Image of the Beast and Blown Read Online Free PDF

were simple
straightforward men with their minds made up—all black
and white—vengeance is mine, saith Lord Hammer—
true heroes with whom the majority of readers had no
trouble identifying.
    This was strange, because the antiheroes of the existen-
tial novels were supposed to be representative of the
modern mind, and they certainly were uncertain. The
antithero got far more publicity, far more critical trumpet-
ing, than the simple, stable, undoubting private eye, the
hero of the masses.
    Childe told himself to cut, as if his thoughts were a
strip of film. He was exaggerating and also simplifying.
Inwardly, he might be an existential antihero, but out-
wardly he was a man of action, a Shadow, a Doc Savage,
a Sam Spade. He smiled again. Truth to tell, he was
Herald Sigurd Childe, red-eyed, watery-eyed, drippy-
nosed, sickened, wanting to run home to Mother. Or to
that image named Sybil.
    Mother, unfortunately, became angry if he did not
phone her to ask if he could come over. Mother wanted
privacy and independence, and if she did not get it, she
expressed herself unpleasantly and exiled him for an
indeterminate time.
    He parked the car outside his apartment, ran up the
steps, hearing someone cough behind a door as he passed,
and unlocked his door. The apartment was a living room,
a kitchenette, and a bedroom. Normally, it was bright
with white walls and ceilings and creamy woodwork and
lightly colored, lightly built furniture. Today, it was
gloomy; even the unshadowed places had a greenish
tinge.
    Sybil answered the phone before the second ring had
started.
    "You must have been expecting me," he said gaily.
    "I was expecting," she said. Her voice was not, how-
ever, unfriendly.
    He did not make the obvious reply. "I'd like to come
over," he finally said.
    "Why? Because you're hard up?"
    "For your company."
    "You haven't got anything to do. You have to find some way to spend the time."
    "I have a case I'm working on," he said. He hesitated
and then, knowing that he was baiting the hook and
hating himself for it, said, "It's about Colben. You read
the papers?"
    "I thought that was what you'd be working on. Isn't
it horrible?"
    He did not ask her why she was home today. She
was the secretary of an advertising agency executive.
Neither she nor her boss would have a driving priority.
    "I'll be right over," he said. He paused and then said,
"Will I be able to stay a while or will I have to get out
after a while? Don't get mad! I just want to know; I'd
like to be able to relax."
    "You can stay for a couple of hours or more, if you
like. I'm not going anyplace, and nobody is coming—
that I know of."
    He took the phone from his ear but her voice was
laud enough for him to hear, and he returned it to his ear.
"Herald? I really do want you to come!"
    He said, "Good!" and then, "Hell! I've just been think-
ing of myself! Is there anything I can get you from the
store?"
    "No, you know there's a supermarket only three
blocks from here. I walked."
    "OK. I just thought you might not have gone out yet
or you forgot something you might want me to pick up
for you."
    They were both silent for a few seconds. He was
thinking about his irritations when they had been married,
about how many times he had had to run out to get
things that she had forgotten during her shopping. She
must be thinking about his recriminations, too; she was
always thinking about them when they got together.
    "I'll be right over," he said hurriedly. "So long."
    He hung up and left the apartment. The man was
    still coughing behind the door. A stereo suddenly blared
Strauss' Thus Spake Zarathustra downstairs. Somebody
protested feebly; the music continued to play loudly. The
protests became louder, and there was a pounding on a
wall. The music did not soften.
    Herald considered walking the four blocks to Sybil's
and then decided against it. He might need to take off
suddenly, although there did not seem much chance of it.
His answering service was not operating; it had