Kirkland slapped Clark’s lean hard shoulder. “We’re going to a meeting,” he said, smiling.
“A meeting? What kind of a meeting? This is no time to be stalling, boss. We got to get rolling. How about lining up some dummies like we had on that armored-car job?” Clark’s thin face was eager and hopeful. “You can get some more zombies, can’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Kirkland said. “That’s the purpose of the meeting tonight.”
“Well, that’s great,” Clark said. “You know, I been wondering how you make those guys do what you want. What is it, some kind of dope, or something?”
Kirkland looked sharply at Clark. “I wouldn’t exert myself speculating about it, if I were you.”
Clark shrugged. “Okay, okay, that’s your department. But I got a little deal I think will interest you. A Railway Express office, just loaded with cash.”
“We’ll discuss it later,” Kirkland said. “First, our meeting.”
The address Jodell had given to Kirkland was a walk-up apartment in the slum area of the city. Kirkland and Clark climbed four flights of steps, and Kirkland rapped sharply on an unpainted door. It was opened instantly by Karl, who nodded to him, but looked sharply at Clark.
“Who is this man?” he snapped.
“A recruit for our movement,” Kirkland said. “I will vouch for him, Karl.”
The big German moved aside reluctantly. “Come in,” he said, in his guttural voice.
There were forty-five or fifty men seated on folding chairs in the long bare apartment. Many of them appeared to be intelligent, normal people; but in some way they all exuded an attitude of bitterness, defeat, and frustration. They were all failures in one manner or another, Kirkland realized. They had failed to make a living, failed to get recognition, failed to meet the everyday challenges of life; and so they were perfect material for men like Jodell, who promised them reprisals against the forces they believed had blocked their way to success. Kirkland found them pitiable, foolish, contemptible. Karl led him and Clark to the front of the room where Jodell was seated at a long table. Jodell seemed normal in manner as he greeted them; but his skin was pale and Kirkland saw with satisfaction that his eyes were blank and lifeless.
“Please sit down with me,” he said. “I will call the meeting to order.”
He cleared his throat and instantly a tense silence settled over the room. Jodell talked for a few moments about the business of the past week, and then, squaring his shoulders and staring over the heads of the group, said: “Now I must make an announcement that is personally difficult for me, but which, in a large sense, gives me the greatest joy. Orders from a high source demand that I leave you. This, of course, will be personally difficult.” There was a murmur of astonishment in the room, which Jodell silenced by raising his hand.
“However, it is a source of satisfaction for me to be able to tell you that in my place will stand one of the greatest friends and greatest leaders our cause will know. I now introduce to you my successor, and your leader, a man you will know as Number Five.”
He turned to Kirkland and inclined his head. “We are all at your command.”
KIRKLAND stood and stared with hard gleaming eyes at the faceless men in the room and felt power and confidence surging through his body. This was what he needed: automatons, robots, slavish dolts, who could be bound to obedience by words, by philosophies, instead of by the power of a machine.
“I will lead you to our goal,” he said, in a slow strong voice. “We know the enemy, and he will be our slave.
We know the way to power, and we shall walk it boldly. We know our brothers, and we shall be true to them until the end. I have plans for all of you, but I will not speak of them now. The past is ashes, the future is glory.”
Something in his sonorous delivery lighted a spark in the breasts of his audience. They came to their feet, eyes ablaze, faces flushed with the hope of power and their hearts beating at the promise of getting something for nothing. Their hands shot up and out in a stiff salute.
“Leader!” they cried, in a voice as solid as a wall.
The sound was music in Kirkland’s ears. This was far more satisfying than the blind obedience that could be obtained with the mind-destroyer. For in this obedience there was love and trust and confidence. These poor helpless creatures needed him, and he would care for them, protect them, lead them where they could not go themselves. Kirkland turned and met Karl’s eyes, and a tremor went down his back. There was no love or trust in the big German’s gaze. Karl stared at him with murderous hate.
