can make him be sensible about that hand of his. I tried to get him in to the doctor twice, but he’s got a superman complex.”

“I’d listen to your brother,” Adam said, glancing at Hank. “That paw don’t look a bit good.”

“Tomorrow he goes to the doctor if I have to carry him,” Duke said. “Sit down now and I’ll find you a drink. Rum okay?”

“Rum’s my drink,” Adam said, smiling again. He took off his heavy jacket, a big man, tall and broad, with a padded, comfortable-looking body. There was a quality of gentleness in his manner; his eyes were clear and innocent behind rimless glasses, and his humor was of an old-fashioned, friendly sort, completely without sting or malice.

Duke turned into the kitchen and Hank and Adam settled themselves before the fire. Grant remained standing at the mantelpiece, watching Wilson with narrow, cautious eyes.

Silence settled in the room. “You in business in town?” Grant said suddenly.

“Yes, that’s right, Mr. Grant. I run a little sports store. Guns and fishing tackle mostly.”

“That’s a pretty good deal, eh?”

Adam looked at him, polite and attentive. “Well, yes and no, I’d say. Not much money, but quite a bit of fun. There’s a good bunch in town, and it’s not too hard sitting around swapping lies with them.”

Grant ran a hand over his forehead and Hank saw him glance at his watch. Adam saw it too...

The silence closed around them once more. Hank knew Adam was no fool; in spite of his bland good humor he was a successful trader in a country of historically good traders. Nothing much escaped his big clear eyes. He knew what went on behind people’s faces; when he lost at poker it was news in town. Now he was curious about Grant’s strained manner, turning it over slowly in his uncomplicated mind.

“Small towns have their points, eh?” Grant said. He made a nervous gesture with his hand. “Everybody knows everybody. A man feels at home, I guess.”

“Yes, that’s true. You live in the city, Mr. Grant?”

“Always have, always will, I suppose,” Grant said, smiling quickly. He put his elbow on the mantel and the cloth of his jacket tightened over the gun he carried in his pocket. Adam saw that; Hank was sure of it. His eyes passed over that significant bulge casually; he paid no more attention to it than he did the buttons on Grant’s coat. But he had recognized it; he knew the shape of guns.

Duke came back into the room with a bottle of rum and a tray of glasses, his manner cheerful and ebullient. “Good thing rum’s your drink, Adam. It’s all we’ve got.”

“Rum’s the next best thing to a good wife,” Adam said. “Some old fellows around here been drinking it since they were kids. Nobody knows how old they are now. They go on about hearing Dan Webster talk though.” Adam raised his glass smiling. “Take it or leave it, that’s their story.”

“I’ll take it,” Duke said. “Well, long life, eh?”

Everyone drank and shifted into more comfortable positions. Duke’s mood was genial and expansive. “The good life, eh? A fire, something to drink — pretty good, eh.”

“You said it.”

“That’s what we city slickers miss,” Grant said. He was taking his cue from Duke now, Hank saw — striking a note of jovial normality. “We don’t relax enough. We think life is just something that gets in the way of work — instead of the other way around.”

“That’s well put,” Adam said, nodding. “We’re just the opposite, eh, Hank? Too much fishing, not enough work.”

“You mean Hank’s turned into a playboy up here?” Duke said.

Adam laughed. “Telling tales out of school. There I go again.”

“Well, watch it,” Hank said easily; but all his senses were suddenly alert. Too much fishing — Adam’s sport was gunning. He was no fisherman.

Adam sipped his drink and smiled into the fire. “Speaking of work, which I hate about as much as working itself, I got those new reels you wanted. Two of ’em, real beauties. It’ll take a lot of fish to make that investment pay off.”

“It’s fun trying,” Hank said. Now he could feel the slow heavy pounding of his heart; he hadn’t ordered any reels from Adam.

“They’re out in the car, as a matter of fact,” Adam said. “In the back under a lot of junk. You want to help me dig ’em out? Or let it ride till you’re in town?”

“Oh, let it ride,” Hank said. Duke wasn’t smiling any more, he saw; he was watching Adam with a puzzled little frown. “I can’t do much fishing with this hand.” They were taking a dangerous chance with Duke; he was always alert for betrayal and deception. When he double-crossed a friend he felt he was simply beating him to the punch.

