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."Say you'd bet five grand he'd land on that one," Siegel said cheerfully, pointing at the one with theDDT face still up.The fly landed on the other one, its long legs seeming to hug the cube, its face working at the surface.The light through the windows was dimming; Siegel waved a brown hand, and several lamps cameon, casting a yellow glow over the table.The motion had startled the fly away from the sugar, and while itwas looping heavily through the air again, he picked up the cube the insect had spurned and tossed itover his shoulder, out the window."That was for betting," Siegel said.His voice was raspy now, and Crane looked up at him.The tanskin of Siegel's cheek was peeling, exposing rough blue coral."This is for & illustration."Again the fly landed on the cube and began gnawing at it.Crane could hear a tiny grinding."It knows there's a poison one," wheezed Siegel, "but it doesn't realize this is the one.It sees thesweet edible face and doesn't know it hides the same poison."In the dimming light, dots seemed to be flickering on the cube, as if it were a white die; then theflickering marks seemed to be card suits.The fly was tossing aside fragments of sugar in its haste todevour the cube, and its bristly head was buried in a hole it had eaten into the thing.Then the fly shuddered and tumbled off.It lay on its back, its long legs working in the air and a muddy liquid running out of its face."Too late," said Siegel huskily, "it realizes its mistake."The windows behind him were closed now, and behind the glass rectangles, as if they were panels ofan aquarium, churned the algae-fogged water of Lake Mead.The walls and furniture were dissolving, and the light was going fast.Siegel's head hung in the smoky dimness in front of Crane.The hair was gone, and the skin was amossy smoothness except where the coral showed through."He killed me," grated the head, "shot outmy eye, cut off my head in the mortuary, and threw it in the lake! In memory of me, too, do this."The rubber rim of the diving mask was suction-cupping Crane's face again, and its sides blocked hisperipheral vision, and he could feel the slick layer of water between his skin and the neoprene wet suit.When he kicked himself away from the head that sat on top of the spire, his fins propelled him well back,so that the head was now just the bumpy top of the column in the murky water.Breathing fast through the regulator, he thrashed spasmodically away through the dirty cold water.Okay, he thought nervously, think.What did I get out of that? I learned that my father killed BugsySiegel, who was apparently King before him.But what do I do now? Am I supposed to & what, putpoisoned sugar in my father's coffee or something?Whatever had happened here today, it was clearly over, and he turned and started to swim back theway he'd come.His left leg was feeling tight-strung, and every time he breathed now he could hear aringing metallic broong in the tank, a sure sign that he was low on air.He arched his back upward, ready to ascend to the surface and saw the silhouettes of two diversabove him.Both carried spear guns.And both had obviously just now become aware of him; they curled downward in the water,extending the guns at him.Crane jerked in horrified surprise and started to thrash around, hoping to kick his way fast down tothe deeper, darker water, but an instant later the spears punched him.One wrenched his head around as it tore off his mask, and the other had hit the buckle and heavyweb fabric of his weight belt; he could feel that that one had cut him.Its barbs had caught in the skin of his torn wet suit, and he could feel it being tugged upward; if it torefree, the man would yank the tethered spear back, reload, and fire again.The other diver was probablyalready pulling in his own spear, perhaps had already retrieved it and reloaded.Crane fumbled at his belt and the shaft of the snagged spear, and then he found the spear's tether andpulled at it, dragging himself up toward the diver.Crane's eyes were open, but his mask was gone.He could see nothing in the murky water, and hadto exhale through his nose like a novice.Over his panic he was peripherally aware of the music again,"Begin the Beguine," and of laughter and loud talking.Then, even without a mask, Crane saw the blurry bulk of the diver above him, and at the samemoment the tether went slack in his hands; the man had let go of the spear gun and would now probablycome in close with a knife to finish Crane off.The man was close only a couple of yards away.Without thinking, Crane dragged his hand back down through the water and grabbed again at hisbelt and Siegel's.45 was there.He pulled it free, thumbing back the hammer as he thrust it up throughthe water and pointed it at the looming figure whose agitation of the water he could now feel, and hepulled the trigger. The gun actually fired, though Crane saw no flash, and the underwater shot sounded like a loud,hoarse shout.Blurrily he saw the body above him convulse in the water.Christ, I've