Лоуренс Блок - One Night Stands and Lost Weekends

He could hear Zeke, cursing dully from the back of the cave. They hadn’t left, then. He had them trapped.

After a time the cursing stopped. “Hey, Pops!” Zeke called. “That was pretty sharp, you know?”

Dan didn’t answer.

“Sharp,” the boy repeated. “You faked us good, but what’ll it get you? You can’t move, Pops.”

Dan started. He scrutinized the rear walls of the cave but could see nothing.

“Peek-a-boo,” Zeke called. “I can see you real good, Pops. There’s a cool little crack in the rock, you know? I can see you clear as anything. You still got your gun, but you can’t go anywhere.”

“Neither can you,” Dan answered, in spite of himself. “You can’t come out without getting shot. You two little bastards can stay there until I get some help.”

The boy’s laugh rang hollowly in the cave. “Help? You expecting company, Pops? Bet there’s a whole mess of people in a real rush to come here. This cave’s a big attraction, huh?”

Dan ran a hand over his forehead. The boy was right — the world didn’t exactly beat a path to his door. Daley would drop by in the morning with the mail, but he couldn’t figure on anyone showing before then. It was a stalemate; he couldn’t get the boys, and they couldn’t get him.

“I can wait,” he called. “My friend comes up at eleven every morning, and we can just sit it out until then. Have a nice wait, kids. Enjoy yourselves. When the cops get hold of you it won’t be much fun.”

This time they both laughed — high, shrill laughs that chilled Dan to the bone. The laughter echoed and bounced between the walls, and Dan felt his blood come to a boil. “Laugh!” he yelled, savagely. “Laugh your heads off, you little bastards!”

“Pops,” called a voice — Benny’s, this time. “The laugh’s on you, Pops. Know what time it is?”

“It’s nine o’clock, Pops. Nine at night. It’s fourteen hours ’til your friend comes. Think you can stay awake for fourteen hours? That’s a long time, you know.”

Dan drew in a breath sharply. Suddenly, he felt very tired. Very tired and hopelessly old.

“He’s right,” Zeke said. “There’s two of us, Pops, and we still got our blades. You might get real sleepy tonight. Just have to sit there all night with your eyes wide open, while one of us sleeps and the other one watches you. After a while your eyes’ll close up and that’ll be the end. You’ll be too sleepy to feel the knife.”

The boy went on, but Dan didn’t listen to the rest. He let out his breath slowly and stared at the gun in his hand, wondering idly whether or not it was loaded.

He knew what happened when a man had to force himself to stay awake. He’d seen a sentry who fell asleep at his post six miles north of Inchon. He’d looked like a man asleep, until Dan had noticed the slit that ran across his throat from ear to ear. He probably never knew what was happening, never felt the knife slice his life away.

Could he stay awake? He didn’t know. He glanced at his watch, noting that the boy had been right — it was just a few minutes past nine. He’d been on his feet all day since 8:30 in the morning, and it had been a rough day, with plenty of walking and climbing. He felt tired already, and he had fourteen more hours to go. His ankle throbbed dully but steadily, a slow and persistent ache. He knew it was draining him of the energy he would need to remain awake through the night.

“You may not have to wait until you fall asleep,” Zeke called. “It’s getting real dark, man. You won’t be able to see too good. We can sneak up, like.”

Dan looked around for the lantern and was relieved to find it at his side, where it had fallen in the scuffle. He set it upright and made ready to light it, then realized how little kerosene he had in it. Probably not enough to last the night. He’d save it until he couldn’t see without it.

“Okay,” said Zeke. “So you got the lamp. You’ll still fall asleep.”

The minutes crawled by and the shadows grew longer. Dan sat very still on the floor of the cave. The boys talked among themselves, and occasionally he caught snatches of their conversation. They’d started in Memphis, headed west, pulled a series of small holdups, and one of them — Benny, he guessed — had knifed the proprietor of a delicatessen. The man had died.

Killers. A couple of punk kids, but they had killed already and they would kill again. Zeke, he thought, would kill if he had to, but Benny was a different sort. Benny would kill whenever he got the chance.

Dan had met that kind before. There was a guy in his platoon, a tall, lean boy from the hills. And one day the platoon had taken seven young Chinese as prisoners. And the tall, lean boy from the hills had stepped up to each of the POWs in turn, and placed his pistol to the back of each head, quickly and methodically blowing out the brains of each of them. The Americans were too dumbfounded to stop him. Dan had been violently sick, and the memory still churned inside him.

He shook himself suddenly and took several deep breaths in rapid succession. He had almost fallen asleep that time. His eyes remained open, but his arms and legs were completely relaxed. He had heard about that — falling asleep bit by bit, until your mind wandered into dream-channels that seemed vividly real. He moved his arms around to speed the circulation and touched his injured ankle gingerly. It was sore to the touch and swelling rapidly.

There was a laugh from the rear of the cave. “Almost,” said Zeke. “You’re an old man, Pops. Pretty soon you’ll be dropping the gun. Why don’t you just give it up?”

Damn you, thought Dan. He looked at his watch — 10:20. It was dark now inside the cave, too dark for him to make out the outline of the rear wall. He’d have to chance running out of kerosene.

He struck a match and lit the lantern, warming his hands over it. It felt good. He hefted the gun in his hand. Was there a bullet left? The gun was full three days ago, but he had shot at some squirrels since then. How many times had he fired it? Five? Six? He couldn’t remember.

Nor was it possible to tell by the weight. He could judge between a full gun and an empty one, but one bullet either way didn’t make that much of a difference.

He noticed himself blinking more and more frequently, as his eyes struggled to shut against his will. He forced himself to look first at the lantern, then off into the darkened area of the cave. Just so it isn’t steady , he thought. Vary it, mix it up, just so you don’t get accustomed to one position. He moved his arms from time to time, shifted his weight, and changed the position of his legs as much as the broken ankle would permit.

The boys spoke less, then stopped talking altogether. It was almost midnight when he heard Zeke’s voice, soft but clear in the near-silence of the night.

“Pops,” the boy said, “Benny’s sleeping. Isn’t that nice?”

He didn’t answer. There was no point in wasting energy; he needed every drop of it just to keep awake.

“I said he’s asleep,” the boy repeated. “Just closed his eyes and floated right off. Sleeping like a baby.”

Stop it , Dan thought fiercely. Don’t talk about it, you bastard. Don’t even mention the word.

But Zeke knew what he was doing. “Sleeping. Wouldn’t you like to take a little nap right now, Pops? Be real easy, you know? Just close your eyes, lean back...”

No. His hand tightened on the butt of the gun, squeezing hard. He started to sweat again, and then a cold chill came over him.

“Relax,” the voice cooed. “You’re real tired. You want to catch a little sleep. Close your eyes. Go ahead — close them.”

Dan’s eyelids dropped by themselves at the command, and he had to struggle to lift them again. He was being hypnotized, crudely but efficiently.