horrified.
“Good God, Leo, you gone out of your mind? Don’t talk to me. Talk to a psychiatrist. You pick a fake name like Rice, and make like the secret service sneaking up on that guy. What the hell do you expect to do?”
“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t want him to know who I am. I don’t want him to make the connection. I want to meet that animal face to face.”
“And then what?”
“There must be some way to put him out of the woman business.”
“You’re not thinking straight, Leo.” He stared at me. “Suppose you can’t fix his wagon for him. You going to kill him? I’m your lawyer. It’s a fair question.”
“I don’t know. I’ve thought of that. I might.”
“Thats just fine. That will be great for the boys. Give them a hell of a fine start in life, reading how their daddy was hung.”
“They’ll have the trust fund you’re setting up, Sam. And I’m not much good to them the way I am. I’m notmuch good to anybody. I’m not very damn interested in living. I didn’t know how much she meant. And she deserved better than what he gave her. Or I gave her. I have to see him, Sam. I want to see if I can get him to talk about her. I want to hear
how
he talks about her. I want to see what he is, what motivates him. I don’t want to have to kill him. I don’t even know if I could, given a fair chance. I’m not rational about this. I admit it. Maybe if I could beat hell out of him, it might be enough.”
He looked at the snap of Rigsby again. “This fellow looks pretty husky,” he said dubiously.
“I’ll be in shape by the time I meet him. I’ll give myself time for that.”
“As your attorney I—oh, the hell with it.”
I made the arrangements about communication with him. Then I left.
Getting in shape was torture, self-inflicted. Not a case of swimming and jogging up and down the beach, though I did that too. I shoveled sand until sweat blinded me, my back was like a toothache, my shoulders popped and creaked. At the limit of endurance I would think of him knocking her down while people watched, and I would keep on shoveling. I lived on steak and salad. I’d fall into bed and clamber out of it again in the morning, with monstrous effort. In the evenings, after I was able to stay awake, I read the books there had never been time for. In a month I was ready. I bought the boat and chugged south, looking for Rigsby.
Now he was thirty feet away. I couldn’t sleep. My mind kept racing and I couldn’t slow it down. I got up. I was stiff and sore from the beating I had taken. Western had handled me with ridiculous ease. Rigsby would probably find me no more difficult. I sat on the rail and put a cigarette between puffed lips. Tomorrow I would see him by daylight, look into the eyes which had looked at her, look at the hands and lips of the last man to touch her while she lived.
She hadn’t been bad or weak. Just restless and neglected. Particularly vulnerable. He had a fine eye for vulnerability. I wondered how many men had thought of killing him.
It gave me a feeling of hopelessness. I was just anotherone. I’d think of it, as others had, and go my way in bitterness. He would go on, cruel and blithe, all the world his harem. An unmarked animal.
I snapped my cigarette out into the black water and heard the soft hiss as it struck. I went to bed hoping I could sleep …
EIGHT
Anne Browder
… and sleep and never wake up, ever.
I sat cross-legged at dusk on a Wednesday night up on the foredeck of the
Alrightee
where no one could see me from the dock. I was celebrating a twelfth anniversary—twelve nights since I had indulged myself in fiasco with Joe Rykler.
The poor darling. No man has ever been so ill-used by a woman. I selected him in such a horribly cold-blooded way, adding up the advantages of him. He is amiable and amusing and sometimes sweet, and possibly slightly weak. He has been twice married. I have never heard him make one of those greasy little hints about a
“Good God, Leo, you gone out of your mind? Don’t talk to me. Talk to a psychiatrist. You pick a fake name like Rice, and make like the secret service sneaking up on that guy. What the hell do you expect to do?”
“I don’t know, Sam. I don’t want him to know who I am. I don’t want him to make the connection. I want to meet that animal face to face.”
“And then what?”
“There must be some way to put him out of the woman business.”
“You’re not thinking straight, Leo.” He stared at me. “Suppose you can’t fix his wagon for him. You going to kill him? I’m your lawyer. It’s a fair question.”
“I don’t know. I’ve thought of that. I might.”
“Thats just fine. That will be great for the boys. Give them a hell of a fine start in life, reading how their daddy was hung.”
“They’ll have the trust fund you’re setting up, Sam. And I’m not much good to them the way I am. I’m notmuch good to anybody. I’m not very damn interested in living. I didn’t know how much she meant. And she deserved better than what he gave her. Or I gave her. I have to see him, Sam. I want to see if I can get him to talk about her. I want to hear
how
he talks about her. I want to see what he is, what motivates him. I don’t want to have to kill him. I don’t even know if I could, given a fair chance. I’m not rational about this. I admit it. Maybe if I could beat hell out of him, it might be enough.”
He looked at the snap of Rigsby again. “This fellow looks pretty husky,” he said dubiously.
“I’ll be in shape by the time I meet him. I’ll give myself time for that.”
“As your attorney I—oh, the hell with it.”
I made the arrangements about communication with him. Then I left.
Getting in shape was torture, self-inflicted. Not a case of swimming and jogging up and down the beach, though I did that too. I shoveled sand until sweat blinded me, my back was like a toothache, my shoulders popped and creaked. At the limit of endurance I would think of him knocking her down while people watched, and I would keep on shoveling. I lived on steak and salad. I’d fall into bed and clamber out of it again in the morning, with monstrous effort. In the evenings, after I was able to stay awake, I read the books there had never been time for. In a month I was ready. I bought the boat and chugged south, looking for Rigsby.
Now he was thirty feet away. I couldn’t sleep. My mind kept racing and I couldn’t slow it down. I got up. I was stiff and sore from the beating I had taken. Western had handled me with ridiculous ease. Rigsby would probably find me no more difficult. I sat on the rail and put a cigarette between puffed lips. Tomorrow I would see him by daylight, look into the eyes which had looked at her, look at the hands and lips of the last man to touch her while she lived.
She hadn’t been bad or weak. Just restless and neglected. Particularly vulnerable. He had a fine eye for vulnerability. I wondered how many men had thought of killing him.
It gave me a feeling of hopelessness. I was just anotherone. I’d think of it, as others had, and go my way in bitterness. He would go on, cruel and blithe, all the world his harem. An unmarked animal.
I snapped my cigarette out into the black water and heard the soft hiss as it struck. I went to bed hoping I could sleep …
EIGHT
Anne Browder
… and sleep and never wake up, ever.
I sat cross-legged at dusk on a Wednesday night up on the foredeck of the
Alrightee
where no one could see me from the dock. I was celebrating a twelfth anniversary—twelve nights since I had indulged myself in fiasco with Joe Rykler.
The poor darling. No man has ever been so ill-used by a woman. I selected him in such a horribly cold-blooded way, adding up the advantages of him. He is amiable and amusing and sometimes sweet, and possibly slightly weak. He has been twice married. I have never heard him make one of those greasy little hints about a
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