Get a Load of This (5 page)

     Gerda took a quick step forward and struck Stella across her face. Stella fell back, her mouth open, but silent. “I said shut up,” Gerda said harshly. “Do you understand?”
     Making a terrific effort, Denny crawled on to his knees and then levered himself upright. He stood holding on to the back of a chair, making a sobbing noise in his throat. “Help me, Stella,” he gasped. “Don't let me die, Stella—help me.”
     He put his hand on the knife and tried to pull it out, but the sudden wave of pain was too much, and he fell on to his knees.
     Stella scrambled off the settee and ran out of the room. She came back a moment later with a towel. “Here,” she said frantically to Gerda, “stop him bleeding.”
     Gerda snatched the towel from her savagely and went over to Denny. She took hold of the hilt of the knife and jerked it out of the wound. Denny gave a high-pitched cry like the whinnying of a horse. Blood welled out of him in a scarlet stream. He fell forward on his face and clawed at the stained carpet. He writhed for a moment, then relaxed limply. Blood continued to gush from the wound until eventually it ceased.
     The two girls stood watching him. Stella, in horror, unable to move or to take her eyes from him, and Gerda hard, inscrutable and cold.
     She said: “He's dead now. You'd better go into the kitchen.”
     Stella ran to her. “You mustn't. I know what you're going to do. You're going to take that money. You killed him for it, didn't you?”
     “It's no use to him now,” Gerda said. “Go into the other room, or I shall be angry with you.”
     Stella hid her face in her hands and stumbled out of the room. The noise of the hurricane rose to a terrific crescendo as she slammed the door behind her.
     Gerda didn't hesitate. She stepped round Denny very carefully, avoiding the blood on the carpet, and pulled the wallet from his hip pocket. She took the eight-thousand bills and the rest of the small notes and put the wallet back in his pocket. She stood for a moment looking at the notes, then she closed her fingers over them tightly and heaved a great sigh. At last, she thought, I am free. Nothing matters now. I can live as I want to live. She didn't think of the dead man for one moment.
     She found Stella in the kitchen, sobbing quietly and shivering with shock. She took no notice of her but began to dress in her half-dried clothes. She put the roll of notes in her trouser pocket, pulled on her damp black sweater with a little grimace and then turned her attention to Stella.
     “Get dressed at once,” she said. “Stop that snivelling; it won't get you anywhere.”
     Stella took no notice of her, and Gerda, losing patience, jerked her out of her chair and shook her.
     “Get dressed, you fool!” she shouted. “Do you hear?”
     Stella looked at her blankly and began to wring her hands.
     Gerda pulled off her wrap and began pushing her into her clothes. Stella stood quite still, sobbing the whole time like an hysterical child, and let Gerda dress her. When at last she was ready, Gerda shook her again, but she could see that Stella was going to be utterly useless to help her in the work she had to do.
     She pushed Stella into the chair again. “Stay here,” she said. “And don't move until I come for you.”
     She went out and opened the front door. The rain still came down heavily, but the wind had dropped somewhat. She ventured out and found that she could walk without much difficulty.
     She went back to the house and collected Denny's clothes. She took them and the suit-case to the car. Then, picking up a large rug from the back seat, she went back to the lounge. She dropped the rug over Denny, rolled him into it and then dragged him out of the house into the pouring rain. She opened the back door of the Lincoln and dragged him into the car. It took her a long time, but eventually she did it.
     She was wet through and her clothes stuck to her body, as if they were painted on her. She was feeling completely exhausted after the struggle to get Denny into the car, and she poured herself out a stiff shot of whisky. She felt better for that.
     So far so good, she told herself, looking round the disordered room. She dare not leave it like that. There was only one quick way to destroy that sort of evidence. She remembered seeing a spare can of gasoline on the running-board of the Lincoln and she went out and got it. She left the can in the lounge and walked into the kitchen.
     Stella was still sitting where she had left her. She had stopped crying, but her limbs continued to shiver and tremble.
     “We're getting out of here,” Gerda said. “Come on, pull yourself together for God's sake.”
     Stella gave a little shudder at the sound of her voice. “Go away,” she said, “I don't ever want to see you again. Oh, God, whatever shall I do? Look what you've got me into.”
     Gerda stood very still. “What do you mean?” she said softly. “You're to blame as much as I.”
