Pin (20 page)

“What kind of a death is it?”

“What's that?” Pin responded.

“What's it like to die from an overdose of insulin?”

“Very uncomfortable. First, perspiration and cold, clammy feelings, and then insulin shock, coma. We could have brought him out of it if anyone would have walked in and found him reasonably soon afterward, but he was there by himself all day.”

“I don't see why anyone would want to blame it on the doctor,” I said, but it was a lie. Even at that age, I knew why.

“It's all part of the job. You get used to it,” Pin said, and that was the end of the discussion. Lillian Deutch tried her best to keep people from forgetting it, but it gradually faded into an obscure anecdote—the Jerry Leshner affair.

So when Pin brought it up, I naturally was very eager to use what we had learned from it: the misuse of insulin was a dangerous thing. I guess we could have chosen any of a dozen ways to kill Stan quickly, but none of them would have satisfied my and Pin's desire for revenge. Pin was looking forward to it very much. I didn't want to do anything to disappoint him. He was so proud of being the one to first bring up the Jerry Leshner affair. I had plenty of syringes available. Most of my father's things were kept safely in his bedroom. It was simply a matter of purchasing the insulin.

“I don't want you buying the stuff around here,”
Pin said. “That would create some suspicions, some interest. Take a ride down to Middletown. Go into one of those big discount drugstores. Don't buy it all in one store, either, if you feel the druggist thinks the amount strange. If anyone does ask you why you're buying so much at once, tell him you're a diabetic going on a vacation and you don't want to worry about your supply. I don't think anyone will ask, but have that story ready. It's always good to have a story ready. Remember, think of the counters for every move.”

“Right. And we'll need the sack.”

“Get that in one of those big department stores down there too. It's always good to buy things in stores like that. People don't remember people so easily. Everything's so matter-of-fact and indifferent. Now, you're sure you've got something to make him groggy?”

“We'll use Ursula's Librium. I'll give him two capsules at once. You know how it affects Ursula.”

“As long as it makes him a little groggy so that there won't be much of a struggle. We don't want anything broken, no evidence of any conflict in here.”

“I understand.”

“Then we'll just sit and watch. Did I ever tell you about that time the kid was brought in to see your father, the one who swallowed the big marble and got it stuck in his throat?”

“I told
you
about it. It happened here. They brought him to the house.”

“Oh, yeah. Jesus, that's right.”

“You're getting senile, Pin, old boy. The kid was straining hard just to get a little air down into his fat lungs. Remember? He was a little fat kid from
Oken's bungalow colony. His eyes were bulging and he kept clawing at his own body.”

“Ursula never saw that, did she?”

“No. She was out in the back. I told her about it and she got sick to her stomach, even threw up. My mother blamed it on me. She was mad because Ursula dirtied the bathroom wall.”

“Yeah, I remember your telling me that. Your father turned the kid right over on his head and bounced him on the floor.”

“His mother screamed. Scared the shit out of me, but the damn marble slipped out.”

“Only your father would have the coolness to think of doing that. What a guy. He's going to be very proud of you after this.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I'd better get going.”

I was in Middletown a little after ten. There were so many people out shopping, though, that it took me forty minutes to buy everything. It was a pain just to find places to park in the parking lots. I had to remember to buy my new shoes and underwear and socks so Ursula would believe I wasn't home all day. The guy in the shoe store just couldn't believe I would buy a pair of shoes without trying them on. What did I care how they fit? I wasn't going to wear them anyway. I simply pointed to a pair in the window and said, “Give me those in 8D.” He brought them out and went to the seats. I stood at the counter. I had scooped up five pairs of socks and three packages of underwear.

“Don't you want to try them on?”

“No,” I said. He stood there with his mouth open, so I added, “They're not for me. It's a gift.”

Pin was very proud of me for remembering to buy the shoes and socks and underwear. He had completely
forgotten about the stuff when I left. I told him he was getting hardening of the arteries and we had a good laugh over it.

“How do you know the sack's big enough?” he asked. I had anticipated the question.

“After I bought it, I went into the men's room, locked myself in a toilet booth and stepped into it. It's big enough.”

“Good work, Leon. Good work. You're learning how to use your head well, boy.”

“Thanks,” I said. It was nearly twelve. “I'd better go out to the pond now and chop out that hole in the ice.”

“You'd better. There probably won't be time later. We've got to do it all and dispose of that car before Ursula gets home.”

“Right,” I said, and I went out to the garage for the pick. While I was there, I figured I'd move the wheelbarrow to the back of the house.

My father had a great many nice tools. He very rarely used them, but he felt he had to have them around the place. What usually happened was that he'd start a job and then lose interest in it. After that he'd call in professionals to finish it. Most of the time it cost him more because he messed things up, but I guess it was worth it to him. He got some enjoyment in trying. He never felt incompetent or inadequate either. The gardeners and carpenters who came to repair and complete what he had started all made it a point to compliment him for the smallest achievement.

