"Make Joe's light," answered Betty with a smile.
"No other way," said Bernie.
"I'll get them." Tanner started back towards the door. "Everyone in?"
"Wait a minute, Johnny!" It was Cardone, a wide grin on his face. "I'm the naughty boy so let me help. Also, I gotta go to the bathroom."
Tanner went into the kitchen ahead of Cardone. He was confused, bewildered. He had expected that when Joe screamed the name "Zurich" it would all be over. Zurich was the key that should have triggered the collapse. Yet it did not happen.
Instead, the opposite occurred.
A control was imposed; imposed by the most unlikely source imaginable, Betty Cardone.
Suddenly, from behind him came a crash. Tremayne was standing in the doorway, looking at the fallen Cardone.
"Well. A mountain of Princeton muscle just passed out! . . . Let's get him mto my car. I'm chauffeur tonight."
Passed out? Tanner didn't believe it. Cardone was drunk, yes. But he was nowhere near collapsing.
The three men dressed quickly and manhandled the lurching, incoherent Cardone into the front seat of Tremayne's car. Betty and Ginny were in the back. Tanner kept watching Joe's face, especially the eyes, for any signs of pretense. He could see none. And yet there was something false, he thought; there was too much precision in Cardone's exaggerated movements. Was Joe using silence to test the others, he wondered?
Or were his own observations being warped by the progressive tension?
"Damn it!" exclaimed Tremayne. "I left my jacket inside."
"I'll bring it to the Club in the morning," said John. We're scheduled for eleven."
"No, I'd better get it. I left some notes in the pocket; I may need them. . . . Wait here with Bernie. I'll be back in a second."
Dick ran inside and he grabbed his jacket from a hallway chair. He looked at Leila Osterman, who was polishing the top of a table in the living room.
"If I get these rings now maybe the Tanners'll have some furniture left," she said.
"Where's Ali?"
"In the kitchen." Leila continued rubbing the table top.
As Tremayne entered the kitchen, Alice was filling the dishwasher.
"Ali?"
"Oh! ... Dick. Joe all right?"
"Joe's fine. How's John?"
"Isn't he out there with you?"
"I'm in here."
"It's late; I'm too tired for jokes."
"I couldn't feel less like joking. . . . We've been good friends, Ali. You and Johnny mean a lot to us, to Ginny and me."
"We feel the same; you know that."
"I thought I did. I really believed it. . . . Listen to me. ..." Tremayne's face was flushed; he swallowed repeatedly, unable to control the pronounced twitch over his left eye. "Don't make judgments. Don't let John make . . . editorial judgments that hurt people unless he understands why they do what they do."
"I don't understand what you're—"
"That's very important," interrupted Tremayne. "He should try to understand. That's one mistake I never commit in court. I always try to understand."
Alice recognized the threat. "I suggest that you say whatever it is you're saying to him."
"I did and he wouldn't answer me. That's why I'm saying it to you. . . . Remember, Ali. No one's ever completely what he seems. Only some of us are more resourceful. Remember that!"
Tremayne turned and left; a second later Ali heard the front door close. As she looked at the empty doorway, she was aware of someone else nearby. There was the unmistakable sound of a quiet footstep. Someone had walked through the dining room and was standing in her pantry, around the comer, out of sight. She walked slowly, silently to the arch. As she turned into the small narrow room she saw Leila standing motionless against the wall, staring straight ahead.
Leila had been listening to the conversation in the kitchen. She gasped when she saw Ali, then laughed with no trace of humor. She knew she'd been caught.
"I came for another cloth." She held up a dust-rag and went back inside the dining room without speaking further.
Alice stood in the center of the pantry wondering what dreadful thing was happening to all of them. Something was affecting the lives of everyone in the house.
They lay in bed; Ali on her back, John on his left side away from her. The Ostermans were across the hall in the guest room. It was the first time they'd been alone together all night.
Alice knew her husband was exhausted but she couldn't postpone the question—or was it a statement—any longer.