“Something is wrong,” he said, in a strangled, bewildered voice. “My colonel would never leave us.”
“You question your leader?” Kirkland snapped at him.
Karl looked down at Jodell, then shook his head slowly. “No, I do not question him,” he said. “He was my life.”
“Now I am your life,” Kirkland said. “If not, I am your death; and the decision rests with you.”
With that Kirkland strode importantly through the room, waving to the men who were on their feet, smiling at him with love and hope.
Outside, Clark caught his arm. The young man’s face was hopelessly bewildered. “Look, boss, you don’t want to get mixed up with them crackpots.” Kirkland waved for a cab. “That’s not flattering to me, is it? They think I’m their saviour.”
“You know what I mean,” Clark said, scratching his head. “Those guys that want to overthrow the government and make the world safe for looting are just a bunch of washed-out characters who can’t hold a job or get a girl. That’s about what it amounts to. Hell, our racket should be banks, not these creeps.”
“Power is sweeter than money,” Kirkland said. “I’m being patient with you, Clark, because you’ve been helpful. However, I don’t propose to explain and justify my decisions to you indefinitely. Is that clear?”
“Okay, okay,” Clark said, throwing up his hands. “But we need some dough, so let’s think about that Railway Express office pretty soon.”
THEY GOT into a cab but after driving five or six blocks Kirkland told the driver to stop. He looked out the window at the lighted windows of a gun shop, and his eyes were thoughtful.
“I’m going to get out here,” he told Clark. “I have an errand that won’t take me too long. However, there’s a young lady waiting for me in my room, and I want you to meet her and explain that I’ve been delayed. Do you understand?”
Clark sighed. “No, but I’ll tell her. You’ve got me off-balance, boss, with the way you’re hopping around.”
“There’s a method—” Kirkland stopped, frowning.
“In your madness, was you going to say?” Clark said.
Kirkland turned on him, his pale eyes furious. “Don’t ever say anything like that again to me! Do you understand, you blasted idiot?”
“Well, I thought that was what you were going to say,” Clark said uneasily.
Clark settled back, after Kirkland entered the gun shop, and lit a cigarette as the cab rolled on. The driver glanced around at him when they stopped for a light. He shook his head. “What’s the matter with the big guy?” he said. “He sounds like a crack-pot.”
“He’s some character,” Clark said, thoughtfully . . .
He rapped gently on the door of Kirkland’s hotel room fifteen minutes later. He heard light footsteps, and then the door was opened by Jane Reynolds. The smile on her lips faded when she saw Clark.
“I know, you were expecting somebody else,” Clark said. He took off his hat and strolled into the room. “I got bad news for you, baby. The boss is going to be late.”
Jane Reynolds dosed the door and looked at Clark rather uncertainly. “That’s too bad, isn’t it?”
Clark shrugged and settled his lean length into a chair. His eyes, bright and steady, mocked the girl. “That depends on several things, of course. The name is Clark, by the way.”
“How do you do?” Jane Reynolds said. She sat down facing him, conscious of his eyes on he
r legs. “Do you work for Mr. Kirkland?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. You too?”
“No—we’re friends.”
“That’s dandy. Known him long?”
“Just a few weeks.”
“You’re moving fast,” Clark said, glancing about the room with a little smile. “How’d you meet him?”
“We met in the bar here at the hotel.” There were spots of angry color in the girl’s cheeks. “If you want any more information, I’ll send you a complete file in the morning.”
“Oh? Is there going to be some interesting development tonight?”
Jane Reynolds stood up, cheeks flaming now. “What a perfectly despicable thing to say!”
“Relax,” Clark said in a bored voice. “I don’t give a damn about you and the boss. I’m just killing time. How about a drink?”
Jane sat down, slowly deflated by Clark’s manner. “I’m not sure there is anything.”
“I’ll get it.” Clark sauntered to the portable bar and made two drinks. He brought one back, handed it to the girl.
