Shooting Star / Spiderweb

  Something rustled. Something rustled, crept, slithered under the door. It wasn’t green, like money. It was white, like paper. A newspaper.

  I rose and walked over to the door on tiptoe. I looked down. The newspaper had been reduced to a single sheet, and the torn top portion of a column was inserted under the door upside down. I cocked my head and read a headline:

  HOCKEY STAR VICTIM IN TRAIN SMASHUP

  I opened the door and let Professor Hermann in.

  Nine

  “I don’t see how you did it!” I shook my head and tried not to shake anything else.

  “It was simple. The newspaper tells the story, does it not? A drunken driver, stalled on the tracks near the curve at La Placentia, just outside of town. The express hit the car, dragged it for a quarter of a mile. Michael Drayton, 31, husband of Imperial starlet Lorna Lewis. Wife hysterical at news of accidental death.” The Professor shrugged and put down the paper. “End of story.”

  “Didn’t they find water in his lungs?”

  “There was no water left, thanks to Miss Bauer’s work. I checked on that. Lorna’s story about smashing the station wagon gave me the idea of what to do. I told her it would cost her a car. She gave it to me without question. I bundled the body into the back and drove over in time to catch the train that comes through at 4:10 A.M. It was still dark and the side road was deserted. I got out, stalled the motor and propped Mike up in the front seat. Then there was nothing to do but wait for the express to come, and watch it hit. The car was smashed to bits, and I suppose that Mike—”

  He saw my face and broke off without finishing the sentence. “I walked a few miles and caught a bus,” he concluded. “Then I phoned Lorna Lewis and told her what to say when she was notified. After that I went home to sleep. I slept until I knew it was time to get up and look at the newspapers.”

  The Professor told it that way, without inflection, without emotion. I began to feel cold all over.

  “You make it sound so simple,” I said. “But if you hadn’t figured it out, I’d be finished. The whole thing is like a nightmare, from the beginning. It was all an accident, you know. But I could never prove that. Maybe he was no damned good, maybe he had it coming—but I’m still to blame. And you saved me. I don’t quite know how to say it—”

  He sat there, smiling at me. “Never mind. I understand. You can forget last night. It was just lucky that I happened to be there.”

  The black hat came off. The bald head bobbed, an animated skull. I shuddered and lit a cigarette. He was right, better drop it. I was lucky, lucky he happened to be there. Luck...happened. Something clicked.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Professor Hermann.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking. How come you didn’t give me any instructions for the party last night?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You remember, you were going to build me up with Lorna.”

  “I did. I spent much time talking of you.”

  “Yeah. But you didn’t tell me what to do with her. You left me alone, disappeared.”

  “I saw that you were getting along all right. There was no need to stay.”

  “But you came back.”

  “I phoned you, from the filling station, after midnight. I got worried when there was no answer.”

  “Didn’t you figure I might be keeping a date with the lady?”

  “Yes, of course. But I wanted to check on you.” He smiled. “You know, I am very careful about everything I plan.”

  “You must have been.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I stood up. “I mean, the whole thing looks funny to me now. How did you know where to find us when you returned? How did you know we weren’t in the house, upstairs? Yes, and Mike Drayton—he was supposed to have passed out, with a bottle. What made him come to the coach house and surprise us?”

  The top of his head had the dull lustre of old ivory. I stared down at him.

  “You’ve told me yourself that you never leave anything to luck. Things just don’t happen by chance when you have a hand in them. So it has to be this way. You went upstairs and woke Mike. You told him where we’d be. You sent him to us, knowing there’d be a quarrel, a fight. Perhaps you even planned on murder.”

  “Sit down—you don’t know what you’re saying! You sound like Lorna Lewis, now.”

  “Well, I’m not Lorna. I’m not a hysterical little fool. I know what I’m saying, and I know you. You did plan it this way, didn’t you? All of it, from the beginning?”

  He looked up at me and smiled. His mouth smiled, but his eyes didn’t change. They looked blank, empty: just holes in an old ivory skull.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “There is no reason why you shouldn’t know. I planned it this way.”

  “But why—why would you do such a thing?”

  “Relax. Keep your voice low. I’ll tell you. Better still, I’ll show you. Next month, on the first, when I get a check from Lorna Lewis for a thousand dollars. Consultation fee. There will be such a check, every month, from now on.”

  “Blackmail.”

  “I do not like that word.”

  “I don’t like what you did. I don’t like the way you messed me up in this deal. Why did it have to be me?”

  “It just worked out that way. It seemed—”

  “Never mind how it seemed! Nothing just works out around you. You had a reason. I want to know.”

  “Very well, my young friend. You will know. I’m sorry you forced me to say this, but perhaps it’s for the best.” The skull leaned forward. The eyes, dead no longer, bored through my scowl.

  “I have plans for you, big plans. I have taught you many things and you will learn more. In a short time now, you will be Judson Roberts—a man with a reputation, with contacts. You’ll be meeting the public and I’ll be in the background, and the money will roll in. Just as I promised.

  “And I know you. In a little while you’d start getting delusions of grandeur. You’d begin to wonder why you couldn’t run the show alone, why you must continue to play Trilby to my Svengali. And you’d try to dump me.