"There's some trouble between you and Dick and Joe, isn't there?"
Tanner rolled over; he looked up at the ceiling, almost relieved. He knew the question was coming and he had rehearsed his answer. It was another lie; he was getting used to the lies. But there was so little time left—Fassett had guaranteed that. He began slowly, trying to speak off-handedly.
"You're too damned smart."
"I am?" She shifted to her side and looked at her husband.
"It's nasty, but it'll pass. You remember my telling you about the stock business Jim Lx)omis was peddling on the train?"
"Yes. You didn't want Janet to go over for lunch ... to the Loomis', I mean."
"That's right. . . . Well, Joe and Dick jumped in with Loomis. I told them not to."
"Why?"
"I checked on it."
"What?"
"I checked on it. . . . We've got a few thousand lying around drawing five percent. I figured why not? So I called Andy Harrison—he's head of Legal at Standard, you met him last Easter. He made inquiries."
"What did he find out?"
"The whole thing smells. It's a boilerplate operation. It's rotten."
"Is it illegal?"
"Probably will be by next week. . . . Harrison suggested we do a feature on it. Make a hell of a show. I told that to Joe and Dick."
"Oh, my God! That you'd do a program on it?"
"Don't worry. We're booked for months. There's no priority here. And even if we did, I'd tell them. They could get out in time."
Ali heard Cardone and Tremayne again: "Did you speak to him? What did he say?"
"Don't let Johnny make judgments. . . ." They had been panicked and now she understood why. "Joe and Dick are worried sick, you know that, don't you?"
"Yeah. I gathered it."
"You gathered it? For heaven's sake, these are your friends! .. . They're frightened! They're scared to death!"
"Okay. Okay. Tomorrow at the pub, I'll tell them to relax. . . . The San Diego vulture isn't vulturing these days."
"Really, that was cruel! No wonder they're all so upset! They think you're doing something terrible." Ali recalled Leila's silent figure pressed against the pantry wall, listening to Tremayne alternately pleading and threatening in the kitchen. "They've told the Ostermans."
"Are you sure? How?"
"Never mind, it's not important. They must think you're a horror. . . . Tomorrow morning, for heaven's sake, tell them not to worry."
"I said I would."
"It explains so much. That silly yelling at the pool, the arguments . . . I'm really very angry with you." But Alice Tanner wasn't angry; the unknown was known to her now. She could cope with it. She lay back, still concerned, still worried, but with a degree of calm she hadn't felt for several hours.
Tanner shut his eyes tight, and let his breath out. The lie had gone well. Better than he had thought it would. It was easier for him now, easier to alter the facts.
Fassett had been right; he could manage them all.
Even Ali.
He stood by the bedroom window. There was no moon in the sky, just clouds barely moving. He looked below at the side lawn and the woods beyond, and wondered suddenly if his eyes were playing tricks on him. There was the glow of a cigarette, distinctly seen. Someone was walking and smoking a cigarette in full view! Good Christ! he thought; did whoever it was realize that he was giving away the patrol?
And then he looked more closely.
The figure was in a bathrobe. It was Osterman.
Had Bernie seen something? Heard something?
Tanner silently, rapidly went to the bedroom door and let himself out.
"I thought you might be up and around," said Bernie sitting on a deck chair, looking at the water in the pool. "This evening was a disaster."
"I'm not so sure about that."
'Then I assume you've given up your senses of sight and sound. It was a wet night at Malibu. If we all had had knives that pool would be deep red by now."
"Your Hollywood mentality's working overtime." Tanner sat down at the edge of the water.
"I'm a writer. I observe and distill."
"I think you're wrong," Tanner said. "Dick was uptight about business; he told me. Joe got drunk. So what?"
Osterman swung his leg over the deck chair and sat forward. "You're wondering what I'm doing here. ... It was a hunch, an instinct. I thought you might come down yourself. You didn't look like you could sleep any more than I could."
"You intrigue me."
"No jokes. It's time we talk."
"About what?"
