It was spectacular. Almost worth staying to watch, as I had never kicked anyone in the groin before. The cold, rational thing to do next would be to go for the back of his neck while he was doubled over that way, preferably spiking him with my elbow. However, I was not in a cold, rational mood just then. To be honest about it, I was afraid of the man, scared to get too close to him. Having had small experience with groin-kicked persons, I had no idea how long it might be before he straightened up and came at me.
Which is why I took to my own element rather than stay there and face him.
I was over the arm of the chair, had the window the rest of the way up and was out it in an instant. There was a narrow ledge along which I moved until I had hold of the drainpipe, off about eight feet to the right.
I could continue on around it, go up or down. But I decided to remain where I was. I felt secure.
Not too much later his head emerged from the window, turned my way. He studied the ledge and cursed me. I lit a cigarette and smiled.
“What are you waiting for?” I said when he paused for breath. “Come on out. You may be a lot tougher than I am, Paul, but if you come out here only one of us is going back in again. That’s concrete down there. Come on. Talk is cheap. Show me.”
He took a deep breath and his grip tightened on the sill. For a moment I actually thought he was going to try it. He looked downward, though, and he looked back at me.
“All right, Fred,” he said, getting control of his lecture voice. “I’m not that big a fool. You win. But listen, please. What I’ve said is true. I’ve got to have that thing back. I would not have acted as I did if it were not very important. Please tell me, if you will, whether you were telling me the truth.”
I was still smarting from those slaps. I did not feel like being a nice guy. On the other hand, it must have meant a lot to him to make him behave as he had, and I had nothing to gain by not telling him. So: “It was the truth,” I said.
“And you have no idea where it might be?”
“None.”
“Could someone have picked it up?”
“Easily.”
“Who?”
“Anybody. You know those parties we had. Thirty, forty people in there.”
He nodded and gnashed his teeth.
“All right,” he said then. “I believe you. Try and think, though. Can you recall anything-anything at all-that might give me a lead?”
I shook my head. “Sorry.”
He sighed. He sagged. He looked away.
“Okay,” he said finally. “I’m going now. I suppose you plan on calling the police?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m in no position to ask favors, or to threaten you, at the moment. But this is both a request and a warning of whatever future reprisal I might be able to manage. Don’t call them. I’ve troubles enough without having to worry about them, too.”
He turned away.
“Wait,” I said.
“What?”
“Maybe if you tell me what the problem is … ”
“No. You can’t help me.”
“Well, supposing the thing turned up? What should I do with it?”
“If that should happen, put it in a safe place and keep your mouth shut about having it. I’ll call you periodically. Tell me about it then.”
“What’s so important about it?”
“Un-uh,” he said, and was gone.
A whispered question from behind me-“Do you see me, red?”-and I turned, but there was no one there, though my ears still rang from the boxing they had taken. I decided then that it was a bad day and I took to the roof for some thinking. A traffic-copter buzzed me later, and I was queried as to suicidal intentions. I told the cop I was refribbing shingles, though, and that seemed to satisfy him.
Incidents and fragments continued-
“I did try phoning you. Three times,” he said. “No answer.”