End of the Tiger (7 page)

She gave him a puzzled look. “Of course I think so.”

“Guys like that are rare. You know … idealistic, dedicated. I was telling Marie last night that I lost my illusions when I was sixteen.”

“Too bad, Mack.”

“We’ll have to have an evening together, Erica.”

“Really, I don’t see …”

“Just the four of us again. What do you say?”

She half turned away from him. “That would be nice. I have to go back in now.”

“I’ll work it out with Quent, then.”

“Yes, do that.”

“Or we could go on a picnic. Hell, I haven’t been on a picnic in years.”

“I really have to go in, Mack.”

“Nice to see you, Erica.”

She gave him a tentative smile and went in quickly. He held the big door open and watched her go up the several steps to the main floor. He watched her coldly and he saw the faint awkwardness of her as she went up the steps, and he knew that she was aware of his eyes on her.

He went down the street toward the club, deciding to have a drink before lunch. A slight celebration. A one-man celebration. He was smiling a bit.

As the day ended, and Mrs. Ober was leaving, Mack went in and sat on the corner of Quent’s desk and said, “I stopped in and saw Erica today when I went by the library.”

Quent stared at him. “What for?”

“What for? To make a date with her, maybe? Use your head. No, I had the idea that it would be nice if the four of us went on a picnic. How long since you’ve been on a picnic?”

Quent relaxed. “Years. You asked her? What did she say?”

“She seemed to go for the idea. Marie is a hell of a good cook. We can work it this way. Cold fried chicken
à la Marie
. Potato salad maybe from Erica. You and I bring the beer. Go up into the hills while the weather is still good. You going to see her tonight?”

“Yes, I am.”

“We can try to set up a date.”

Quent grinned. “Sorry, it takes a little time to get used to the idea of you surrounded by nature.”

“Hell, I always sit on the ground once every seven or eight years, kid. Let’s try to set it up for next Sunday. Leave about ten?”

“It sounds like it’d be fun, Mack. I’ve been thinking about … what you said last night.”

Mack adjusted his hat and clapped Quent on the shoulder. “Forget it. Hell, we’ll get along. I worry too much. I’ll set it up with Marie. Next Sunday.”

Mack was on his second drink when Marie came in. He stood up and the waiter pulled the table out and Marie slid in onto the bench beside him, smiled up at the waiter and said, “Gibson, please.” She winked at Mack as she took off her gloves. “Have a big rich day, darling?”

“A truly handsome day. Honey, what do you think of picnics?”

She stared at him. “Picnics? God! Ants in the potato salad and nothing to sit on but rocks.”

“We’re going on one.”

“What did you say you were drinking? I better change my order.”

“No, actually. The same four like last night.”

“Goodie. I’ll bring my bird book. Really, Mack!”

“It’s all set. We leave Sunday at ten in the morning. Up into the hills. Hi ho. Cold chicken and potato salad and beer and scenery.”

“You mean it, don’t you? Wasn’t one evening with young love enough for you?”

“Just being with them makes me feel young again, honey.”

Her drink came, and as she sipped it she turned so that she could look at him over the rim of her glass. She set the glass down. “You, my friend, look entirely too smug. What evil thing are you cooking up?”

“Evil? On a picnic? Please!”

“I think you better tell me what you have on your mind, Mack.”

“You are an unflattering type. I just happen to want to go on a picnic.”

“I’ll wait until the third act, then. It better be a good script.”

“It’s all ad lib.”

“Do I supply the chicken?”

“You do, my love.”

The next morning Quent reported that Erica had agreed to a picnic, and he said it was funny she wasn’t more enthusiastic about it, because he knew that she really enjoyed the out of doors, and they had taken long walks, leaving the car parked near the highway a couple of times. He said that she praised her aunt’s German potato
salad, and she would come with a large bowl of same.

On Thursday Mack took some time off in the afternoon and drove up into the hills. He spent considerable time exploring side roads. When he was satisfied, he made small check marks on his map and returned to the city.

In the afternoon he went into Quent’s office. “Kid, I think we better take both cars. You know how Marie is. She gets restless and wants to take off, and maybe you and Erica would want to stay longer.”

“That makes sense, Mack. You follow me or something?”

