Man Drowning

by Henry Kuttner

  Then I began to think about Ted McElroy again.

  Chapter 11

  When I got back to the hotel, I was covered with sweat and dirty from changing a tire, but that job had given me a chance to cool off. After I’d left the tire and tube to be patched, I was looking forward to a shower. After a while, I was looking back on it, but I felt a lot better. I lay on the bed, wondering what was wrong, till I localized the discomfort around my stomach. I was just hungry. I laughed at myself.

  I phoned Mrs. De Anza’s room. She wasn’t there, and she hadn’t left any note for me at the desk. I thought it over, and then telephoned the ranch. Rafael answered me.

  “Oh, hello, Nick. You having fun? Get my Camels?”

  I told him I had them, and that we were staying over another night, at the Westward Ho. And did the Count or Benita need anything else from town?

  “No, don’t need nothing. How’s…how’s Mrs. De Anza?”

  “I haven’t seen her since last night. I guess she’s been around buying herself some clothes.”

  “Yeah. Well…take it easy, Nick.”

  I heard a knock at the door, and hung up. I pulled on a pair of slacks and, barefoot, went across the tickling carpet and opened up to a man I didn’t know. He was a big fellow, built like a fighter, narrow hips and deep chest, but he didn’t dress like one. He had on a conservative business suit, blue, and a light shirt and a plain wine-colored tie. His hat had a wider brim than usual—no Stetson, but you could see it admired the thought.

  He took it off and said, “Mr. Banning?”

  “Right.”

  “Got a minute?”

  “Why?”

  He took a shiny badge out of his pocket and showed it to me.

  “Oh,” I said. “Come in. What’s it about?”

  “You don’t know?”

  He came in, closing the door behind him, and I waved him to a chair. I sat on the edge of the bed and reached for my coat. He watched me while I got out cigarettes and lit one. He had a squarish, sun-browned face, thinning brown hair, and his eyes were brown, too, but darker. He looked like a cattleman more than anything else.

  “Gavotte?” I said.

  “That’s right. My name’s Hobson, Lieutenant Hobson. Homicide Bureau. For the record, I’d like to ask you some questions. Got any objections?”

  “I’m free till eight o’clock. Go ahead.”

  He took out a small ring notebook and a pencil.

  “You haven’t been in Phoenix long, have you?”

  “A few days.”

  “Traveling through?”

  “I was. But I ran across a good job here, so I took it. People named De Anza. They live out of town a ways.”

  “Any reason why you came here? To Phoenix, I mean?”

  “My wife lives here. I mean, my ex-wife. If you’ve been checking, you must know about that.”

  He nodded. “That’s how we ran across you, Mr. Banning.”

  “Sure. She’d have told you—”

  “We try to find out things, one way or another. Miss Knox has been under surveillance,” he said. “After all, she was living with Gavotte. You knew about that?”

  “She told me. Yesterday.”

  “You didn’t know before?”

  “No. I didn’t kill Gavotte, either.”

  “I didn’t ask you that,” he said, and wrote down something in his notebook. I smoked and watched him.

  “You didn’t think of coming around to Headquarters and telling us what you knew?”

  “I didn’t have anything to tell.”

  “Where did you intend to go this afternoon when you drove out of town?”

  “Nowhere. Oh. I get it. That must have been one of your cars trailing me on the road.”

  “If you didn’t want it, you should have stayed away from Miss Knox, right?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “You were driving pretty fast.”

  “I was giving the car a road test. I’d just had some work done on it. You can’t be sure about the bugs till you hit seventy or better.”

  “I see. How did you hear about Gavotte’s death?”

  “Newspaper.”

  “When did you see him last?”

  “Monday night. That was the first and last time.”

  “Mind telling me about it?”

  I told him; there was no harm in that.

  “Then what did you do?”

  “Took Sherry home.”

  “You took her up to Gavotte’s apartment and left her?”

  “I left her on the street, outside the apartment house. I watched her till she opened the door and went in. I told you I didn’t know about Gavotte then.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” He glanced at the notebook. “Well, then what?”

  I went over it all carefully, how I’d gone back to the De Anza place, what had happened the next day and night and up to the time I’d driven Mrs. De Anza into Phoenix. He put in a few questions.

  “You know when Gavotte was killed?”

  “Tuesday night, wasn’t it?”

  “You see what I mean. Matter of fact, it was Wednesday morning. The bar closed at two, so it was later than that. You covered?”

  “I was in bed and asleep.”

  “What time did you go to bed?”

  “Oh, twelve thirty. One. Around then.”

  “Until?”

  “About ten, I guess.”

  “The Army gave you a dishonorable discharge, didn’t they?”

  “…Yes.”

  “Black market?”

  “Call it that.”

  “Were you a ranger?”

  “You’ve got my record, haven’t you? You must know all about me by now.”

  “We have to check,” he said. “All right, it was infantry, then. Pacific theater. The point is, you learned how to kill a man that way, didn’t you?”

  “What way? Breaking his neck?”

  “Rabbit punch.”

