Oh, Roderick knew, all right. He knew the things George had carefully concealed from everyone—the kids back in school, the guys in the army, the gang at the office, the card-playing friends and neighbors, even Ella. Most especially, Ella. There were lots of things George wouldn’t dream of telling Ella, any more than he would have told his mother, years ago.
Roderick was right about that. Ella did remind George of his mother. And when his mother died he’d married Ella because she was big and took care of him, and the way it worked out it was she who made most of the decisions. As a child he’d been taught to be a good little boy. Now he was a good little salesman, a good little potbellied householder, a fetcher-home of Kleenex, a mower of lawns, a wiper of dishes, a wrapper of garbage. Twelve years of it since the war. And if it hadn’t been for Roderick, he never could have stood it.
Could he stand another twelve years of it? Or twenty, or thirty, or even more?
“You don’t have to put up with it, you know,” Roderick murmured, reading his thoughts. “You don’t have to be mommy’s boy any longer. This is your big chance, George. If you got rid of the house, you’d have over ninety thousand in cash. Suppose you settled down on one of those little islands in the Caribbean. There’s dozens of them, according to the travel guide I saw on your desk in the office today.”
“But Ella wouldn’t like that,” George protested. “She hates hot climates. That’s why we’ve never traveled south on vacations. Besides, what on earth could she do down there?”
“She wouldn’t be going,” Roderick answered, patiently. “She’d stay here. That’s the whole point of it, George. You could live like a king there for a few hundred a month. Have a big house, all the servants you want. Plenty to drink. And the girls, George! You’ve heard about the girls. Every color under the sun. Why, you can even buy them down there, the way those old Southern planters used to buy slaves. Quadroons and octoroons and mulattoes—probably can’t even speak a word of English. But you wouldn’t have to worry about that. All you’d want is obedience, and you could have a whip to take care of that. They’d have to do anything you wanted, because you’d be their master. You could even kill them if you liked. The way you’d like to kill Ella.”
“But I don’t want to kill Ella,” George said, very quickly, and his voice was quite loud and shrill.
Roderick’s answering laugh was soft. “Don’t kid me,” he said. “I know you. You’d like to kill her, the same way you’d have liked to kill that sergeant back on the island, but you can’t because you’re chicken. And besides, it isn’t practical. Murder is no solution to this problem, George, but my way is. Drive Ella crazy.”
“Preposterous.”
“What’s preposterous about it? You want to get rid of her, don’t you? Get rid of your job, get rid of taking orders from a wife and a boss and every stinking customer with ninety bucks for a cleaner who thinks he can make you jump. And here’s your chance. The chance of a lifetime, George, sitting right in your lap.”
“But I can’t drive Ella insane.”
“Why not? Take a look around you, man. It’s being done every day. Ask the lawyers about the sons and daughters and in-laws of people who have money, and how they get the old folks put away in the asylum. Getting power of attorney from grandpa and grandma—things like that. Don’t you think a lot of them help the deal along a little? You can drive anyone crazy, George, if you plan.”
“Ella isn’t the type,” George insisted. “Besides, anything I did—don’t you think she’d know about it and see through it? Even if I tried, it wouldn’t work.”
“Who said anything about you trying?” Roderick drawled. He seemed very sure of himself, now. “That’s my department, George. Let me do it.”
“You? But—”
“I wouldn’t fool you. It’s not merely a beautiful gesture of friendship. I want those West Indies, too. We can go there together. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, George? The two of us down there, I mean, where we wouldn’t have to be afraid of what we did, what people would say or think? I could help you, George. I could help you get hold of some of those girls. Do you remember that book you read once, about the Roman Emperor, Tiberius—the one who had the villa on the island, and the orgies? You told me about some of those orgies, George. We could do it, you and I.”
George felt the sweat oozing down the insides of his wrists. He sat up. “I don’t even want to think of such things,” he said. “Besides, what if you got caught?”
“I won’t get caught,” Roderick assured him, calmly. “Don’t forget, Ella doesn’t even know me. I’ve steered clear of your friends all these years. I’m a free agent, George, and that’s our ace in the hole. You’ve always treated me like a poor relation, never introducing me or even mentioning my name. Oh, I’m not complaining. I understand. But now that little situation is going to come in handy. Let me think things out, work up a plan.”
George bit his upper lip. “Ella’s too sensible,” he said. “You’d never get her upset.”
Roderick laughed without making a sound. “Nobody is really ‘sensible,’ George. It’s just a false front, that’s all. Like the one you’ve built up.” He was suddenly quite serious again. “Think about it. How many people would believe you were capable of even talking to me the way you have just now, let alone of carrying out any such ideas? Would your boss believe it? Or Ella, even? Of course not! To the world, you’re just another middle-aged salesman, a Willy Loman type, only worse. A spineless, gutless, chicken-hearted, yellow-bellied coward. A weak-kneed sissy, a little panty-waist, a mommy’s boy, a—”
“Shut up!” George almost screamed the words, and then he was on his feet with his sweat-soaked hands balled into fists, ready to smash at the voice and the face, ready to kill….
