End of the Tiger Page 5

  “Afraid we’d be too coarse and worldly for the little dear?” Marie asked, an unpleasant note in her voice.

  “Now don’t be like that, Marie,” Quent said. “You know I didn’t mean anything like that.”

  “Then exactly what in hell are you talking about?” Marie demanded.

  “Shut your pretty face, darling,” Mack said.

  “I was afraid he was going to tell me she’s a nice girl,” Marie said.

  “Look, it was a good evening,” Quent said. “Let’s break it off good.”

  “Okay,” Marie said. “Nightcap at my place?”

  “Not tonight,” Mack said. “Tomorrow is a working day. Landers and Dale have got stuff piled up. Right, kid?”

  “Right, Mack,” Quent said.

  Mack drove back toward town, parked in front of the blonde stone and glass apartment house where Marie lived on ample alimony. He got out, and Marie slid out on his side, and he said, “Back in a second, kid.”

  He walked into the sterile tile lobby with Marie. He grinned at her. She was a sturdy blonde with shrewd eyes, good clothes, and a sulky mouth. They were easy with each other, and he knew she had learned that if she got rough, it was always a few weeks before he called her up again.

  “Now we shake hands, maybe?” Marie asked. “An evening with sweet young stuff and you can’t even come up for a drink.”

  “You want him up for a drink? You want to listen to him talk about love’s young dream for an hour perhaps?”

  “Please. Not that.”

  “Okay, so I drop him and come back for my drink. That makes better sense?”

  Her slow smile came. She ran her fingertips down his cheek. “Mmm,” she said. “Good sense.”

  “Within an hour, honey,” he said, and turned and walked out. His heels made loud firm noises on the tile, and as he pushed the front door open he heard the soft closing of the door of the self-service elevator. He walked out toward the car where he could see the glow of Quent’s cigarette. He got in and slammed the door and headed through town.

  “I’m conversational,” Quent said. “Nightcap?”

  “A short one.” The streets were empty, and he parked in front of The Alibi. They went in and sat at the curve of the bar. Mack tilted his hat back off his broad forehead. There was a party in one of the big booths—two girls and three men, all loud and out of focus.

  “The usual, Joe,” Mack said. “What about you, Quent?”

  “Just a beer, I guess. Millers is okay.” The bartender moved off. Quent said, “God, she’s a hell of a girl, Mack. Never met anything like her.”

  “From the way you’ve been acting, kid, I knew you had something on your mind. How did you say you met her?”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t want to be laughed at. You know that Dowling case I was working on, where she wanted to leave her money to the church. I called on her and she had a lady with her, a friend. While I was there Erica came in a car to pick up the other lady, and it turns out the lady is Erica’s aunt. Erica was in the east for a couple of years and she got homesick and came back out here. She lives with her aunt now and she’s got a part-time job at the library. She works mornings, but I guess I told you that already. What do you think of her, Mack?”

  Mack lifted his drink and took a long slow sip. He glanced at his partner’s intent young face. “It’s really stacked,” he said casually. “I bet it would be fine.”

  Quent turned sharply and frowned at him. Quent’s cheeks were red. “Damn it, that’s no way to talk.”

  “Don’t get in an uproar, kid.”

  “You can’t look at any woman in a decent way, can you?”

  Mack grinned. “Sure. I’m an evil old man. Ask anybody.”

  Quent finally smiled, reluctantly. “All right. You were kidding me. Seriously, I’m thinking in terms of marriage, Mack. It’s time, I think.”

  “I was married once,” Mack said. “It is, indeed, a very unpromising relationship.”

  “You had bad luck.”

  Mack thought of all the implications. He took a few sips of his drink, slid the glass a few inches along the bar top, and examined the wet streak it left.

  “Do I have to like the idea?” he asked softly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, kid. The business is growing. And you know why. We both draw peanuts and put the rest back into the firm. We’re hot. Equal partners. Look at the picture. You get married. You have to draw more. It stands to reason. You draw more, and I have to draw more, or else let the firm owe me. So what happens to the plans? We start leveling off. We don’t grow any more. The answer is we have an outfit that gives us both a nice comfortable living. But is that enough? I thought we had the idea of really getting big. Marriage in five years, Quent. Fine, I’d say. But right now … hell, you can see how I feel.”

  “She’d understand that, Mack. She really would. She’s smart. You can tell that. We draw a hundred apiece right now. We could stay within that.”

  “For five years? You and she and your three kids? Life doesn’t work that way. If she’s that smart, she’s going to know what we’re netting, kid. And she’s going to start resenting the way we keep ploughing it back in. She’s going to wonder why she has to take it easy during the good years so that she can have more dough later on when she won’t enjoy it so much. Kitties love the cream, kid.”

  “I can’t help it, Mack. I’ve … got to marry her.”

