Richard Matheson - 1975 - Somewhere in Time(aka Bid Time Return) by Richard Matheson

Author:Richard Matheson [Matheson, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I told him-quietly and calmly, I intended. Too quietly, it turned out.

“What?” he asked.

“All right,” I repeated, my attempt at pacification undone as soon as begun.

He gazed at me intently; not as Elise had gazed at me, however; his look one of cold suspicion rather than of open curiosity. “I want to know exactly who you are,” he said. “I want to know exactly what you are after.”

“My name is Richard Collier,” I told him. “And I’m not after anything. I happen to be-”

I broke off as his lips puffed outward in a scornful sound. “Do not attempt to gull me, sir,” he said. “Your manner may seem inexplicable to a certain female party but I read it clearly enough. You are after gain.”

“Gain?” I stared at him.

“Money,” he snarled.

He caught me there; completely. Off guard, I laughed. If we’d been close enough, it would have been directly into his face. “You must be joking,” I said, knowing, of course, that he wasn’t but with no other reaction at hand.

His face grew stonelike again and my inclination to laugh vanished.

“I warn you, Collier,” he rumbled; it was a rumbling sound, I swear.

“There is the law and I will not hesitate to make avail of it.”

He was getting to me now. I felt my insides turning hot.

“Robinson-.”

“Mr. Robinson,” he interrupted.

“Yes. Of course,” I said. “Mr. Robinson. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

He twitched as though I’d struck him violently across the face.

Again, I felt myself grow tense. There was no doubt in my mind, in that moment, that he meant me harm and, losing control, might well attempt to inflict it.

Not that I really cared by then. I am not a brawler by nature; have had very little of that sort of thing in my life. Still, I was certainly ready-as he would have put it-to “have a shy” at him right then; I confess to an almost overwhelming urge to punch his nose off center.

Leaning forward in my chair, I said, “I’d rather not get physical, Robinson, but don’t think, for a second, that I’ll back away from it. At the moment, if you care to know, I rather relish the thought of knocking you down. I don’t like you. You’re a bully and I don’t like bullies; I don’t like them at all. Do I make myself clear?”

We came as close to clashing, in that moment, as we ever had.

Like stags, we faced each other on a field of impending combat. Then a thin smile drew back his lips; as contemptuous a smile as I have ever had directed at me. “Bravery in a crowded room,” he said.

“We can go outside,” I told him. Jesus, but I yearned to hit him! I have never met a man in my entire life who brought out such hostility in me.

My waiter took the edge off slightly as he came up to the table and inquired if Robinson were dining with me. “No,” I said. “He’s not.”

More coldly than necessary, I’m sure.

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