Night My Friend Read Online Free PDF Page A

might simply have lost interest in Dale. Or, and he had to face this extreme, Stout might be plotting right now some attack on his family.
    Finally, just at five-thirty, the phone rang. It was Harvey Stout. “Hi, Fielding. I been thinking. Maybe I could get by with five thousand, if you were still interested in helping a buddy. That’s as low as I could go, though.”
    Dale felt his hand trembling on the receiver, and he steadied his elbow against the desk. “All right, Harvey, on one condition. That you get out of town and don’t come back.”
    “Ah, now, Fielding…”
    “That’s it, Harvey. Take it or leave it.”
    “Five thousand?”
    “I told you all right.”
    “When can I have it, boy?”
    “Tomorrow night, after work.”
    “I’ll come by the office.”
    “No. My girl will be working late. Look, you know where I live. Just past the house there’s a road that leads out toward the woods. Drive out there till you come to a place where cars park. Hunters usually leave their autos there. I’ll be there at five sharp.”
    “You make it sound like a damned TV show or something.”
    “If you want the money, you’ll be there.”
    “All right,” he said finally. “Five o’clock.”
    Dale hung up and wiped the sweat from his palms. It was done. The deed was as good as done. It was late but he knew the gun shop on the way home would still be open.
    “Mr. Fielding! Haven’t seen you in years.”
    “Long time since I’ve hunted, Joe. I need some shotgun shells. Here, I think this is just the thing.”
    “What you going to be hunting, Mr. Fielding?”
    “Partridge.”
    “Well, you don’t want slugs for partridge. You want shot.”
    “Oh. I guess you’re right.”
    Dale accepted the box of shells with a firm hand. All right, it just meant he’d have to get a little closer before he pulled the trigger, that was all. The police could say what they wanted, they could accuse him of anything they liked, but they’d never be able to prove it wasn’t a hunting accident, pure and simple. It was the easiest way, the only way. He’d gone over the alternatives carefully in his mind. Of course he could have told Marge, but she would never have understood. She would only have seen this uncertain side to his character. Seen it, but not understood. Perhaps no one could understand who hadn’t been out there, in the Pacific. Marge would have cried, and told him to call the police. And the police? They couldn’t arrest Stout without dragging Dale himself through a drawn-out investigation. And if they believed Stout guilty of that long-ago crime, what would keep them from thinking Dale just as guilty?
    He patted the box of shells. This was the only way it could be, the only way to be free of the man.
    Friday was a gloomy day, half overcast with the threat of rain, and the dampness was thick in the air. Dale stayed at his desk most of the time, thinking about everything but the date he’d made with Stout. As the afternoon wore on, he became more and more uneasy with the knowledge that the time was nearing. Already he’d reminded Marge that he’d be a little late getting home, storing the shotgun and box of shells in the car when he left that morning. He found himself almost wishing, though, that rain would come—anything to delay or cancel the deed which he must do.
    Finally, a bit after four, he told Jean he was going partridge hunting with a friend. He drove slowly toward home, watching the clouds with a careful eye, wondering about a hundred unimportant business details left undone. There would be an inquest, of course, and perhaps he might even have to spend the night in jail. But they couldn’t prove a thing. It happened every day.
    He reached the point of the meeting, and was pleased to see that only three cars were there before him. With luck they would be undisturbed at the time of the planned accident, but even if someone was nearby it would not greatly change his plan. He opened the car door on the