hurt him, maybe killed him, Crane thought dizzily.How could I have known a.45would shoot underwater?He heard a muted crack then, and the mask strap tugged at his throat the other diver had fired hisspear again, and had again hit Crane's mask, which was now broken and swinging loosely below his rightear.With his free hand Crane reached up and gripped the shaft of the spear.With his other hand he raisedthe automatically recocked.45.His eyes were straining through the cloudy water as the fast bubbles from his nose churned in front ofhis face and all at once he was again seeing through his false right eye.From against a black background that might have been the night sky, a whitely luminous figure wasmoving toward him.Like a double-exposure photograph, it was a scuba diver with mask and fins butwas also a robed, bearded King, and the object it held out before itself was at once a spear gun and ascepter.Crane raised his right arm, seeing it draped in a baggy sleeve as well as cased in black neoprene, andthough he felt the grip of a.45 automatic, he seemed to be holding out a golden chalice.His tank was ringing with each breath broong, broong and it was taking effort now to pull air intohis lungs through the regulator.You have to shoot, he told himself over the shrill, despairing wail in his head.You have to squeeze thetrigger and kill another man and maybe the gun won't shoot a second time underwater anyway.The double-exposure figure was almost upon him.If the gun did fire, Crane could not possibly miss.He pulled the trigger, and again the water shook to the short, hard shout of the report and abruptlyhe could see only the blur of cloudy water in front of his left eye.He kicked away, pulling the spear along with him; the only drag on the spear was the inertia of anunencumbered spear gun, and he felt safe in tucking the.45 back into his torn weight belt.His air was just about entirely gone, and the rented tank had a simple K-valve, with no reserve-airmechanism.He needed to get up right now.He looked up and extended the spear over his head and began to kick upward.Without the mask hecouldn't see how fast his bubbles were rising, and he had no idea how deep he might be, so against theurgency of his laboring lungs he made himself kick slowly.If there was any air at all left in the tank now, his lungs didn't have the strength to suck it out but hekept the regulator clamped in his teeth to help resist the increasing spasmodic urge to inhale lake water [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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."Say you'd bet five grand he'd land on that one," Siegel said cheerfully, pointing at the one with theDDT face still up.The fly landed on the other one, its long legs seeming to hug the cube, its face working at the surface.The light through the windows was dimming; Siegel waved a brown hand, and several lamps cameon, casting a yellow glow over the table.The motion had startled the fly away from the sugar, and while itwas looping heavily through the air again, he picked up the cube the insect had spurned and tossed itover his shoulder, out the window."That was for betting," Siegel said.His voice was raspy now, and Crane looked up at him.The tanskin of Siegel's cheek was peeling, exposing rough blue coral."This is for & illustration."Again the fly landed on the cube and began gnawing at it.Crane could hear a tiny grinding."It knows there's a poison one," wheezed Siegel, "but it doesn't realize this is the one.It sees thesweet edible face and doesn't know it hides the same poison."In the dimming light, dots seemed to be flickering on the cube, as if it were a white die; then theflickering marks seemed to be card suits.The fly was tossing aside fragments of sugar in its haste todevour the cube, and its bristly head was buried in a hole it had eaten into the thing.Then the fly shuddered and tumbled off.It lay on its back, its long legs working in the air and a muddy liquid running out of its face."Too late," said Siegel huskily, "it realizes its mistake."The windows behind him were closed now, and behind the glass rectangles, as if they were panels ofan aquarium, churned the algae-fogged water of Lake Mead.The walls and furniture were dissolving, and the light was going fast.Siegel's head hung in the smoky dimness in front of Crane.The hair was gone, and the skin was amossy smoothness except where the coral showed through."He killed me," grated the head, "shot outmy eye, cut off my head in the mortuary, and threw it in the lake! In memory of me, too, do this."The rubber rim of the diving mask was suction-cupping Crane's face again, and its sides blocked hisperipheral vision, and he could feel the slick layer of water between his skin and the neoprene wet suit.When he kicked himself away from the head that sat on top of the spire, his fins propelled him well back,so that the head was now just the bumpy top of the column in the murky water.Breathing fast through the regulator, he thrashed spasmodically away through the dirty cold water.Okay, he thought