Dead Low Tide by John D. MacDonald Page B

myself up from under him, and say stuff like, “How about an autograph?” and “Does this go in the record books?” Quaint, like. But he’d just look at me. Just look. And it was like talking to a fire hydrant. I began to think this was a real eerie guy, though hitherto he had showed signs of modest intelligence. There was something even a little spine-chilling in the way he looked at me.
    Scrimmage ended, and what did he do but walk right intothe shower in full uniform. They led him out and fed him smelling salts and slapped his face and he just looked at them. Then they took him to the infirmary and diagnosed concussion, and later he couldn’t remember anything that had happened all afternoon after the second play when he apparently had shoved his head against somebody’s knee.
    And that was the sudden and unpleasant impression I got from just a few seconds’ glance at that face outside the window. A mindless automaton, a sort of ritualistic thing, like a machine hiding behind a face. And he went away. Another set of bells was ringing in my mind, but I couldn’t catch the tune. There was something else I was on the very edge of knowing, or realizing, and I couldn’t figure out what it was. Somebody walked over my grave, and with the shudder came a duck-bump collection. A tall man somewhere in his twenties, perhaps, giving an impression of pallor and vague shabbiness, and something less than human. You just didn’t want to be out in the night with one of those loose.
    So I was almost happy to see George and Chief Wargler as they waddled through the doorway.
    “What are you doing in here, McClintock?”
    “I work here, Chief.”
    “During the day you work here. What you doing in here at night time?”
    “I work at night, too, sometimes.”
    “Where have you been since you left Elly’s place?”
    “Mrs. Long phoned and wanted me to come see her. So I went to see her.”
    Wargler hovered close to me. “Been drinking, haven’t you?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Pretty chummy with Mrs. Long, I figure.”
    “You don’t figure very good, Chief.”
    “I can figure a lot of things. You think you’ve been pretty damn shrewd, son.”
    “Now just a minute. I—”
    “We had us a busy afternoon. Talking to a lot of people. Finding out a lot of things, by God. And you’re coming along right now. We got a cell for you.”
    “What kind of gag is this?”
    “No gag, son. Come on. You lock up your car and it’ll be all right here.”
    “I want to call a lawyer.”
    “You got anybody in mind, special?”
    “Well—Steve Marinak.”
    Chief Wargler snickered in a singularly unpleasant way. “Phone him. He happens to be at his house now.”
    I looked up the number and phoned. Steve answered.
    “Steve, this is Andy. Our Chief of Police has some startling ideas and I need some legal talent before he gets carried away.”
    His voice, in answer, was hard and tight. “I wouldn’t bring you a bucket of water if you were on fire, you son-of-a-bitch.” He made my ear ring, he hung up so fast.
    “Didn’t want the case, did he?”
    “Apparently not.” I tried to think of someone else I could call, and then I suddenly decided to skip the whole idea. Let Wargler lock me up and make a damn fool of himself. Steve’s reaction had distressed me more than I was willing to admit. He had been damn near a friend. “O.K., Chief. No lawyer, then. On second thought, I don’t need one.”
    Wargler snickered again. They drove me in, and the two of them filled the front seat completely. We got back to his office, this time with the lights on, and he fiddled with his tape toy some more. This time I was a suspect. And he headed it off with a question about whether I was aware that anything I might say could be held against me. I took the mike and said that I was, and he said it might take some time, so I better move around next to him so it would make the routine with the mike simpler. He explained there was one on order which could