Evan Hunter - A Horse’s Head

Kruger bit off the end of a cigar, spit it into the fireplace where a real wood fire was blazing, and said, “Where’s the money?”

Always back to that, Mullaney thought. There was a miasma of evil emanating from Kruger, as strong as the stench of garlic, wafted across the room, penetrating the woodsmoke smell, thick and suffocating. Kruger could kill a bug by looking at it, he was evil, and he was strong, and he was mean, and Mullaney was afraid of him, and more afraid of him because he could not take his eyes off the delicate blond girl.

“I don’t know where the money is,” Mullaney said. “Would you happen to know who won the fourth race at Aqueduct today?”

“I have no idea who won the fourth race at Aqueduct,” Kruger said.

“Well, I have no idea where the money is,” Mullaney said.

“I believe otherwise. I suggest you tell me, sir, or we may be forced to kill you.”

He spoke very well for a man who looked the way he did, his cultured voice adding somehow to the terrible menace that rose from him like a black cloud from the smokestack of a steel mill, hanging on the air, dropping black particles of soot on Sunday church clothes. He stuck the cigar in his mouth, but did not light it. Mullaney had the feeling he was simply going to swallow it.

The girl was standing near the window, peering down into the street below, except occasionally when she turned to look at Mullaney with that same sad sweet smile on her face. He knew instinctively that she wanted him to save her from the clutches of such as Kruger. She wanted him to start a fight here, knock these fellows around a little, and then take her down to the casino, where he’d put twenty thousand francs on seventeen red and then maybe they’d go running barefoot along the Grande Corniche, that was what she wanted him to do. She wanted him to become what he thought he would become a year ago when he had flown the coop in search of some dizzy kind of freedom, finding nothing but cold dice and losing horses, dead hands and buried luck, finding none of the things he thought he was taking the gamble for, and managing to lose Irene into the bargain, the only thing that had ever mattered in his life until then. Now, here in this room, everything seemed within grasp once again. All he had to do was become a hero. All he had to ask of himself, all he had to expect of himself, was that he become a hero.

“If you kill me,” he heard himself say, “you’ll never find out where the money is.”

“That’s true enough,” Kruger said.

“I thought you’d be reasonable,” Mullaney said, and smiled like a hero.

“Oh, yes, I am a very reasonable man,” Kruger said. “I hope you are equally as reasonable, sir, because I think you know how obsessed one can become by the idea of possessing half a million dollars.”

“Yes,” Mullaney said, and then said, “Half a million dollars?”

“Or didn’t you realize it was that much money?”

“No, I didn’t realize that, I certainly never realized that,” he said, and knew at once that this was it, this was sweet luck keening to him from someplace, half a million dollars, if only he could be a hero. He felt himself tensing, knew instinctively that he would have to call upon every reserve of strength and intelligence he possessed if he was to get out of this room with what he wanted. He had come into this room thinking that all he wanted was to stay alive, but now he knew that he wanted the blonde as well, not to mention the money.

He suddenly knew where it was.

He knew with an intensity bordering on clairvoyance exactly where the money was. He almost grinned at his own ridiculously marvelous perception, he knew where the goddamn money was, he actually knew where it was.

“I know where the money is,” he said aloud, surprised when he heard the words.

“Yes, I realize that, sir,” Kruger said.

“And I’ll be happy to get it for you.”

“Good.”

“But...” He hesitated. Kruger stood facing him across the room, the only other player in the game. Mullaney was holding half a million aces, half a million lovely crisp rustling American dollar bills, warm and safe and snug, the best hand he’d ever held in his life. He almost burst out laughing. The girl, leaning against the window drapes, watched him silently, anticipating his opening bet.

“I’d have to go for it alone,” Mullaney said.

“Out of the question,” Kruger answered, calling and raising.

“Then we’d better forget it.”

“No, we won’t forget it,” Kruger said. “George,” he said, and George moved a step closer to Mullaney.

“That won’t help you a bit,” Mullaney said.

“Perhaps not. I have a feeling, however, that it will help you even less.”

“Well, if you want to get clever,” Mullaney said, and then could think of nothing further to say. George was very close now. The blued steel of the revolver glinted in the firelight. He flipped the barrel of the gun up so that the butt was in striking position. He smiled pleasantly, lots of people smile pleasantly before they commit mayhem, Mullaney reflected.

“Sir?” Kruger said.

“Just touch me with that gun...” Mullaney said.

“You realize, do you not...”

“... just touch me with it, and...”

“... that we can very easily drop you in the Hudson River...”

“I realize that.”

“... in little pieces?”

“Little pieces, big pieces,” Mullaney said, and shrugged.

“So I suggest you tell me where the money is. Now. ”

“And I suggest you bet your jacks,” Mullaney said. “Now .”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Or get out of the game.”

Kruger stared at him.

“Well?” Mullaney said.

Kruger was silent for a long time. Then he sighed and said, “How far is it?”

“How far is what?”

“Where the money is.”

“Its near,” Mullaney said.

“Take George with you,” Kruger suggested.

“Out of the question.”

“Henry then?”

“Neither of them. I go alone.”

“Why?”

“Put yourself in my position,” Mullaney said, not knowing what the hell he was talking about, “I need protection. I wouldn’t mind giving up five hundred thousand dollars,” — like fun I wouldn’t, he thought — “after all, that’s only money. But you can’t ask me to risk my life getting it because what’s the difference between that and getting killed right here in this room?” still not knowing what he was talking about, but realizing he was making sense because the men were studying him soberly and weighing his words, and the girl was glancing at him in approval and smiling encouragingly from where she stood in black against the red drapes. “If either George or Henry are recognized, I don’t think I have to tell you what could happen to me,” Mullaney said, not having the faintest idea what could happen to him especially since K and Gouda and the others were now dead, but figuring it never hurt to throw in dire predictions when you were dealing with people who had the power to make those predictions come true. “Think of my position,” he said.

“He has a point,” Kruger said. He kept studying Mullaney. “But think of my position,” he said reasonably. “What guarantee do I have that you’ll come back?”

“No guarantee at all. Except my word,” Mullaney said.

Kruger coughed politely. “I’m afraid that’s not enough for me,” he said.

“Well, what can I tell you?” Mullaney said, and shrugged. Come on, Kruger, he thought, you are walking right into the sucker bet, it’s sitting right here waiting for you, all you’ve got to do is come a wee bit closer, I’m going to let you pick up the bet all by yourself, come on, baby, come on.