BIRTHDAY PRESENT

                           By Arnold Marmor

               Diane's husband spent most of his time on
             Mars, and I spent most of mine with Diane. It
            was a nice arrangement--much too nice to last!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                               July 1954
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


"It's tonight or never," Diane said.

"Yes," I said.

I watched her as she walked back and forth across my bedroom floor.
She had on a sheer plasto dress that clung to her round white breasts
and full milky thighs. "I'm picking him up at the spaceway," she said.
"We're supposed to go dining and dancing tonight." She stopped pacing.
"It's my birthday. I'm thirty today."

And I was twenty-four and in love. Six years between us. So what? I
didn't give a damn. I wanted to marry her, to live with her.

"I'm thirty," she said again. "Do you mind?"

"I know your age. Why bring it up?"

"Someday you'll find out you married an old woman. _If_ we ever do
marry."

"Stop it." I got off the bed, went to her. "Just tell me what to do
and I'll do it."

"Do you love me?" she looked up at me.

"You know I do."

"Say it."

"I love you."

"Never stop saying that." She put up her face and I kissed her. A
long hard kiss. She broke away. "You'll be in back in the racer. Just
crouch low. As soon as we're away from the spaceway you hit him with
the wrench. It has to be quick and sure. Then we carry him up to the
apartment and drop him out the window."

I shuddered a little as she talked. She was so calm about the whole
thing.

"You'll have plenty of time to get out. It'll be listed as a suicide.
He's been sick for a long time. His doctor will testify to that. He was
so sick and worried he jumped to his death."

She stared at me hard. "Is it all clear?"

"Yes." I looked at her. Her long blond hair, her oval face, the slim
white column that was her throat. "It's all clear. Like glass."

I poured myself a drink. I needed it. I was going to need a lot more.

"We won't be able to see each other for a long time," she said. She
watched me drink. "We don't want to give our friends something to talk
about."

"I won't like not seeing you."

She patted my face. I put down my drink, caged her slender hand in
mine, and kissed her wrist. I saw the light blue veins criss-crossing
under the delicate skin.

I brought her close to me. I kissed her warm lips. "Baby," I breathed.
"Diane, baby."

"Paul, listen to me. We haven't much time."

"All right, sweet." I kissed her again.

"Come on. We can't afford to get there late."

       *       *       *       *       *

I crouched low in the back of the racer. I heard the street noises,
the gab of the night crowds, the not-so-mild cursings of the taxi-jet
drivers.

It all seemed so unreal. Back there, on my haunches, a wrench gripped
tight in my sweaty hand. I was going to kill a man. A man I knew, a man
I respected. And for a woman. All for a woman. I thought about getting
up and telling Diane to go to hell and to get herself another stooge. I
thought about a lot of things. Then I thought of Diane. Her sweet white
body. The way she sighed when I kissed her hard. And I knew I was going
to go through with it.

The racer stopped, its jets cut off. I heard the hum as the door opened
and she got out.

This was it. I sweated. It dripped down in an endless stream.

The seconds went by. Then the minutes.

They got in and the door hummed shut and I heard their laughter
blending together. They settled back and the jets roared. The racer
woke up to new life and it shot away.

"How was the trip?" I heard Diane asking.

"Cold. And I'm not sure it was worth it. Those Martians drive a hard
bargain." He coughed. "Diane, you're not too set on going out tonight,
are you?"

"Why?" she asked.

"I thought how nice it would be if we spent the evening at home."

"Just as you say, Roger."

"You don't care?"

"Of course not."

She was so calm, so damn calm. There would never be another like Diane.

"You won't regret it," Roger promised.

"My, but this boulevard is deserted," she said. "Not a soul in sight."

That was for my benefit. It was my cue.

I sat up silently.

He saw me then in the rear-view mirror. "What the hell?" He started to
turn.

My arm sprang alive. The wrench thudded against his skull. A half cry
spilled from his lips. Then his head fell forward on his chest.

"Hit him again," Diane urged.

"But--"

"Do as I say."

I hit him again, hard.

It was done. I settled back. The wrench was still in my hand. I looked
at it, then let it fall.

"Are you all right?" Diane asked.

"Yes," I said. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"You're not going to be sick, are you?"

"No! You think I'm a kid?"

"You did it for an old woman."

"Stop it."

"Today is my birthday, don't you know? I'm thirty."

"Shut up."

"I wonder what he got for my birthday."

"Please."

"I'm sorry. Really I am. I feel like talking. If I don't I think I'd
scream."

So I let her talk. I didn't answer her. She babbled away like she was
crazy. She kept it up till we got to their apartment.

Diane got out first and made sure the way was clear. "We'll use the
back stairs," she said when she got back. "We both can manage him."

It was dark and it was late and we didn't see anybody. We went through
the service entrance. It was too heavy a load for me to do it alone.
Two flights up. Diane helped me with him.

I breathed easier when we were in the marble hall outside the
apartment. She quickly unlocked the heavy plastic door and we got him
inside. She fumbled for the inner-lighting switch.

"Happy birthday," they shouted.

Now I knew why Roger had wanted to spend the evening at home.

We stood there, Diane and myself, with Roger between us.

Then they stopped shouting and stared at us. I thought they would never
stop staring.