The conversation drifted into casual channels. Adam told some of his favorite stories, and Duke poured another round of drinks. Grant said he had always wanted to go on a hunting trip in Africa — that had been his ambition as a kid. Adam seemed interested in this, and Duke added a bit of rum to everyone’s glass. The time passed uneventfully. Finally Duke yawned and said, “Look, I hate to be the wet blanket, but I’m bushed.”

“I didn’t mean to keep you up,” Adam said. “I’ve got to be going along.”

“Finish your drink,” Duke said. “Don’t let me spoil things.” He shook hands with Adam and said, “We’ll stop by one of these days. I’d like to see the shop.”

“You do that,” Adam said. “I want you to meet some of the boys.”

After Duke went upstairs the silence that followed was normal, almost comfortable: Grant had his nerves under control and was waiting for Adam to leave without visible impatience. They sipped their last drinks and watched the fire, seemingly suffused with lazy contentment Finally Adam said. “There’s something I forgot, Hank. I ran into Hairy Davis yesterday and he asked me if you still wanted that job done on the roof. Said he’d drop out and give you an estimate if you were interested. I told him I’d ask you.”

“I don’t know,” Hank said, shrugging lightly. The wrong word here might finish them; Harry Davis was no contractor, he was the sheriff of Williamsboro. “It’s a job for him, all right,” he said finally. “But I’m worried about the price. It may be pretty steep. He can’t handle it alone, I know.”

“The longer you let it go, the worse it gets,” Adam said. “Like me, for instance. I let a leaky roof go one year, next thing I knew I had a plastering job on my hands.” Puffing on his pipe, he seemed completely relaxed and at ease. “So I’ll tell him to come out, eh?”

“Okay, do that,” Hank said.

“Now I’ve got to be going. Eddie, I hope you can stop by the store before you leave. I’d like to have you all up to my place for a bite to eat. And who knows? Even a drop to drink.”

“That sounds good.”

“Come when you can. I don’t need advance warning.” They all went to the door, and Hank said, “Watch the road, Adam, you’ve been belting that rum tonight.”

Adam laughed as he put on his hat. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. Smiling at Hank, his expression changed slightly. “Don’t worry about a thing, boy. Get back to the fire now, both of you.”

“So long,” Grant said. “Take it easy.”

“That’s my middle name. Good-by now.”

Grant closed the door and listened for a few seconds to Adam’s heavy footsteps crossing the porch. Then he shook his head and took out cigarettes. “The local wit, eh? The Jackie Gleason of the crackerbarrel crowd.”

“He’s a pretty nice guy,” Hank said casually. He was estimating the time it would take Adam to reach Williamsboro, find Harry Davis — an hour at least. Then Davis would be back out here in another half hour...

“These village clowns are all nice guys,” Grant said, strolling toward the fireplace. “They haven’t got brains to be anything else. I’d hate to be stuck with him in a stalled elevator, that’s all I can say.”

But supposing Adam couldn’t find Harry Davis? Would he call the State Police? Yes, of course. They could make it in two hours or less. Hank glanced at his watch. Ten-thirty. By twelve-thirty then...

A heavy footstep sounded on the front porch. Grant straightened spasmodically, the tendons in his throat drawing tight with fear. “You expecting anybody else?”

“Don’t do anything in a hurry, Eddie. Adam might have forgot something.”

“Shut up! Just sit there.”

The door was pushed inward with force; it swung around, crashing against the wall, and a blast of cold air swept into the room, shaking the windowpanes and stirring the smouldering logs into a guttering panic.

Hank came to his feet as he saw Adam standing in the doorway, his face white against the night, a dark, liquid mass gleaming on his forehead. “Adam!” he cried.

And then Adam staggered forward and went down to his knees, his breath coming in deep, laboring gasps, and behind him Hank saw Duke standing, with a piece of firewood in his hand, an expression of sullen fury on his dark features.

“You crazy maniac!” Grant yelled at him. “What the hell have you done now?”

“Saved your goddamned necks, that’s all,” Duke said.

Hank knelt beside Adam, hardly hearing the argument crashing above his head.

“You’re acting like a madman,” Grant said in a high, wild voice. “The cops will be out looking for him. Didn’t that enter that crazy thick head of yours?”

“He was on his way to the cops,” Duke said harshly. “So relax, Eddie. I’m getting tired of your temperament. If you can’t keep calm, maybe you’d better go upstairs with the women.”

“What do you mean, on his way to the cops?”

