White Cargo by Stuart Woods

accept responsibility then?” Dell asked, surprised.
    â€œI do,” Cat replied. “One of the things about being an adult is, you have to accept responsibility for your actions. One of these days, maybe, you’ll learn about that.”
    The boy’s face contorted. “You bastard. I should kill you now.”
    â€œMaybe you should,” Cat replied, evenly. “You might be doing me a favor, and it shouldn’t bother you much. After all, in your business, people get killed every day.”
    â€œI simply supply a consumer need, just like you,” Dell said.
    â€œSure, Dell, you go on telling yourself that. Never mind the human misery you and your kind cause. The money’s all that matters.”
    â€œWhat about the misery you caused my mother and my sister?” he spat back.
    â€œWhat about the misery you caused them?” Cat asked. “For two years your mother never went to sleep without fear of being wakened in the night by the policeannouncing your arrest or your murder. Your sister never mentioned your name outside the family, for fear of causing embarrassment to whoever might hear it. Your gifts to them were great—constant pain and suffering. The last night of their lives I sat at dinner and saw tears come to the eyes of both of them when your name was mentioned. To their credit, they both believed there might be something in you worth saving. I haven’t shared their hope for a long time now.”
    â€œWell,” Dell said, “you needn’t devote any more of your time to thinking about me. You can think, instead, of how they would still be alive and well if you hadn’t been so stupid.”
    â€œI’ll do that,” Cat said. “For as long as I live.”
    â€œI’m moving to Miami,” Dell said. “You won’t be hearing from me again. That’s what I came here to tell you.”
    â€œFinally, some good news,” Cat said, bitterly.
    â€œYeah, I’m moving on up,” Dell replied. “I’m plugged in at the source now; no more low-level dealing—I’m in management. I’ll bet I make more money this year than you do.”
    â€œNo bets on that,” Cat replied, trying hard to keep from running to the other end of the pool and beating his son to death. “Dealing in human misery has always paid well. All you have to do to win your bet is to live until the end of the year. From what I hear about your business, that won’t be as easy as you think.”
    â€œWe’ll see,” Dell spat at him, then turned and walked away toward the garden gate.
    â€œWe’ll see,” Cat echoed quietly to himself. He slipped into the pool again and began swimming long, slow strokes. Breathe deeply, he said to himself. Bleed the anger into the water. The boy was lost; forget about him.
    It didn’t work.
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    Cat spent the evening sitting, staring uncomprehendingly at the bedroom television set. The flight manual lay in his lap, open and unread. His flight test the next day, something that he had been eagerly anticipating, seemed remote and uninteresting. He went to bed at midnight, wide awake, longing for oblivion, but he remained conscious for a long time. Much later, when he had slipped into a light and troubled sleep, he suddenly jerked awake. Something had wakened him, but what? There had been no noise.
    Almost immediately, the telephone rang. He must have anticipated it, he thought. He glanced at the bedside clock: just after 4 A.M . Who the hell? He felt an unexpected stab of panic. The phone rang again. Fully awake now, unreasoningly frightened, he picked up the instrument. “Hello,” he said, rather unsteadily. He was greeted by a wave of static, coming, it seemed, from a great distance. “Hello,” he said again, this time more strongly.
    Then, faintly but clearly, came a voice he would have recognized anywhere on earth, at any