That's what the man had said.
Haney peered doubtfully at his drinking companion through bleary, tear-filled eyes.
He had no ready answer, as much from surprise as from the fit of coughing.
Was the man drunk or crazy or both?
But his new-found buddy had matched him drink for drink until he lost count, and the man's eyes were still clear.

The guy is off his rocker, Haney thought to himself, and looked away from those eyes.
Eyes that were clear, but also bright with a strange intensity, a sort of cold fire burning behind them.
Why hadn't he noticed it before?
No, the man was not drunk

He wondered how he got tied up with this stranger.
But, of course, he remembered now.
It was blurred, after two hours of steady drinking, but the occasion of it came back to him.
The stranger, his head seemingly sunk in thought, started to cross the street against the light just as a huge moving van roared through the intersection.

Brakes howled and a horn blared furiously, but the man would have been hit if Phil hadn't called out to him a second before.
His shout had been involuntary, something anybody might have done without thinking, on the spur of the moment.
As a matter of fact, he wouldn't have cared at all if the guy had been hit.
Actually, he regretted having opened his mouth when the truck came to a stop and the angry driver jumped down from the cab and walked back toward them.

By then, the stranger was thanking Haney profusely and had one arm around his shoulders as if he were an old friend.
So the driver started to curse at both of them as if they had been in a plot together to ruin his safe-driving record.

Then the man he saved turned and looked squarely into the truck driver's face, without saying a word.
Very suddenly, the driver stopped swearing at them, turned on his heel and went back to his truck.

Haney hadn't given it much thought at the time.
Now he recalled it very clearly, and wondered what the truck driver had seen in those eyes to make him back off.
It must have been the sort of look that can call a bluff without saying a word.

When the light went their way, they went on across the street.
And when the stranger found out that Phil was on the way to one of his favorite bars, he insisted on offering to buy drinks for both of them.

Phil usually went alone and kept to himself, sitting in a corner and passing the time by nursing his favorite grudges.
But he decided he wouldn't mind company in return for free drinks, even though he made good money at his job.
Phil was like that.

Now he wondered if it was worth it, having a screwball for company.
He really didn't take the offer seriously, but he began to feel uneasy.
When he finally got the coughing under control, he realized that Pete (all he gave was his first name) was still waiting for an answer -- he didn't even seem to wink as he continued to stare.

Haney managed a weak laugh.
"Guess I can't think of anyone, Pete.
Thanks anyhow".

A faint crease appeared between the man's eyebrows.
"I think you aren't taking me seriously, Phil.
I meant it.
And everybody has some kind of grudge.
I might have got hit by that truck if it wasn't for you.
I believe in returning favors.
I'll do anything for somebody I like.
It won't cost you a cent, Phil.
Go ahead and try me"!

Phil rubbed his forehead wearily.
He was beginning to feel woolly.
Maybe it would be better to humor the guy and then make an exit.
He really didn't expect anything to come of it, and there were a few people

"All right", he conceded finally, "if you must know, I don't get along with the landlord.
He keeps riding me because I like to listen to the radio and sing while I'm taking a bath.
He says the neighbors complain, but I don't believe it.
Why don't they tell me themselves if it bothers them"?

The man closed his eyes and nodded.
When he looked up again, he seemed almost contented.
"Fine.
Give me your address.
It will take a little time.
I want to study your landlord's habits and movements first.
You see, I always make it look like an accident.
Maybe suicide, if it looks reasonable.
In that way there's no trouble for the customer".

Haney's eyebrows flew up.
"Customer"?

Pete smiled modestly.
"It's my line of work", he said

Five minutes later, before Haney could make his break, the stranger stood up and nodded farewell.
Haney watched the small but wiry man slip out the door quickly and silently, and felt relieved to see that nobody else seemed to notice his departure.

Phil decided to stay a little longer, and as time passed it seemed as if the strange little man had never been there, but for the other glass on the table.
Some time before midnight he returned to his apartment and hit the sack, putting the whole incident out of mind before he fell asleep.

The next day, Sunday, the hangover reminded Haney where he had been the night before.
The hangover in turn reminded him of his conversation with the weirdy, and he groaned.
He went for more aspirin later in the day, and passed the surly landlord on the way -- he was still alive and scowling as usual, as if tenants were a burden in his life.
Phil shrugged and ignored him.

He went back to work Monday.
By Wednesday the landlord was still alive.
Of course On Thursday, Haney mailed the monthly check for separate maintenance to his wife Lolly, and wished the stranger could do something about her

Coming home from work, he was startled to see a police car parked in front of the apartment building.
Inside the lobby, people were standing around, talking excitedly.
His spine crawled with a foreboding premonition as he asked one of his fellow tenants what had happened.

