The Box: Uncanny Stories by Richard Matheson Read Free Book Online Page B

what he’s talkin’ about, Sheriff,” Tom said blandly. “Why, I—”
    “Get on the road,” the sheriff ordered. “Both of you. You take us to him or you’re really in trouble. I’m followin’ you in the car. Don’t make any wrong move, not one.”
    The car moved slowly behind the two walking men.
    “I been after these boys for a year,” the sheriff told her. “They set themselves up a nice little system robbin’ men who come to the cafe, then dumpin’ them in the desert and sellin’ their car up north.”
    Jean hardly heard what he was saying. She kept staring at the road ahead, her stomach tight, her hands pressed tightly together.
    “Never knew how they worked it though,” the sheriff went on. “Never thought of the lavatory. Guess what they did was keep it locked for any man but one who was alone. They must’ve slipped up today. I guess Lou just jumped anyone who came in there. He’s not any too bright.”
    “Do you think they—” Jean started hesitantly.
    The sheriff hesitated. “I don’t know, lady. I wouldn’t think so. They ain’t that dumb. Besides we had cases like this before and they never hurt no one worse than a bump on the head.”
    He honked the horn. “Come on, snap it up!” he called to the men.
    “Are there snakes out there?” Jean asked.
    The sheriff didn’t answer. He just pressed his mouth together and stepped on the accelerator so the men had to break into a trot to keep ahead of the bumper.
    A few hundred yards further on, Lou turned off and started down a dirt road.
    “Oh my God, where did they take him?” Jean asked.
    “Should be right down here,” the sheriff said.
    Then Lou pointed to a clump of trees and Jean saw their car. The sheriff stopped his coupe and they got out. “All right, where is he?” he asked.
    Lou started across the broken desert ground. Jean kept feeling the need to break into a run. She had to tense herself to keep walking by the sheriff’s side. Their shoes crunched over the dry desert soil. She hardly felt the pebbles through her sandals, so intently was she studying the ground ahead.
    “Ma’am,” Lou said, “I hope you won’t be toohard on me. If I’d known you was with him, I’d’ve never touched him.”
    “Knock it off, Lou,” the sheriff said. “You’re both in up to your necks, so you might as well save your breath.”
    Then Jean saw the body lying out on the sand, and with a sob she ran past the men, her heart pounding.
    “Bob—”
    She held his head in her lap, and when his eyes fluttered open, she felt as if the earth had been taken off her back.
    He tried to smile, then winced at the pain. “I been hit,” he muttered.
    Without a word, the tears came running down her cheeks. She helped him back to their car, and as she followed the sheriff’s car, she held tightly to Bob’s hand all the way back to town.

A Flourish of
Strumpets
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    One evening in October the doorbell rang.
    Frank and Sylvia Gussett had just settled down to watch television. Frank put his gin and tonic on the table and stood. He walked into the hall and opened the door.
    It was a woman.
    “Good evening,” she said. “I represent the Exchange.”
    “The Exchange?” Frank smiled politely.
    “Yes,” said the woman. “We’re beginning an experimental program in this neighborhood. As to our service—”
    Their service was a venerable one. Frank gaped.
    “Are you
serious
?” he asked.
    “Perfectly,” the woman said.
    “But—good Lord, you can’t—come to our very houses and—and—that’s against the law! I can have you arrested!”
    “Oh, you wouldn’t want to do
that
,” said the woman. She absorbed blouse-enhancing air.
    “Oh, wouldn’t I?” said Frank and closed the door in her face.
    He stood there breathing hard. Outside, he heard the sound of the woman’s spike heels clacking down the porch steps and fading off.
    Frank stumbled into the living room.
    “It’s unbelievable,” he