“He didn’t have any reels for Junior here in his car. I checked that.”

“He might have forgot ’em. I tell you, Duke—”

“Don’t bother telling me things,” Duke said. “They threw signals past you as if you weren’t here. Harry Davis! Roofing job! Lucky for us I waited on the stairs. Harry Davis! He is the sheriff of Williamsboro. His posters for reelection are plastered on every telephone pole in town. And Adam was on his way to get him. I got a window open and slid down a drainpipe — and just in time, Eddie.”

“But what do we do now, Duke? I–I can’t think.”

“We keep him quiet. That’s all. He’ll phone his store in the morning, tell them he won’t be in. He’ll—”

“He won’t do anything,” Hank said. “He’s dead. You killed him.”

“Don’t talk a lot of foolishness,” Duke said. “I just tapped him.” Kneeling, he slipped a hand under Adam’s coat. “Just enough to put him out for a few minutes. I can time that swing to the second, kid. If I’d wanted to—” He stopped there, frowning faintly, staring at Adam’s face. For a moment or so no one spoke; Grant’s heavy breathing was loud in the silence.

“Duke?” he said.

“Yeah, the kid was right,” Duke said thoughtfully. He rocked back on his heels and shook his head. “I can’t understand it. Eddie. I just tapped him.” He stared across the still body at his brother. “You see, kid, he asked for it. It wasn’t my fault. He was trying to be a smart guy.”

Hank got to his feet. “You don’t believe that. Nobody else does either.”

“He wanted to cut himself into the deal,” Duke said. “He just wanted to be smart, that’s all.”

Hank looked at his brother, seeing him clearly for the first time, the image unsoftened by the filters of guilt and fear and sentiment; he saw the grossness, the twisted mixture of cunning and boldness, the defiance and fear — yes, over all of it, the mark of fear.

“He asked for it,” Duke said, dismissing responsibility with a little shrug.

“And the baby upstairs asked for it,” Hank said. “And the nurse. Every time you club somebody from behind you limp away, whining that they asked for it. Aren’t you getting sick of that routine?”

“Now you just better shut up,” Duke said slowly, but the contempt in his brother’s face stung him into a defensive anger. “Go on, stare all you like. Make gags about my crooked leg. It’s a sure-fire laugh. Anybody with two good legs loves it. I—”

Duke stopped abruptly as the upstairs door opened and Belle stepped into the room. “Eddie, I thought—” Then she saw Adam’s sprawled body and a little cry of terror broke through her lips. “What’s the matter with him? Who is he, Eddie?”

“He’s dead,” Grant said.

“Oh, God!” she whispered, and her eyes became wide and dark in her pale face. She turned slowly to Duke who had stretched out in a chair and clasped his hands behind his head.

“Did you do it? Did you do it, Duke?”

“That’s right, look right at me,” he said with an ironical little smile. “There’s a dead body around, so good old Duke must have done it. Sure, I killed him, Belle. I busted his head open with that hunk of wood you’re almost standing on.”

She stepped back quickly, her breath coming in uneven little gasps. “Don’t joke about it. For God’s sake, don’t joke about it. He’s dead. Why did you do it?”

“Because I’m crazy,” Duke said. “I’m a screwball. That’s what Grant says, and he’s the boss so he must be right.”

“Please, please!” she whispered.

“All right, calm down,” Grant said. “He had to do it, Belle. This guy was going for the cops. Now we’ve got to decide what to do next.” He looked at Hank. “Did anyone know he was coming out here?”

“You heard everything I did.”

“Was he married? Has he got a family expecting him?”

“He wasn’t married,” Hank said. “He took care of his mother and his brother’s wife and two kids. They all live over in Eaton about thirty miles from here. Adam’s brother was an infantry sergeant who was killed on Iwo Jima.”

“I don’t want a family history,” Grant said.

“You and Duke were in jail then. You might have missed the newspapers.”

“Don’t get wise,” Grant said, but it was an automatic injunction, without any strength or conviction behind it: caught between fear and anger, he couldn’t find an attitude, a course of action. “Come on, Duke,” he said anxiously. “We’ve got to decide what to do.”

“Count me out, Eddie. I’ve tried my best so far and you don’t like it. All I get is a lot of yap.” He shrugged his big shoulders. “You’re the boss. Do what the hell you want.”

“That’s great. You kill him and then you act like it’s some parlor game you don’t want to play anymore.”

