Robert Alter - 100 Malicious Little Mysteries

You bet he would join them. He’d go in there and sit and watch and if Cortland got fresh with Alice he’d poke him in the nose. Or at least he would think about it hard.

“Bill,” Cortland said as he walked into the kitchen, “we’ve just been going over old memories.”

Bill wished viciously he could wipe out those memories. Or better still, wipe out Cortland. Just a flick of the magic finger, folks, and poof, he’s gone!

Bill flicked his fingers at Cortland and said aloud, “Poof, you’re gone!”

There was a poof of orange smoke and Cortland was gone.

Bill stood in rigid silence for almost two minutes. Then Alice said in a matter-of-fact voice, “All right, boys, that was a nice trick. But dinner is almost ready. Come on back, Cortland.”

Bill swallowed. “Alice,” he said. His voice was a high squeak.

Alice went on stirring the gravy. “Bill, show Cort where he can wash his hands.”

Bill tried again. “Alice,” he squeaked. “I think Cortland is gone.”

“Where’d he go?” Alice asked. “This is a fine time for him to go somewhere.”

Bill collapsed on a kitchen chair. “I think I made him disappear.”

“Well, make him reappear.”

Bill shook his head. “I don’t know how, I don’t even know how I made him dis appear.”

Alice stopped stirring the gravy. “Bill, are you sick?”

“I sure am,” Bill groaned. His scalp felt tight and his eyes were so large he didn’t think he could close the lids over them. “I’ve got to call the police,” he whispered.

Officers Magee and Smithson were big, burly, and jaded. They had heard everything. Many times. Bill noticed, however, that they still had spirit enough to glance appreciatively at Alice.

“Sure,” Officer Magee said when Bill had told his story. “You just flick your fingers and some guy disappears.”

Bill gave them a sickly grin. “I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what happened.”

Officer Magee sighed. “Maybe we better search the premises,” he told Smithson. “See if there are any signs of a struggle. Maybe he really did do away with this guy.”

Magee looked again at Alice, who gave him a warm smile. Bill could almost hear the wheels in the officer’s head grinding out, “Pretty wife, jealous husband, so goodbye, boy friend.”

The two policemen conducted a thorough search of the house and back yard, poking around in the flowerbeds — for signs of digging. Bill thought.

“Okay,” said Officer Magee when they returned. “Now tell us the truth. We’re busy men, Mac. Our next call is a complaint about a billygoat who whistles Yankee Doodle. ”

Officer Smithson guffawed.

Bill stood up and drew himself to his full five feet seven inches. He glared straight into the eye of his own reflection in Officer Magee’s shiny buttons. He slumped down again. “I did tell you the truth,” he mumbled.

“Well, tell us again,” boomed Officer Smithson.

Bill licked his dry lips. “You see,” he began, “Cortland was standing just about where you two are now. All I did was flick my fingers like this.” He flicked his fingers. “And I said, ‘Poof, you’re gone!’ ”

There was a poof of orange smoke and Officers Magee and Smithson were gone.

Bill gulped. “Aw, come on back, you guys,” he said weakly.

“Bill,” Alice said. “Is that all you do? Just flick your fingers and someone disappears?”

Bill scarcely had the strength to nod as he sank onto a chair.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Alice said with admiration. “You’re quite a guy. No wonder I love you so much.” She kissed him on top of the head. “I think I’ll put dinner on now. Or maybe I should wait until Cortland gets back. When will he be back?”

Bill shook his head.

“Let me know when he gets here,” Alice said. “I’ll go put the finishing touches on the dining room.” She left.

Bill wasn’t at all sure that Cortland would get back. Or the two officers, either. He found himself wondering if Magee and Smithson had families. Maybe right now several little kiddies were crying for their daddies to come home. Bill stared bleakly at the spot where the three men had stood.

“I’ve got to turn myself in,” he said to himself. “I’ll call and tell them to come get me.”

He wasn’t sure just what he would say. As he waited for his call to be transferred to the police lieutenant, he tried to formulate something that wouldn’t brand him immediately as an absolute nut. What could he say? “See, I’ve got these magic fingers—”

“Lieutenant Hargrove,” said a gruff voice on the wire. There was a pause,

“Lieutenant Hargrove,” repeated Bill. There was another pause.

“I’m Lieutenant Hargrove,” the voice said, a wary note coming into it, as if Lieutenant Hargrove were girding himself to deal with an addled brain.

Bill cleared his throat and considered hanging up. “Well, you see, Lieutenant Hargrove,” he said, “these two officers came to my house to investigate a strange occurrence, and I don’t know what happened to them.”

Lieutenant Hargrove asked quickly, “Which two officers was that?”

“I believe their names were Magee and Smithson.”

“Oh, those two loonies,” said Lieutenant Hargrove. “They just called from Palm Springs. Said they didn’t know how they got there. Couple of nincompoops. Get lost crossing the street.”

Bill clutched the phone. “Palm Springs, you say? Are they all right?”

“Sure,” said Lieutenant Hargrove. “Physically, at least. Say, did you get that strange occurrence taken care of?”

“Yes,” Bill said hastily. “Yes. Oh, yes. Thanks.” He hung up quickly. No reason to be thought a nut if everyone was all right. Of course there was still Cortland. But he would undoubtedly show up somewhere. San Francisco, maybe. Probably figure the State Department sent him on a rush mission or something.

Bill started to whistle. He walked to the mirror that Alice kept on the wall just inside the kitchen door. He was quite a guy, he thought, peering at his reflection. But he didn’t look any different. He sort of thought he might, considering his newly discovered talent. And what a talent! Just let Alice’s old boy friends come nosing around now. Just a flick of the fingers, and away they’d go. Even Paul Newman couldn’t do that.

Bill smiled at himself in the mirror. Just let them come. He could take care of them. He flicked his fingers at his reflected image. “Poof,” he said, “you’re gone!”

“Bill,” Alice said, coming in from the dining room. “I think we’d better go ahead and eat before the roast dries out.”

She looked around the empty kitchen. “Bill?” she said. “Bill? Where are you?”

Jamie pulled the dusty, black T-bird onto the shoulder of the road he’d been cruising and sat there waiting. The radio was off because on a still day he could hear a car from further away than he could see it.

In that hour of cruising he’d checked the road carefully. It wasn’t in top condition, but it was all right, better than many he’d played the game on, and it had the advantage of sparse traffic, perhaps too sparse. The only other car he’d seen during that hour of driving was an old Chevy, worn out, down at the springs, driven by a man with white hair. Not very good prey, but a possible. The old man had driven by without a glance, moving very slowly. Jamie was still debating with himself whether to follow when he’d seen a child’s curious face appear in the rear window of the old car.

That had ruined it. He was superstitious about kids and there’d been enough bad luck recently. Thursday, he’d almost been arrested by a State Trooper, but had managed to outrun him. Friday, the transmission had gone out of the T-bird and he’d been dismounted the whole weekend. Now, deep inside, he felt he’d about worn out this part of the country and it was time to move on. People were starting to look familiar to him, remind him of people he’d known before in other places and at other times. It was kooky how so many faces reminded him of Mr. Kelly. Mr. Kelly was thousands of miles away, back in New York State. Mr. Kelly was five years before in time.