And then he was back on the bed, breathing hoarsely, and Roderick was laughing at him without making a sound.
“You see? I knew the words to use, all right. In one minute I turned you into a potential murderer, didn’t I? You, the respectable suburban type who’s never gotten out of line since they shoved you into the stockade.
“Well, there are words for everyone, George. Words and phrases and ideas that can churn rage, trigger emotion, fill a person with incoherent, hysterical fear. Ella is no different. She’s a woman; there’s a lot of things she must be afraid of. We’ll find those things, George. We’ll press the right buttons until the bells ring. The bells in the belfry, George. The bats in the belfry—”
George made a noise in his throat. “Get out of here,” he said.
“All right. But you think over what I’ve said. This is your big opportunity—our big opportunity. I’m not going to stand by and see you toss it away.”
Then he was gone.
Alone in his room, George turned out the light and got ready for bed. He wondered if there was a threat hidden in Roderick’s last words, and that startled him. All his life George had been afraid of other people because they were violent, aggressive, cruel. At times he could sense the same tendencies in himself, but he always suppressed them. His mother had made him behave like a little gentleman. And except for that one terrible interlude in the service, he had always been a little gentleman. He’d kept out of trouble, kept away from people that could harm him.
And Roderick had helped. He’d gotten out of the army at the same time George had, settled down in the same city. Of course, he didn’t really settle down, inasmuch as he had no wife or family and never kept a regular job. Still, he seemed to get by all right. In spite of his hand-to-mouth existence, he dressed as well as George did. And he was taller and leaner and darker and looked a good ten years younger. It often occurred to George that Roderick lived off women—he seemed to be that type, always hinting of sexual conquests. But he never volunteered any information about himself. “What you don’t know won’t hurt you,” he’d say.
And George was satisfied with the arrang
ement, because as a result he could talk about himself. Roderick was the sounding board, the confessional booth, the one person who could really understand.
He’d drop in at the office from time to time when George was free, and sometimes he’d ride along with him for a day when George went out of town, or in the evenings when he called on prospects. After a few perfunctory overtures, George stopped trying to get Roderick to meet his wife. And he’d never mentioned Roderick to her—mainly because of the circumstances of their having been in the stockade together, and George had never dared to tell Ella about that. So Ella didn’t know about Roderick, and somehow this made everything quite exciting. Once, when Ella had gone down to Memphis for her mother’s funeral, Roderick consented to move in with George at the house for two days. They got violently and disastrously drunk together, but on the third morning Roderick left.
It was all very clandestine, almost like having a mistress. Only without the messy part. The messy part was no good, though it might be different if you were on one of those islands and nobody could see you or stop you and you owned those girls body and soul; then you could have a whip, a long black whip with little pointed silver spikes at the end, and the spikes would tear the soft flesh and you would make the girls dance and little red ribbons would twine around the naked bodies and then—
But that was Roderick’s doing, putting such thoughts into his head! And suddenly George knew he was afraid of Roderick. Roderick, always so soft-voiced and calm and understanding; always ready to listen and offer advice and ask nothing in return. George had never realized until now that Roderick was as cruel as all the rest.
Now he had to face the fact. And he wondered how he could have escaped the truth all these years. Roderick had been in the stockade for a crime of violence, too. But the difference was that Roderick wasn’t repentant. Repentance wasn’t in him—only defiance and hatred, and the terrible strength that comes of being untouched and untouchable. It seemed as though nothing could move him or hurt him. He bowed to no conventions. He went where he pleased, did what he pleased. And apparently there was a streak of perversity in him; obviously he hated Ella and wanted George to get rid of her. If George had listened to him tonight…
The little vacuum-cleaner salesman fell asleep in his sagging bed, his mind firmly made up. He was finished with Roderick. He wouldn’t see him any more, wouldn’t listen to any of his wild schemes. He wanted no part of such plans. From now on he’d go his way alone. He and Ella would be safe and happy together….
* * *
—
During the next few days George often thought of what he’d say to Roderick when he turned up, but Roderick left him alone. Maybe he’d figured out the situation for himself and realized he’d gone too far.
Anyway, George completed his trip, returned home, kissed Ella, helped supervise the installation of the second bathroom, and finished up his paperwork at the office.
Being on the road had left him feeling pretty tired, but there came a time when he just had to catch up with his prospect list here in town, so he finally spent an evening making calls.
Since he was just plain fagged out, he violated one of his rules and stopped for a quick drink before he began his rounds. After the first call he had another, as a reward for making a sale, and from then on things went easier. George knew he had no head for alcohol, but just this once a few drinks helped. He got through his customer list in a sort of pleasant fog, and when he was done he had several more fast shots in a tavern near the house. By the time he put the car in the garage, he was feeling no pain.