     Stella sprang to her feet. She looked a little insane. “I knew you'd say that,” she screamed. “But I didn't kill him. I never wanted to kill him. I didn't want him to make love to me—you made me! Do you hear? You made me!”
     Gerda said: “Pull yourself together. If you want to get away with this you've got to use your head and help me.”
     “Leave me—go away! He said you were bad, and I didn't believe him. He warned me against you. Oh, how could you do such a thing?” She buried her head in her arms and began sobbing again wildly.
     A sudden expression crossed Gerda's face, making her look old and ugly. She said: “Don't you see it was as much for you as for me? We can be rich now, Stella. We won't have to pinch and scrape any more. You won't have to lie with any more men. We've got all that behind us. Isn't that worth something?”
     “How can you talk like that?” Stella demanded, confronting her. “Does his death mean nothing to you? Are you so hard and callous that you're not frightened by the awful thing you've done?”
     Gerda shrugged. “Oh, very well,” she said. “What shall we do? Call the cops?”
     Stella beat on the table with her fists. “There's nothing we can do,” she cried. “We can't bring him back. You've finished us both!”
     “I've got him in the car,” Gerda said. “We can dump him and the car in the river. It is very deep. He may never be found. Then we can get another ride into Miami. With the money, we'll be safe and we'll be happy.”
     Stella stopped crying and stared at her. “Is that what you're going to do?” she said. “What about the house and the bloodstains? Do you think we can get rid of them?”
     “I'm going to set fire to the house. They'll think it's the lightning.”
     Stella went very white. “Then he was right. You are utterly bad. You have no feelings for anything but yourself. Go on, do what you've planned. I can't stop you. But I'm not going with you. I'd rather go on the streets than go with you. I don't ever want to see you again.”
     Gerda looked at her thoughtfully. “But I couldn't let you do that,” she said reasonably, “you might talk. I'm very fond of you, Stella, but you mustn't try my patience too much.” Her voice was toneless and her eyes shone strangely.
     Stella shook her head. “I shan't talk,” she said; “you needn't be afraid of that. I'm going right out of this house and I hope I shall never see you again.”
     She had recovered from her hysteria now that she had a fixed purpose, and her one thought was to get as far away from Gerda as possible.
     Gerda held out her hand. “Because we have been happy, won't you shake hands? I know I've done wrong, but ...” She shook her head. “Oh, what's the good? Come, Stella, say good-bye and I wish you good luck.”
     Stella hesitated and then came back to her. “God help you, Gerda,” she said. “There is no one else who can.”
     Two hands reached out and fastened themselves like steel hooks on her throat. “You stupid mouthing little fool,” Gerda said, forcing Stella's head back. “Do you think I'd trust you? Do you think I'd have a moment's rest knowing that you were at large to tell the first man who made love to you? What do I care if you aren't with me any more? There are a hundred girls like you to share my eight thousand dollars. You can go with Denny. Do you hear? You can go with him.”
     She had forced Stella on the floor and was kneeling over her. Stella struggled wildly, but she had no strength to get free. Gerda held her vice-like grip, one of her knees pressing against Stella's chest, holding her flat.
     Because she hadn't got a proper hold, it took her a long time to kill Stella, but at last Gerda got to her feet, flexing her aching fingers. She felt a little wave of pity surge up in her when she looked down at Stella, but only for a moment. The wind had ceased to howl and every moment was precious.
     She picked the dead girl up in her arms and almost ran out to the car. She dumped her in on top of Denny and slammed the door shut, then she ran back to the house. A few minutes were enough to splash the rooms with the gasoline, and when she came out smoke began drifting through the window-shutters. She drove the car to the end of the road and then looked back. The house was burning fiercely. Long flames were licking through the roof and a column of black smoke drifted in the wind towards her. She was satisfied that the place would be completely gutted in a very short time, and she drove on to the highway.
     The rain still fell, but the wind had died down. Far away she could see the lights of Fort Pierce. She thought even if the worst came to the worst, she could walk there.
     The Indian River glowed in the darkness as she drove the car, and finally selecting the most favourable spot she turned the car so that it faced the river. She got out and looked up and down the long straight highway, but she could see no signs of an approaching car. She didn't once look in the back of the Lincoln and, as she adjusted the hand throttle, she felt herself shivering. She stood on the running-board and adjusted the gear, then, as the car began to bump forward, she dropped off and stood watching.
