CHAPTER X
Herb hunched his shoulders as if to ward off a suspected blow. Norma's eyes mirrored fright and uncertainty, and she moved half a step from him.
Grasping her arm at the elbow, he said, "We have to get off the streets."
Norma wanted to twist away from him and run.
"You've got to help me hide!" The pressure seemed threatening.
"Let me go!"
He dropped his hand instantly. "You've got to help me."
From the expression on his face, she knew that she had nothing to fear. She felt ashamed of herself.
"We can go to my hotel," she said.
Once in the hotel, Herb's eyes darted around the four walls of the living room.
"There are no microphones," Norma said.
They stood just inside the door. Norma turned and walked decisively to the divan. She sat down. "I think you'd better explain."
"I ... I need some money," Herb said. "There's something I have to get."
"What is it?"
"I.... Please trust me, please," he said.
She hesitated; then: "How much do you need?"
"A ... hundred dollars. Could you let me have—loan me—that much?"
Norma knew he was not insane; there was something here that she did not understand, but it was not insanity. Her emotions went out to him. She saw the present situation only in personal terms, their own relationship. She saw no wider implications. Intuition, she would have called it. Decisively, she phoned for the bellboy and when he came, gave him a check for the management to cash.
While they were waiting for the money, she said, "Won't you tell me—?"
"I can't. I can't. I wish I could. Please, if you'll—" he hesitated, and then, with sickness and loathing, said, "trust me...."
The money came.
"I'll try to pay you back; make it up to you some way...."
"That's all right. Where are you going? What are you going to buy?"
Perhaps it was the desire to shock her, to destroy her faith in him, perhaps and more probably, it was the need to confess (and hope for absolution) that he said: "I want to buy a gun."
"Why do you want a gun?"
Herb, still standing, tried to memorize her face. He was acutely aware of his isolation. He wanted to go to her side, to talk rapidly, to reveal the cruel and horrible compulsion that was driving him—and most of all, to enlist her aid and her understanding. He needed to know that one single individual in the whole Universe could appreciate his attempt to meet his own standard of truth and morality.
"Tell me. Maybe Bud will be able to help you out of your trouble.... He's my brother...."
The complexity of emotions that burst upon him was almost impossible to understand. He had thought of her—if he had actually thought of the connection at all—as an employee of Bud's, perhaps, but no more than that. He asked incredulously: "Frank was your brother?"
"You mean ... is my brother?"
"Yes ... I, yes, of course."
"What did you mean: was my brother?" Uneasiness settled deep inside her. "Has something happened to him?"
"No. No. It was a grammatical error." Herb thought the sentence too stiff for credence. But she seemed reassured.
"I'll get Bud to help you. And Frank, too. Perhaps the three of us can get you out of any trouble you're in. I'm sure the starmen will be fair. If it's something you've done...."
"No! Don't talk to Bud! Don't tell him you've seen me. You mustn't!"
"Herb, you're being silly." She stood up. "You make it sound like I've got something to be afraid of from my own brother."
Herb bit his lips in anguish and ran from the room.
Norma heard his feet on the carpet, running, running....
The empty room became a thing of terror. She was entangled in something beyond her understanding, and the world seemed less secure than at any time since her parents had died. Should she go after Herb, or...?
She started toward the telephone, stopped, turned away—and then turned back.
She got the switchboard.
"Get me Senator Council's office.... Hello, oh, hello, John. Norma. Is Bud in yet? Oh, still. Have him call me as soon as he—oh. All right. I'll be over in an hour then. And John: have you heard anything from Frank? I'm beginning to get worried about him. He isn't in yet...."
She hung up slowly, wondering if she had done the proper thing.
She was early for the appointment with Bud, and she was waiting in the outer office when he came in. His two guards nodded recognition and Bud said, "What is it, Norma?" His tone was irritable, and she wanted to cry.
"Please, may I talk to you a minute?"
Bud shifted his weight nervously.
"Please, Bud!"
"Come on. I haven't got all day." Letting her enter the main office before him, he said. "What's it about this time?"
He drew the door to his private office closed after them, and went to his desk where he picked up a letter and pretended to read it. "Well? Well?"
"I've talked to Herb."
Bud's face sagged. The letter began to tremble ever so slightly. Norma did not notice. He did not look up. How much did Herb know? About Frank? Did he know? "Yes?"
He felt weakness dissolve his arm muscles and dissolve the muscles of his thighs and calves. He was afraid that he was about to suffer a heart attack. He had difficulty breathing. "What—what did he have to say?"
"He wanted me to buy a gun for him."
"What for? What for? What did he want a gun for?"
Norma twisted her hands nervously. "I don't know. He wouldn't say. He's in trouble. I thought maybe we could help him."
"He didn't say anything else?" Bud demanded sharply, feeling the fear fade. "He didn't tell you, he didn't say anything else?"
"No, just that he needed a gun—"
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? You don't know? He's trying to get a gun, and you don't know where he is?"
"I—I—"
"No telling what kind of a crazy fool idea he's got. No telling what kind of lies he'd tell about me!"
"He's in trouble, Bud. We ought to—"
"You listen to me! You do what I say! Don't pay any attention to anything he says. If you see him again, you call me!"
"I think I'd better talk to Frank about it, Bud. Have you seen him?"
Bud was on his feet and around the desk. He grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her. Her face drained of color. His nostrils flared white.
"Bud! Bud! What's got into you?"
"Frank's all right!" Bud cried. "Now, get out, get out, GET OUT!" He shoved her away from him. "Get out," he sobbed.
Half dazed, she backed away, opened the door, and disappeared.
Trembling, Bud sank into his chair. It was a long time before his breathing returned to normal. He counted his pulse with intense concentration, feeling it flutter like a wounded bird beneath his finger tips.