Of course.

  His hand slowly formed to a fist, and very slowly, as if in slow motion, he hit it against his palm.

  Of course. Of course. It was possible, sure it was possible. And as he turned away from the porthole, his eyes were closed and he was seeing a big plane down there in the skies over South Africa. He was seeing the passengers in the plane, and the prim neat stewardess who spoke with a British accent. Of course they all spoke with a British accent and they were all polite and had that very nice quality of being able to mind their own business. Anyway, he was sure they would mind their own business to the extent of not asking too many questions. And if it went along that way, if there was just a small lucky break here and there, the pilot of that big plane would be Cassidy.

  It had to be Cassidy. It was going to be Cassidy. The captain at the wheel, the man in charge, Captain J. Cassidy. And his hair would be neatly clipped, he would be shaved and showered and his hands would be smelling of soap, his fingernails spotless. The big plane would land and there would be the heavy and solid and wonderful sound of the big rubber wheels rolling firmly across the field. It would be there, the big plane arriving on time, and the passengers would come out down the ramp as Captain J. Cassidy made the final notations on his flight report.

  And then, as he walked toward the terminal building, he would see Doris. She would be waving to him. He would see the radiance and the sweetness and it would become more wonderful with each step he took toward her. They were having dinner out tonight, a very special dinner to celebrate his first year with the South African airline.

  They were in the fine restaurant in Capetown and the waiter handed them the menus. He turned the menu so that he was looking at the wine list. Then he looked at Doris and inquired if she would like to have a cocktail. She smiled and said she wouldn't mind having some dry sherry. He told the waiter to bring two dry sherries. He heard Doris telling him he was very nice company, he was really a very fine person. They sat there at the table and it was a wonderful dinner. It was lobster, and while cracking a claw he casually asked Doris if she would like some white wine with the lobster and she said not especially, but later on after the coffee it might be nice to have some muscatel.

  Of course. That was the way it would be. That would be the extent of her drinking when they were together in South Africa. A dry sherry now and then. A small glass of muscatel. And with him it would be the same. There would be no need for the other kind of drinking. In South Africa it would be a life of quiet joy, the placid pleasures that had meaning because all the time it would be with Doris, it would be living with Doris and everything was going to be good and glowing. It was going to be proper.

  Of course. And then he looked at the door of the cabin. And he smiled eagerly, because now he heard the footsteps coming down the corridor. The footsteps were feminine, and he stood near the door so that he would be there to embrace Doris the instant she entered the cabin.

  The door opened and he stepped forward and then stepped back and he was rigid. He was looking at Mildred.

  11

  He told himself it wasn't Mildred. It couldn't be Mildred. He backed across the cabin until his shoulders hit the thick metal rim of the porthole, and he saw Mildred slowly closing the door behind her. Then he watched the way she adjusted her hands to the full roundness of her tightly skirted hips and bounced lightly, brazenly on one leg as she looked him up and down.

  He was trying to pull away from the shock and dismay of the long, shattering moment. He blinked several times and opened his mouth and closed it and then just stood there looking at Mildred.

  She was glancing around the ship's cabin. There was a small mariner's ornament dangling on the wall, a brass anchor, and she walked over to it and flipped it a few times and said quietly, “Just where do you think you're going?”

  She had her back to Cassidy. He saw the jet-black hair shimmering thickly down along her shoulders. He said, “I'm going for a boat ride.”

  Mildred turned to face him. She took a deep breath that swelled her huge breasts until it seemed they'd come plopping out through the fabric of her blouse.

  She said, “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “But you're wrong,” Mildred said. “It ain't like that. It ain't like that at all.”

  He glowered. “Ain't like what?”

  “Ain't that easy.” Then she turned and looked at the neat stretch of spread across the double bed. She reached down and patted it, as though testing the mattress.

  Cassidy said, “How'd you know where I was?”

  She continued to test the mattress. “Shealy.”

  He moved toward her and said, “You're a liar. You've had me spotted.”

  “Is that what you think?” She was planting herself comfortably on the bed, sitting there and leaning back on her elbows. “Go ahead and think it.”

  Cassidy wanted to walk back and forth, but the cabin was too small. Aloud to himself, he said, “Where's Shealy?”

  Mildred had taken a pack of cigarettes from her skirt pocket. As she lit a cigarette, she said, “Your friend Shealy is at Lundy's place.”

  “What's he doing there?”

  “What he always does. He's drinking.”

  Cassidy went to her and threw a grip on the fleshy part of Mildred's arm. “I said you're a liar.” His fingers tightened on her arm. “You'll tell me the truth—”

  Her smile was deadly-dangerous and she said, “Let go of my arm or you get this lit cigarette in your eye.”

  He released her arm. He moved over to the far side of the cabin and watched her as she continued to enjoy her cigarette. There was a thick, cut-glass ash tray on a table near the bed, and she reached over and placed the ash tray on the bed beside her.

  “I'll finish this cigarette,” she said. “Then we'll go.”

  “We'll do what?”

  “I said we'll go.”

  His smile was an open sneer. “Go where?”

  “You'll find out.”

  The sneer became a laugh. “I don't need to find out. I already know.”

