Paycheck. Part 17

'Sure.' Haskel opened the front door of the plant and disappeared outside. The door slammed after him. 'Sure I'm all right,' he muttered to himself. He made his way through the crowds of late-afternoon shoppers, his lips twitching. 'You're d.a.m.n right I'm all right.'

'Watch it, buddy,' a laborer muttered ominously, as Haskel shoved past him.

'Sorry.' Haskel hurried on, gripping his briefcase. At the top of the hill he paused a moment to get his breath. Behind him was Larson's Pump and Valve Works. Haskel laughed shrilly. Twenty years - cut short in a second. It was over. No more Larson. No more dull, grinding job, day after day. Without promotion or future. Routine and boredom, months on end. It was over and done for. A new life and beginning.

He hurried on. The sun was setting. Cars streaked by him, businessmen going home from work. Tomorrow they would be going back - but not him. Not ever again.

He reached his own street. Ed Tildon's house rose up, a great stately structure of concrete and gla.s.s. Tildon's dog came rus.h.i.+ng out to bark. Haskel hastened past. Tildon's dog. He laughed wildly.

'Better keep away!' he shouted at the dog.

He reached his own house and leaped up the front steps two at a time. He tore the door open. The living room was dark and silent. There was a sudden stir of motion. Shapes untangling themselves, getting quickly up from the couch.

'Verne!' Madge gasped. 'What are you doing home so early?'

Verne Haskel threw his briefcase down and dropped his hat and coat over a chair. His lined face was twisted with emotion, pulled out of shape by violent inner forces.

'What in the world!' Madge fluttered, hurrying toward him nervously, smoothing down her lounge pajamas. 'Has something happened? I didn't expect you so-' She broke off, blus.h.i.+ng. 'I mean, I-'

Paul Tyler strolled leisurely toward Haskel. 'Hi there, Verne,' he murmured, embarra.s.sed. 'Dropped by to say h.e.l.lo and return a book to your wife.'

Haskel nodded curtly. 'Afternoon.' He turned and headed toward the bas.e.m.e.nt door, ignoring the two of them. 'I'll be downstairs.'

'But Verne!' Madge protested. 'What's happened?'

Verne halted briefly at the door. 'I quit my job.'

'You what what?'

'I quit my job. I finished Larson off. There won't be any more of him.' The bas.e.m.e.nt door slammed.

'Good Lord!' Madge shrieked, clutching at Tyler hysterically. 'He's gone out of his mind!'

Down in the bas.e.m.e.nt, Verne Haskel snapped on the light impatiently. He put on his engineer's cap and pulled his stool up beside the great plywood table.

What next?

Morris Home Furnis.h.i.+ngs. The big plush store. Where the clerks all looked down their noses at him.

He rubbed his hands gleefully. No more of them. No more snooty clerks, lifting their eyebrows when he came in. Only hair and bow ties and folded handkerchiefs.

He removed the model of Morris Home Furnis.h.i.+ngs and disa.s.sembled it. He worked feverishly, with frantic haste. Now that he had really begun he wasted no time. A moment later he was gluing two small buildings in its place. Ritz Shoes.h.i.+ne. Pete's Bowling Alley.

Haskel giggled excitedly. Fitting extinction for the luxurious, exclusive furniture store. A shoes.h.i.+ne parlor and a bowling alley. Just what it deserved.

The California State Bank. He had always hated the Bank. They had once refused him a loan. He pulled the Bank loose.

Ed Tildon's mansion. His d.a.m.n dog. The dog had bit him on the ankle one afternoon. He ripped the model off. His head spun. He could do anything.

Harrison Appliance. They had sold him a b.u.m radio. Off came Harrison Appliance.

Joe's Cigar and Smoke Shop. Joe had given him a lead quarter in May, 1949. Off came Joe's.

The Ink Works. He loathed the smell of ink. Maybe a bread factory, instead. He loved baking bread. Off came the Ink Works.

Elm Street was too dark at night. A couple of times he had stumbled. A few more streetlights were in order.

Not enough bars along High Street. Too many dress shops and expensive hat and fur shops and ladies' apparel. He ripped a whole handful loose and carried them to the workbench.