“We don’t even have to do that,” Mack said. He unfolded the map and spread it out on the desk. “I told a friend we were going on a picnic and he told me about this place. He says it’s fine. Easy to find. We can meet there, kid. Look. Eighteen out of town and turn left on thirty-one. Go nine miles on thirty-one up into the hills, and you see a barn right here with half the roof gone. Turn left on the first road right here beyond the barn. It’s a dirt road, and you go to the end and you come out right on the side of the mountain where you can see for miles. Nice and private. He was up there a couple weeks ago.”

Quent studied the map. “That’s easy enough. Sure.”

“So we can meet out there at eleven. Marie’s going to get some nice chickens.”

Mack awoke at eight Sunday morning when the alarm went off. For a few minutes he didn’t remember it was the day of the picnic. Then he smiled and stretched and got up feeling good. He hummed under his breath as he shaved, pulling the skin tight and doing a good clean job.

He opened a tin of tomato juice, put the coffee on, and then phoned Quent. Quent answered on the second ring. “Oh, it’s you, Mack. Say, it’s a nice day for it, isn’t it?”

“A swell day, kid. Up to a point.”

“What’s the trouble?”

“I just went down to go get the paper, and my left rear tire is flat and the spare is too soft to put on. I found a place that will send a guy to fix things, but he
can’t get here for an hour or so. And there were a couple of things I was going to do. How about you helping me out, kid?”

“Of course, Mack.”

“I left that zipper case down at the office, that red job that keeps things cold. I was going to start early enough so I could take it out to Walker’s and load it up with cold beer. You can buy it there any time. Can do?”

“Sure.”

“That means you’ll have to go right by Marie’s place. So it’ll help the timing if you pick her up, and I’ll pick up Erica. Okay?”

“Glad to do it, Mack. Want me to phone the gals and tell them about the switch?”

“I don’t see any need of that. They both said they’d be ready at ten. You tell Marie what happened and I’ll tell your gal. And I’ll see you out there. Don’t get lost, kid.”

“You’re talking to an old eagle scout.”

“Thanks for helping out.”

At ten o’clock Mack pulled up in front of Erica’s house. He went up to the door. She opened the door and looked at him, looked out at his car, and asked, “Where’s Quent?”

He explained the change in plans. She introduced him to her aunt, a small woman with nervous mannerisms. Erica wore a tweed skirt, a pale cardigan, and moccasins. She seemed a little uncertain and said she’d better phone Quent.

“Why? It’s all arranged. Besides, he’s left already, probably.”

She kissed her aunt, and Mack carried the big yellow bowl of potato salad out to the car. It was covered with waxed paper tied on with cord. He placed it carefully on the back seat, shut the door on Erica, then went around and got behind the wheel. She seemed subdued.

“Great day for a picnic,” he said.

“It certainly is. It might be a little cooler when we get higher.”

“Not enough to matter.”

She sat far over on her side of the seat. He drove
through traffic as fast as he dared, watching carefully ahead for Quent’s car. He decided that if he saw Quent ahead he would slow down and turn into a gas station. After he got on thirty-one, he was certain that he was ahead of Quent. The big car rocked and leaned on the mountain curves.

They had nothing to say to each other. When he saw the barn ahead, he glanced into his rearview mirror. The road behind him was clear. He passed the dirt road just beyond the barn. Erica turned suddenly and looked back. “Isn’t that the road? Quent told me.”

“You misunderstood, honey. It’s the second road after the barn. Right up here.”

“But I’m sure Quent thinks …”

“If he doesn’t show up, we’ll go back and take a look.”

The road ended at a small clearing he had seen before. He parked the car and turned off the motor. The cooling engine made ticking sounds. The wind made a soft sound in the leaves.

“Let’s take a look around,” he said.

“I’ll wait here in the car.”

He opened the door on her side. “Come on. Let’s find a good place. Let’s be girl scouts, lady.” He grinned at her.

She got out of the car, and he said, “That looks like a promising path.” He stood aside, and she went ahead, holding the branches so they wouldn’t slap him in the face. The path was resilient with pine needles. After a hundred yards it opened into a small clearing. There was grass, a large log.

“This looks okay,” he said.

“Let’s go back.”

