Hamilton, Donald - Novel 02 (7 page)

 
          
He
took a long breath and, walking cautiously around them, suddenly wrapped his
arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides, feeling her slight body writhe
and twist against him. The tall man stepped back. His chest was heaving and his
close-set blue eyes had a bright unpleasant shine.

 
          
“Cut
it out, Miss Nicholson,” Emmett said, panting. It seemed idiotic to call her
Miss while wrestling with her. “Damn it, stop it!” he snapped. She became
still.

 
          
The
sheriff stepped forward abruptly and slapped her viciously across the face,
right hand and left hand. Emmett felt the slender body he had not yet released
become rigid against him. He let it go abruptly, steadying the girl as she
swayed. “Listen!” he said.

 
          
“You
mind your own business, Mister.”

 
          
The
tall man licked the blood from a scratch on his hand. There was sweat on his
face, and an intent look of preoccupation as he studied the girl, moving his
tongue slowly along his thin mouth. The damn little fool, Emmett thought
bitterly, after what she’d been through over there you’d think she’d have more
sense. He put himself in front of her without looking at her. He watched the
man come forward and made certain plans, on a purely theoretical basis. He had
not fought with, or struck, another human being since he was sixteen years old.
The man outweighed him by well over fifty pounds and was at least four inches
taller. He felt his stomach as a tight knot of nausea just below his ribs.

 
          
“Look,”
he said weakly. “Look, Sheriff, Miss Nicholson’s been sick. She lost her head.
She didn’t mean…”

 
          
Then
the man was reaching for his shoulder to sweep him aside, and he moved forward
inside the long arm and felt the other hand strike him a jarring blow in the
chest; and he was inside that, too, his arms wrapped around the other’s body.
He brought his knee up with all the strength that was in him. With the jolt he
felt the larger man’s body contract as if the whole body were a muscle in
spasm; he felt himself released. He stepped back, startled at what he had
accomplished, and saw the sheriff bend over and grab at himself, groaning, and
sit down on the sidewalk, doubled over.

 
          
The
girl was leaning against a lamp post beneath a no parking sign, her hair wild
about her face. Emmett grabbed her; she shied like a horse, stepping off the
curb rather than pass close to the man on the sidewalk; then they were running
back to the car. The boy the sheriff had called Bud was coming out of the alley
beside the courthouse. He stopped and stood uncertainly, watching them throw
themselves into the convertible; then ran toward the sheriff who was still sitting
there, still holding himself where it hurt.

 
          
Outside
the town, the green countryside seemed to have taken on a nightmarish quality
under the bright sun; the gravel roads, at sixty-five, seemed to twist and turn
with deliberate viciousness, trying to trick the hurtling car into the ditch.
Presently the girl moved.

 
          
“Please,”
she whispered. “Please stop. I…”

 
          
He
glanced at her. She was lying back against the cushion beside him. Her face was
gray and shiny. He returned his attention to the road, where it was needed.

 
          
“Listen,”
he said. “We’ve got to get out of this county. If that ape catches us…”

 
          
“Please!”
she gasped. “I’ve got to… I’m
going to…” She sat up abruptly.

 
          
A
wooden bridge rushed towards them. He saw a track lead off to the right along
the cottonwoods bordering the creek, and wrenched at the wheel. The springs of
the car clashed as they bounced on the sagging boards spanning the ditch; then
they were lurching and pounding across an open field. He saw brown water
gleaming in the sunshine through the cottonwoods to the left. The creek made a
sharp turn south and the track followed it, the cottonwoods concealing it from
the road. He braked and pulled up the emergency. The girl was fumbling with the
door handle. He worked it for her and she stumbled out; she almost fell and he
had to hold her, supporting her while she vomited. Then he helped her back into
the car and gave her his handkerchief. She sat quite still with the
handkerchief to her mouth.

 
          
After
a long time she stirred. “Please,” she whispered. “My shoe…” She did not look
at him.

 
          
He
took the shoe off. She found some cleansing tissue in the glove compartment and
he wiped the black suede clean and slid the shoe back on her foot. Then he
walked around the car and got behind the wheel and drove a hundred yards down
the track away from the mess on the ground. He switched off the engine and put
his forehead against his arms folded over the steering wheel.
How the hell did I get into this?
he
asked himself.