  “You think you know. That's your big trouble.”

  Suddenly he was confused and there was the feeling of being helpless and he couldn't understand it. He scowled at her and said, “I want to know what you're doing here. What's your game?”

  “No game,” she said, and she shrugged. “It's just the way things are lined up. You belong to me, that's all.”

  “Listen,” he said, “we had that out and it's all over. Now what you better do is forget it.”

  “You heard what I said. I said you belong to me.”

  Suddenly he was leaping away from the helplessness and he felt the rage coming and sizzling and he said, “You better get out of here before you get hurt.”

  She took a long drag at the cigarette. As the smoke came from her lips, she said, “If I go, you go with me.”

  He checked the rage and tried patience and said, “I'll wise you up to a couple of facts. In the first place I don't want to go with you. In the second place, I'm in no position to go anywhere except on this boat. Maybe you haven't heard about what happened today—”

  “Yes, I heard. I know all about it. That's why I'm here.” She had her eyes on the thick glass ash tray as she tipped ashes into it. “It's a tight jam but I'm sure I can get you out of it. If you listen to me, if you do as I say—”

  “If I listen to you I'm a damn fool. If I do as you say I'll deserve exactly what I'll get. The business.”

  She mixed a frown with a grin. “You don't really mean that.”

  “The hell I don't.”

  “Well, I'll be—” She stood up. “You know what I think? I think you're doped up, or else you're crazy, or something. What's wrong with you?”

  “Not a thing,” Cassidy said; “It's just that I got my eyes wide open. I know what you want. You want to see me crawl. You'll do anything just to see me crawl.”

  She put a hand on her hip and put her other hand on top of her head. She ran her fingers through the thick black hair. She just stood there and looked at him and didn't say anything.

  “Sure,” he said. “You know I've hit it right on the button. You don't want me, you never did want me. You wanted your kicks, that was all. And you liked it most when I was boiling mad. Or sometimes when I'd come home so tired I could hardly move, and you had your fun getting me worked up. Pushing those big balloons in my face. You sure had yourself a fine time—”

  “And what about you? I didn't hear you complaining.”

  “Do you hear me now?” He advanced upon her. “You don't bother me any more. Can you understand that? You can jiggle and jiggle all you want and it don't do a thing to me. All I see is a fat slob doing a shimmy.”

  She inclined her head thoughtfully. “Fat slob? You call me fat? The way I'm distributed?”

  He started to turn away and she grabbed him and swung him around.

  She said, “You don't call me a fat slob. You'll take it back.”

  It was plain that she didn't want him to take it back, she wanted a battle, and he told himself if it came to a battle it might end disastrously for him. The exact nature of the disaster was obscure at this moment, but he realized he couldn't afford to have another battle with Mildred. He looked at her and he realized something else. She certainly wasn't a fat slob. She was all the other names he had ever called her, but she wasn't a fat slob.

  “All right,” he said. “I take it back.”

  He said it quietly, almost mildly. He saw Mildred biting her lip with disappointment and consternation.

  “You see the way it is?” he said, and his tone remained low and relaxed. “The switch is busted. There's no ignition. You can't turn me on and off any more.”

  “Can't I?” She had her head lowered slightly so that her eyes blazed up at him through the long thick black lashes.

  “No,” he said. “You can't.”

  “And you're glad?”

  “Sure. It feels a lot better. Like when they take the chains off.”

  “I don't believe you,” she said. “I don't think of it that way.” She bit her lip very hard. She turned her face to the side and frowned deeply. As though he wasn't in the room, as though she wasn't saying it aloud, she said, “You're a case, Cassidy. You're a damned tough case to figure.”

  “Maybe I am.” He turned his back to her and he was standing at the porthole and looking out. “I can't help that. That's me.”

  “All right,” Mildred said. “That's you. And this is me. And what happens now?”

  He saw some vague streaks of gray in the black sky and he knew it was getting on toward five o'clock. He said, “You can do me a final favor.”

  “Like what?”

  He told himself to turn and face her. But somehow he couldn't take his eyes away from the river and the sky.

  He said, “Get off this boat.”

  “Is that all?”

  He detected something odd, almost sinister, in her voice and he frowned through the porthole at the dark river and muttered, “That's all I can ask.”

  “You can ask for more. Go on, give it a try. Maybe I'll come through.”

  “Listen, Mildred—”

  “Don't build up to it,” she told him. “Just make the request.”

  He took a very deep breath. He held it. He said, “Bring Doris.”

  As he said it he realized he had been lured into making a serious error. Beyond everything else was the blunt knowledge that he was dealing with a ferocious female and instinctively he started to turn and threw up his arm toward his head to protect himself. As he did that, he saw the flashing arc of the thick glass ash tray. She held it tightly and banged it against his arm and as he dropped his arm she hauled off again with the ash tray. The thick glass came crashing down upon his skull. He saw some fiery green triangles and circles of fiery yellow. He saw some wavy ribbons of very bright orange, and he felt the heat of the color. After that it was all black.