At the top of the stairs the door opened slowly. Madge peered down, pale and frightened. 'Verne?'

He scowled up impatiently. 'What do you want?'

Madge came downstairs hesitantly. Behind her Doctor Tyler followed, suave and handsome in his gray suit. 'Verne - is everything all right?'

'Of course.'

'Did - did you really quit your job?'

Haskel nodded. He began to disa.s.semble the Ink Works, ignoring his wife and Doctor Tyler.

'But why why?'

Haskel grunted impatiently. 'No time.'

Doctor Tyler had begun to look worried. 'Do I understand you're too busy for your job?'

'That's right.'

'Too busy doing what what?' Tyler's voice rose; he was trembling nervously. 'Working down here on this town of yours? Changing things?'

'Go away,' Haskel muttered. His deft hands were a.s.sembling a lovely little Langendorf Bread Factory. He shaped it with loving care, sprayed it with white paint, brushed a gravel walk and shrubs in front of it. He put it aside and began on a park. A big green park. Woodland had always needed a park. It would go in place of State Street Hotel.

Tyler pulled Madge away from the table, off in a corner of the bas.e.m.e.nt. 'Good G.o.d.' He lit a cigarette shakily. The cigarette flipped out of his hands and rolled away. He ignored it and fumbled for another. 'You see? You see what he's doing?'

Madge shook her head mutely. 'What is it? I don't-'

'How long has he been working on this? All his life?'

Madge nodded, white-faced. 'Yes, all his life.'

Tyler's features twisted. 'My G.o.d, Madge. It's enough to drive you out of your mind. I can hardly believe it. We've got to do something.'

'What's happening?' Madge moaned. 'What-'

'He's losing himself into it.' Tyler's face was a mask of incredulous disbelief. 'Faster and faster.'

'He's always come down here,' Madge faltered. 'It's nothing new. He's always wanted to get away.'

'Yes. Get away.' Tyler shuddered, clenched his fists and pulled himself together. He advanced across the bas.e.m.e.nt and stopped by Verne Haskel.

'What do you want?' Haskel muttered, noticing him.

Tyler licked his lips. 'You're adding some things, aren't you? New buildings.'

Haskel nodded.

Tyler touched the little bread factory with shaking fingers. 'What's this? Bread? Where does it go?' He moved around the table. 'I don't remember any bread factory in Woodland.' He whirled. 'You aren't by any chance improving improving on the town? Fixing it up here and there?' on the town? Fixing it up here and there?'

'Get the h.e.l.l out of here,' Haskel said, with ominous calm. 'Both of you.'

'Verne!' Madge squeaked.

'I've got a lot to do. You can bring sandwiches down about eleven. I hope to finish sometime tonight.'

'Finish?' Tyler asked.

'Finish,' Haskel answered, returning to his work.

'Come on, Madge.' Tyler grabbed her and pulled her to the stairs. 'Let's get out of here.' He strode ahead of her, up to the stairs and into the hall. 'Come on!' As soon as she was up he closed the door tightly after them.

Madge dabbed at her eyes hysterically. 'He's gone crazy, Paul! What'll we do?'

Tyler was in deep thought. 'Be quiet. I have to think this out.' He paced back and forth, a hard scowl on his features. 'It'll come soon. It won't be long, not at this rate. Sometime tonight.'

'What? What do you mean?'

'His withdrawal. Into his subst.i.tute world. The improved model he controls. Where he can get away.'

'Isn't there something we can do?'

'Do?' Tyler smiled faintly. 'Do we want to do something?'

Madge gasped. 'But we can't just-'

'Maybe this will solve our problem. This may be what we've been looking for.' Tyler eyed Mrs Haskel thoughtfully. 'This may be just the thing.'

It was after midnight, almost two o'clock in the morning, when he began to get things into final shape. He was tired - but alert. Things were happening fast. The job was almost done.

Virtually perfect.

He halted work a moment, surveying what he had accomplished. The town had been radically changed. About ten o'clock he had begun basic structural alterations in the lay-out of the streets. He had removed most of the public buildings, the civic center and the sprawling business district around it.

