Read Online Now You See It by Richard Matheson - Free Book Online Page A

mind—I was still distressed (is it overly flippant to say:
to the max?)
by my son’s behavior.
    Harry stared at Max in total apprehension now. Max stared back with deep malevolence.
    “Everything I said about my Adelaide stands uncontradicted,” he said softly, vengefully. “Except for my mother and father, she was the only genuine person I ever had in my life.”
    Harry shuddered as Max put the fired pistol on the desk and shifted the other one to his right hand. He smiled at Harry.
    It was not a reassuring smile … to either of us.
    “I take it back,” he said. “That pistol ball was also genuine. You demean me, Harry, by suggesting that I deal in nothing but ‘frigging little tricks.’”
    “What do you want?” asked Harry in a faint voice.
    My question exactly.
    “Well, I had considered a duel,” said Max, “for a number of reasons. Honor. Revenge. Whatever.”
    His expression of regret was a mocking one.
    “That’s now impossible, however,” he continued, “since I had to fire
your
pistol to prove that both weapons were really loaded.”
    His face went hard now, and he gestured toward a chair with the pistol.
“Sit,”
he said.
    Harry tried to tough it out; his voice was not exactly convincing as he muttered, “No.”
    “Very well,” said Max.
    He extended the pistol toward Harry.
    “This time I will not destroy a vase,” he said. “Farewell, old chum.”

    “All right,” said Harry quickly. He hurried to the chair and sat.
    “Now put down your little hand-stitched, leather, monogrammed-in-gold attaché case,” Max told him.
    Harry swallowed dryly, placing his attaché case and hat on the table beside him.
    “Very good,” said Max.
    Harry drew in a shaking breath. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Max?” he asked.
    “Wrapping up loose ends,” Max answered.
“Pal.”
    Keeping his eyes on Harry, he edged over to the desk and pulled out its middle drawer. Removing two folded sheets of paper, he unfolded one of them.
    “Found in Cassandra’s raincoat pocket,” he explained.
    Harry swallowed again. I actually heard the crackling of membranes in his parched throat. He watched uneasily as Max returned to the chair and began to read the letter he was holding in his left hand.
    “‘Sometimes, I wonder why I bother anymore. God knows, he doesn’t make me more than petty cash these days. He’s washed up but too stubborn to admit it. If he keeps making a fool of himself on stage, I’m going to drop him from the agency or let some flunky handle him.’
    “Shall I go on?” he asked.
    Harry stared up at my son, his eyes like cold stones; the look which, I am certain, paralyzed untold numbers of business contacts.
    “It’s a hard world, Max,” he said. “Nobody’s out there to do you favors.”
    “Dog-eat-dog, eh, Harold?” Max responded.
    “You got it, pal,” said Harry. Clearly, he was vowing not to let Max see any further signs of weakness in him. He gestured toward the letter with contempt.
    “Is that why you’re doing all this?” he asked. “Because I wrote an unflattering note?”
    Unflattering?
I thought.
Insulting, you bastard!
    “No, there’s a bit more,” Max replied.
    In spite of his obvious vow, Harry could not restrain a shudder as Max shook open the second folded sheet of paper. Perhaps I shuddered, too; who knows?
    “One sworn affidavit, duly notarized,” he said. “Signed by one Emmanuel Farber, night porter at
The Essex House
.
    “Statement:
‘Yes, I saw that man’
—identifying a photograph of you, dear Harold—
‘and that woman’
—identifying a photograph of guess who, Harold?—
‘enter Room 525 on the night of April 28—’”
    “All right,
I fucked
her!” Harry interrupted, with desperate bravado.
“So what?
I didn’t start it!
She
did! She wantedit, I gave it to her! Big deal! What do you expect? You can’t even get it up anymore!”
    If I had been my son and held that pistol in my hand, I would have blown out Harry’s