“Well, I don’t know, Mandy. I understand what you’re saying about them not giving me the chance to do the wheel trick again, but I’ve had that car so long.”
“Please, Uncle Jake. You’ve always listened to my advice before.”
“I know, Mandy, but twenty years; that car’s a part of me. How can I just abandon her?”
“What’s he raving about?” The big man standing outside the back of the motel room tried to decipher the old man’s moans as his partner worked on the window screen.
“Beats the hell out of me,” said his partner. “You remember what Drew said, though. This guy’s weird. Just ignore it.”
“Suits me.” The big man checked his watch. “Let’s get him out of there and turn him over to the California people. I don’t like running late.”
“Hey, I didn’t put the damn screen here. Wonder what they want the old guy for?”
The big man shrugged, watched as his partner carefully removed the screen and pushed gently but firmly on the sliding window. It held a moment, then skidded reluctantly on its runners.
“Listen to him babble.” The smaller man’s name was Degrasse. “Sounds like he’s been drinking. That ought to make it easier. We’ll have him out of here in a minute. How’s the wife and kids?”
“Okay,” said Nichols. “Marva’s got her average up to one seventy. How about yours?”
“Julia’s got some female trouble. Nothing serious.”
“That’s tough.”
“Yeah.” They both slipped into the bathroom, their rubber-soled shoes silent against the vinyl tiles.
They waited quietly until their eyes adjusted to the dim light filling the room. It was dark in the bedroom beyond. Now they communicated with gestures instead of words, one man pointing, his companion nodding in assent. They exited the bathroom. The mumbling from the single bed was louder now. They ignored it, concentrating on the business at hand.
Jake had said good-night to Amanda. Now he lay on the bed and considered his plight. Life shouldn’t be so confusing. When he’d retired he had thought he’d left confusion behind. There were the incredibly complex missives that arrived regularly from the social security administration and the welfare department, but he threw most of them in the trash. They’d never given him any trouble about it.
But this. All his life he’d been able to get by without suffering. Because of his age and his talent as a welder he’d even managed to avoid participation in both wars. Now, quite unexpectedly, he found himself running from his warm, familiar little home. He was confused and uncertain and scared, and found himself relying for help in coping with an indifferent, cold world on the advice of his paralyzed grandniece. All because of some silly magic tricks.
She was reluctant to leave him. Her presence was still there: warm, comforting, loving.
“I have to go, Uncle Jake. I’m getting tired.”
“That’s alright, Mandy. I understand.” Strange that their chats should put so much more of a strain on her than on his fragile self. Of course, she was doing most of the work.
“You mind what I told you now, Uncle Jake. You be careful and take my advice.”
“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.
