“I’m still not sure what I’m going to do about what you said, Mandy, but I’ll think about it real hard.”

“Alright, Uncle Jake. Good-night.”

“Good-night, Mandy.”

Degrasse glanced curiously up at his companion, whispered, “Who the hell’s he saying good-night to?”

“Talking in his sleep.”

“Drunk, like I said.” He put his hand on Nichols’ arm. “No slip-ups. Remember what they told us about the old guy’s bad ticker. We’ve got to go easy with him. Don’t break nothing, and let’s not get him any more excited than we have to.” Nichols nodded once. They’d been over all this before.

Taking the bottle and the rag from his coat, Degrasse unstoppered the glass and poured the contents onto the thick piece of cloth. He was careful not to breathe in any of the resultant vapors. It was an old method; proven, quick, and efficient. It was also much easier to handle in the dark than a hypo. He didn’t like hypos. He was no doctor. His specialty lay at the opposite end of the hygienic spectrum.

Nichols moved away, crouching low. Together they flanked both sides of the bed.

It was just as well, because the old man apparently wasn’t as drunk or sleepy as they’d first thought. He started to sit up, staring toward Nichols.

“Hey, who are you fellas? What are you doing in my room?”

Their quarry might have a bad heart, but there evidently was nothing wrong with his eyes. Nichols hurriedly put two massive hands on the old man’s shoulders, pushing him flat against the mattress. Degrasse pressed the pungent, ether-soaked rag over Pickett’s face.

What’s this, what’s happening to me? Jake thought dazedly. The fumes from the rag, where are you Mandy, he was already starting to black out. They’d take him away, he knew, take him back to California. For testing…. No! He lashed out, kicked frantically. The man holding him down was young and strong, and the other one was using his weight against Jake’s chest while holding the soporific rag tightly over his nostrils and mouth.

So Jake lashed out violently with the only other weapon he possessed. Half conscious, the reaction was more instinctive than planned, reflexive rather than thought out. He wasn’t even sure what he’d done, but suddenly the peculiar, debilitating aroma which infested the rag was gone. So was the rag. He sneezed as a few of the fibers trickled into his nose.

“Son of a bitch.” The man who’d been holding the rag over Jake’s mouth gaped at his open hand, which was full of loose threads, and jumped backward off the bed as though something long and black and lethal had suddenly appeared in his palm.

Still unsure exactly what had happened, Nichols also pulled away.

Jake sat up in the dark bed and spat out fibers. “You fellas go away and leave me alone.” He was still dressed, for which he was thankful.

The big man quickly got himself under control. “What the hell happened?” He was mad at himself for reacting like a dumb kid on his first job. Now they’d have to pin the old man and try again.

Degrasse was still in shock. “I dunno.” He wasn’t stupid, but neither was he a scholarship candidate. He was standing by the foot of the bed staring at his open hand as if his own fingers had somehow betrayed the rest of his body. “The rag came apart. And I don’t smell the ether no more. The rag came apart. It’s all gone.”

“Shit.” Nichols reached inside his coat. “We’ll do it the hard way.”

“Hey, no.” Degrasse grabbed at his partner’s hand but was pushed aside. Nichols pointed the .38 at the old man sitting up on the bed.

“Look, this is important to us. No offense, bud. We don’t want no trouble with you and we ain’t gonna hurt you if you just come along quiet-like.”

“Nobody wants to hurt me,” said Jake, still slightly dizzy from the effects of the ether. “Why do you people keep trying to take me away?”

“What do you mean, keep trying?” Nichols frowned.

It occurred to Jake that perhaps these two really knew nothing about the incident back on the highway the other side of Phoenix. Why should they? It’s a big anthill, and it’s not necessary for the ants on one side to know what the ants on the other are doing, even if they’re working toward the same end.

He stared at the gun. It didn’t look like a toy. It frightened him.

