And so on. I must have spent a couple of hours roaming about, with nothing more on my mind than such indistinct preoccupations. I was in a terrible state. It was like a virus flu, a kind that attacks the metabolism of the brain, the next state from death. Or anyhow, so it seemed to me during that interval. I had lost all contact with healthy normal reality, even that of the hotel; I had forgotten room service, the arcade of shops, the bars and the dining rooms–I even gave up, for a while, stopping by the window of the room to look out at the lights and deep, illuminated streets. That’s a form of dying, that losing contact with the city like that.
At one o’clock–while I was still pacing around the room– the phone rang.
“Hello,” I said into it.
It was not Sam K. Barrows. It was Maury, calling me from Ontario.
“How did you know I’d be at the Olympus?” I asked. I was totally baffled; it was as if he had used some occult power to track me down.
“I knew you were in Seattle, you moron. How many big hotels are there? I knew you’d want the best; I bet you’ve got the bridal suite and some dame there with you and you’re going at it like mad.”
“Listen, I came here to kill Sam K. Barrows.”
“With what? Your hard head? You’re going to run at him and butt him in the stomach and rupture him to death?”
I told Maury about the .38 pistol.
“Listen, buddy,” Maury said in a quiet voice. “If you do that all of us are ruined.”
I said nothing.
“This call is costing us plenty,” Maury said, “so I’m not going to spend an hour pleading with you like those pastors. You get some sleep and tomorrow call me back, you promise? Promise or I’ll call the Seattle police department and have you arrested in your room, so help me god.”
“No,” I said.
“You have to promise.”
I said, “Okay, Maury. I promise not to do anything tonight.” How could I? I had tried and failed already; I was just pacing around.
“Good enough. Listen, Louis. This won’t get Pris back. I already thought about it. It’ll only wreck her life if you go over there and blast away at the guy. Think about it and I know you’ll see. Don’t you imagine I’d do it if I thought it would work?”
I shook my head. “I dunno.” My head ached and I felt bone-weary. “I just want to go to bed.”
“Okay, buddy. You get your rest. Listen. I want you to look around the room. You see if there isn’t a table with drawers of some sort. Right? Look in the top drawer. Go on, Louis. Do it right now, while I’m on the phone. Look in it.”
“For what?”
“There’s a Bible, there. That society puts it there.”
I slammed the phone down.
The bastard, I said to myself. Giving me advice like that.
I wished I had not come to Seattle at all. I was like the Stanton simulacrum, like a machine: propelling itself forward into a universe it did not comprehend, searching Seattle for a familiar corner in which it could perform its customary act. In the Stanton’s case, opening a law office; in my case–what in my case? Trying somehow to re-establish a familiar environment, however unpleasant. I was used to Pris and her cruelty; I had even begun to get used–to expect to encounter–Sam K. Barrows and his doxie and his attorney. My instincts were propelling me from the unfamiliar back to the known. It was the only way I could operate. It was like a blind thing flopping along in order to spawn.
I know what I want! I said to myself. I want to join the Sam K. Barrows organization! I want to be a part of it, like Pris; I don’t want to shoot him at all!
_I’m going over to the other side_.
There must be a place for me, I told myself. Maybe not doing the Lunar Fling; I’m not after that. I don’t want to go on TV; I’m not interested in seeing my name in lights. I just want to be useful. I want to have my abilities made use of by the big cheese.
Picking up the phone I asked the operator for Ontario, Oregon. I got the operator at Ontario and gave her Maury’s home phone number.
The phone rang, and then Maury sleepily answered.
“What did you do, go to bed?” I asked. “Listen, Maury. I had to tell you this, it’s right you should know. I’m going over to the other side; I’m joining up with Barrows and the hell with you and my dad and Chester and the Stanton, which is a dictator anyhow and would make life unendurable for us. The only one I regret doing this to is Lincoln. But if he’s so all-wise and understanding he’ll understand and forgive, like Christ.”
“Pardon?” Maury said. He did not seem to comprehend me.
“I sold out,” I said.
“No,” Maury said, “you’re wrong.”
“How can I be wrong? What do you mean I’m wrong?”
“If you go over to Barrows, there won’t be any R & R ASSOCIATES, so there won’t be anything to sell out. We’ll simply fold, buddy. You know that.” He sounded perfectly calm. “Isn’t that a fact?”
“I don’t give a damn. I just know that Pris is right; you can’t meet a man like Sam Barrows and then forget you met him. He’s a star; he’s a comet. You either tag along in his wake or you cease for all intents and purposes to exist. It’s an emotional hunger inside me, irrational but it’s real. It’s an instinct. It’ll hit you, too, one of these days. He’s got magic. Without him we’re snails. What’s the purpose of life anyhow? To drag along in the dust? You don’t live forever. If you can’t raise yourself up to the stars you’re dead. You know the .38 pistol I have with me? If I can’t make it with the Barrows organization I’m going to blow my goddam brains out. I’m not going to be left behind. The instincts inside a person–instincts to live!–are too strong.”
Maury was silent. But I could hear him there at the other end.
“Listen,” I said, “I’m sorry to wake you up but I had to tell you.”
“You’re mentally ill,” Maury said. “I’m going to–listen, buddy. I’m going to call Doctor Horstowski.”
“What for?”
“Have him call you there at your hotel.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll get off the line.” I hung up, then.
I sat on the bed waiting and sure enough, not twenty minutes later, at about one-thirty in the morning, the phone rang once more.
“Hello,” I said into it.
A far-off voice. “This is Milton Horstowski.”
“Louis Rosen, Doctor.”
“Mr. Rock called me.” A long pause. “How are you feeling, Mr. Rosen? Mr. Rock said you seemed upset about something.”
“Listen, you Government employee,” I said, “this is no business of yours. I had a beef with my partner, Maury Rock, and that’s it. I’m now in Seattle on my way to linking up with a much bigger and more progressive organization; you recall my mentioning Sam K. Barrows?”
“I know who he is.”
“Is that so crazy?”
“No,” Doctor Horstowski said. “Not on the face of it.”
“I told that about the gun to Maury just to get his goat. It’s late and I’m a little stewed. Sometimes when you break up a partnership it’s hard psychologically.” I waited but Horstowski said nothing. “I guess I’ll turn in now. Maybe when I get back to Boise I’ll drop in and see you; this is all very hard on me. Pris went and joined the Barrows organization, you know.”
“Yes I know. I’m still in touch with her.”
“She’s quite a girl,” I said. “I’m beginning to think I’m in love with her. Could that be? I mean, a person of my psychological type?”
“It’s possible.”
“Well, I guess that’s probably what’s happened. I can’t live without Pris, so that’s why I’m in Seattle. But I still say I made up that about the gun; you can quote me to Maury to that effect if it’ll calm him. I was just trying to show him I’m serious. You get it?”
“Yes, I think so,” Doctor Horstowski said.
We talked on to no point for a while longer, and then he rang off. As soon as I had hung up I said to myself, The guy’ll probably phone the Seattle police or the FBMH here. I can’t take the chance; he just might.
So I began packing my things as fast as I could. I got everything into the suitcase and then I left the room; I took the elevator downstairs to the main floor, and, at the desk, I asked for my bill.