  “Mind, I don’t say you’d succeed. But you’d try.” He nodded slowly, confidentially. “So to protect myself, I planned this. And it has worked. Now you won’t try to step out of line. Because you’re involved in a murder. You know it and Lorna Lewis knows it. But more important still, I know it. And I’m not afraid to talk if I must.”

  I smirked. “I can just hear you talking, Professor! Why, you’re an accessory—”

  “Perhaps. It might cost me a year or two in prison. But you’d get the book thrown at you. And, as you have so aptly remarked, I leave nothing to chance. That’s why I brought Miss Bauer along. She’s a good witness—an innocent bystander who saw it happen. She would testify as I wish.”

  I knocked over the ashtray and swept my hand up, trying to keep the sweat on my forehead from blinding me. The skull bobbed up and down before me.

  “So now you know, my friend,” murmured Professor Hermann. “And now you will never try to cross me. You will never attempt to take over. You will do just as I say and not plan anything rash, like running away.”

  I stood up again. It was hard, this time, but when I reached my feet the power came back, surging through me. I needed that power, now.

  “You think of everything,” I whispered. “But did you ever think that I might try to...kill you?”

  I was lightning. I was thunder. I struck from the side. My hand went down, aiming for the fat crease in his neck—

  But something was wrong. I stumbled. His foot was out. I was going down. And then there was a pressure in the back of my own neck, an intolerable pressure, crushing the spine up into my brain.

  His voice found me in the darkness.

  “You’re a fool! Don’t ever try that again. I warn you, I have powers you’ve never dreamed of! Now, get up—if you can.”

  I dragged myself over to the chair. My head rested on a red-hot lance that
bored through my backbone.

  “I told you once before to forget everything that happened last night. That was good advice. You had better follow it. Forget today, too. Because we’re starting over again.”

  He was still sitting there, perfectly calm. The skull still grinned.

  “Yes, we’re starting,” he murmured. “The time has come. I’ve got the office lined up and the decorators hired. Next month we’ll be on our way, both of us—on our way to the top.

  “That’s why you must forget all this. The past is dead, safely dead. Only the future is alive. I’m going to make those promises come true, for both of us.

  “I am your friend, Eddie. Believe that. I’m the only friend you ever had. You can trust me. You must trust me. You will trust me.”

  It was like something you hear in a dream, something you hear when you’re under ether, something you hear when you’re under hypnosis. Hypnosis. Those slitted eyes of his, staring and staring at me... “You’ll have everything,” droned the voice. “I’ll stay in the background and you’ll get the glory, the fame, the money, the power. That’s the way it’s going to be. Never doubt it for an instant. You’re Judson Roberts, remember? And I’m just...nobody.”

  I shook off the voice, shook off the stare, and looked at nobody, sitting there in the chair. His head was like a skull, and then it changed. Maybe it was the slitted eyes and the slitted mouth. Maybe it was something else. But all of a sudden, it hit me. For the first time I realized that Professor Hermann looked like the Devil.

  He sat there, and his pudgy hands closed over a shadow. It was only a shadow, but he held it tightly now and I knew he would never let it go.

  He held my soul...

  Ten

  The inquest was a routine thing. I didn’t even have to get up on the stand. Lorna was there, of course, and she saved the day. She’d learned something about acting all right, and she gave the performance of her life. She sobbed and gasped and murmured at all the right times; she trembled and quivered in all the right places.

  After she finished her testimony, it was in the bag. Mr. Himberg said a few words, and so did the Professor, but the verdict was already set. Accidental death. Of course, as the Professor reminded me, a coroner’s inquest verdict can always be set aside, pending the introduction of new evidence. But there wouldn’t be any new evidence, as long as I was a good boy.

  By common consent, we scattered as soon as we got outside. Himberg escorted his starlet through the newspaper gauntlet, and Lorna did an encore of her performance. The Professor drove off with Miss Bauer, after arranging to meet me at his office in the morning. We were going to get started and he suggested I get a good night’s sleep.

  As for me, I teetered on the edge of the curb for a moment—and then she showed up.

  The dusty, battered convertible slid to a halt alongside me and she said, “Oh, dear! I’m late again—it’s all over, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “That’s right, Ellen.”

  “Well, I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry. I missed it on purpose, you know. I—I didn’t want to hear about it.” She shivered, slightly. “The whole thing just makes me sick. People like Lorna and Mike, ruining their lives. But who am I to talk?” She shivered again. “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  “Just on my way home,” I told her.

  “Climb in.”

  I did so, murmuring my address. She made a U-turn at the corner. She drove expertly, and today the apricot scent came through untainted by alcohol.

  “If you came late on purpose,” I said, “why did you bother to stop by at all?”

  “Please, Mr. Roberts. You shame me.” But she wasn’t ashamed as she continued. “You know why I came. It was to see you and to apologize for my rudeness the other night.”

  I blinked. It had been a long time since I’d heard any straight answers.

  “You were very kind and patient with me,” she continued. “I appreciate that.”

  “And I appreciate your frankness, Ellen. I’m not used to honesty lately.”

