Now You See It by Richard Matheson Read Free Book Online Page B

fucking number of that fucking cab company?” he raged.
    “Sit down
, Harry,” Max repeated.
    “I don’t have time—”
    His voice stopped as he heard the (chilling) sound of the dagger blade being snatched from its sheath.
    Heavy silence. Harry stared at Max incredulously. (So did I.)
    “Are you
threatening
me?” Harry finally asked.
    Max did not reply. The dagger, pointed upward in his right hand, lowered.
    Thinking he had won the point, Harry checked his gold-banded Rolex. “All right,” he said. “You have five minutes, and get rid of that fucking knife.”
    “Dagger,” Max corrected.
    And he jerked his right arm up as though to hurl it straight at Harry’s chest.

chapter 8
    Hey!” cried Harry, alarmed and angry at the same time.
    Several moments more of threat, Max’s gray-blue eyes unblinking as he looked at Harry.
    “Hey!” said Harry again, thoroughly intimidated.
    Max stared at him.
    Then, turning, he hurled the dagger at the lobby display. Harry (and I, it felt like) jolted as the blade pierced the figure of The Great Delacorte.
    “How appropriate,” Max observed. “Right through the heart.”
    A rumble of distant thunder made Harry shudder—as though the gods had just declared their displeasure.
    Max and Harry stared at one another. Finally, Harry found his (labored) voice. “You’re crazy, Max,” he said. “You know that?”
    “There
is
that possibility,” Max answered calmly. “Madness is afoot in this house. Don’t you feel it?” I saw that his smile was unnerving to Harry. “The very air tingles with it.”
    He was right; it did.
    Max turned abruptly for the fireplace. “And now,” he said, “sit down.”
    “Max, I have to
go,”
said Harry. His tone was not aggressive anymore, but mollifying.
    Moving swiftly, Max took down the pair of dueling pistols, put one on the desk and, carrying the other, returned to Harry, who watched him in uneasy silence. “What are you doing?” Harry murmured.
    Max cupped his right hand behind his ear. “Pardon?”
    “What are you doing?”
Harry repeated.
    “I loaded them this morning,” Max replied, his answer an apparent non sequitur.
    “What?” asked Harry.
    “I said—”
    “I heard what you said,” Harry interrupted. “What do you mean, you
loaded
them?”
    Max extended the pistol with his right hand, pointing it at Harry’s heart. “I loaded them for use,” he said. “Now will you kindly sit down?”
    “You can’t be serious about this,” Harry protested. But neither he nor I had any doubt regarding Max’s seriousness.
    Which was proven as Max extended his arm all the way, the dark eye of the barrel quite close to Harry’s chest now.
    With a swallow dry enough for me to hear across the room, Harry sat down in the chair, placing his hat and attaché case back on the table.
    “Do you really want your father here?” he asked, his tone weak.
    “Oh, yes, definitely,” Max replied. “I want him to hear it all. I only hope to God that, somewhere in his brain, he’s capable of understanding and appreciating what I’m doing.”
    Oh, Sonny, Sonny, yes I am
. My brain the only part of me that really functioned then.
    “Look, I don’t know what the hell you
are
doing here,” said Harry nervously, “but let’s not be impulsive. Let’s talk about this. I think you need help, pal.”
    “The kind of help I got in Chicago?” Max asked softly.
    Harry’s face went blank.
    “The kind of help I got in Des Moines?” asked Max. “In New Orleans? In Tampa?”
    “What are you—”
    “It took a little research on the last three,” Max cut him off. “But Chicago dropped right on me in the middle of an afternoon this May. A phone call from a Mr. Charlie Haines—”
    “Wait a second,” Harry said.
    “—inquiring why you’d turned down his generous offer; was I
sick
or something?” Max was glaring at Harry now, the pistol aimed at his head.
This is
true? I thought.
    “Max, put that down,” said Harry, trying in vain