the thick wood, after passing through the flesh and bone of her hand.
She snatched up the bronze letter-opener and thrust it under the handkerchief on her forearm. As she straightened, bright arterial blood spouted from the stumps of three severed fingers. Her face was pale under the cosmetics, but not one whit changed otherwise; it still wore its proud, unadulterated contempt. She stood straight and tall, twisting the handkerchief with the handle of the letter-opener, making a tourniquet, and she stared him down. As his eyes fell, she spat, “Isn’t this better than what you planned? Now you’ve got a part of me to keep for your very own. That’s much better than using something and giving it back.”
The spurting blood had slowed to a dribble as she twisted. Now she went to the chair on which she had left her cosmetic case. Out of it she worried a rubber glove. Holding the tourniquet against her side, she pulled the glove over her hand and snugged it around the wrist.
Armand Bluett began to vomit.
She shouldered into her cloak and went to the door.
When she had drawn back the bolt and opened it, she called back in a seductive voice, “It’s been so wonderful, Ar-mand darling. Let’s do it again soon…”
It took Armand’s mind nearly an hour to claw its way up out of the pit of panic into which it had fallen. During the hour he hunkered there on the couch in his own filth, staring at the cleaver and the three still white fingers.
Three fingers.
Three left fingers.
Somewhere, deep in his mind, that meant something to him. At the moment he refused to let it surface. He feared it would. He knew it would. He knew that when it did, he would know consuming terror.
11
B OBBY DEAR, SHE WROTE , I can’t bear to think of you getting letters back with “address unknown” on them. I’m all right. That’s first and foremost. I’m all right, monkey-face, and you’re not to worry. Your big sister is all right.
I’m also all mixed up. Maybe in that nice orderly hospital this will make more sense to you. I’ll try to make it short and simple.
I was working one morning at the office when that awful Judge Bluett came in. He had to wait for a few minutes before he could see old Wattles Hartford, and he used it to make his usual wet soggy string of verbal passes. My brush worked fine until the seamy old weasel got on the subject of Daddy’s money. You know that we’ll get it when I’m 21—unless that old partnership deal comes up again. It would have to go to court. Bluett not only was the partner—he’s the Surrogate. Even if we could get him disqualified from hearing the case, you know how he could fix anyone else who might take the bench. Well, the idea was that if I would be nice and sweet to Hizzoner, in any nasty way he wanted, the will wouldn’t be contested. I was terribly frightened, Bobby; you know the rest of your training has to come out of that money. I didn’t know what to do. I needed time to think. I promised to meet him that night, real late, in a nightclub.
Bobby, it was awful. I was just at the point of blowing up, there at the table, when the old drooler left the room for a minute. I didn’t know whether to fight or run away. I was scared, believe me. All of a sudden there was somebody standing there talking to me. I think he must be my guardian angel. Seems he had overheard the Judge talking to me. He wanted me to cut and run. I was afraid of him, too, at first, and then I saw his face. Oh, Bobby, it was such a nice face! He wanted to give me some money, and before I could say no he told me I could return it whenever I wanted to. He told me to get out of town right now—take a train, any train; he didn’t even want to know which one. And before I could stop him he shoved $300 into my bag and walked off. The last thing he said was to accept a date for the next evening with the Judge. I couldn’t do a thing—he’d only been there two minutes and he was talking practically every
She snatched up the bronze letter-opener and thrust it under the handkerchief on her forearm. As she straightened, bright arterial blood spouted from the stumps of three severed fingers. Her face was pale under the cosmetics, but not one whit changed otherwise; it still wore its proud, unadulterated contempt. She stood straight and tall, twisting the handkerchief with the handle of the letter-opener, making a tourniquet, and she stared him down. As his eyes fell, she spat, “Isn’t this better than what you planned? Now you’ve got a part of me to keep for your very own. That’s much better than using something and giving it back.”
The spurting blood had slowed to a dribble as she twisted. Now she went to the chair on which she had left her cosmetic case. Out of it she worried a rubber glove. Holding the tourniquet against her side, she pulled the glove over her hand and snugged it around the wrist.
Armand Bluett began to vomit.
She shouldered into her cloak and went to the door.
When she had drawn back the bolt and opened it, she called back in a seductive voice, “It’s been so wonderful, Ar-mand darling. Let’s do it again soon…”
It took Armand’s mind nearly an hour to claw its way up out of the pit of panic into which it had fallen. During the hour he hunkered there on the couch in his own filth, staring at the cleaver and the three still white fingers.
Three fingers.
Three left fingers.
Somewhere, deep in his mind, that meant something to him. At the moment he refused to let it surface. He feared it would. He knew it would. He knew that when it did, he would know consuming terror.
11
B OBBY DEAR, SHE WROTE , I can’t bear to think of you getting letters back with “address unknown” on them. I’m all right. That’s first and foremost. I’m all right, monkey-face, and you’re not to worry. Your big sister is all right.
I’m also all mixed up. Maybe in that nice orderly hospital this will make more sense to you. I’ll try to make it short and simple.
I was working one morning at the office when that awful Judge Bluett came in. He had to wait for a few minutes before he could see old Wattles Hartford, and he used it to make his usual wet soggy string of verbal passes. My brush worked fine until the seamy old weasel got on the subject of Daddy’s money. You know that we’ll get it when I’m 21—unless that old partnership deal comes up again. It would have to go to court. Bluett not only was the partner—he’s the Surrogate. Even if we could get him disqualified from hearing the case, you know how he could fix anyone else who might take the bench. Well, the idea was that if I would be nice and sweet to Hizzoner, in any nasty way he wanted, the will wouldn’t be contested. I was terribly frightened, Bobby; you know the rest of your training has to come out of that money. I didn’t know what to do. I needed time to think. I promised to meet him that night, real late, in a nightclub.
Bobby, it was awful. I was just at the point of blowing up, there at the table, when the old drooler left the room for a minute. I didn’t know whether to fight or run away. I was scared, believe me. All of a sudden there was somebody standing there talking to me. I think he must be my guardian angel. Seems he had overheard the Judge talking to me. He wanted me to cut and run. I was afraid of him, too, at first, and then I saw his face. Oh, Bobby, it was such a nice face! He wanted to give me some money, and before I could say no he told me I could return it whenever I wanted to. He told me to get out of town right now—take a train, any train; he didn’t even want to know which one. And before I could stop him he shoved $300 into my bag and walked off. The last thing he said was to accept a date for the next evening with the Judge. I couldn’t do a thing—he’d only been there two minutes and he was talking practically every
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