  “You mean your friend, the Professor?”

  She caught me off guard for a moment. “The Professor? What do you know about him?”

  “Oh, nothing, really. Except that my uncle tells me he used to run some kind of fake mail-order health cult until the postal authorities cracked down on him. Are you working for him?”

  “No. He’s just...advising me.”

  “I see.” She smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “All right.” I lit a cigarette and leaned back. I could sense her nearness, could sense how it would be if she were even nearer. She wouldn’t be like Lorna, full of gasp and frenzy; her love would not be blind—blind eyes, blind mouth, blind body groping for frantic fulfilment. No, she’d be soft and warm and steady and sure. I could feel the kindness and the comfort here, and I wanted it very badly. I needed it very badly.

  But it was not mine to take. So I puffed on my cigarette and moved away while she threaded through the traffic.

  “You could say you’re glad to see me, you know,” she said.

  “I could. But I won’t.”

  “Oh. And why not?”

  “Because if I did, you’d believe me. And of course, I’d ask you to dinner tonight. And we’d go somewhere and talk. And because you’re honest, I’d want to be honest too. And so I’d tell you all about myself. Then you’d hate me.”

  “Are you that bad, Mr. Roberts?”

  “Worse.”

  “I must say you administer a very subtle brush-off.”

  I half-turned in my seat, facing her. “Believe me, Ellen, it’s not that. I wish I could explain, but I can’t. If I could only have met you three months ago, before all this happened; if you had only slid under my door instead of that hundred-dollar bill—”

  She was staring at me curiously, and I didn’t blame her. I’d said too much already.

  “You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

  I started a laugh, but it came out as a grunt.

  “Trouble? It all depends what you call trouble. Right now I’m getting ready to take my place sitting on top of the world. The throne has already been built. But it’s not going to be an easy seat. And there’s only room for one.”

  “I see.”

  She didn’t, of course. All she saw was that she’d made another mistake—come crawling to a guy she hoped would be kind, and found out that he was just a conceited heel. I wondered if she’d get drunk again tonight. I knew I probably would, meeting or no meeting.

  We drove on in silence. It was the worst strain I’d ever felt in all my life. I wanted to talk to her, I wanted to confess, tell her everything. Something about her hypnotized me. It was the same reaction I had to the Professor. If she told me to jump out of the car and kill myself, I’d probably do it. She wouldn’t even have to tell me—just a look would be enough. Like the Professor—

  A horrid thought crawled out and leered. Suddenly I was back three months ago, sitting in Larry Rickert’s office and trying to stare down Professor Hermann’s eyes. Had it been hypnosis then? Had Professor Hermann communicated with me through extra-sensory perception that afternoon, had he planted the seed, told me to go home and kill myself? I’d always wondered why I’d had that inexplicable impulse, and now everything was falling into place.

  He never did anything without a purpose. He left nothing to chance. He’d arranged it all: even timed it so that he’d show up and stop me with that hundred-dollar bill. Yes, he knew how to choose his man. Professor Hermann found me open to the power of suggestion, the power of darkness. He was the Devil, and he had work for idle hands to do.

  I opened my mouth. I knew what I wanted to say. I wanted to say, “Ellen, don’t stop at my place. Just keep on driving. We can be in Mexicali, you and I, before midnight. We can get married down there and just keep right on going. You need me. I need you. What do you say?”

  I opened my mouth, but the Professor closed it for me. What had he said? “You will d
o just as I say, and not plan anything rash, like running away.”

  So I didn’t tell Ellen. I didn’t take her in my arms and bury my face in the apricot fragrance of her hair, seek the ripeness of her lips, enjoy the rich harvest of her body.

  She drove silently, swiftly, surely, with never a word or a glance for me. And then came the screech of brakes and we were outside my apartment.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Ellen, I’d like to see you again—I haven’t been able to explain what I wanted to say today. This has been a strain, and perhaps when things settle down a little, we can talk. I mean—”

  She turned away, but not before I caught a glimpse of her oddly contorted face.

  “Goodbye,” she murmured. “And go to hell.”

  Then she drove off, before I recognized and realized the meaning of her look. She’d been crying.

  But she’d said, “Goodbye,” and she meant it. And she’d said, “Go to hell.”

  Maybe she didn’t mean that. But she was right, nevertheless. For Professor Hermann was the Devil, and he had my soul. And my choice, my path, was clear from now on.

  I was going to hell.

  Eleven

  A tall young man with wavy hair and a professionally precise mustache stared at a tall young man with wavy hair and a professionally precise mustache who stared at a tall young man with wavy hair and a professionally precise mustache who—

  But you get the idea.

  It went on that way, endlessly. The man wearing the soft, sand-colored suit, the white shirt and the solid black knit tie gazed at himself in each of the eight mirror surfaces covering the octagonal office walls.

  This octagonal inner office was as big as a barn, with a high ceiling and recessed lighting. The degree of brightness was controlled by a knee-switch behind the desk. That desk and its companion chair, set in the center of the room, constituted the only visible furniture. The rest was all space, light and mirrors—mirrors multiplying the presence and personality of Judson Roberts. Mirrors that dazzled and confused the client.