He wondered vaguely if Ella would be waiting up to bawl him out. She didn’t like him to drink. Well, perhaps she’d be asleep by now. He hoped so, as he went up the walk and started to unlock the door.
Before he could turn the key the door opened and Ella was in his arms. “Thank goodness you’re here!” she cried. She was crying, George realized, and then he noticed that all the lights in the house were on.
“Hey, what’s the matter? What’s all this about?”
She began to gurgle. “The face, in the window—”
Alcohol plays funny tricks, and for a moment George wanted to laugh. Something about the melodramatic phrase, and the way Ella’s jowls quivered when she uttered it, was almost painfully amusing. But Ella wasn’t joking. She was frightened. She quivered against him like a big blob of Jello.
“I had this awful headache—you know the kind I get—and I was just sitting in the front room watching TV with the lights off. I guess I must have been dozing a little, when all of a sudden I got this feeling, like somebody was watching me. So I looked up, and there in the window was this awful face. It was like one of those terrible rubber masks the kids wear for Halloween—all green and grinning. And I could see hands clawing at the window, trying to open it and get in!”
“Take it easy, now,” George soothed, holding her. “Then what happened?”
Gradually he got it out of her. She had screamed and turned on the big overhead light, and the face had disappeared. So she’d turned on all the lights and gone around locking the doors and windows. After that she’d just waited.
“Maybe we ought to call the police,” she said. “I thought I’d tell you about it first.”
George nodded. “Sensible idea. Probably was just what you thought—some kid playing a trick.” He was quite sobered now, and thoughtful. “Which window did you see this through, the big one? Here, let me get a flashlight from the garage. I’m going to look for footprints.”
He got the flashlight, and when Ella refused to accompany him, walked across the lawn himself. The flower bed beneath the window was damp from a recent rain, but there were no footprints.
When George told Ella about it, she seemed puzzled.
“I can’t understand it,” she said.
“Neither can I,” George answered. “If it was a kid, he’d probably have run off when you spotted him, instead of waiting to smooth out his tracks. On the other hand, if it was a prowler, he’d cover up his traces. But a prowler wouldn’t have let you see him in the first place.” He paused. “You’re sure about what you saw?”
Ella frowned. “Well…it was only for a second, you know, and the room was so dark. But there was this big green face, like a mask, and it had those long teeth…”
Her voice trailed away.
“Nobody tried the doors or windows? You didn’t hear any sounds?”
“No. There was just this face.” She blinked. “I told you about my headache, and how I was dozing off, watching that late movie. It was all sort of like a nightmare.”
“I see.” George nodded. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe it was a nightmare?”
Ella didn’t answer.
“How’s the head? Still aching? Better take a couple of aspirins and go up to bed. You just had a bad dream, dear. Come on, let’s go to bed and forget about it, shall we?”
So they went to bed.
Maybe Ella forgot about it and maybe she didn’t, but George wasn’t forgetting. He knew. Roderick must be starting to carry out his plan. And this would only be the beginning….
* * *
—
It was only the beginning, and after that things moved fast. The next afternoon, George was sitting in the office all alone when Ella called him from the house. She sounded very excited.
“George, did you tell the plumbers to come back?”
“Why no, dear, of course not.”
“Well, Mr. Thornton is here, and he said they got a call to come over and rip everything out again. I don’t understand it, and I’ve been trying to explain that it’s some kind of mistake and—”
Ella sounded very upset now, and George tried to calm her down. “Better put him on, dear. I’ll talk to him.”
So Ella put Mr. Thornton on and George told him not to bother, there was a mixup somewhere. And when
Mr. Thornton got mad and said there was no mixup, he’d taken the call himself, George just cut him off and got Ella back on the wire.
“It’s all taken care of now,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll be home early.”
“Maybe you’d better get something to eat downtown,” Ella said. “I’ve got such an awful headache, and I want to lie down for a while.”
“You go ahead,” George said. “I’ll manage.”
So George managed, but if Ella lay down, she didn’t get very much rest.
George found that out when he got home. She was quivering, her voice and body trembling.
“Somebody’s trying to play a trick on us,” she told him. “The doorbell’s been ringing all afternoon. First it was Gimbel’s delivery truck. With refrigerators.”
“I didn’t order a refrigerator,” George said.
“I know you didn’t, and neither did I.” Ella was trying to hold back the tears. “But somebody did. And not just one. They had four of them.”
“Four?”
“That’s not the worst of it. Some man from Kelly’s called and asked when I was going to move. They’d gotten an order for a van.”
“Let me get this straight.” George paced the floor. “How did they get the order?”
“Over the phone,” Ella said. “Just the way Mr. Thornton did. That’s why I thought at first you might have called.” She was sniffling now, and George made her sit down.
“So you said,” George told her. “But I asked Mr. Thornton about that. He happened to take that particular call himself. And he was quite positive the caller was a woman.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.” George sat down next to Ella and took her hand. “He claimed he recognized your voice.”
The Big Book of Reel Murders Page 100