nervously, think.What did I get out of that? I learned that my father killed BugsySiegel, who was apparently King before him.But what do I do now? Am I supposed to & what, putpoisoned sugar in my father's coffee or something?Whatever had happened here today, it was clearly over, and he turned and started to swim back theway he'd come.His left leg was feeling tight-strung, and every time he breathed now he could hear aringing metallic broong in the tank, a sure sign that he was low on air.He arched his back upward, ready to ascend to the surface and saw the silhouettes of two diversabove him.Both carried spear guns.And both had obviously just now become aware of him; they curled downward in the water,extending the guns at him.Crane jerked in horrified surprise and started to thrash around, hoping to kick his way fast down tothe deeper, darker water, but an instant later the spears punched him.One wrenched his head around as it tore off his mask, and the other had hit the buckle and heavyweb fabric of his weight belt; he could feel that that one had cut him.Its barbs had caught in the skin of his torn wet suit, and he could feel it being tugged upward; if it torefree, the man would yank the tethered spear back, reload, and fire again.The other diver was probablyalready pulling in his own spear, perhaps had already retrieved it and reloaded.Crane fumbled at his belt and the shaft of the snagged spear, and then he found the spear's tether andpulled at it, dragging himself up toward the diver.Crane's eyes were open, but his mask was gone.He could see nothing in the murky water, and hadto exhale through his nose like a novice.Over his panic he was peripherally aware of the music again,"Begin the Beguine," and of laughter and loud talking.Then, even without a mask, Crane saw the blurry bulk of the diver above him, and at the samemoment the tether went slack in his hands; the man had let go of the spear gun and would now probablycome in close with a knife to finish Crane off.The man was close only a couple of yards away.Without thinking, Crane dragged his hand back down through the water and grabbed again at hisbelt and Siegel's.45 was there.He pulled it free, thumbing back the hammer as he thrust it up throughthe water and pointed it at the looming figure whose agitation of the water he could now feel, and hepulled the trigger. The gun actually fired, though Crane saw no flash, and the underwater shot sounded like a loud,hoarse shout.Blurrily he saw the body above him convulse in the water.Christ, I've hurt him, maybe killed him, Crane thought dizzily.How could I have known a.45would shoot underwater?He heard a muted crack then, and the mask strap tugged at his throat the other diver had fired hisspear again, and had again hit Crane's mask, which was now broken and swinging loosely below his rightear.With his free hand Crane reached up and gripped the shaft of the spear.With his other hand he raisedthe automatically recocked.45.His eyes were straining through the cloudy water as the fast bubbles from his nose churned in front ofhis face and all at once he was again seeing through his false right eye.From against a black background that might have been the night sky, a whitely luminous figure wasmoving toward him.Like a double-exposure photograph, it was a scuba diver with mask and fins butwas also a robed, bearded King, and the object it held out before itself was at once a spear gun and ascepter.Crane raised his right arm, seeing it draped in a baggy sleeve as well as cased in black neoprene, andthough he felt the grip of a.45 automatic, he seemed to be holding out a golden chalice.His tank was ringing with each breath broong, broong and it was taking effort now to pull air intohis lungs through the regulator.You have to shoot, he told himself over the shrill, despairing wail in his head.You have to squeeze thetrigger and kill another man and maybe the gun won't shoot a second time underwater anyway.The double-exposure figure was almost upon him.If the gun did fire, Crane could not possibly miss.He pulled the trigger, and again the water shook to the short, hard shout of the report and abruptlyhe could see only the blur of cloudy water in front of his left eye.He kicked away, pulling the spear along with him; the only drag on the spear was the inertia of anunencumbered spear gun, and he felt safe in tucking the.45 back into his torn weight belt.His air was just about entirely gone, and the rented tank had a simple K-valve, with no reserve-airmechanism.He needed to get up right now.He looked up and extended the spear over his head and began to kick upward.Without the mask hecouldn't see how fast his bubbles were rising, and he had no idea how deep he might be, so against theurgency of his laboring lungs he made himself kick slowly.If there was any air at all left in the tank now, his lungs didn't have the strength to suck it out but hekept the regulator clamped in his teeth to help resist the increasing spasmodic urge to inhale lake water [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]