  “Name it after me.”

  “Damn it, you always twist things around.”

  “Take it easy, Quent. Anyway, how much do you know about this girl? I’m only eight years older than you, but by God, sometimes I feel forty years older. Marriage lasts a long time. At least it’s supposed to. Don’t rush into it. How long have you known her, anyway?”

  “Six weeks, Mack.”

  “Know a girl six months and marry her and it’s still fast. I always have to keep slowing you up. You know that. Remember the Berton deal? That could have been a real jam if I let you go ahead the way you wanted to.” Mack tossed off the rest of his drink and stood up. “Finish your beer, Quent. I’m bushed.”

  They went back out to the car, and Mack dropped Quent off at his small apartment, headed on east as though going to his place, then circled and went back to Marie’s apartment.

  He sat in his car for a time without going in. He lit a cigarette and smoked it slowly, frowning ahead through the windshield at the dark street. A city bus hissed to a stop, let a man off, waddled off down the street.

  From what Quent had said about her he had expected Erica Holmes to be Miss Anemia. A bloodless and bifocaled thing with elfin mannerisms. Quent wasn’t noted for his taste in women. But Erica had been a thing to stir the blood. Every time, during the evening, when she had been close to him, the backs of Mack’s hands had tingled. She was a grave brunette, her hair so dark it looked almost blue under lights. She had tilted gray eyes, that husky voice, and a body suitable for a calendar in any repair shop. But it was more than that, he knew. It was a certain aura, an invisible emanation of desirability that could be felt ten feet away from her and increased in geometric proportion as he got closer. And she obviously had the kid mumbling to himself. He thought of one little incident during the evening. When he had danced with her, she had become rigid each time he tried to pull her closer. And once, when dancing, her fingertips had accidentally brushed the nape of his neck, and they had felt like ice. He sat, eyes narrowed, thinking. He got out, flicked his cigarette away, and walked slowly toward the lobby entrance, separating the proper key from the others.

  Mack was at his desk when Quent came in, whistling. Mack saw Mrs. Ober slant a speculative glance at Quent, and he knew that Mrs. Ober was not deceived. Prior to Erica, Quent had been a young man who never came in whistling. Mack had coldly selected Quent for the fine intuitive quality of his intelligence. The younger man was not the sort of person with whom Mack felt most at ease. Mack thought of Erica for a time, and then sighed and turned back to
the work on his desk.

  At eleven o’clock Mack went out. As he waited for the elevator he turned and looked at the door of the reception room. Landers and Dale. It had started three years ago in one crummy office, just he and the kid and Mrs. Ober. Five rooms now, and four people working for them. Another five years and they’d have the whole floor. Ten years and they might have their own building. Crazier things had happened. The kid hadn’t been pulling full weight the past six weeks.

  Mack went out and walked five blocks to the public library. He went into the main desk and asked for Miss Holmes. Erica Holmes. The girl at the main desk told him she was in the reference room, the door to the right. He walked through into the sunlit silence. A few people frowned up at him as his metal-tipped heels struck hard against the wooden floor. Mack looked at them blandly. Erica was behind a semicircular desk in the corner. She wore glasses with heavy rims. As she looked up at him, smiling without too much enthusiasm, he saw that the lenses did not distort her eyes at all. Probably a very minor correction. She wore a black skirt, a white blouse with starched cuffs and collar.

  “Good morning,” she said in a low voice. “I had a lovely time last night.”

  “I wanted to see you in your natural habitat, Erica.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Yes?”

  “And maybe see how natural it is.”

  She tilted her head a bit on one side. “What does that mean, Mack?”

  He looked at her mouth. Wide and soft and firm, lips lying evenly together. He said, “Just making jokes. Poor ones, I guess. Did you do library work when you were back east?”

  “No.”

  “Just that? No.”

  “Is this some sort of an inquisition, Mr. Landers? If so, I’ll have to ask you to excuse me. I’m really quite busy.”

  He grinned. “I feel like a father to the kid. You know how it is.”

  “Please don’t talk so loudly. You’re disturbing the whole room.”

  “Buy you lunch?”

  “No thank you.”

  “Have I said something wrong?”

  “Please, Mack. You’ll get me in trouble here.”

  “Come on out by the front steps a minute then.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then we’ll talk here.”

  Her lips tightened. Her knuckles were white against the edge of the desk. “I’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

  He walked out onto the front steps, leaned against the front of the building, and lit a cigarette. It was a good five minutes before she came out. She looked angry.

  “What is this all about, Mack?”

  He looked into the gray eyes, saw them slide uneasily away. “I guess you misunderstood me, Erica. Hell, I was just being friendly. Quent told me you worked here mornings, and I had a call and I was going by, so I stopped in. That Quent, he’s a fine boy, don’t you think?”

  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 t
his 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?”