Free Ripley's Game by Patricia Highsmith Page A

which looked like a Derwatt hung over the fireplace. And where was Reeves Minot? Wister was Minot, Jonathan supposed. Was Wister going to announce this or assume that Jonathan realized it? It occurred to Jonathan that he and Simone ought to paint or paper their whole house white. He should discourage the idea of the art nouveau wallpaper in the bedroom. If they wanted to achieve more light, white was the logical —
    ‘… You might’ve given some thought to the other proposition,’ Wister was saying in his soft voice. “The idea I was talking about in Fontainebleau.’
    ‘I’m afraid I haven’t changed my mind about that,’ Jonathan said. ‘And so this leads to – obviously I owe you six hundred francs.’ Jonathan forced a smile. Already he felt the scotch, and as soon as he realized this, he nervously drank a little more from his glass. ‘I can repay you within three months. The specialist is the essential thing for me now. – First things first.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Wister. ‘And you mustn’t think about any repayment. That’s absurd.’
    Jonathan didn’t want to argue, but he felt vaguely ashamed. More than anything, Jonathan felt odd, as if he were dreaming, or somehow not himself. It’s only the foreignness of everything, he thought.
    ‘This Italian we want eliminated,’ Wister said, folding his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling, ‘has a routine job. – Ha! That’s funny! He only pretends it’s a job with regular hours. He’s hanging around die clubs off the Reeperbahn, pretending he has a taste for gambling, and he’s pretending he has a job as a oenologist, and I’m sure he has a chum at the – whatever they call the wine factory here. He goes to the wine factory every afternoon, but he spends his evenings in one or another of the private clubs, playing the tables a little and seeing who he can meet. Mornings he sleeps, because he’s up all night. Now the point is,’ Wister said, sitting up, ‘he takes the U-bahn every afternoon to get home, home being a rented flat. He’s got a six-months lease and a real six-month job with the wine place to make it look legitimate, – Have a sandwich!’
    Wister extended the plate, as if he had just realized the sandwiches were there.
    Jonathan took a tongue sandwich. There were also coleslaw and dill pickle.
    The important point is he gets off the U-bahn at the Steinstrasse station every day around six-fifteen by himself, looking like any other businessman coming back from the office. That’s the time we want to get him.’ Wister spread his bony hands palm downward. The assassin fires once if you can get the middle of his back, twice for sure maybe, drops the gun and – Bob’s your uncle as the English say, isn’t that right?’
    The phrase was indeed familiar, out of the long ago past. ‘If it’s so easy, why do you need me?’ Jonathan managed a polite smile. ‘I’m an amateur to say the least. I’d botch it.’
    Wister might not have heard. The crowd in the U-bahn may be rounded up. Some of them. Who can tell? Thirty, forty people maybe, if the cops get there fast enough. It’s a huge station, the station for the main railway terminus. They might look people over. But suppose they look you over?’ Wister shrugged. ‘You’ll have dropped the gun. You’ll have used a thin stocking over your hand, and you’ll drop the stocking a few seconds after you fire. No powder marks on you, no fingerprints on the gun. You have no connection with the man who’s dead. Oh, it really won’t come to all that. But one look at your French identity card, the fact of your appointment with Dr Wentzel, you’re in the clear. My point is, our point, we don’t want anyone connected with us or the clubs …’
    Jonathan listened and made no comment. On the day of the shooting, he was thinking, he would have to be in a hotel, he could hardly be a house-guest of Wister, in case a policeman asked him where he was staying. And what about