  12

  There was considerable rocking and he told himself the ship must be hitting rough water. He sensed that the ship was going down along the trough of a high wave, and then there was a jarring feeling and that was probably another high wave crashing against the ship, taking it up again. He decided it was a really bad storm and the ocean was plenty mean and if it got much worse the ship would capsize and sink. It might be a good idea for him to go up on deck and see what was happening. Maybe he ought to wake Doris and tell her the ship was in trouble. He called her name but couldn't hear his own voice, only the roar of the storm that was smashing the ship.

  Then it was as though there was no storm, the storm had passed and the ship had sunk. Somehow he had been rescued and they were taking him someplace. He wondered what had happened to Doris. He heard voices and he tried to see the people, to talk to them, but everything was black, and when he attempted to produce sound he only choked on the effort.

  Well, wherever they were taking him, they sure were in a hurry. Maybe he was in very bad shape and it was one of those emergency deals. He wondered if it was broken bones or terrible burns or perhaps he had gone under a few times and there was a lot of water in his lungs. It felt like a combination of everything. There was ripping and cracking and burning and throbbing. There was the sound of gurgling and wheezing. There was the feeling of being slowly mashed between huge rubber rollers. The path of it all was down and up and very far down and high up and down again.

  It was terribly far down on the last trip and it ended with a thud. Then everything was still, there was no noise. It lasted like that for a very long time.

  Finally he was able to open his eyes.

  He looked up at a ceiling of cracked plaster, split wide here and there to show the splintered wood supports. The walls were torn paper and the floor was wide, rough-surfaced beams, very old and very dirty. The light came from a single unshaded bulb hanging directly above his head. He couldn't understand why the light wasn't bothering his eyes. Just then the light blinded him and he winced and threw his arm across the upper part of his face.

  He wondered where in the hell he was. Some pain jabbed at the back of his head and he let out a groan.

  A voice said, “You're all right.”

  “Am I?” he said. “That's very interesting.”

  “You just got yourself a slight bump on the head.”

  He was able to recognize the voice. It belonged to Spann. But he didn't have the strength to sit up and look at Spann. He kept the arm across his face and with his other arm he reached down and felt the edge of the cot on which he was resting.

  “You want anything?” Spann asked.

  “Just tell me what happened.”

  “Mildred did it. She tagged you with something.”

  “You know what I think?” Cassidy said. “I think she fractured my skull.”

  “No,” Spann murmured. “It ain't anything like that. It ain't bad at all.”

  Cassidy pulled himself up to a sitting position. He saw Spann seated on a shapeless and collapsed piece of furniture at the far end of the room.

  “Where are we?” Cassidy asked.

  “Upstairs,” Spann said.

  “Upstairs where?”

  “Lundy's Place.”

  Cassidy rubbed his fingers hard against his eyes. “Who brought me here?”

  “Me and Shealy. That captain helped us get you off the ship. We carried you down Dock Street and up through the alley and got you in through the back door. How we did it without getting spotted, I don't know. But we did it.”

  “What do you want, a prize?”

  “Lie down, Jim. Don't get yourself aggravated.”

  “I'd just like to know one thing. Who asked you bastards to butt in?”

  “Aw, now look, if it wasn't for us—”

  “If it wasn't for you I'd have been on that boat. With Doris. You hear me? We'd have been on our way to South Africa. Me and Doris.”

  “Go to sleep, Jim. We'll talk about it later.”

  Cassidy lowered his head to the pillow. An instant later he was sitting up and glaring at Spann and saying, “What time is it?”

  “Two in the afternoon.”

  “Afternoon?” He looked up at the electric light. Then he jerked his head toward the window behind the cot, and he saw it was very dark outside. There was only a narrow gap between the window and the wall of the neighboring tenement, but the gap was thick with a strange, sullen darkness.

  “It's another mean day,” Spann said. “Any minute now it'll start coming down.”

  Cassidy continued to look out the window. “If it stays dark like this I'll make another try. I'll try another boat.”

  “You don't want to do that.”

  “Don't I?” He turned and glowered at Spann. “Tell me about it.”

  Spann stood up and came gliding toward the cot. He wore a faint smile. His long fingers played with a wide and thin cigarette case. He said, “You're a very important person. It's big headlines and they even got it on the radio. On the water front the cops are like flies. You can't turn your head without seeing a red car. If you walked out of here now I'd give a hundred to one they'd grab you inside of a minute.”

  Cassidy bit at the edge of his thumbnail. “That's nice to know.”

  “If you stay here,” Spann said, “and if certain people keep their heads closed, there may be a chance for you.”

  “Who knows I'm here?”

  “Me and Shealy. And Mildred and Pauline. And Lundy.”

  “What about Doris?”

  Spann shrugged. “If you want me to tell her, I'll tell her. But I think it's a mistake. I think what you better do is—”

  “Give me a smoke.”

  Spann opened the thin case. They lit cigarettes. Spann took himself to the window and looked out, bent down to peer up past the tenement roofs to get a look at the sky. “Jesus Christ,” he said, “it's gonna be something fierce. It's gonna be a cyclone.”

  “Good,” Cassidy said. “1 hope it's worse than that. I hope it's an earthquake.”

  Spann looked at him. “That ain't no way to talk.”