“You weren’t displeased with anything, were you, Mr. Rosen?” the night clerk asked me as the girl computed the charges.
“Naw,” I said. “I managed to contact the person I came here to meet and he wants me to spend the night at his place.”
I paid the bill–it was quite moderate–and then called a taxi. The doorman carried my suitcase out and stuffed it in the trunk of the cab; I tipped him a couple of dollars and a moment later the cab shot out into the surprisingly dense traffic.
When we passed a likely-looking modern motel I took note of the location; I had the cab stop a few blocks beyond it, paid the driver, and then on foot walked back. I told the motel owner that my car had broken down–I was driving through Seattle on business–and I registered under the name James W. Byrd, a name I made up on the spot. I paid in advance–eighteen-fifty–and then, with the motel key in my hand, set off for room 6.
It was pleasant, clean and bright, just what I wanted; I at once turned in and was soon sound asleep. They won’t get me now, I remember saying to myself as I drifted off. I’m safe. And tomorrow I’ll get hold of Sam Barrows and give him the news that I’m coming over.
And then, I remember thinking, I’ll be back with Pris again; I’ll get in on her rise to fame. I’ll be there to see the whole thing. Maybe we’ll get married. I’ll tell her how I feel about her, that I’m in love with her. She’s probably twice as beautiful now as she was before, now that Barrows has gotten hold of her. And if Barrows competes with me, I’ll wipe him out of existence. I’ll atomize him with methods hitherto unglimpsed. He won’t stand in my way; I’m not kidding.
Thinking that, I drifted off.
The sun woke me at eight o’clock, shining in on me and the bed and the room. I had not pulled the curtains. Cars parked in a row outside gleamed and reflected the sun. It looked like a nice day.
What had I thought the night before? My thoughts while going to sleep came back to me. Nutty, wild thoughts, all about marrying Pris and killing Sam Barrows, kid’s thoughts. When you’re going to sleep you revert to childhood, no doubt of it. I felt ashamed.
And yet, basically I stuck to my position. I had come to get Pris and if Barrows tried to stand in my way–too bad for him.
I had run amok, but I did not intend to back down. Sanity prevailed, now that it was daylight; I padded into the bathroom and took a long cold shower, but even the light of day did not dispel my deep convictions. I just worked them about until they were more rational, more convincing, more practical. First, I had to approach Barrows in the proper manner; I had to conceal my actual feelings, my real motive. I had to hide anything to do with Pris; I would tell him that I wanted to go to work for him, maybe help design the simulacrum– bring all the knowledge and experience I had built up from my years with Maury and Jerome. But no hint about Pris because if he caught even the slightest note, there– You’re shrewd, Sam K. Barrows, I said to myself. But you can’t read my mind. And it won’t show on my face; I’m too experienced, too much a professional, to give myself away.
As I dressed, tying my tie, I practiced in front of the mirror. My face was absolutely impassive; no one would have guessed that inside me my heart was being gnawed away, eaten at by the worm of desire: love for Pris Frauenzimmer or Womankind or whatever she called herself now.
That’s what’s meant by maturity, I said to myself as I sat on the bed shining my shoes. Being able to conceal your real feelings, being able to erect a mask. Being able even to fool a big man like Barrows. If you can do that, you’ve made it.
Otherwise, you’re finished. The whole secret’s there. There was a phone in the motel room. I went out and had breakfast, ham and eggs, toast, coffee, everything including juice. Then, at nine-thirty I returned to my motel room and got out the Seattle phone book. I spent a good long time examining the listings of Barrows’ various enterprises, until I found the one at which I thought he would be. I then dialed.
“Northwest Electronics,” the girl said brightly. “Good morning.”
“Is Mr. Barrows in yet?”
“Yes sir, but he’s on the other phone.”
“I’ll wait.”
The girl said brightly, “I’ll give you his secretary.” A long pause and then another voice, also a woman’s but much lower and older-sounding.
“Mr. Barrows’ office. Who is calling, please?”
I said, “I’d like an appointment to see Mr. Barrows. This is Louis Rosen, I flew into Seattle from Boise last night; Mr. Barrows knows me.”
“Just a moment.” A long pause. Then the woman again. “Mr. Barrows will speak with you now; go ahead, sir.”
“Hello,” I said.
“Hello,” Barrows’ voice came in my ear. “How are you, Rosen? What can I do for you?” He sounded cheerful.
“How’s Pris?” I said, taken by surprise to find myself actually speaking to him.
“Pris is fine. How’re your father and brother?”
“Fine.”
“That must be interesting, to have a brother whose face is on upside down; I wish I could have met him. Why don’t you drop by for a moment, while you’re here in Seattle? Around one this afternoon.”
“Around one,” I said.
“Okay. Thanks and bye-bye.”
“Barrows,” I said, “are you going to marry Pris?”
There was no answer.
“I’m going to shoot you,” I said.
“Aw, for god’s sake!”
“Sam, I’ve got a Japanese-made all-transistorized encephalotropic floating antipersonnel mine in my possession.” That was how I was thinking of my .38 pistol. “And I’m going to release it in the Seattle area. Do you know what that means?”
“Uh, no not exactly. Encephalotropic. . . doesn’t that have something to do with the brain?”
“Yes, Sam. _Your_ brain. Maury and I recorded your brainpattern when you were at our office in Ontario. That was a mistake on your part to go there. The mine will seek you out and detonate. Once I release it there’s no holding it back; it’s curtains for you.”
“Awfrgawdsake!”
“Pris is in love with me,” I said. “She told me one night when she drove me home. Get away from her or you’re finished. You know how old she is? You want to know?”
“Eighteen.”
I slammed down the phone.
I’m going to kill him, I said to myself. I really am. He’s got my girl. God knows what he’s doing with her and to her.
Dialing the phone once more I got the same bright-voiced switchboard operator. “Northwest Electronics, good morning.”
“I was just talking to Mr. Barrows.”
“Oh, were you cut off? I’ll put you through again, sir; just a moment.”
“Tell Mr. Barrows,” I said to her, “that I’m coming to get him with my advanced technology. Will you tell him that? Goodbye.” Once more I hung up.
He’ll get the message, I said to myself. Maybe I should have told him to bring Pris over here, or something like that. Would he do that, to save his hide? Goddam you, Barrows!
I know he would do that, I said to myself. He’d give her up to save himself; I could get her back any time. She didn’t mean that much to him; she was just another pretty young woman to him. I was the only one really in love with her for what she actually, uniquely was.
Once more I dialed.
“Northwest Electronics, good morning.”
“Put me through to Mr. Barrows again, please.”
A series of clicks.
“Miss Wallace, Mr. Barrows’ secretary. Who is calling?”
“This is Louis Rosen. Let me talk to Sam again.”
A pause. “Just a moment, Mr. Rosen.”
I waited.
“Hello, Louis,” Sam Barrows’ voice. “Well, you’re really stirring up things, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “I called the Army arsenal down the Coast and there really is such a thing as an encephalotropic mine. How’d you get hold of one? I’ll bet you don’t have one really.”
“Turn Pris over to me,” I said, “and I’ll spare you.”
“Come on, Rosen.”
“I’m not spoofing.” My voice shook. “You think this is a game? I’m at the end of my rope; I’m in love with her and nothing else matters to me.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Will you do that?” I yelled. “Or do I have to come and get you?” My voice broke; I was screeching. “I’ve got all kinds of Service weapons here with me, from when I was overseas; I mean business!” In the back of my mind a calm part of me thought, The bastard will give her up; I know what a coward he is.