“Yeah, I quit,” Duke said. “I’m bored. I’m tired of saving your ass. Save it yourself, Eddie.”

Grant stared at him. “Do you know what you’re saying? There’s a body on the floor. Cops will be here looking for him. We got the baby upstairs and the nurse.” Grant’s voice rose angrily. “Am I boring you with details? Will you be bored when they strap you into the chair?”

“You got us into this,” Belle said. “It’s not fair just to sit there and do nothing.”

“We got different ideas about what to do,” Duke said. “So I’ll just step out of the picture.”

Hank knew this tactic of Duke’s — he wanted submission, nothing else. If he couldn’t get it, he walked out, brutally disengaging himself from all promises, responsibilities or commitments. He wouldn’t argue. He just turned his back and quit. Hank had seen this pressure work on football coaches (“Okay, I’ll turn in my suit after practice then.”); and with girls (“Find somebody else to take the rap, baby, I’m shoving off.”) and with their father, again and again. (“Okay, I’ll clear out. Yeah, I’ll write — but don’t hold your breath.”)

And now, watching Grant’s shifting, worried eyes, Hank knew it would work again. They needed Duke and they would meet his terms.

“Look,” Grant said, “we don’t have to argue about who’s running things. You want to take over — fine. The thing is, we’re in trouble. Let’s don’t sit here debating about who’s in charge.”

“That’s sensible, I guess,” Belle said, looking uneasily at Grant.

They had disintegrated more than they realized, Hank thought, as he watched the complacent little smile growing on Duke’s face. They weren’t thinking, they were hoping — trusting Duke blindly and foolishly. They didn’t see that Duke’s confidence was based only on this moment of personal triumph — that it had nothing to do with their final safety. They wouldn’t have made that mistake yesterday — or even a few hours ago.

“Well, first we’ve got to get rid of this guy,” Duke said, getting to his feet. “I’ll drive him out into the woods. That’s all. When he’s found the cops will probably think a hitchhiker did it.”

“And they may not,” Grant said.

“That’s right,” Duke said, glancing from Grant to Belle. “Understand this. We’re in trouble. The job went sour. Eddie, you aren’t going to make your entrance at Donovan’s on schedule. That’s all you wanted out of this deal. Ten minutes of glory, ten minutes of pretending that jail never happened and you’re not an old man with a fat stomach and a bald spot. Listen!” he said harshly as Grant took a step toward him. “You don’t get your entrance. We’re running now, dodging and hiding, using the alleys and comers until we’re clear. And you’re doing what I tell you. Or I run alone. Belle, you get upstairs and stick with the nurse. Get moving.”

Belle hurried out of the room, and Hank said, “You had a chance with Grant running things. Now you’re through.”

Duke smiled at him, balancing his weight on the balls of his feet. “I’ve watched you building up your nerve, kid, bit by bit, like a guy making a house of matches. It’s a long hard job for you, isn’t it? Everything’s got to be just so, right in balance. Otherwise you fall apart. Now you’re ready to start acting like a man. Well, I can’t let you play hero — funny as you look trying. There’s no time for laughs.” He glanced at Grant. “Eddie, there’s a springhouse built right into the basement. Stone walls, a heavy door with a lock on it. That’s our solitary wing. Hank’s going in there until we need him again. If he makes a racket, beat him senseless. You’re handling this end. Check the car, have some coffee and food ready and sit tight. Got that?”

Hank knew they had lost. The waiting, the hoping, the pressure on Grant and Duke — none of it was any good. And he wouldn’t have another chance after the door of the springhouse swung shut on him. None of them would...

“All right. Junior,” Grant said.

“Sure,” Hank said. He turned toward the door, then spun around, dropping into a crouch. Grant said, “Why, you bastard,” charging at him — and Hank came up fast, swinging a left hook from the floor. The blow caught Grant on the forehead, staggering him, and Hank clawed at the pocket in which he kept his gun.

Duke bent down and picked up the piece of firewood. “Hero,” he said. His voice was disgusted. He raised his arm and brought the club down in a vicious arc. As Hank fell to the floor, Duke shook his head and looked at Grant. “He almost took you,” he said. “Start being a little sharp, okay?”

Grant stared down at Hank’s limp body. “I’ll fix him before we leave,” he said. “That’s a promise.”

“Just stay sharp, okay?”