“I don’t give a damn whether you do.”
“I could have you jailed.”
“Go ahead and do it.”
The old man sat there twisted and still, and slowly the venom drained from his eyes. “All right, boy. What’s fifty thousand? Just tell me why you did it.”
He wished he knew. He wished he could state it clearly, even to himself. “I’m not sure. Last night I met some people I’ve been meeting all my life. One of them I killed, and I’m sorry now I did it. You get sick of it. You get sick of pushing people around because they’re lost in the crazy maze that someone says we’ve got to find out way through like white rats in a laboratory. Things just happen to people, that’s all, and one of the things that happened to Brenda is you. Whatever she is, you’re part of it. You can buy your peace with the fifty grand.”
The old eyes were closed in the semblance of slumber. The voice came up muffled from his chest. “All right. Get out. Send me your bill.”
“There’s no bill,” Jeff said.
He went out of the room and down the stairs past the Van Gogh and outside to his jalopy in the drive. He sat quietly under the wheel, thinking of a slim woman with pale hair somewhere in the hot countries.
She’d “let him know,” she’d said... Well, maybe, just possibly, she might. And if and when she did, he might — again just possibly — be able to raise the fare.
Savagely, Jeff cursed. “Good God, will I ever grow up?” he said aloud. There was an embarrassed grin on his homely face as he drove away.