Now You See It... Part 19

He extended the pistol toward Harry.

"This time I will not destroy a vase," he said. "Farewell, old chum."

"All right," said Harry quickly. He hurried to the chair and sat.

"Now put down your little hand-st.i.tched, learner, mono- grammed-in-gold attache case," Max told him.

Harry swallowed dryly, placing his attache case and hat on the table beside him.

"Very good," said Max.

Harry drew in a shaking breath. "What the h.e.l.l do you mink you're doing. Max?" he asked.

"Wrapping up loose ends," Max answered. "Pal."

Keeping his eyes on Harry, he edged over to the desk and pulled out its Huddle drawer. Removing two folded sheets of paper, he unfolded one of them.

Now You See It- 77

"Found in Ca.s.sandra's raincoat pocket," he explained.

Harry swallowed again. I actually heard me crackling of membranes in his parched throat. He watched uneasily as Max returned to the chair and began to read the letter he was holding in his left hand.

" 'Sometimes, I wonder why J bother anymore. G.o.d knows, he doesn't make me more than petty cash these days. He's washed up but too stubborn to admit it. If he keeps making a fool of himself on stage, I'm going to drop him from the agency or let some flunky handle him.'

"Shall I go on?" he asked.

Harry stared up at my son, his eyes like cold stones; the look which, I am certain, paralyzed untold numbers of busi- ness contacts.

"It's a hard world. Max," he said. "n.o.body's out there to do you favors."

"Dog-eat-dog, eh, Harold?" Max responded.

"You got it, pal," said Harry. Clearly, he was vowing not to let Max see any further signs of weakness in him- He ges- tured toward the letter with contempt.

"Is that why you're doing all this?" he asked. "Because I wrote an unflattering note?"

Unflattering? 1 thought. Insulting, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!

"No, there's a bit more," Max replied

In spite of his obvious vow. Harry could not restrain a shudder as Max shook open the second folded sheet of paper. Perhaps I shuddered, too; who knows?

"One sworn affidavit, duly notarized," he said- "Signed by one Emmanuel Farber, night porter at The Ess.e.x House.

"Statement: 'Yes, 1 saw that man'-identifying a photo- graph of you, dear Harold-'and that woman'-identifying a photograph of guess who, Harold?-'enter Room 525 on the night of April 28-'"

"All right, I f.u.c.ked her!" Harry interrupted, with desper- ate bravado. "So what? I didn't start it! She did! She wanted

78 Richard Matheson

it, I gave it to her! Big deal! What do you expect? You can't even get it up anymore!"

If I had been my son and held mat pistol in my hand, I would have blown out Harry's brains exactly then.

It was a compounded fury I was feeling at that loathsome toad of a man. The crimes?

One, a snarling admission that he'd gone to bed with Cas- sandra.

Two, a casual dismissal of the incident.

Three, a weaseling out from all responsibility. It was her fault, her desire, her demand. All he'd done was accommo- date the b.i.t.c.h.

Four, the final insult, mocking my son as impotent.

Kill him, 1 thought.

But Max did not respond as I did. Did not raise the pistol to fire. Merely gazed at Harry in regret. (Regret!)

'The irony of ironies," he finally said, "is that I trusted you completely, considered you my friend."

"That was your mistake," said Harry. I saw him flinch as though in shock at his suicidal reply.

Still, he couldn't stop himself. "If you're looking for an apology, forget it," he added.

Madness, I thought.

I myself flinched as Max raised me pistol, aiming it be- tween Harry's frozen eyes.

"There is only one thing I'm looking for," Max said.

"That is revenge. And I am about to exact it."

R any braced himself. Death was coming now. He was cer- tain of it; I could see it in his face.

And yet, instead-maddeningly now!-Max said, "You never understood me for a moment, did you? Never under- stood me endless time and work I expended to perfect my

skill."

What tangent now? I thought. Is he going to shoot Harry or

not?

Harry was dearly wondering the same thing. He stared at Max uncertainly, antic.i.p.ating death, yet wondering at the same time when it was due.

"I have been the best," Max was saying. "As my father was before me. The best.

"And why? Because I saw to everything. Everything. Con- sistency of att.i.tude- Consistency of detail."

m an eerie way, it was like hearing myself speak. Max and I resembled one another. Our voices (when I had one) were alike.