     The car seemed to hesitate just as it reached the steep bank, then went crashing over into the leaping, flaming river. She ran forward and could see it plunging down, leaving behind it a great sheet of flame. It looked to her that it had gone into a furious furnace rather than the river, and she took two steps back with a feeling that it had gone for ever.
     It was almost an hour later when she heard a truck coming along the road. She had been walking steadily for that time and she was feeling cold and nervy. The rain had stopped, but her clothes were still wet, clinging to her as she moved. She stood in the middle of the road and waved as the truck rattled towards her. It pulled up with a squeal of brakes and she ran up to it.
     A dim outline of a man leant down from the cab and peered at her.
     “Fort Pierce?” she asked, trying to see what he looked like. “Can you give me a lift?”
     He pushed open the off door of the cab. “Sure,” he said, “come on up.”
     She climbed in beside him and he started the cab rolling. He was very big and the shadowy outline of his face gave him the appearance of an ape. He, too, was regarding her under the broken peak of his cap.
     “Where you come from, baby?” he asked in a hoarse, snuffling voice.
     “Daytona Beach,” Gerda returned, rubbing her arms and shivering. “Got caught in the hurricane, sheltered for some time and then decided to walk on.”
     “Huh,” the man said, spitting out of the cab. “Saw a house on fire way back. I guess it must have been the lightning.”
     Gerda didn't say anything. She was feeling tired and would have liked to have gone to sleep.
     “Ain't you scared being around in a spot like this on your own?” he asked her.
     Gerda stiffened. “I don't scare easily,” she said coldly. “The last guy who tried to get fresh with me is still wondering what hit him.”
     “Sorta tough, huh?” the driver said with a hoarse laugh. “Well, I like a dame to be tough.”
     “That's nice for me, isn't it?” Gerda rejoined sarcastically.
     The driver laughed again. “I guess before we go any further I'll collect your fare,” he said, stopping the truck with a jerk. “Let's get in the back for a while.”
     Gerda shook her head. “Get goin',” she said sharply. “I don't wear that sort of thing. I'll give you a fin when we reach Fort Pierce. That's all you'll get.”
     The driver screwed round in his seat. “Yeah?” he said, his voice suddenly menacing. “I ain't used to that sort of yappin' from a dame. Get into the back of the truck quick, before I get rough. You're taking what I'm goin' to give you, an' you goin' to like it.”
     Gerda opened the door. “If that's the way you feel about it,” she said, her eyes hard and calculating. She slid into the road. The moment her feet touched the wet tarmac she made a dart towards the thick citrus groves. Before she reached them a terrific jar struck her just above her knees and she went down in a heap. Her breath was knocked out of her body, and for several she minutes was powerless to move. She felt herself being picked up, carried a few steps and then banged down again.
     “How do you like that?” the driver asked, kneeling over her.
     She realized that she was in the back of the truck and she lay very still, waiting to recover her breath.
     “Now, baby, do you play or must I rough you around until you do?” the driver asked.
     Gerda said breathlessly: “O.K., you big caveman, let me get up an' fix myself.”
     The driver moved away from her with his back to the entrance of the truck, so that she couldn't pass him. “Not so tough, huh?” he said. “I tell you, baby, I've gotta way with dames.”
     Gerda got slowly to her feet. Her body ached from her fall. She poised herself, and then with all her strength she swung over a punch aimed at the driver's jaw.
     The driver had been expecting it and shifted his head a trifle. Gerda's fist scraped his ear and he countered with a heavy slap across her face with his open hand. The blow stunned her and she fell on her knees, suddenly frightened. She knew that this guy was too strong and smart for her.
     The driver knelt down beside her and smacked her face several times. The pain made tears run down her face and she tried to protect herself with upraised arms. All he did was to poke her with his forefinger very hard in her belly which brought her hands down quickly, and then he went on slapping her.
     “Had enough?” he asked after a while.
     Gerda was too dazed to speak. She lay limply waiting, shudderingly, for him to take her. She felt his hands on her clothes, but she hadn't the strength to resist him. A red haze hung before her eyes and her face and head seemed to be on fire.