“Thank you,” she said. Then: “How long have you known Mr. Kirkland?”
“Turnabout, eh?” Clark said, sinking back into his chair. “Well, that’s fair enough. I just bumped into him on the street a few days ago.”
“What kind of work does he do?”
“We’re in the transfer business,” Clark said. “We transfer things from one place to another.”
The girl seemed nervous, he thought. He noticed the fingers of one of her hands playing with the fringe on the arm of the chair.
“Well, I got to be running along,” he said, finishing his drink. “I’ll be down in my room if the boss wants me.”
“I’ll tell him that.”
“Thanks a lot,” Clark said casually, and with a mock salute strolled out the door.
CHAPTER VII
IT WAS eleven-thirty when Kirkland reached his hotel. He went up to his room and fitted the key in the lock, his thoughts spinning with hope and excitement.
But his spirits sank as he stepped in and found the living room empty. Jane hadn’t kept her promise, he realized. All his confidence and cheer faded from him, and he slumped into a chair, suddenly tired and disconsolate. His dreams of a vast worldwide empire that had seemed so rosy and inevitable a few short moments ago, now struck him as the day-dreaming hopes of a child.
Suddenly he heard the click of a light in the bedroom; then a drowsy voice called: “Hello, who’s that?” Kirkland sprang to his feet, grinning, and strode into the bedroom. Jane was lying on his bed, shading her eyes from the light with one hand.
“My dear, I thought you’d forgot our date,” he said, sitting beside her and taking one of her hands and patting it fondly.
“No, of course not, but you were so long that I feel asleep. Your man was here, by the way. Clark.”
“Yes, I sent him to tell you I’d be late.”
“He’s an odd person.”
“Odd?” Kirkland looked at her with raised eyebrows. “He is vulgar and stupid and immoral, but those are not unusual or odd traits.”
“I suppose not.”
Kirkland was inflamed by the presence of the girl, and was irritated that the conversation was getting off on a tangent. She was wearing one of his robes, and he saw that her dress and shoes were on a chair. His throat was suddenly dry.
“You probably think I’m a hussy,” Jane said, running a finger along the sleeve of his coat.
“No, no, of course not, my dear,” Kirkland said, in a ragged voice. “I think you’re exquisite.” He leaned closer to her, but she said: “Would it be too much trouble for you to get us a drink?”
“Certainly not!” Kirkland sprang to his feet, hurried to the living room and made two strong drinks. He made the girl’s extra strong, then decided this was a vulgar and unnecessary way for him to behave. So he poured a bit out of her glass before bringing the drinks into the bedroom. He felt supremely confident and powerful; and the idea that he’d almost resorted to such a crude device as over-loading her drink struck him as silly.
THEY drank their drinks—Kirkland hastily, the girl slowly—and when she put her glass aside, he could contain himself no longer and caught her in his arms with passionate strength.
“I love you, I love you,” he cried.
“You hardly know me,” the girl protested, pushing him away gently, but firmly.
“I know all I need to know.”
“Well, then, I hardly know you,” Jane said, smiling.
“What do you want to know?” Kirkland said, moving back and folding his arms. “I am a great man. I say that simply and sincerely, because I hate humbug and false modesty. I will one day rule millions of people, my dear.” He grew excited at the grandiose phrases, at the ring of his own voice. Standing, he paced back and forth before the bed, his pale eyes gleaming brightly. “You may not believe me now, my dear. You may feel this is the exultant talk of a man in love. Some day, however, you will know that I speak the truth. Nothing can stop me but death. I will rule the world.” He clenched his big hands and raised his arms to the ceiling. “And what a paradise it will be! Gone will be the conflict of individual wills, in the place of confusion shall be one-voice, one decision, and the world will know a peace and freedom it has never known before. Nothing can stop me, nothing will stop me!”
“Well, who would stop you, if everything is going to be so pleasant?” Jane said in a serious voice.
