Part 17 (1/2)

”I didn't do a d.a.m.n thing. She was a tramp, Yeagger.

You were just temporary fun and games. If it meant a h.e.l.l of a lot to you, that just made the game more interesting.

Blame yourself, don't blame me.”

He looked away from me.

”I guess I know that. I guess I knew it all along. But... I'm sorry I went after you and.. ” Astonis.h.i.+ngly, the big tough face crumpled, twisted up like a child's, and he began to cry. It made me acutely embarra.s.sed. He covered his eyes with a big hand and sobbed harshly. After a time he stopped, and knuckled his eyes. He wouldn't look toward me again. I told him he ought to have a st.i.tch taken in his head; he said it didn't matter. I asked him how he'd get back up to the lake country; he said that didn't matter either. He was anxious to go. If he hadn't been hit he would have killed me. But I could no longer feel indignation or anger. I felt sorry for him. Big and hard as he was, he was a child underneath.

He blamed me for breaking his toys, that was all. I stood out in the drive and watched him walk to the street and turn toward town, a big shadow fading into the night.

I looked out toward the lot and felt again that someone was there. It was an atavistic quiver of warning, legacy from the days of the saber tooth The world was suddenly dark and large and unfriendly. Yeagger had been eliminated. Someone, for an unknown reason, had halted a murder. On this night I could believe it had been halted only to be consummated later, by someone else. I went in to bed and wondered if it would have mattered to anyone if my life had ended there with Yeagger's hands on my throat. It could so easily have ended-and my last conscious perception would have been of the rockets behind my eyes and the world turned ofi by a monster switch.

The feeling of depression was still with me the next morning when I awoke. My arm was lame, but more serviceable than I had expected. My throat was sore, my voice husky. The episode with Yeagger seemed like a dream sequence, too unreal to reawaken fear. During all my dreams that night, someone had stood in shadow and watched me.

As I went out my driveway I saw Mrs. Speers standing in a window. I remembered that I had not collected her trash.

At the plant the floor was ready for two new pieces of heavy equipment. Two experts were there from the machine tool company. It took half the morning to set the equipment in place, make the power hookups and bolt it down. Then we went over it with Gus and with engineering and the experts until we knew all the tricks. At three I still hadn't had lunch. I went to the locker room, took the protective coveralls off, scoured the grease off my hands and put my suit coat on.

Dodd Raymond came in. He seemed vague, distracted.

”Understand they let Yeagger go,” he said.

”That's right. Last night. I was there.”

”What were you doing down there, Clint?”

”They wanted fingerprints. Did they get yours?”

”Yes. That Paul France stopped in at the house last night. Asked a lot of questions. Strange sort of guy.”

I finished drying my hands and turned to face him.

”Did he ask about the key the Bettiger woman mentioned?”

”Why should he?”

”Dodd, Mary told me about you and the key and your little hideaway.”

He flushed angrily.

”She promised not to say anything to anybody.”

”You were pretty foolish, weren't you?”

I saw his face change.

”Don't forget yourself, Sewell.”

”Forget you're the boss? No. But what do I say if I'm asked about it?”