Osterman got up and stood above Tanner. He lit a fresh cigarette with the stub of his first. "What do you want most? I mean for yourself and your family?"
Tanner couldn't believe he'd heard correctly. Osterman had begun with the tritest introduction imaginable. Still, he answered as though he took the question seriously.
"Peace, I guess. Peace, food, shelter, creature comforts. Are those the key words?"
"You've got all that. For your current purposes, anyway."
"Then I really don't understand you."
"Has it ever occurred to you that you have no right to select anything anymore? Your whole life is programmed to fulfill a predetermined function; do you realize that?"
"It's universal, I imagine. I don't argue with it."
"You can't argue. The system won't permit it. You're trained for something; you gain experience —that's what you do for the rest of your life. No arguments."
"I'd be a rotten nuclear physicist; you'd be less than desirable in brain surgery...." Tanner said.
"Of course everything's relative; I'm not talking fantasy. I'm saying that we're controlled by forces we can't control any longer. We've reached the age of specialization, and that's the death knell. We live and work within our given circles; we're not allowed to cross the lines, even to look around. You more than me, I'm afraid. At least I have a degree of choice as to which piece of crap I'll handle. But crap, nevertheless.. .. We're stifled."
"I hold my own; I'm not complaining. Also, my risks are pretty well advertised."
"But you have no back-ups! Nothing! You can't afford to stand up and say this is me! Not on the money-line, you can't! Not with this to pay for!" Osterman swung his arm to include Tanner's house and grounds.
"Perhaps I can't... on the money-line. But who can?"
Osterman drew up the chair and sat down. He held Tanner's eyes with his own and spoke softly. ^There's a way. And I'm willing to help." He paused for a moment, as if searching for words, then started to speak again. "Johnny. . . ." Osterman stopped once more. Tanner was afraid he wouldn't continue, wouldn't find the courage.
"Go on."
"I've got to have certain . . . assurances; that's very unportant!" Osterman spoke rapidly, the words tumbling forth on top of each other.
Suddenly both men's attention was drawn to the house. The light in Janet Tanner's bedroom had gone on.
"What's that?" asked Bernie, not bothering to disguise his apprehension.
"Just Janet. That's her room. We finally got it through her head that when she goes to the bathroom she should turn on the lights. Otherwise she bumps mto everything and we're all up for twenty minutes."
And then it pierced the air. Terrifyingly, with ear-shattering horror. A child's scream.
Tanner raced around the pool and in the kitchen door. The screams continued and lights went on in the other three bedrooms. Bernie Osterman nearly ran up Tanner's back as the two men raced to the little girl's room. Their speed had been such that Ali and Leila were just then coming out of their rooms.
John rushed against the door, not bothering about the doorknob. The door flew open and the four of them ran inside.
The child stood in the center of the room over the body of the Tanners' Welsh terrier. She could not stop screaming.
The dog lay in a pool of blood.
Its head had been severed from its body.
John Tanner picked up his daughter and ran back into the hallway. His mind stopped functioning. There was only the terrifying picture of the body in the woods alternating with the sight of the small dog. And the horrible words of the man in the parking lot at the Howard Johnson's motel.
"A severed head means a massacre."
He had to get control, he had to.
He saw Ali whispering in Janet's ear, rocking her back and forth. He was aware of his son crying several feet away and the outline of Bernie Osterman comforting him.
And then he heard the words from Leila.
"I'll take Janet, Ali. Go to Johnny."
Tanner leapt to his feet in fury. "You touch her, I'll kill you! Do you hear me, I'll kill you!"
John! Ali yelled at him in disbelief. "What are you saying?"
"She was across the hall! Can't you see that? She was across the hall!"
Osterman rushed toward Tanner, pushing him back, pinning his shoulders against the wall. Then he slapped him hard across the face.
"That dog's been dead for hours! Now, cut it out!"
For hours. It couldn't be for hours. It had just happened. The lights went on and the head was severed. The little dog's head was cut off. . . .And Leila was across the hall. She and Bernie. Omega! A massacre!