As I stood there in the garage looking over his stuff, I felt a great sense of weakness and fear come over me. If he was such an incompetent at manual
things, what made me think that I could be a success? It took me awhile to shrug the feeling off. Anyway, my biggest shock came a few minutes later. It frightened me because neither Pin nor I had anticipated it. If we had forgotten about something like this, surely we had forgotten something else. It had snowed. It had snowed on and off for the last few weeks. The yard behind the house was covered by at least six inches. Sure, once I got to the woods, it wouldn't matter much; but anyone looking out the back window would see my footsteps. And what good was the wheelbarrow? I'd have to drag and carry the sack. I broke out in a cold sweat. Panic came over me. Time was ticking away. Think, I told myself, think, think. I ran back inside and told Pin. He took it calmly and sat thinking.

“How could we forget?” I asked quickly. “I don't understand.”

“Relax. Just relax. Be calm. We'll work it out.”

“Maybe no one will notice the footsteps.”

“We can't take that chance. Our plans have to be changed some.”

“What do you mean? Put things off now?” He didn't answer. We both sat silently for a moment.

“We're not taking the body out right away.”

“We're not?”

“No. We'll move him into my room for a while. No one goes in there. It'll be safe.”

“For how long?”

“We're due for some snow this week, aren't we?”

“That's what we heard on the weather report.”

“Good. We'll move him out then. The new snow will make your footsteps indistinguishable, if it doesn't cover them up entirely.”

“OK,” I said. I smiled to myself. I knew why Pin wanted it that way. He wasn't fooling me. He wanted to be able to go into his room and gloat. He was so taken up with revenge that he wanted to cherish every minute of it and make it last as long as he could.

A
T ONE-FIFTEEN
I
BROUGHT EVERYTHING DOWN AND
set it out neatly on the counter in the kitchen. I had purchased two vials of U-80 crystalline insulin. This gave me eighty units per cc. Each vial contained ten cc. I therefore had a total of 1600 units of insulin to inject if I wanted to. There was a two-cc hypodermic syringe in my father's old bag, which meant I would have to inject him ten times to use the entire amount. I decided that I would limit the injections to five and see what resulted. I was looking forward to the injecting. My father had trained me in the use of a syringe. It was part of his attempt to interest me in the medical profession. Once, when Ursula had an inflamed throat, he let me inject
the penicillin. She said I did it real well. I really concentrated on what I was doing because I didn't want to hurt her. I was so afraid that I would because my hand shook.

There she was, sprawled over the examination table. Her skirt was up and her panties down to her knees. I stared at the pinkish color of her buttocks. My father held the syringe in the air, demonstrating again how I had to grasp it firmly with my thumb in front and the index and middle fingers behind.

“The fourth and fifth fingers are flexed so as not to interfere with the stroke of the injection,” he said. “Remember, keep the axis of the syringe at an angle of forty-five degrees, like this.”

“I really don't think I'm ready,” I said, still staring at Ursula.

“Nonsense. There's nothing to it, Leon, and your sister very willingly agreed to let you use her as your first patient.”

“It's all right, Leon,” she said.

“I want a deliberate, quick stab. It is less painful,” he said, and he held the needle out to me. I took it reluctantly. He gave me the alcohol and I sterilized a portion of her pink flesh. “Now concentrate,” he said. I looked at his face. The intensely serious expression had a sobering effect on me. Then I turned and I did it, just like that. Ursula didn't make a sound. Instantly it was over. I stepped back, awed by my own accomplishment. He took the syringe from me and Ursula turned and sat up.

“Well done,” he said. “Well done.” It was one of the few times he gave me a compliment for anything.

After I brought all the materials down to the
kitchen, I went out to the living room and sat with Pin. We were both very nervous now and neither of us had much to say. I kept looking at the clock. Finally I couldn't sit any longer, so I went over to the desk and took out the books and papers. After all, we had to put up some kind of facade and lead him to believe I seriously wanted to go over Ursula's affairs.

“You've got to take it easy, Leon,” Pin said. “You look nervous, fidgety. If he should see you like this, he'll wonder.”

“I'll be all right. It's the damn waiting.”

“Well, we did think you had to go out and chop that hole. There's where most of the extra time would have gone.”

“I know, I know.” I sat down again. Finally it was two-ten. “He must've gone home by now. It wouldn't be more than ten minutes from the library to his aunt's place.”

“OK, call.”

I got up slowly and walked to the phone. My hands were trembling as I dialed. I tried not to let Pin see it. We were in luck. Stan answered.

“This is Leon,” I said. I told him what I wanted to do, and I told him that I had to call secretly because Ursula would have been too embarrassed otherwise. “She's very sensitive about all this. She even made me promise that I wouldn't discuss it with you until sometime after your marriage, but there are things that you just must know. Things you're going to have to take care of for her. She's really a baby when it comes to finances.”

“I understand.”

“So if you could drop over, just for an hour, now that she's at work.”

“Sure. I'm coming into town anyway to get some things for my aunt.”

“How is she?”

“All right. She's with her daughter today, but…”