Read Online Condominium by John D. MacDonald - Free Book Online
Authors: John D. MacDonald
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even closer and in that strange hoarse whisper said, “Are you willing to serve?”
For a few moments George Gobbin lost contact with reality. He stood amid concrete cubes and walls, amid metal machines in a shadowed place separated from the bright sun outside by a jungle of plantings. A short strong person stood at the wrong distance for his bifocals, too close for the distance lens, too far for the reading lens, blurred red face and blurred blue eyes, huffing warm peppermint smells at him, hurting his arm, making an incomprehensible request.
He wrenched his arm free and yelled, in fear and anger, “Serve what?” He massaged his numbed fingers.
Brooks Ames stepped warily back and said, “What’s wrong with you, George?”
“Nobody is after us.”
“You
yelled
at me.”
“Serve what? How?”
“I ran it up the flagpole with Pete McGinnity, and he said he had no objection if I could get the gun permits. The way I see it, suppose we sign up twelve men. Four times twelve is forty-eight. Four hours of armed patrol duty once every two days. That wouldn’t hurt anybody, would it?”
“Wander around here with a gun for four hours?”
“The patrol station would be right outside Higbee’s office where you can watch the elevators. Actually, what we ought to have is closed circuit television so you can watch the stairways and outside walkways too.”
“Brooks, I am not going to watch anything.”
“That’s your option, of course. Nobody can force you to do your civic duty.”
“Are you going to be wandering around with a gun?”
“When I am, you can sleep sounder at night, neighbor.”
“I don’t think it will work exactly that way.”
“I’m disappointed in you, George.”
“I just don’t happen to think the corridors of Golden Sands are going to be awash in blood any minute now.”
Brooks Ames smiled sadly. “Go ahead. Make your jokes. Your innocence is really very very touching.” He walked briskly away, whacking his metal-shod heels against the concrete, the sound bouncing off the hard walls and metal cars.
George rode back up to 3-C. As he got off the elevator two children about six or seven years old raced into it, shrieking, and pressed all the buttons from 7 to G.
“Hey!” George said. “Don’t do that, kids! You’re not supposed to push all …”
The door was closing. The browner of the two children, wearing only red swim pants, blond hair hiding most of its face, said with a painful clarity, “Fuck off, gramps!” The door closed and the indicator showed it was heading upward.
George went thoughtfully into his apartment.
“Where
were
you? What kept you?”
“Brooks Ames. He wants me to volunteer to be an armed guard. I think he’s lost his wits.”
“Audrey says he worries all the time about thieves coming in here. He wakes up in the night, she says, and paces around, worrying and hearing noises.”
“Some children hopped on the elevator and pushed all the buttons.”
“I thought I heard children screaming. Who are they visiting?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Did you check for the mail?”
“It won’t be there yet.”
“Why can’t you just say you forgot to check?”
“I didn’t check because it is too early to check.”
“Instead of going three steps out of your way and looking in the box?”
When he made no reply, she went back into the kitchen, holding her shoulders high and rigid. He sat on the couch and opened the package with the reel in it and took out the little instruction pamphlet and began reading it. At the Fisherama he’d had the clerk fill the spool on the reel with eight-pound monofilament, and fill the extra spool with twelve-pound. He reviewed how to remove the spool and replace it and then did so, admiring the oily click with which the spool settled into position on the reel.
Elda leaned and spoke through the pass-through. “If you had any consideration at all, you’d go find out about the mail without my having to beg
For a few moments George Gobbin lost contact with reality. He stood amid concrete cubes and walls, amid metal machines in a shadowed place separated from the bright sun outside by a jungle of plantings. A short strong person stood at the wrong distance for his bifocals, too close for the distance lens, too far for the reading lens, blurred red face and blurred blue eyes, huffing warm peppermint smells at him, hurting his arm, making an incomprehensible request.
He wrenched his arm free and yelled, in fear and anger, “Serve what?” He massaged his numbed fingers.
Brooks Ames stepped warily back and said, “What’s wrong with you, George?”
“Nobody is after us.”
“You
yelled
at me.”
“Serve what? How?”
“I ran it up the flagpole with Pete McGinnity, and he said he had no objection if I could get the gun permits. The way I see it, suppose we sign up twelve men. Four times twelve is forty-eight. Four hours of armed patrol duty once every two days. That wouldn’t hurt anybody, would it?”
“Wander around here with a gun for four hours?”
“The patrol station would be right outside Higbee’s office where you can watch the elevators. Actually, what we ought to have is closed circuit television so you can watch the stairways and outside walkways too.”
“Brooks, I am not going to watch anything.”
“That’s your option, of course. Nobody can force you to do your civic duty.”
“Are you going to be wandering around with a gun?”
“When I am, you can sleep sounder at night, neighbor.”
“I don’t think it will work exactly that way.”
“I’m disappointed in you, George.”
“I just don’t happen to think the corridors of Golden Sands are going to be awash in blood any minute now.”
Brooks Ames smiled sadly. “Go ahead. Make your jokes. Your innocence is really very very touching.” He walked briskly away, whacking his metal-shod heels against the concrete, the sound bouncing off the hard walls and metal cars.
George rode back up to 3-C. As he got off the elevator two children about six or seven years old raced into it, shrieking, and pressed all the buttons from 7 to G.
“Hey!” George said. “Don’t do that, kids! You’re not supposed to push all …”
The door was closing. The browner of the two children, wearing only red swim pants, blond hair hiding most of its face, said with a painful clarity, “Fuck off, gramps!” The door closed and the indicator showed it was heading upward.
George went thoughtfully into his apartment.
“Where
were
you? What kept you?”
“Brooks Ames. He wants me to volunteer to be an armed guard. I think he’s lost his wits.”
“Audrey says he worries all the time about thieves coming in here. He wakes up in the night, she says, and paces around, worrying and hearing noises.”
“Some children hopped on the elevator and pushed all the buttons.”
“I thought I heard children screaming. Who are they visiting?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Did you check for the mail?”
“It won’t be there yet.”
“Why can’t you just say you forgot to check?”
“I didn’t check because it is too early to check.”
“Instead of going three steps out of your way and looking in the box?”
When he made no reply, she went back into the kitchen, holding her shoulders high and rigid. He sat on the couch and opened the package with the reel in it and took out the little instruction pamphlet and began reading it. At the Fisherama he’d had the clerk fill the spool on the reel with eight-pound monofilament, and fill the extra spool with twelve-pound. He reviewed how to remove the spool and replace it and then did so, admiring the oily click with which the spool settled into position on the reel.
Elda leaned and spoke through the pass-through. “If you had any consideration at all, you’d go find out about the mail without my having to beg
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