“Take it easy.” Degrasse put a restraining hand on his partner’s arm. “Don’t get him excited. We don’t want him to go and have an attack on us.” He turned, tried to present a benign air to the trembling old man on the bed. In the dim light he was pale as a ghost.

“He don’t look well at that,” agreed Nichols. “Look, why don’t I just crack him on the back of the head, real easy, and we’ll haul him out of here.”

“I dunno,” said Degrasse. “If it upsets him….”

“Shit, I’m getting tired of worrying about what’s going to happen to him,” Nichols grumbled. “We’ve been in here too long already.” He nodded toward the front door. “They’re going to be getting impatient out there.”

“Alright, alright,” said the frustrated Degrasse. “Go ahead, but don’t hit him any harder than you have to.”

Nichols started toward the head of the bed, grinning slightly. “I’ve never hit anyone harder than necessary, Phil. You know that.”

“Stay away from me,” Jake whined. “You stay away from me.”

“Take it easy, old man.” Nichols tried to sound comforting. “This’ll just take a second. Then you can sleep.”

The gun was coming closer. It ballooned until it filled the whole room. Jake couldn’t see anything else. It was dark and black and the shiny gaping maw was pointed right at his chest.

There were two or three thumping sounds like rats jumping clear of the bed. Nichols froze, his gaze on the floor. The pistol’s cylinder had rolled under the bed. The barrel lay near his shoes, the trigger off to the right, the hammer by the end-table. The protective plastic grips had split away from the handle and lay on the floor like the two halves of a shucked oyster. There was no sign of the bullets. The .38 had come apart in his fist, like a child’s jigsaw puzzle suddenly kicked to pieces.

“God,” the big man whispered. He swallowed hard. His expression, which only a second earlier had been one of complete confidence, had metamorphosed into something quite different. Slowly he began backing away from the bed. Jake stared at him, wondering at the abrupt change in his assailant. He hadn’t done anything hardly at all. Just made the gun slipt a little.

Degrasse was staring at the sections of gun-puzzle lying on the carpet. “Just like the rag,” he murmured huskily. “The gun came apart just like the rag.”

Nichols had retreated until he was standing next to him. “Your gun. Use your gun on him, Phil.”

“Like hell.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“I duuno about you,” said Degrasse, edging behind the bigger man, “but they didn’t say nothing about anything like this. This wasn’t part of the deal. I don’t give a shit what Drew says.”

“They’ll be angry.” Nichols’ voice was soft. His gaze never strayed from the suddenly spectral figure sitting up in the darkness on the bed.

“They can go screw themselves,” Degrasse whispered. He was fumbling with the chain latch that secured the front door. “I’m telling you, this wasn’t in the deal. When something comes up that’s not part of the deal you have to get new instructions, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.” Nichols was crowding his companion. “Hurry up.”

“I just want to be left alone,” Jake said plaintively. He started to get off the bed. A low moan issued from Nichols’ throat. He clawed at the door, nearly pulling it off its hinges in his haste to escape once Degrasse had the chain unhooked. Both men half fell, half sprinted out the open door. Jake found himself staring at the naked Arizona night.

XI

Slowly his fright and concern gave way to confusion and then more prosaic concerns. He knew that he had to get out of the room, out of the motel, and do it fast. He remembered the frightened big man muttering something about others waiting.

He fumbled quickly through his suitcase, tāking only his razor and toothbrush and pills. Then he grabbed his wallet from the end table and debated which way to go.

Dimly he remembered the dark shadows emerging from the vicinity of the bathroom. He closed the front door and locked it, then made his way to the john. Warm air drifted in through the open window. At least, he thought wryly, he’d been practicing for this. Using the john as a stepstool he quickly boosted himself up and out the back of the building.

He stood there wheezing and trying to catch his breath. A glance to right and then left revealed only a moonlit vacant lot full of high weeds and old corn. Making up his mind quickly, he started jogging along the back wall of the motel. Crickets commented on his progress from their abodes in the corn.