The landlord had died.
Late that afternoon, it seemed, he had fallen off the roof while on some obscure errand or inspection.
He had apparently been alone.
Nobody witnessed the fall -- just the sickening impact when his body smashed on the pavement just outside the basement delivery entrance.

Haney hoped that nobody noticed his sudden pallor, as he felt the blood drain from his cheeks.
He muttered something about how terrible it was, and walked with deliberate slowness to the elevator.
Once inside his apartment, he poured a drink with trembling hands and flopped limply in a chair.

After a while he began to feel better about it, especially when no one bothered to ask any questions.
But after all, why should they?
Still later, he finally convinced himself that it was an accident -- just a coincidence.
The stranger really had nothing to do with it, of course

Haney went to bed, happy that at least he was rid of that lousy landlord.
After all, the man had no family, so no one suffered, and everybody was better off for it.
Really, he said to himself, nobody kills a man just as a favor!

So you thought I didn't mean what I said.
The stranger's eyes were large and sad, as if Phil Haney had hurt his feelings.
It was like a recurrent, annoying dream, but now the dream was beginning to take on overtones of a nightmare.

However, Haney knew it was not a dream.
He might be very tight, but he knew where he was.
It was the same bar, and it was two weeks later -- Saturday night, when he had an excuse to drink heavier than usual.

He had been sitting in the usual corner at the little table, as far as possible from any talkative, friendly lushes.
He was enjoying the weekly ritual of washing down his pet grievance with bourbon slightly moistened with water.
This favorite grievance was not the landlord.
He had already quite forgotten about him.
In fact, he had only mentioned him on the spur of the moment.
His real grievance was Lolly.

Toward the end of his fourth hairy highball, while he was moodily making wet rings on the table-top with the bottom of the glass, he became aware that he was not alone.
He looked up with bloodshot eyes and beheld the stranger sitting across the table, smiling a secret smile at him, as if they were fellow conspirators.
He hadn't even noticed -- what was his name?
Pete?
-- he hadn't seen him sit down.
The man was uncanny, like a shadow, and made as much noise as a shadow.

Haney felt like shrinking out of sight, but he was already trapped in the corner with the wiry, dark little man.
He began to wish that he hadn't shouted that other evening when the truck bore down through the crossing.
Was he going to be saddled from now on with a creep for a bar-buddy?
He'd have to start going to some of the other places again.

In a low voice, almost whispering, the man had asked Phil if he was happy with the way the landlord had been taken off his back.
He made the mistake of answering in an offhand way, and instantly realized that his skepticism must have showed in his face or voice.

Pete frowned slightly, then became sad and moody.
Haney didn't want to encourage his company, but felt he ought to buy him a drink anyhow, to prevent possible trouble.
But there was no trouble.
The guy sulked over his drink, obviously upset by Haney's lack of appreciation.

To break the uncomfortable silence, Haney began to talk.
In time, and two drinks later, he was complaining bitterly about his wife, He was on the subject for ten minutes or so when he noticed the renewed interest in his listener -- it showed in the alert face and the suddenly bright eyes.

When he paused to moisten his throat, the stranger broke in.
"But why pay her bills?
If she runs around with other men, and if you hate her as you say, why not just divorce her"?

Haney scowled.
"That bitch would love a divorce", he growled.
"Then she'd get half of everything I have.
Community property deal -- you know.
I'd have to sell out my business to pay her off with her share.
She can drop dead"!

Pete nodded understandingly.
"Oh yes.
Now I see.
You must understand, I haven't been in this state too long.
I came out here to retire.
That's why I -- why I do a free job now and then.
You should have told me about her before".

Haney felt a twinge of annoyance when he heard the now familiar line again.
Then a wild thought ran circles through his clouded brain.
Suppose -- just suppose this guy was really what he said he was!
A retired professional killer If he was just a nut, no harm was done.
But if he was the real thing, he could do something about Lolly.
He felt very cunning, very proud of himself as he played on the other man's soft spot.

"No offense intended", he said gently.
"But it's just that -- well, you know.
The cops didn't suspect a thing, and I thought it was a coincidence.
After all, I didn't know you, Pete.
It could have been an accident".
He shrugged casually.
"But if you say you managed it" The stranger was hooked.
His eyes burned feverishly.
"Yes, yes", he muttered impatiently.
"Of course it looked like an accident.
I always work it that way -- and always at a time when the customer has an alibi.
Let me prove it, Phil.
I think I can manage one more favor for you".
He waited eagerly.

Haney swished the liquor in the bottom of his glass.