Bernie cradled his head. "I had to hit you. You went a little nuts. . . . Come on, now. Pull yourself together. It's terrible, just terrible, I know. I got a daughter."
Tanner tried to focus. First his eyes, then his thoughts. They were all looking at him, even Raymond, still sobbing by the door of his room.
"Isn't anybody here?" Tanner couldn't help himself. Where were Fassett's men? Where in God's name were they?
"Who, darling?" Ali put her arm around his waist in case he fell again.
"Nobody here." It was a statement said softly.
"We're here. And we're calling the police. Right now!" Bernie put Tanner's hand on the staircase railing and walked him downstairs.
Tanner looked at the thin, strong man helping him down the steps. Didn't Bernie understand? He was Omega. His wife was Omega! He couldn't phone the police!
"The police? You want the police?"
"I certainly do. If that was a joke, it's the sickest I've ever seen. You're damned right I want them. Don't you?"
"Yes. Of course."
They reached the living room; Osterman took command.
"Ali, you call the police! If you don't know the number, dial the operator!" And then he went into the kitchen.
Where were Fassett's men?
Alice crossed to the beige telephone behind the sofa. In an instant it was clear she didn't have to dial.
The beam of a searchlight darted back and forth through the front windows and danced against the wall of the living room. Fassett's men had arrived at last.
At the sound of the front door chimes, Tanner wrenched himself off the couch and into the hallway.
"We heard some yelling and saw the light on. Is everything all right?" It was Jenkins and he barely hid his anxiety.
"You're a little late!" Tanner said quietly. "You'd better come on in! Omega's been here."
"Take it easy." Jenkins walked into the hallway, followed by McDermott.
Osterman came out of the kitchen.
"Jesus! You people are fast!"
"Twelve-to-eight shift, sir," said Jenkins. "Saw the lights on and people running around. That's unusual at this hour."
"You're very alert and we're grateful "
"There's nothing private here, officer." Osterman followed the policemen and spoke before Tanner could answer. "There's a dog upstairs in the first bedroom on the right. It's dead."
"Oh?" Jenkins was confused. He turned back to Tanner.
"Its head was cut off. Severed. We don't know who did it."
Jenkins spoke calmly. "I see. . . . We'll take care of it." He looked over at his partner in the hallway. "Get the casualty blanket, Mac."
"Right." McDermott went back outside.
"May I use your phone?"
"Of course."
"Captain MacAuliff should be informed. I'll have to call him at home."
Tanner didn't understand. This wasn't a police matter. It was Omega! What was Jenkins doing? Why was he calling MacAuliff? He should be reaching FassettI MacAuliff was a local police officer; acceptable, perhaps, but fundamentally a political appointment. MacAuliff was responsible to the Saddle Valley town council, not to the United States government. "Do you think that's necessary? At this hour? I mean, is Captain..."
Jenkins cut Tanner off abruptly. "Captain MacAuliff is the Chief of Police. He'd consider it very abnormal if I didn't report this directly to him."
In an instant Tanner understood. Jenkins had given him the key.
Whatever happened, whenever it happened, however it happened—there could be no deviation from the norm.
This was the Chasm of Leather.
And it struck Tanner further that Jenkins was making his phone call for the benefit of Bernard and Leila Osterman,
Captain Albert MacAuliff entered the Tanner house and immediately made his authority clear. Tanner watched him deliver his instructions to the police officers, in a low, commanding voice. He was a tall, obese man, with a thick neck which made his shirt collar bulge. His hands were thick, too, but strangely immobae, hanging at his sides as he walked—the mark of a man who'd spent years patrolling a beat on foot, shifting his heavy club from one hand to the other.
MacAuliff had been recruited from the New York police and he was a living example of the right man for the right job. Years ago the town council had gone on record that it wanted a no-nonsense man, someone who'd keep Saddle Valley clear of undesirable elements. And the best defense in these days of permissiveness was offense.
The Osterman weekend Page 15
