Prine asked.
“No calls.”
“You’re certain?”
“Of course.”
“You were here all the time?”
“Watching the show on that set,” Stevenson said.
“I was expecting a call.”
“I’m sorry. There wasn’t one.”
Prine scowled.
“Terrific show,” Stevenson said.
“Just the first thirty minutes. Following Harris, the other guests
looked duller than they were. Did we get viewer calls?”
“Over a hundred, all favorable. Do you believe he really saw the
killing take place?”
“You heard the details he gave. The color of her eyes. Her name.
He convinced me.”
“Until the next victim’s found, you don’t know that his details were
accurate.”
“They were accurate,” Prine said. He finished his bourbon and refilled
his glass. He could drink a great deal of whiskey without becoming
drunk. Likewise, when he ate he gorged himself, yet he had never been
overweight. He was constantly on the prowl for pretty young women, and
when he paid for sex he usually went to bed with two call girls. He was
not simply a middle-aged man desperately trying to prove his youth. He
needed those fuels-whiskey, food and women-in large doses. For most of
his life he had been fighting ennui, a deep and abiding boredom with the
way the world was.
Pacing energetically, sipping his bourbon, he said, “A green-eyed woman
named Edna…. He’s right about that. We’ll be reading it in the papers
tomorrow – ”
“You can’t know-”
“if you’d been sitting there beside him, Paul, you’d have no doubts
about it.”
“But wasn’t it odd that he had his ‘vision’ just when you about had him
nailed?”
“Nailed for what?” Prine asked.
“Well … for taking money. For “if he’s ever been paid more than his
expenses for that kind of work, I’ve no proof of it,” Prine said.
Perplexed, Stevenson said, “Then why did you go after him?”
“I wanted to break him. Reduce him to a babbling, defenseless fool.”
Prine smiled.
“But if he wasn’t guilty-”
“He’s guilty of other things.”
“Like what?”
“You’ll know eventually.”
Stevenson sighed. “You enjoy humiliating them right there on
television.”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Is it the sense of power?”
“Not at all,” Prine said. “I enjoy exposing them as fools because they
are fools. Most men are fools. Politicians, clergymen, poets,
philosophers, businessmen, generals and admirals. Gradually, I’m
exposing the leaders in every profession. I’m going to show the
ignorant masses that their leaders are as dull-witted as they are.” He
swallowed some bourbon. When he spoke again, his voice was hard.
“Maybe someday all those fools will go at one another’s throats and
leave the world to the few of us who can appreciate it.”
“What are you saying?”
“I spoke English, didn’t I?”
“You sound so-bitter.”
“I’ve got a right to.”
“You? After your success?”
“Aren’t you drinking, Paul?”
“No. Tony, I don’t understand-”
“I think you should have a drink.”
Stevenson knew when he was expected to change the subject. “I really
don’t want a drink.”
“Have you ever gotten blind drunk?”
“No. I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Ever gone to bed with two girls at once?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You don’t reach out for life like you should,” Prine said. “You don’t
experience. You don’t get loose enough often enough. That’s the only
thing wrong with you, Paulthere than your socks.”
Stevenson looked at his feet. “What’s wrong with my socks?”
Prine went to the windows. He didn’t look at the bright city beyond but
stared instead at his reflection in the glass. He grinned at himself.
He felt marvelous. Better than he had felt in weeks, and all thanks to
Harris. The clairvoyant had brought some excitement and danger into his
life, new purpose and interest.
Although Graham Harris didn’t know it as yet, he was the most important
target of Prine’s career. We’ll destroy him, Prine thought happily;
wipe him out, finish him off for good. He turned to Stevenson. “Are
you certain about the phone? I must have gotten a call.”
,No. Nothing.”
“Maybe you stepped out of here for a minute.”
“Tony, I’m not a fool. Give me some credit. I was here all the time,
and the private line never rang.”