Your Eyelids Are Growing Heavy (19 page)

“We should be cool and possessed and in full control of ourselves,” Gus had complained. “Instead I'm shaking like a leaf and you keep opening your shoulder bag to see if the gun's still there. If we don't calm down fast, we're going to blow this whole thing.”

“Shut up and help me look for a parking place,” Megan muttered through clenched teeth.

“There's one,” Gus said. “See that white car pulling out?”

Megan drove up even with the car in front of the newly created parking space and shifted to reverse. She twisted around to look out the back window and saw an old Volkswagen zip into the space behind her.

Gus stuck his head out the window. “Thanks a lot, buddy,” he called. “Proud of yourself?”

The Volkswagen driver stuck
his
head out the window. “Get rid of that gas-guzzler and you won't get beat out so easy.”

“It's not a gas-guzzler—that's just an excuse for acting like a prick!”

“Your problem, big mouth. Not mine.”

“No,
you're
the problem. People like you.”

The driver sat in his Volkswagen laughing at them. Megan shifted gears and drove away.

“I am undergoing a drastic personality change,” Gus announced matter-of-factly. “Never before in my life have I yelled back at people like that guy. I've wanted to—but I always just sit quietly wishing a magic death ray would strike them in their mean little hearts. But I don't
yell
at them. Now look at me—hanging out the car window, screaming names at that guy. Trying to get through to him.”

“Waste of time,” Megan said. “People like that never hear.”

“I know,” Gus sighed. “And it didn't even make me feel better.”

They found a place at last, and as she locked the car Megan decided Gus was right. They were too jumpy, too amateurish; the encounter with the Volkswagen hadn't helped. The time was 6:20. If they walked around the streets of Oakland for another forty minutes they'd both be basket cases when the time came. “Maybe we should get something to eat,” she said. “That might settle us down a little.”

“Do we have time?”

“There's a junk-food place on the corner. We have time for that.”

They went into the brightly lit, all-plastic (including the food) eatery and had their orders filled on the spot. Gus's tab came to $3.98. He opened his billfold to see one lonely dollar bill resting there in solitary splendor. “Megan, I have exactly one buck.”

“Never mind, I've got it.” Megan had ordered only a hot dog; the two orders together came to $4.88. She handed the girl behind the counter a ten-dollar bill and received twelve cents in change.

“I gave you a ten,” Megan told the girl.

“You gave me a five.”

“No, it was a ten.”

The girl opened the cash register and peered inside, as if looking at the money would give her the answer. “Sorry—you gave me five dollars.”

“She gave you a ten-dollar bill,” Gus said.

The girl shrugged. “I'm not allowed to hand money over to people who claim they've been short-changed. You'll have to wait until we check the cash against the tapes and see if we're five dollars over.”

“And when will that be?”

“When we close tonight.” Megan rolled her eyes. “You won't have to come back,” the counter girl said. “You just fill out a form and then if we're over, they'll mail you a check.”

Gus's eyes grew wide. “This happens so often you have a form printed up to take care of it?”

“Oh, forget it,” Megan said irritably. “I can't be bothered with this now.” She took her tray over to a table.

Gus was disgusted. “Is that how you get your tips?” The counter girl stared at him blandly.

When he got to the table his food was lukewarm. Gus had been surprised when Megan ordered a hot dog and was even more surprised when she actually took a bite before pushing it away. Gus wolfed down his cheeseburgers and french fries; he hadn't realized he was hungry until then.

When he was finished he leaned back in his seat and held up his hands: they did seem a little steadier now. Megan opened her bag to check on the gun.

“Megan. I'll do it.”

“No. It's my responsibility.” She mustered a weak smile. “I've corrupted you enough already. I can't let you do all my dirty work.”

“Oh, Megan.”

“Let's stick to the plan.”

“Some plan.” Go into his office, whip out the gun, let him have it.

“What's wrong with it? Gus, don't start picking holes now!”

