Эд Макбейн - Strangers When We Meet

The car pulled up alongside him. The front door opened.

“Get in,” a voice said.

He stood silent for another moment. With great effort, he turned and walked to the car. He climbed onto the front seat alongside the driver.

“Close the door,” the voice said.

He closed the door.

“Not that I much give a damn,” the voice said, “but are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Larry answered.

The car was in motion now. The houses outside fell by in regular monotony.

“You’re not very smart,” the voice said. “Even a butcher knows that.”

“I’m smart as hell.”

“Why’d you walk out on your own party?”

“I wanted to. Who the hell are you?”

“Felix Anders.”

“Go to hell, Felix. Who asked you to come after me?”

“Eve did.”

“Hero. Big hero butcher who reads the Daily News .”

“We can’t all be smart architects who read the Times .” Felix paused. “We’re going to a little ride. To clear your head.”

“My head’s clear.”

“Your head’s all ass backwards.”

“My, my, the butcher curses. The butler-butcher curses. The neat superior—”

“I can’t stand amateurs,” Felix said. “If you’re going to play the game, play it right.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Walking out of your own party is a stupid kid stunt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What is she?” Felix asked. “A blonde or a brunette?”

“What is who?” Larry asked shrewdly.

“It’s too late to get smart,” Felix said. “You showed all the signs tonight. Don’t get smart when I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Eve’s a shrewd cookie. You keep on—”

“I don’t like that,” Larry said. “Eve’s my wife—”

“And you love her,” Felix said dryly. “I know.”

“Damn right, I love her.”

“Love’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Love’s got everything to do with everything,” Larry said. “That’s how much you know, butcher.”

“I don’t know anything at all,” Felix said slyly. “I’m just a butcher. But if you’re going to play the game, play it right.”

“What game were you playing in the corner with Phyllis Porter? Footsie?”

“Someday I’ll explain life to you.”

“A game! What the hell do you know?”

“Nothing. I’m a butcher.”

“Stop telling everybody you’re a butcher. They’ll begin believing you.”

“Where were you headed just now?”

“No place.”

“I hope you’re not playing close to home,” Felix said. Larry did not answer. “There’s an old proverb: never spit where you eat. You might remember it.”

“Felix Anders, proverb maker,” Larry said.

“You ready to go back?”

“I was ready long before the lecture started.”

“In one ear and out the other,” Felix said. “I’ll talk to you sometime. When you’re sober. Let me handle this when we get back to the house.”

“What’s there to handle?”

“You don’t know how close to the brink you are,” Felix said. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering to help you.”

“Who needs your help? I don’t even think I like you.”

“I don’t like you, either. You think you’re superior because you’re an architect. I’m a butcher, and I know more about life than you’ll ever know.”

“Sure.”

“Sure. Every butcher does. Life is just a big piece of meat. There’s your house. Let me handle this.” He pulled the car to the curb. “Sit where you are,” he said. “I’ll come around and help you out of the car.”

“I can walk.”

“I know you can. Sit where you are.” He walked around to Larry’s side and opened the door. “Put your arm around my shoulders. Let me do all the talking. Just follow my lead.”

He seized Larry’s arm and swung it over his shoulder. Together, they swayed up the front walk. Eve was waiting at the door.

“Is he all right?” she asked.

“Just too much to drink,” Felix said. “He felt sick, had to get some air. I think we’re going to need the bathroom.”

Eve looked at her husband with mingled sympathy and disgust. Larry smiled blandly. He and Felix went into the house and past the coffee drinkers at the kitchen table. Eve followed them to the bathroom. As Felix closed the door, she said, “I’ll have coffee waiting for him.”

With the door locked, Felix said, “Make noises. I’ll get the water going.”

“This is a little foolish, isn’t it?” Larry asked.

“Protection. You’re in trouble, mister. I suggest you lay your wife the moment everyone leaves.”

“That’s none of your goddamned business,” Larry said heatedly.

“Isn’t it?” Felix smiled a knowing, superior smile. “Architect, you just joined an international fraternity.” He turned on the water tap. “Make sick noises,” he said. “Make a lot of sick noises.”

The house was very still.

The guests had all departed, and he and Eve lay side by side in the silent bed in the silent bedroom. She lay quietly tense, and he could feel anger coming from her like electricity before a summer storm.

“It was a lousy party,” he whispered.

“It was the most horrible party I’ve ever been to in my life,” Eve said tightly.

“Thirteen people. You should never give a party with thirteen people.”

Eve did not comment. He reached over for her.

“Don’t touch me!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Just keep your hands off me!”

“Is it my fault it was a lousy party?”

“It was lousy and boring and loud and horrible and nothing at all like what I thought it would be,” Eve said. “But I stayed.”

“Well...”

“And you walked out. And that’s the big difference, Larry. You walked out.”

There was a long silence in the bedroom.

“Good night,” Eve said at last.

He sought out Felix Anders for two reasons, one of which was realized, the other of which was totally unconscious.

Primarily, he wanted to hear more from Felix about this “international fraternity.” He wanted to assure himself that what he shared with Maggie was not a run-of-the-mill gutter alliance. He had always liked Van Gogh until mass-production techniques put a Van Gogh print into every lower-middle-class living room. He did not wish to believe a love like his was hanging in living rooms across the face of America. He wanted to know that he and Maggie were different. This was his prime reason and his good reason for seeking out Felix.

Unconsciously, he needed a confidant.

He could not discuss with Eve the conflict which was uppermost in his mind, nor could he very well confide in Maggie the doubts and uncertainties which plagued him. Felix had come along with a hint of vast knowledge. He did not know Felix very well. Indeed, the Felix who’d picked him up didn’t seem at all like the Felix he knew even slightly. And he didn’t particularly like either Felix. But he looked for him on the Sunday morning after the party; and perhaps he’d been looking long before he found him.

Felix was in his garage oiling a hand saw. Larry hesitated on the sidewalk a moment, and then walked up the concrete driveway strip.

“Morning,” he said.

Felix looked up. He did not smile. He wore an old Army Eisenhower jacket over a green sweater. His eyes looked very green and very clear.

“Good morning,” he said. He oiled the saw with meticulous care, rubbing the oil in, wiping away the red smear of rust.

“I guess I was pretty loaded last night,” Larry said.

“We all get high sometimes,” Felix answered.