"Do yourself a favor. Do a little deep thinking about some of the stuff we've discussed here tonight. It may make you feel bad for a time, but you'll profit by it in the long run. It'll make it a hell of a lot easier for you to get along with yourself."
"You're not telling me much," I said.
"It's something you'll have to see, Joe. Good night, and take it easy."
"I'll do that," I said.
24
The front of the building was dark, but I could see a faint light in the back. I tapped on the window and rattled the doorknob. And in a couple of minutes Andy Taylor came shuffling around from behind the screen that separates his so-called office from his living quarters.
I don't know whether he'd been in bed or not. He still had his clothes on, but I'd always had the idea he slept with them on most of the time.
"Kinda took your time about gettin' here, didn't you?" he said. "Come on in."
I followed him back to the rear of the building, and he put the coal-oil lamp he'd been carrying down on a packing-box. He didn't have any real furniture. Just a cot and some boxes and a little monkey stove. I sat down on the cot.
"So you decided to take me up," he said. "Well, well."
He moved a dirty pie plate and a coffee cup off of one of the boxes and sat down across from me. The light from the lamp made his beard seem redder than usual. He looked like the devil with a hat on.
"Not so fast," I said. "Take you up on what?"
"I don't know, Joe. I don't know."
"I got a burn on my hand," I said, "that's all. Anyone that works around electricity as much as I do is bound to get burned."
"Sure they are."
"Well?" I said.
"You were willing to cancel the lease on the Bower."
"I was willing to do that, anyway. I've been thinking for a long time that I hadn't treated you right on that lease."
"Yeah. I bet you did."
He rubbed his chin, looking straight into the flame from the lamp. For a minute I was afraid that I'd been too independent, that he wasn't going to walk into the trap.
Then he laughed, just with his mouth, and I knew everything was all right.
All he needed was a little steering.
"All right, Joe," he said. "I ain't got a thing on you. Not a thing. Why don't you just get up and walk out of here?"
"Okay," I said. "I will."
I got up slow, brushing at my clothes, and turned toward the door. He watched me, the grin on his wrinkled old face getting wider and wider.
"O' course," he said. "You know I'm going to tell Appleton about that burn."
"What for?" I said. "Why do you want to do that, Andy?"
"What do you care? As long as it don't mean nothing."
I shrugged and took a step toward the door. Then I let my face fall and I sank back down on the cot.
I heaved a sigh. "Okay, Andy. You win."
He nodded, his eyes puzzled. "Thought I would," he said. "Wonder why, though?"
I didn't say anything.
"That motor was in good condition. Elizabeth wouldn't have been foolin' around with it if it wasn't. Not Elizabeth."
"No," I said.
"And we know the fire wasn't set. There's proof positive of that."
"No," I said, "it wasn't set."
"And you were in the city when it happened."
"That's right. I was in the city."
"But there was something wrong, mighty wrong. So wrong that you're willin' to give me-how much are you willin' to give me, Joe?"
"What do you want?"
"Make me an offer."
"Well, I'm short of cash right now. But I could give you part of the money from the insurance."
"Not part, Joe. All."
"But, Jesus," I said. "All right, goddamit. All!" He cackled and shook his head. "Huh-uh, Joe. I wouldn't touch that money. How would it look for me to plunk twenty-five thousand in the bank after a deal like this? Huh-uh! I just wanted to get some idea of what it was worth to you for me to keep quiet. Some basis for tradin'."
"Well, now you've got it."
"Yeah, now I've got it. And you know what I'm goin' to do with it, Joe? Somethin' I've been wanting to do for years."
"Spit it out," I said. "For God's sake, you know I've got to come across. What is it you want?"
"Nothing more than what you owe me, Joe. I had a good thing once, and you ruined it for me. Now I'm handin' you back the ruins and takin' your good thing."
I looked blank. "What the hell are you driving at?"
"I'm makin' you a swap, Joe. I'm going to give you the Bower for the Barclay."
You know, it was a funny thing. It was what I'd expected and wanted. It was what I'd been edging him toward from the start. But now that he'd fallen for it I didn't have to pretend to be sore or surprised.
It burned me up just as much as when I'd heard about Panzer moving in. It's funny; maybe I can't explain. But that show-that show-
No, I can't explain.
I came to my senses after a minute, but I kept on cursing and arguing awhile to make it look good.
"That's not reasonable, Andy," I said. "The Barclay's a first-class house. The Bower's just a rat trap."
"It wasn't always a rat trap. Maybe you can build it back up again."
"Like hell. I see myself building the Bower up with the Barclay as competition."
"Oh, I ain't no hog, Joe. I won't shut you out. Prob'ly wouldn't know how even if I wanted to."
"Why not do this, Andy," I said. "We'll be partners. I'll run the business, and we'll-"
He let out another cackle.
"Oh, no, we won't, Joe! I've had a little experience running things on shares with you. The first thing I knowed I'd be out in the cold."
"But how's it going to look," I said, "to make a trade like that? I ain't got any reputation for being crazy. People will know there's something screwy about the deal."
"Now, you're smarter'n that, Joe." He shook his head. "They won't know a thing more'n we tell 'em- and I reckon neither you or I is going to talk. We'll make it a trade, plus other valuable considerations. Just like ninety-nine per cent of all real estate deals is made."
"But Appleton-"
"Appleton'll be gone from here when I take over. Like I said, Joe, I ain't operatin' no kind of business with you. You go ahead and operate the Barclay until the end of the season. I'll take it then."
"Andy, can't we-"
"Yes or no, Joe?"
"Oh, hell," I said. "Yes!"
He went up to the front and brought back some legal forms and his rickety old typewriter, and we finished the business then and there. We drew up a contract agreement to a transfer of deeds at the end of the season, and he gave me a check for a dollar and I gave him one, each carrying a notation as to what it was for.
That made the deal airtight, even without witnesses. There was no way either of us could back out.
I offered to shake hands as I was leaving, but he didn't seem to notice. I let it pass. He'd feel a lot less like shaking hands when the end of the season came.
It was about one in the morning, now. I debated going home and decided against it. It would save arguing and explaining, and, anyway, there wasn't much time for sleep. I wanted to be in the city when the business offices opened in the morning.
I went over to the show, got the clock out of the projection booth, and set the alarm for two hours away. I sat down in one of the loges, put the clock under the seat, and leaned back. The next thing I knew I was back as far as my memory went.
With my mother, or the woman I guess was my mother. I was living it all over again.
The big hand of the clock was pointing to twelve and the little one to six, and she was coming up the stairs, slow-slowly-like she always came; like she wasn't sure where the top was. Then a key scratched against the lock, and finally it turned, and the door opened. And she tottered over to the bed and lay down and began to snore.