  “I know enough about it so I wouldn’t use it,” I said. “It’s the jerk who’s just heard about these things who’s apt to get in trouble that way. I know what a rabbit punch can do. That’s why I wouldn’t use it except in combat. A good punch on the jaw is a lot safer, for a civilian.”

  “Ever killed anybody with the edge of your hand?”

  “No.”

  “Overseas?”

  “It still goes. I had a rifle and a side arm and a knife. By the time I’d worked down through all those—” I shrugged. “As a matter of fact, there wasn’t much hand-to-hand combat where I was. The idea is not to take chances.”

  “Well, what about Miss Knox? Why did you separate?”

  “Cruelty. Or non-support. I forget.”

  “I mean the real reasons, not the legal grounds.”

  I looked at him. He waited a second or two, shrugged a little, and asked me if I knew anybody in Phoenix except Sherry.

  “No.”

  “She’s the only reason you’re staying here?”

  “Not the only reason. I’ve got a job I like.”

  “So you changed your mind about going east?”

  “Why not? You’ve got more sunshine here than any place else in the world.”

  “That’s right. Intend to stick around for a while?”

  “That means don’t leave town.”

  “Did you intend to?”

  “The papers said Gavotte was probably killed by some stumble-bum who just walked in from the street.”

  “We’ve made a couple of pickups. But we’ve got to cover all the angles.”

  “Well, when I saw Gavotte Monday night he was burned up about something, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t even know he and Sherry were living together then. He was the one who acted funny.”

  “You mentioned that.”

  “Sure. That orchid—”

  “We’ve checked on Mr. McElroy,” he said.

  “And?”


  His brown, blocky face didn’t show anything. He put away the notebook and pencil and stood up.

  “I guess that’s all, Mr. Banning. Thanks for your help.”

  “How does it look?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “This won’t…I mean, I want to keep my job. I guess you’ll want to see Mrs. De Anza. I’m meeting her at eight. If you can—”

  “I’ve talked to her already,” he said. “We have to check up. Thanks again. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He went out, closing the door gently behind him.

  The Countess showed about nine. She’d been shopping, all right; she had on new clothes and her hair was done in a different way, and she was wearing a hat instead of a turban, though it looked just as tight. She’d kept on her bracelets and turquoise; she was loaded with costume jewelry and she glittered and twinkled as she walked. And there was that brown skull-face. Only it was different now. I think the clothes must have done it. Before, she’d looked withered, now she looked—I don’t know—as though she’d put on that face on purpose. Maybe distinguished is the word. Still, my heart didn’t beat any faster.

  I stood up, and she hurried across and got on the next bar stool. “Quick one, Scotch,” she said to the bartender. Her voice sounded higher and sharper, somehow. She pointed a thin finger at me. “Cigarette, Nick.”

  When that was taken care of, she gave me a quick glance, nodded, and faced the bar. Her right hand, with the cigarette, rested on the raised edge of the wood, her left hand was curled up, palm down, on the bar. Her fingers wouldn’t stay still. They kept tapping, as though she was typing a letter, using only five keys. She glittered, too. The costume jewelry kept glinting and twinkling. She didn’t seem to be jumping around, but those bracelets were the tip-off. She couldn’t stay still a minute. She was wound up. She finished her cigarette before the drink came, and it came right away.

  “Who’s that detective fellow?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He came to see me a couple of hours ago. Asked questions.”

  “What happened, anyway?”

  “Didn’t he tell you?”

  “A man was killed in a bar. What does that mean to me? Cigarette. Thanks. Well, what about it?”

  “That’s about all there is. I’d met the man the night before. The police have those routine checkups.”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  “His name’s Hobson, Lieutenant Hobson. You can check with him if you like.”

  She took a drink.

  “If you’d rather not have me keep on working for you—”

  “Don’t yammer.”

  “Okay. It’s up to you. But if the police are really interested in somebody, they pick him up as a material witness. Then they can hold him for a while. I gather they’ve picked up a couple of tramps, so they’re not too interested in me.”

  “All right, all right, don’t bother me. I asked that detective about you. He seemed to know who you were.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I like to make my own decisions. I don’t like to be pushed.” She finished her drink, turned her head, and stared at me for what seemed to be a long time. The red wires didn’t crisscross over the eyes now; they were opened wider.

  “You didn’t kill anybody,” she said finally.

  I laughed.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Want another drink?”

  Her fingers tapped faster and faster on the bar. She clenched her fist.

  “Let’s get out of here. Where’s the car?”

  “I’ll bring it around.”

  “No, I’ll go with you. I don’t want to sit here doing nothing. Come on.”

  She was at the door, pushing it open, before I could get there. I put my hand under her elbow and turned her to the left. Under the silk I could feel the hard bone. Her skin felt hot.

  She walked with fast, long strides, so that I had to stretch to keep even with her, and my legs aren’t short.

  “Where to?” I asked.