He sat down on the log and took out his cigarettes. “Here. Sit down and smoke and take it easy.”

She took a cigarette. She didn’t seem to want to look at him. “Sit down, Erica. You make me nervous.”

She sat on the log a good four feet away from him. She sat with her hand braced against the rough bark. He watched her and saw the quick lift of her breathing. He saw her moisten her lips nervously.

He reached over almost casually and folded his fingers strongly around her wrist. She stopped breathing for a
moment and then turned sharply toward him. “Mack! What’s the idea?”

He chuckled and moved closer to her. She stood up. He gave a quick yank to her wrist, and she was pulled toward him, falling to her knees. He put his arms around her, and she was like a woman made of stone, unbreathing. And then he felt the sudden softness, the great shuddering breath she took. He kissed her and then looked calmly at her face, looked at the glazed scimitar eyes, at the broken mouth. He laughed somewhere deep in his throat and took her in his arms again.

Afterward, he stood up and lit another cigarette. His hands trembled a bit. He looked down at her face, at the blue-dark hair spread wild against the grass of the clearing. Her eyes were tight shut. She was breathing deeply, and with each exhalation she murmured, “Darling … darling … darling.” It was a meaningless metronome sound, as soft as the wind in the leaves overhead.

He sat on the log, watching her with a curious cold tenderness. After a time she opened her eyes and looked vaguely around, like a person coming out of deep sleep. She sat up, then knelt and brushed at the twigs and bits of grass that clung to her skirt. She stood up and looked at him without expression, then stepped over and sat beside him on the log, not close to him. She picked up her leather purse, took out a comb, and combed her dark hair carefully, looking straight ahead.

“Cigarette?” he asked when she had finished.

“Please.”

He lit her cigarette and she looked at him over the lighter flame, meeting his eyes for the first time. She turned away, her shoulders hunched.

“So it was a dirty trick,” he said. “Go ahead. Rave.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she said. Her voice had a faraway sound.

“You must have something to say.”

“I just feel … damn empty. It was probably a mistake. The whole plan. I thought … coming back here. I thought it would change things. God knows I tried hard. Back there too many people … know. When they know, there’s no defense.” She turned and looked
at him again. “How did you know?”

He studied his cigarette. The breeze whipped the smoke away. “I don’t know. An instinct. Little things. Signs and portents. You get a hunch and you follow your hunch. That deal of you shaking hands with him to say good night. That was a sort of a tipoff.”

“It had to be that way.”

“Sure.”

“Oh, God, if there was some way … something that could be cut or burned out of me. Mack, why didn’t you leave me alone, even if you guessed?”

“I told you in the library. I feel almost like a father to the kid.”

“I wouldn’t have hurt him! I wouldn’t have hurt him!”

“Not this year, maybe. Then what goes on, honey? Some smart guy selling vacuum cleaners? A meter reader? Some drunk at a party? Don’t kid yourself.”

“Stop,” she said faintly. “Please stop!” She held her hands over her eyes. The discarded cigarette was near her moccasin, smoke drifting in the grass.

“Now you tell me you love the kid.”

“I do!”

“That’s good. Then you know what to do.”

She lifted her head. “Or?”

“That’s an unnecessary question, isn’t it?”

She stood up. Her face was all at once slack, gray, older. “You did go right by where we should have turned, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“You’ve been so damn clever, Mack, haven’t you?”

He stood up. “Sure. Old Mack. A big I.Q., darling. Let’s go.”

Mack watched Quent carefully during the next few weeks. The days were growing shorter and cooler. Mack watched the slow inexorable change in his partner, watched the listnessness, the climate of the rejected. One evening, knowing that Quent had gone back to the office after dinner, Mack returned also, occupying himself with work that could have waited until the next day, knowing that there was no need, actually, to talk to Quent, yet feeling a strong compulsion.

He wandered at last into Quent’s office. Quent looked up, and Mack saw the lean pallor of his face, the obscure sickness in his eyes.

“Knock off and have a quickie?” Mack said.

Quent stretched and yawned. “I guess so. Sure.”

They walked side by side through the darkness to the brittle cheer of the Alibi and sat at stools at the quiet bar. When the drinks came, Mack waited and then asked quietly, “What’s the pitch on those wedding bells, Quent?”