Evan Hunter - A Horse’s Head

Kill them, he thought.

Finders, keepers, winner take all, kill them.

He could not squeeze the trigger.

He stood facing them, knowing that he did not want to lose yet another time, but knowing he had already lost because he could not squeeze the trigger, he could not for the life of him commit this act that would finalize the gamble.

“No,” he said.

“What?” K said.

“Keep the jacket.”

“What?” Purcell said.

“But find yourself another corpse.”

“What?” McReady said.

He felt like crying, but he did not want to cry in the presence of these international people with high connections in Rome and God knew where else, did not want them to realize he was truly a loser. So he kept his mouth very tightly compressed, a trick he had learned as a boy when his grandmother told him frightening stories, it was easier not to cry when your lips were compressed that way. He backed toward the door of the cottage, keeping the gun trained on the three men, opening the door with one hand thrust behind him, fumbling for the knob, feeling the cemetery wind as it rushed into the room. “I would appreciate it,” he said, trying to sound calm and detached and debonair while knowing he had lost the final gamble, knowing he was a loser, “I would appreciate it,” he said, “if you would drop the burglary charge against me.”

K studied him solemnly for a moment. Then he said, “Well see, Mullaney.”

“Ciao,” Mullaney said, and went out of the cottage.

He threw the gun into a sewer outside the cemetery and then began walking slowly, the first time he had walked slowly in the past two days, it seemed, slowly and calmly, hoping they would not follow him, and really not caring whether they did or not. He thought his parting shot had been a very good one, “Ciao, “ he had said, losing the gamble, but showing what a sport he was anyway, a tip of the hat, a wave of the hand, “Ciao,” and it was all over. “Ciao,” and out the window went the past year, out the window went everything he had thought important, “Ciao,” goodbye to Monaco and Monte Carlo, goodbye to London and Epsom Downs, goodbye to Indonesia and Jakarta, where he had told the cab driver they ran cockroach races, though not at all sure they did. I’ll have to look it up, he thought, and remembered that he had been locked out of his room, and wondered where he would spend the night now that the gamble was over, wondered where he would spend all the rest of his nights now that he was definitely a loser. Well, he thought, at least Irene will get a kick out of this, Irene will grin all over that Irish phizz of hers if she ever finds out her former husband has blown it all in little more than a year; she will certainly have a few laughs telling her new and doubtless winning suitors that her husband was a fool, and a loser to boot.

No, he thought.

Not Irene.

Perhaps she wouldn’t do it on Ferris wheels, but he knew for certain she wouldn’t laugh at him, either, would instead allow him to weep if he wanted to, which he felt like doing right now, but did not do, his lips still compressed. I’ll bet any amount of money, he thought, I’ll give you twenty to one, a hundred to one that Irene would not be happy about this, Irene would say, “Well, Andy, that’s too bad, I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

He wondered if she had ever told anyone that sometimes he was a fool.

He went into a phone booth on the corner sidewalk, took a dime from his pocket and dialed Irene’s number. At first he thought it might be too late to be making a phone call, but there were still lights on in the private houses bordering the cemetery, so he guessed...

“Hello?” she said.

“Hello, Irene?” he said.

“Yes?”

“This is Andy,” he said.

“Andy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, hello, Andy,” she said.

“I didn’t wake you or anything, did I?”

“No, I was watching television,” Irene said.

“What time is it?”

“About ten-thirty,” she said.

“Oh.”

“What is it, Andy? Why are you calling?”

“Well,” he said, “you were right.”

“About what?”

“Well,” he said, “I blew it all, Irene. It took me a year, Irene, but I blew it all. I’ve got five cents in my pocket after this phone call, and that’s it. I’m stone broke after that, though I’ve got to tell you I almost had half a million dollars just a few minutes ago.”

“Really, Andy?” she said. “Half a million?”

“Yes, I could have had it, Irene, I really could have...” He stopped. “Irene,” he said, “I never came close to having it.”

“Well, Andy,” she said, “That’s too bad, I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

“I knew you would say that, Irene.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

The line went silent.

“Irene?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “I’m here.”

“Irene, did you ever tell anybody about the time with the hat?”

“No,” she said.

“Do you know which time I mean?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Irene...” he said.

“Yes?”

“Irene, do you remember the night we got caught in the rain on Fire Island?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you remember the time we were cleaning out cockroaches...”

“Yes, yes...”

“... and found the Cache?”

“Yes, and got drunk.”

“Yes,” he said.

“And tried to make love.”

“Yes.” He paused. “Irene, would you do it on a Ferris wheel?”

“No,” she said.

“Irene?”

“Yes?”

“Neither would I.”

The line went silent again.

“Well,” he said, and sighed.

“Well... well, what are you going to do now?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have any plans?”

“No. I thought...” He hesitated. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“What did you think, Andy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you call, Andy?”

“I guess to...”

“Yes?”

“To ask, Irene, if you would be willing to... to...”

“Yes?”

“Take a gamble.”

“A gamble?”

“On me.”

He said the words so softly that she did not hear him.

“What?” she said.

“On me,” he repeated.

“Oh.”

She’ll say no, he thought. She’ll say no, and I’ll walk off into the night with a nickel in my pocket, fifteen cents less than I started with yesterday morning. Please don’t say no, he thought. Irene, please don’t say no.

“Irene?” he said.

“What is it, Andy?”

“Please don’t say no. I know I’m a fool, I know I’m...”

“No, no,” she said. “You’re...”

“Irene, did you ever tell anybody I was a fool?”

“Andy, I don’t think you’re a fool.”

“I am, Irene, I am.”

“No, Andy.” She paused. Her voice was very low when she spoke again. “Andy, you’re a very nice person,” she said, “if only you would grow up.”

“Irene...” he said.

“Yes?”

“Gamble.”

“I’m not a gambler, Andy.”

“Neither am I,” he said, and the line went silent. For a moment, he thought she had hung up. He waited for her to speak again, and then said, “Irene? Irene, are you...?”

“I’m... I’m here,” she said.

“Listen... listen, you’re not crying, are you? Irene...”

“Andy, Andy,” she said.

“Should... should I come there?”

She did not answer.

“Say yes, Irene.”

Still, she did not answer.

“Irene? Say yes. Please.”

He heard her sigh.

“Yes,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m crazy.”