“Nothing's wrong with the plan,” he said reassuringly. “I just feel like grumbling a little.” What was wrong with the plan was that it made everything seem too easy.

“Hello, Miss Phillips.”

Gus looked up to see a large man hovering over their table. The man was ignoring him; he had eyes only for Megan. Another old boyfriend?

He heard Megan's sharp intake of breath before she made the introductions. “Mr. Bogert, Mr. Bilinski.”

Bogert! Jesus. “Hello,” Gus said nervously, his heart suddenly thudding loudly in his chest.

Bogert grunted something at Gus and turned his attention back to Megan. “Enjoying your dinner?”

Megan glanced down at the hot dog with one bite taken out of it. “Yes, thank you.”

“Out for an evening on the town?”

In Oakland?
“No, ah, ah, I have a doctor's appointment,” Megan said. And that told Gus how nervous
she
was: explaining herself to Bogert.

“At night? That's some friendly doctor.”

Gus tried to help. “He has a night practice. I mean, a lot of his patients come in at night. People who work during the day. They can't come in during the day, they, uh …” Gus trailed off; Bogert wasn't paying any attention to him.

“I hope nothing's wrong,” Bogert said to Megan.

“No, just my annual physical checkup.” Still explaining herself.

“But didn't you have a checkup a few months ago?”

That remark brought out the real Megan. “Have you been memorizing my personnel file, Bogert?” she asked sharply.

“Security reads everybody's file, you know that.”

“And you just happened to remember the last time I saw a doctor?”

He shrugged. “Odd details sometimes stick in your mind.”

“In
your
mind, yes. Why are you checking up on me?”

Her hostility turned his mouth into a thin line. “Standard operating procedure, Miss Phillips. Everybody who's under consideration for a key job goes under the microscope.”

“Did Mr. Ziegler tell you to, ah, check me out? Or is this something you thought up all by yourself?”

Bogert's face clouded and he started to say something but stopped himself. Then: “Standard procedure,” he repeated. “Nothing personal. Well, see you on Monday.” He grunted at Gus again and went away.

“He's the lookout!” Gus gasped, totally forgetting his earlier acceptance of Bogert's innocence. “Algren sent him here to act as lookout!”

“No, he didn't, Gus. What would be the point of a lookout? He knows we're coming.” Megan was breathing shallowly. “But running into Bogert like that—that's a little shock I could have done without just now.”

“Oh, that was a chance meeting, was it?” Gus's voice was rising. “Merely a coincidence that he happens to be in Oakland right now?”

“Keep your voice down, Gus. For Pete's sake, the man
lives
in Oakland. Why shouldn't he be here right now?”

“But he was pumping you, trying to find out what you were doing here—”

“No, he wasn't. That's just Bogert's way of being polite.”

“Polite! You call that grilling
polite?”

“I don't, but he does. Gus, he's just one of those people who don't know any way to make conversation except by asking questions. Believe me, I know what a real Bogert grilling is, and take my word for it, that wasn't it. Now for crying out loud,
relax!”
She opened her bag and touched the gun.

“Omigod, look at the time!” Gus said, aghast. The clock on the wall said nine minutes to seven.

“Is that clock right?” Megan asked the girl behind the counter as they left.

“We go by it,” the girl said unhelpfully.

Gus and Megan ran the one block to the Kinderling Professional Building. Megan's watch said three minutes remained before seven o'clock as they pushed through the revolving door and headed for the elevator.

“Hey! Where do you think you're going?”

The unexpected voice hit both of them like a slap. They turned to see a watchman glowering at them.

“You can't come in here after seven without you sign in,” the watchman told them angrily. “You come back here.”

“But it's not seven yet,” Megan protested.

“The hell it ain't.” He pointed to a wall behind her. The clock there said 7:05.

“Your clock's fast,” Gus said.

“It's what we go by. You want in here, you come over to this stand here and sign your name.”

