to sound authoritative.
“Is that the kind of help I need?”
asked Max.
“Max, I only did it to
help,”
Harry said. My
God, it
is
true
, I thought.
“Curious help—
pal,”
responded Max. “Rejecting four well-paying engagements without consulting me.”
“All right, I was wrong—”
His voice broke into a gasp of horror as Max abruptly jammed the barrel against his forehead. “Yes, indeed you were,” said Max. “The question is, old friend …
why?”
Harry tried to take in breath. He wasn’t too successful at it, and his voice wheezed as he replied, “Is the answer worth killing me for?”
Max said, “Absolutely.”
With his left hand, he drew back the pistol hammer.
Harry hissed, completely terrified, and closed his eyes, his face a mask entitled
Total Dread
.
When nothing happened, he opened his eyes and peeredup at my son, who towered over him, looking down with godlike disdain.
Words tumbled from Harry’s mouth as he said, “I thought it would make you realize sooner that you needed help, real help. I wasn’t trying to hurt you!”
He positively whined as Max pressed the barrel end tighter against his forehead.
Good
, I thought.
“Is that why you let that man look through my devices while I was on stage that night in Philadelphia?” Max asked.
“What?”
asked Harry.
What?
asked my mind.
Harry groaned as Max pushed the pistol even harder against his skull.
“All right, all right,” said Harry, his voice thin and shaking. “I was trying to get you some
money.”
“By letting that man steal my magic?”
said Max.
Oh, blow his goddam brains out, Sonny!
I thought.
Harry’s lips were trembling. Swallowing again, he managed, “Nothing happened, Max.”
“Nothing happened because it’s not that easy to steal Delacorte magic.” (I’d seen to that.) His voice grew hard. “But you were going to take a crack at it, weren’t you?”
His finger tightened on the trigger. Harry whimpered, his eyes shutting once again.
“Dear God,”
he whispered.
Well, maybe this is not too good an idea after all
, I thought.
Nothing happened.
Harry opened his eyes a crack to peer up at Max.
He reacted. I reacted.
Max was smiling.
“How tempting,” he said, “to pull the trigger and observe your brains go flying. Every black, dismal shred of them.”
Another sound of dread from Harry, followed by a sound of scoffing from my son.
“Everyone talks about how tough you are,” he said. “Toughest agent in the business, Harry Kendal. Made of tempered steel.”
He snickered. “Made of
cottage cheese,”
he said. “Tough at selling clients down the river, yes. At life, however—?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “—a total wimp.”
He turned and walked away, headed toward the desk. I must admit I felt a great relief. Whatever Harry had done—and it must have been a lot—I didn’t want to see my son a murderer.
Obviously, he didn’t want it either.
“What a blithering idiot you are,” he said, tossing the pistol onto the desk. “To even think that a man of my degree would be capable of such barbaric murder. And in front of my
father!”
His words shamed my original urge that he do just that.
Harry watched him blankly, wondering what Max was planning next. I confess that I wondered, too.
The answer was immediate in coming as my son pulled out the top middle drawer of the desk and removed a vial.
Holding it up for Harry to see, he set it down and lifted the silver thermos decanter, pulled off its top and poured water into a glass. Putting down the decanter, he unscrewed the cover from the vial and shook four red capsules into his palms.
Oh, now what, Sonny?
I thought uneasily.
Max tossed the capsules into his mouth and, with the water, swallowed them.
“There,” he said, “that should do it. Give me five minutes. Maybe ten.”
Son!
My mental voice was anguished.
Harry was still numbed by fright. He stared at Max uncomprehendingly.
“What are you doing?” he
“Is that the kind of help I need?”
asked Max.
“Max, I only did it to
help,”
Harry said. My
God, it
is
true
, I thought.
“Curious help—
pal,”
responded Max. “Rejecting four well-paying engagements without consulting me.”
“All right, I was wrong—”
His voice broke into a gasp of horror as Max abruptly jammed the barrel against his forehead. “Yes, indeed you were,” said Max. “The question is, old friend …
why?”
Harry tried to take in breath. He wasn’t too successful at it, and his voice wheezed as he replied, “Is the answer worth killing me for?”
Max said, “Absolutely.”
With his left hand, he drew back the pistol hammer.
Harry hissed, completely terrified, and closed his eyes, his face a mask entitled
Total Dread
.
When nothing happened, he opened his eyes and peeredup at my son, who towered over him, looking down with godlike disdain.
Words tumbled from Harry’s mouth as he said, “I thought it would make you realize sooner that you needed help, real help. I wasn’t trying to hurt you!”
He positively whined as Max pressed the barrel end tighter against his forehead.
Good
, I thought.
“Is that why you let that man look through my devices while I was on stage that night in Philadelphia?” Max asked.
“What?”
asked Harry.
What?
asked my mind.
Harry groaned as Max pushed the pistol even harder against his skull.
“All right, all right,” said Harry, his voice thin and shaking. “I was trying to get you some
money.”
“By letting that man steal my magic?”
said Max.
Oh, blow his goddam brains out, Sonny!
I thought.
Harry’s lips were trembling. Swallowing again, he managed, “Nothing happened, Max.”
“Nothing happened because it’s not that easy to steal Delacorte magic.” (I’d seen to that.) His voice grew hard. “But you were going to take a crack at it, weren’t you?”
His finger tightened on the trigger. Harry whimpered, his eyes shutting once again.
“Dear God,”
he whispered.
Well, maybe this is not too good an idea after all
, I thought.
Nothing happened.
Harry opened his eyes a crack to peer up at Max.
He reacted. I reacted.
Max was smiling.
“How tempting,” he said, “to pull the trigger and observe your brains go flying. Every black, dismal shred of them.”
Another sound of dread from Harry, followed by a sound of scoffing from my son.
“Everyone talks about how tough you are,” he said. “Toughest agent in the business, Harry Kendal. Made of tempered steel.”
He snickered. “Made of
cottage cheese,”
he said. “Tough at selling clients down the river, yes. At life, however—?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “—a total wimp.”
He turned and walked away, headed toward the desk. I must admit I felt a great relief. Whatever Harry had done—and it must have been a lot—I didn’t want to see my son a murderer.
Obviously, he didn’t want it either.
“What a blithering idiot you are,” he said, tossing the pistol onto the desk. “To even think that a man of my degree would be capable of such barbaric murder. And in front of my
father!”
His words shamed my original urge that he do just that.
Harry watched him blankly, wondering what Max was planning next. I confess that I wondered, too.
The answer was immediate in coming as my son pulled out the top middle drawer of the desk and removed a vial.
Holding it up for Harry to see, he set it down and lifted the silver thermos decanter, pulled off its top and poured water into a glass. Putting down the decanter, he unscrewed the cover from the vial and shook four red capsules into his palms.
Oh, now what, Sonny?
I thought uneasily.
Max tossed the capsules into his mouth and, with the water, swallowed them.
“There,” he said, “that should do it. Give me five minutes. Maybe ten.”
Son!
My mental voice was anguished.
Harry was still numbed by fright. He stared at Max uncomprehendingly.
“What are you doing?” he
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