We All Killed Grandma by Fredric Brown Read Free Book Online

again. “Damned if I know what to do about you, Rod.”
    “Why do anything? Look, maybe there’s something I want to forget, so why not let me forget it?” I made circles on the table with the bottom of my glass. “And maybe I simply have psychoanalophobia—and wouldn’t that be something to cure if psychoanalysis is the only thing that would cure it?”
    That got a grin out of him. “I should write a play about that. But, seriously, how about your having a talk with Pete Radik?”
    “Who’s Pete Radik?”
    “A friend of yours. And he isn’t a psychoanalyst, but he knows quite a bit about it. I’ve pumped him a few times for material for my work, and he knows his stuff. He’s an instructor—working for a professorship—at the university. In psychology—experimenting with Rhesus monkeys, that kind of psychology research. But he’s got a better than lay knowledge of psychoanalysis. How’s about talking to him?”
    “If he’s a friend of mine I’d like to meet him. But he’s not going to get me on a couch. Lay knowledge or no lay knowledge, I won’t be laid.”
    Arch said impatiently, “I told you he’s no psychoanalyst. Incidentally, he’s called up for you a couple of times. Once when you were out walking, once when you were asleep. I stalled him—I’ve stalled some others—because I figured you’d want to remeet people one at a time and not toomany all at once. How about my calling him now and seeing if he’s free this evening?”
    “Make it tomorrow and it’s a deal. I don’t want to see anybody this evening.”
    He nodded and went to the back of the tavern to a phone booth. I watched a big electric fan on the ceiling go around and around until he came back.
    He said, “Says you should pick him up for lunch tomorrow. Get there around noon and he’ll take you out somewhere.”
    “He married?”
    “No. So he has to go out to eat lunch anyway and you might as well tag along. He’s a nice guy, by the way. Smarter than most of your friends.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “Okay, I’ll pick him up. But where?”
    He told me the address and I wrote it down on the back of an envelope that contained a bill for some shirts from a haberdashery I’d never heard of. But I’d pay the bill when I got around to it. It had come in the morning’s mail and I’d thought what a beautiful chance that newspaper story of my amnesia would give anyone who wanted to send me bills for stuff I’d never bought. But I’d worry about that if and when the bills got hot and heavy, and they hadn’t yet.
    Arch glanced at his watch. “Time for me to head home for dinner. Want to come along and take pot luck?”
    I turned it down. I wanted to be alone for a while; that’s why I’d told Arch I’d look up Radik tomorrow but not this evening. I gave the stall that I wanted another beer and sat there after Arch had gone out. But I didn’t order another one; I just sat there thinking. Making bricks without straw.
    When I was sure Arch would be out of sight I went outside into the early warm dusk and strolled toward downtown. I didn’t know where I was going until I found myself in front of the garage that held the Lincoln.
    I went in. Joe, the guy with the red hair and freckles, came to meet me. He grinned first and then looked a bit disappointed. “Did you decide to take the Linc tonight, Rod?” he asked.
    I shook my head. “I can wait till morning. Do you getoff at six, Joe? You said you started at nine in the morning.”
    “Sure, I get off at six.”
    “It’s almost that now. How’s about having dinner with me?”
    “Why—I’d like to, but I’ll have to call the wife, see if she’s got any plans. Want to wait a minute?”
    I waited while he phoned. He came back leaving the receiver off the hook and said, “She’s got a pot roast just about ready. Says she’ll break my neck if I eat out, but why not bring you home with me. Okay?”
    I hadn’t thought of the possibility of Joe’s being married, for