Kirkland shrugged his big shoulders and a sad little smile touched his lips. “Some people cannot understand that I am working for their own good. They get in the way and will have to be removed. There are others, of course, who must be used because they are insignificant compared to the value of the final goal. That is too bad, and it saddens me.” He sat beside her, troubled and unhappy for the moment. “There were six young men I had to sacrifice only recently, and such ruthless decisions do not come easy to me.”
“If you must, you must,” Jane said, and patted his hand.
Kirkland brightened. “That’s true, of course. They were only unimportant little units of life, in themselves nothing. They should be grateful to me for giving their pitiful existences one brief moment of significance.”
“You’d never hurt me, would you?”
“Of course not.”
“Because I am a girl?”
Kirkland frowned at the backs of his big square hands. “There was a girl, a pleasant, harmless little thing, who was helpful to me at the outset.”
“What was her name?”
Kirkland rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. “I don’t recall,” he said.
“Was it Carol Masterson?”
“Certainly, that’s it,” Kirkland cried. “How did you know?”
Kirkland turned to the girl, a puzzled smile on his lips. His question hung throbbing in the air; and suddenly its echo seemed to be roaring in his ears.
Jane smiled back at him; but he saw her hand move involuntarily to her throat.
“How did you know?”
Kirkland jumped up and glared at the girl. “Who are you?” he shouted.
“You’re behaving foolishly,” Jane said. She moved slowly, carefully, to the opposite side of the bed and got to her feet.
KIRKLAND lunged for her as she took a step in the direction of the door, but she eluded him with a frantic twist of her shoulders and ran into the living room. But Kirkland was at her heels, and before she could open the door his big arm was about her waist and his hand was clapped over her mouth. He carried her struggling figure back to the bedroom, conscious of nothing but his own rage and frustration.
She sank her teeth into the flesh of his palm, and he jerked his hand from her mouth with an oath.
“Let me go, you beast!” she cried.
“Not until I find out who you are and what you’re after,” Kirkland said, panting. He threw her on the bed and struck her across the mouth with his hand. Something deep inside him, some
thing strange and twisted, melted with pleasure at her cry of pain and the sight of blood flowing from her lips.
She lay on her back, moaning softly, her hair spread on the bed like a dark cloud. The sight of her helplessness, the sight of her slim legs, bare and white, exposed to the thighs by her pulled-up slip, produced a terrible frenzy in Kirkland.
He moved toward her slowly, but then he met her eyes and something he saw there stopped him in his tracks. She was looking at him with horror and disgust and fear; and the intensity of her hatred was more than he could bear.
“You murdered my sister,” she said, in a low tight voice.
“Your sister?” His own voice was suddenly weak, faltering.
“Carol Masterson. I’m Denise Masterson.”
“You never cared for me, did you?” Kirkland said in a plaintive tone. That was all that mattered, he realized. She had lied to him, pretended to like him, led him into a humiliating and ridiculous position.
“Cared for you?” She repeated his words mockingly; and her voice was like a scourge. “You’re a madman, a diseased, vile madman.”
Kirkland straightened stiffly. “Don’t say that!” he cried. “Do you imagine for an instant that I was taken in by your performance? I knew who you were immediately.” He smiled at her, desperately trying to salvage his pride. “It amused me to play with you. And now the game is over.”
She screamed as he lunged at her; but his fingers fastened on her throat and the sound died in a gasp. He tightened his grip slowly, and watched with impassive expression as she clawed weakly at his hands and struggled for breath. Her face turned a violent red, and her eyes bulged from their sockets. Suddenly, with one last tortured convulsion, she went limp in his hands. Kirkland continued to apply pressure for a few seconds, then realized with a shock that he couldn’t allow her to die here. Already, he had made a ghastly mistake. Her throat would show the marks of his hands. This girl was the sister of the one he had caused to die by leaping from the Ridgely hotel. The police might be roused to new diligence if she also turned up dead under strange circumstances.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 272