  “I’ll tell you where. Oh, stop at a drugstore some place. I’ve got a prescription here.” She started to open her bag, changed her mind, and waited till we were in the car, driving downtown. Then she rummaged around angrily, swore under her breath, and turned the purse upside down over her lap. Everything fell out. She picked out a folded paper and handed it to me. Then she picked up the lapful and crammed it back anyhow into the purse.

  There was a drugstore at the next corner, and a parking place, so I stopped and got out. “If this is going to be expensive, I’ll need some money,” I said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me at the hotel? I’d have cashed a check.”

  “Maybe I’ve got enough.”

  I went in the drugstore and gave the prescription clerk the paper. He said, “It’ll be ready in a minute, if you want to wait.”

  “Okay.”

  There was a demonstration electric razor on the counter, so I picked that up and played with it. I heard the door open and looked around, to see the Countess come in.

  “Forget something?” I said.

  “Tired of waiting. How long will it be?”

  “A minute or so.”

  She started walking restlessly around the store, picking up things and putting them down, not nervous exactly, but acting as though she’d got an overcharge of juice. I didn’t watch her, but I could hear the fast tapping of her heels rattle along and stop. Then I’d wait. And after a few seconds, tap tap tap tap tap. Fast. Another pause. Then the tapping again.

  The clerk came out and handed me the bottle. “This isn’t refillable, you know,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  He told me how much he wanted, and I had it. I paid him. By that time the Countess was gone. I found her out in the car. I gave her the package.

  “Thank God for sleeping pills,” she said. “Ever have much trouble getting to sleep, Nick?”

  “Not very often.”

  “Lucky. Yes, you’d sleep like a log, wouldn’t you?”

  I started the car. “Do you have to be rich to have nerves?” I asked.

  “Perhaps you have to be poor to have strength. You’ve got that, you know. It’s worth having.”

  “It might help me get a job as a weight-lifter.”

  “You remind me a little of my husband. He can be quite nasty too.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Leo says it in French. So you’d like to be wealthy, would you? Would that make you happy?”

  “I think I could manage to squeeze out a laugh once in a while.”

  “One of the wealthiest men I know has an insane fear of death.”

  “Well, he’s got a lot to lose.”

  “By death?”

  “By dying.”

  “Do you think they’re the same thing? I don’t. When you’re dead, it’s over. It’s finished. It’s out of your hands. But the moment before death, when you’re still conscious of yourself, when you know it’s too late—” she drew a long breath. “Too late. The most horrible words I’ve ever heard. How many people go to hell in that last second? And nobody can avoid that summing up. The condemned man in the electric chair, waiting for the switch to be thrown—what do you suppose he thinks about?”

  “I’ll try to let you know, if I ever find out,” I said.

  “Thank you, Nick. Even Crichton couldn’t top that. Oh, turn right here. Now that I’ve finished ‘Il Penseroso’ for the evening, suppose we go and get rich?”

  “Suits me. How?”

  “Roulette.”

  I remembered something.

  “About money, Mrs. De Anza. I kept a list of what I spent—”

  “Down to the last decimal point, I’ll bet. Well, give it to me some other time. I didn’t intend to jump you about it. How much did you have, two hundred? That wouldn’t last long.”

  “Those record albums and the rest made a bite in
it.”

  “What? Why didn’t you charge all the stuff? We’ve got accounts everywhere. No wonder you’re broke. Two hundred dollars. I’ve been through a couple of thousand since yesterday.”

  “Your clothes cost more than mine do.”

  “Clothes? I charged them. Roulette.”

  “Oh.”

  “Turn left here. Go left again up the first side street. Park somewhere.”

  “Okay.”

  “You like roulette?”

  “I can’t afford it.”

  “Well, I don’t want you standing around like a dummy. You’ll make me nervous. What’s your game, craps?”

  “I’ll watch.”

  “Don’t breathe down my neck. Just don’t go anywhere. When I’m ready to leave, I want to leave.”

  I cruised along, trying to find a place to park. There were plenty of cars lined up along the curb, late models, and among them I noticed a yellow Cadillac. When I passed it, I looked for the bumps and scratches. They were there.

  Nearly at the end of the block I found a parking space. We got out and walked back toward what looked like a private house—a rich man’s house. It was big, and set back in landscaped grounds.

  “This it?” I asked.

  “This is it. The best place, anyway. Everybody comes here.” She was walking faster and faster, till I nearly had to run to keep up. The door opened before we reached it, and a man in evening clothes stepped back to let us in.

  “Good evening, Mrs. De Anza. Back so soon?”

  “Hello, Sammy. I’ve got a check here somewhere. God knows where. Oh, here it is. My husband’s autograph and everything. I want a lot of chips, Sammy.”

  “Certainly.” He made a slight bow in my direction, and Mrs. De Anza must have noticed it, for she said, “Oh, this is Mr. Banning. He’s wanted by the police. He’s really an FBI man in the pay of the antigambling interests. Look, order up a lot of chips and wish me luck, will you?”

  “Of course, Mrs. De Anza. All the luck in the world.” He included me, too, but I didn’t count on it. He reached for a telephone with his left hand and held the right one out to me. I shook it.