His bright blue eyes gleamed more than ever. How bright they were! She was actually in love with him now, in love with his eyes and the hunger and beauty in them.
As they stood up, she saw Mr. Baldy shake his head sadly. Mr. Dark Suit’s jaw fell slightly and he looked quite awkward, sitting precariously on his stool with his mouth half-open. Then Mr. Bright-Eyes slipped his arm easily around her waist and walked her to the door. She could feel their eyes watching her every step of the way, and it wasn’t hard at all to imagine the regret in their eyes—regret mixed with admiration for Mr. Bright-Eye’s technique.
He was smooth, all right. So very smooth, and while it was a shame that Mr. Dark Suit and Mr. Baldy were doomed to sadness for the evening, it simply couldn’t be helped.
And besides, wasn’t there a book about survival of the fittest or something? If they had Mr. Bright-Eyes’ finish they wouldn’t be sitting by themselves, with their eyes all afraid and beaten.
It was dark out, and Mr. Bright-Eyes seemed to be in a hurry, and as a consequence they were walking very swiftly toward his apartment. He said something about wasn’t it dark out, and she agreed that it was, and his arm tightened around her waist.
She leaned a little against him and rubbed her body against his. Walking as they were and with the night as dark as it was, it was hard for her to see his eyes. Each time when they passed a streetlamp she leaned forward a bit and glanced into his face, as if to reassure herself that his eyes still wanted her as much as they had.
In his apartment everything went very well. He told her how beautiful she was and she thanked him quite modestly, and they went to the bedroom and he took her in his arms and kissed her very expertly.
Then, after she had been expertly kissed, he bent over to remove the spread from the bed. It was at just that moment that she took the knife from her purse and plunged it into his back, right between the shoulder blades. One jab was enough; he crumpled up on the bed and lay very still, without a scream or a moan or any sound at all.
Afterwards, back in her own apartment, she put his eyes in the box with the others.
MAN WITH A PASSION
HE SET HIS SUITCASE DOWN on the floor in front of the desk, then unslung the leather bag from his shoulder and placed it beside the suitcase. He smiled across the desk at the clerk, an easy, automatic smile. “I’d like a room,” he said. “With bath.”
The clerk nodded wordlessly and passed the hotel register to the man. He uncapped a pen and began filling in the blanks. Jacob Falch, he wrote. Free-lance photographer. He hesitated a moment before the last blank, then quickly scrawled No permanent address. He paid in advance, took a key from the clerk, and carried his luggage up the steep staircase to his room.
He was a short man, with broad shoulders and a rough, craggy face. He walked swiftly and purposefully, carrying the bag with ease despite its weight. He reached his room, turned the key in the lock, and seated himself heavily on the bed.
The room was drab and colorless. There was the bed, a straight-backed chair that looked as though it would buckle if he sat on it, and a dull-brown dresser studded with cigarette burns. In short, Falch reflected, it was a crummy room in a cheap hotel. But it would do for the time being.
He started to lie down for a nap, then changed his mind and began to unpack the suitcase. His camera supplies—flashbulbs, filters, chemicals, and film—he placed in the bottom drawer of the dresser. He hung his suit in the small closet, noting with satisfaction that the pants still held a crease. His shirts and other clothing went into the middle bureau drawer. Only one small package remained in the suitcase, and he took it out and held it lovingly in his large hands. It was a very important package. It contained ten thousand dollars.
Ten thousand dollars, he thought, and he chuckled softly. He’d had to work hard for the money. Any hack photographer could plaster a composite picture together, but it took skill to make one that would stick. It took plenty of