Megan and Gus exchanged a glance; they hadn't counted on that. Megan walked over to the stand and picked up the ballpoint pen attached to a light chain. She signed the register
Charlotte Brontë
and put Dr. Algren's name in the “Destination” column. Gus signed
Charles Dickens
.

The watchman glanced at the register and said, “That's better. Now don't you try nothin' like that again.”

“What!?” Gus's indignation came spilling out. “Nobody was
trying
anything. You watch what you say.”

“Hey—don't you get smart with me, kid.”

Megan tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, Gus—uh, Charlie.”

An empty elevator car was waiting. The Kinderling Building had only ten floors and Harrison J. Algren was on the ninth. Gus pushed a button and the door slid closed. “Why did you put down Algren's name? The directory was right there on the wall—why not just pick a name at random?”

“What if I picked someone that that lout knew had already left? The mood he was in, he'd have thrown us out.”

“Hm, yeah, you're right.” Gus mused a minute. “Well, we've been seen.”

“We knew it would probably happen. There's always somebody around.” Megan closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall of the elevator car. The Volkswagen driver's taking her parking place, the counter girl's stealing her five dollars, Bogert's prying questions, the watchman's rudeness—just the normal, everyday abrasions of life that can drive you mad. She opened her eyes and moved her head. The vibrations from the elevator wall were giving her a headache. The Kinderling was not a new building; they were riding in what Megan thought must have been one of Mr. Otis's earlier efforts.

“You said Bogert was just being polite,” Gus said. “That's unusual, isn't it? Why was he being polite?”

“The vice-presidency,” Megan said wryly. “It wouldn't help him any to have a vice president for an enemy.” She sighed; in his own ham-handed way, Bogert was trying to mend fences. She shouldn't have jumped on him the way she did. Next week she'd try to be more pleasant to him, she'd—

With a start Megan realized she was thinking about Bogert to avoid thinking about Algren.

“Hey, it's not stopping!” Gus said.

Megan looked up to see the 9 light fade out over the door and the 10 light come on. The doors slid open and a young woman in a nurse's uniform stepped on the elevator with them. She pushed the button for the first floor, and the 10 light on the panel went out.

Gus pushed the 9. Nothing happened. “Hey,” he said again, helplessly.

The nurse looked over at him. “Did I make you miss your floor?”

“Well, I dunno, we wanted off at nine.”

“Oh, not again.” She seemed disgusted. “This elevator does that sometimes. It'll take orders only from the last button pushed. The last floor button, I mean, not the panel buttons. I'm afraid you'll have to ride back down and start over.”

Gus muttered that it didn't matter, and they finished the ride in silence. When the nurse got off, Gus pushed 9 and they started up again.

“Gus, do you think you should have told her we wanted to go to the ninth floor?” Megan said. “Now that makes two witnesses.”

Gus slapped his forehead. “Christ. I didn't think.”

They made it only to the fifth floor this time, where another nurse got on. Gus grabbed Megan's hand. “Come on, we're getting off.” If they had to depend on that elevator to get them to where they were going, they'd never make it.

“What time is it?” Gus asked as they started up the stairway.

Megan's watch said 7:06. “That means it's fourteen after by the clock downstairs.”

Running up four flights of stairs always looks easy on television. After one flight Megan and Gus were both breathing hard. After two, they were heaving with the effort. On the third flight they were pulling themselves up by the rail. On the fourth flight Megan got a stitch in her side.

“I have to stop a minute, Gus,” she gasped.

Gus flapped his hands in frustration. “Well—rest fast, will you?” he panted. “We're going to miss him!”

Megan groaned and started up the stairs again.

Wheezing and drooping, they finally made it to Dr. Algren's office. The door was locked and no light showed under the door.

Gus swore and kicked the door while Megan pressed a hand against her side. They were too late. After all that, and they were too late.

Back to the elevator. The indicator said the car was at the second floor, the first, light out.

“That's him!” Gus yelled, losing his grammar to his excitement. “Come on!” He headed toward the stairway.

But Megan pushed the elevator button. “This is faster, Gus.”

“But—”