He had erected a new city hall, police station, and an immense park with fountains and indirect lighting. He had cleared the slum area, the old rundown stores and houses and streets. The streets were wider and well-lit. The houses were now small and clean. The stores modern and attractive - without being ostentatious.

All advertising signs had been removed. Most of the filling stations were gone. The immense factory area was gone, too. Rolling countryside took its place. Trees and hills and green gra.s.s.

The wealthy district had been altered. There were now only a few of the mansions left - belonging to persons he looked favorably on. The rest had been cut down, turned into uniform two-bedroom dwellings, one story, with a single garage each.

The city hall was no longer an elaborate, rococo structure. Now it was low and simple, modeled after the Parthenon, a favorite of his.

There were ten or twelve persons who had done him special harm. He had altered their houses considerably. Given them war-time housing unit apartments, six to a building, at the far edge of town. Where the wind came off the bay, carrying the smell of decaying mud-flats.

Jim Larson's house was completely gone. He had erased Larson utterly. He no longer existed, not in this new Woodland - which was now almost complete.

Almost. Haskel studied his work intently. All the changes had to be made now now. Not later. This was the time of creation. Later, when it had been finished, it could not be altered. He had to catch all the necessary changes now - or forget them.

The new Woodland looked pretty good. Clean and neat - and simple. The rich district had been toned down. The poor district had been improved. Glaring ads, signs, displays, had all been changed or removed. The business community was smaller. Parks and countryside took the place of factories. The civic center was lovely.

He added a couple of playgrounds for smaller kids. A small theater instead of the enormous Uptown with its flas.h.i.+ng neon sign. After some consideration he removed most of the bars he had previously constructed. The new Woodland was going to be moral. Extremely moral. Few bars, no billiards, no red light district. And there was an especially fine jail for undesirables.

The most difficult part had been the microscopic lettering on the main office door of the city hall. He had left it until last, and then painted the words with agonizing care: MAYOR.

VERNON R. HASKEL.

A few last changes. He gave the Edwardses a '39 Plymouth instead of a new Cadillac. He added more trees in the downtown district. One more fire department. One less dress shop. He had never liked taxis. On impulse, he removed the taxi stand and put in a flower shop.

Haskel rubbed his hands. Anything more? Or was it complete ... Perfect ... He studied each part intently. What had he overlooked?

The high school. He removed it and put in two smaller high schools, one at each end of town. Another hospital. That took almost half an hour. He was getting tired. His hands were less swift. He mopped his forehead shakily. Anything else? He sat down on his stool wearily, to rest and think.

All done. It was complete. Joy welled up in him. A bursting cry of happiness. His work was over.

'Finished!' Verne Haskel shouted.

He got unsteadily to his feet. He closed his eyes, held his arms out, and advanced toward the plywood table. Reaching, grasping, fingers extended, Haskel headed toward it, a look of radiant exaltation on his seamed, middle-aged face.

Upstairs, Tyler and Madge heard the shout. A distant booming that rolled through the house in waves. Madge winced in terror. 'What was that?'

Tyler listened intently. He heard Haskel moving below them, in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Abruptly, he stubbed out his cigarette. 'I think it's happened. Sooner than I expected.'

'It? You mean he's-'

Tyler got quickly to his feet. 'He's gone, Madge. Into his other world. We're finally free.'

Madge caught his arm. 'Maybe we're making a mistake. It's so terrible. Shouldn't we - try to do something? Bring him out of it - try to pull him back.'

'Bring him back?' Tyler laughed nervously. 'I don't think we could, now. Even if we wanted to. It's too late.' He hurried toward the bas.e.m.e.nt door. 'Come on.'

'It's horrible.' Madge shuddered and followed reluctantly. 'I wish we had never got started.'

Tyler halted briefly at the door. 'Horrible? He's happier, where he is, now. And you're happier. The way it was, n.o.body was happy. This is the best thing.'

He opened the bas.e.m.e.nt door. Madge followed him. They moved cautiously down the stairs, into the dark, silent bas.e.m.e.nt, damp with the faint night mists.

The bas.e.m.e.nt was empty.

Tyler relaxed. He was overcome with dazed relief. 'He's gone. Everything's okay. It worked out exactly right.'