Hunter and the Trap Read Online Free Page A

Monte, you don’t need enemies.”
    People around smiled sheepishly, the way people do in such a situation. I had asked for a Scotch on the rocks but I was ready to force my way out of the place without it.
    â€œDon’t run away, Monte. I want you to meet my friends. Any friend of Andy’s is a friend of mine, and there’s no one here tonight but friends of Andy. Right? Right, Monte?”
    I nodded. She put her arm around a slim, blond boy who could not have been more than twenty-three or twenty-four and who was dressed in a double-breasted mod suit of dark purple corduroy with brass buttons and skin-fit trousers. “This is David Dorchester. You pronounce it Dorster, don’t you, lovey?”
    â€œOh, yes, yes—Dorster.”
    â€œHe’s just done the very best mod line in England and brought it over here. He’s exploded into our stinking reality, haven’t you, lovey?”
    â€œOh—yes, quite.”
    â€œFour pages in Harper’s Bazaar, and you’re a friend of Andy’s—aren’t you, lovey?”
    â€œI admire him, of course. Read him and all that. Never met him. I would love to, really.”
    â€œSee—he would love to, Monte. Monte is his beloved friend.”
    â€œHow did you get here?” I asked him, if only to say something.
    â€œOh, Jerry, brought me,” he said, nodding at a small, fat man who stood beside him, nursing a drink and perspiring copiously. “Jerry’s bought my line for America. Jerry has the mod field, and we’ll all be frightfully rich out of it. That kind of opportunity in America. The old country is very stodgy, you know.”
    Jerry smiled and oozed perspiration, and Liz asked him, “And how did you get here, Jerry? Friend of Andy’s?”
    â€œAdmiration, dear lady.” He took out a handkerchief that was soaking wet and mopped his brow. “Admirer. His publisher is my brother-in-law.”
    I got my Scotch on the rocks and broke out of there, and pushed my way through to the terrace, where I stood and shivered. I have been married twenty-four years, if you are curious. No children. I stood and shivered and drank the Scotch. Joe Jacobs joined me there.
    â€œIsn’t this one hell of a party,” he said. “You know, part of the cost ought to go on my swindle sheet. I will get three columns out of this and a couple of nights off the prowl. God bless you, Monte.”
    â€œI’m just a guest—same as you.”
    â€œSure, sure—listen, Monte.” He consulted his little notebook. “Andy and the governor. Governor: ‘What are you writing now, Andy?’ Andy: ‘Nothing.’ (I imagine he hates that question. It’s a stupid question, and I guess every writer hates it.) Governor: ‘Well—I mean what are you planning?’ Andy:’Nothing. I don’t plan writing. You don’t plan an act of creation. It explodes inside of you and burns your gut until you rid yourself of it.’ Governor: ‘I never experienced quite that.’ Andy: ‘You’re rich. You have lots of things. Why the hell should you want creation? It’s pain. People don’t search for pain. They’re burdened with it.’ How about that, Monte?”
    â€œI don’t know. I can’t say that I really know what he’s talking about.”
    â€œAndy?”
    â€œAndy—yes.”
    â€œYou’re a little fuzzy now.”
    â€œI’ve had one or two.”
    â€œSure. Anyway, thank Andy, God bless him. I will try to quote him correctly. Tell him that. When I misquote him, he wants to tear me apart.”
    â€œI’ll tell him that.”
    My glass was empty, and I fought my way back to the bar. Liz was not there; neither was the blond boy with the mod suit. I didn’t see either of them again that night, and I hoped that the kid would please her and not turn out to be the way he looked.

8
    At half past four in