 
          
Presently
he lifted his head and opened the door beside him and got out, started away
from the car, returned and, with a glance at the girl, took the keys from the
ignition and put them into his pocket. Then he walked slowly along the
cottonwoods in the broiling sunshine. The track went on, winding through the
foot-high prairie grass, finally, in the far distance, climbing up the rise
away from the creek to end at a shabby farm house. There was a silo attached to
the barn, a windmill, and a few scrawny poplars grew around the buildings. He
stopped, turned, and walked slowly back toward the sand-colored convertible,
shiny and conspicuous in the sunlight.

 
          
If
they doubled in their tracks now, he thought, if they ran back into the town
and put the car into the Ford garage—there was always a Ford garage—to be
overhauled, perhaps, and then caught a train or bus… His mind started to work
on it. But there might be an interminable wait. He remembered that it was
Sunday. And it was no good anyway. He was trying to be clever and cunning. He
was trying to outwit another man at his own specialty. He would wind up looking
just as silly as Sheriff Patman would look trying to run a Grignard synthesis
in his kitchen sink.

 
          
If he catches me, he’ll take me apart,
Emmett thought.
If he catches me he’ll kill
me with his bare hands.
There was not a doubt in his mind as to what would
happen if the freckled sheriff caught him. Somehow he knew with utter certainty
how a man like that thought and felt with respect to certain fundamentals, of
which being kneed in the groin was definitely one.

 
          
He
saw the girl get out of the car and come toward him. Two of the three buttons
of her jacket had come unfastened, and the thin satin blouse spilled out
through the gap. Her hair was no tidier than it had been, and one of her
stockings was wrinkled down her leg.

 
          
“Hadn’t
we better?—” She stopped in front of him.

 
          
He
stared at her dispassionately, pleased at her dishevelment because he hated
her. After a little she glanced down at herself, flushed, and started to tuck
and brush and pat herself back to a show of respectability.

 
          
She
stopped and looked up at him again. “Don’t let them… I couldn’t stand to be put
in a cell. If they put me in a cell, I’ll kill myself.”

 
          
He
took a step forward and seized her by the shoulders and shook her just once.
The hair that she had tucked back slipped forward again, almost covering her
left eye. She looked a little crazy, staring up at him through the veil of
light tangled hair.

 
          
He
said, “As soon as I’m out of this you can go right back to the booby-hatch you
came from. And you can eat all the seconal you like. I’ll even make up a
special batch, candy-coated, from me to you. But in the meantime, save your
symptoms for Dr. Kaufman. Don’t throw any fits and don’t have hysterics and don’t
talk silly about killing yourself. You have no idea what a pleasure it would be
to finish knocking your ears down.”

 
          
He
walked past her, leaving her standing there, and went to the car, and took the
roadmaps from the glove compartment. He was aware of her coming up behind him.

 
          
“This
country’s fixed nice for people who want to go east and west,” he said. “But
you’ve practically got to break trail to get north and south.” He jerked his
head. “Get in.”

 
          
She
got into the car. He noticed absently that she was crying without sound. The
tears ran down her cheeks and spotted her blouse and the lapels of her
gabardine jacket. It did not affect him one way or the other. He was thinking
of what it would mean to his life to be arrested and tried for resisting an officer
of the law, even if he should escape without a beating. In one moment you could
wreck your life and your career, merely because you had let yourself yield to
an impulse and stupid chivalry. He started around the car, but stopped, turning
back to the girl.

 
          
“Where’s
that jack handle?”

 
          
“You
threw it… in back, I think…”

 
          
“Move
over.” He groped on the floor behind her and found it and looked from it to
her. He walked to the rear of the car, opened the trunk, and threw the handle
clattering inside; then closed the trunk, got behind the wheel, turned the car
around, and, back on the gravel road, headed south. “Why did you hide the jack
handle?”

 
          
“It
won’t do me any good if he catches us,” Emmett said. “But I’m not taking any
chances of your getting the bright idea that you might like to be alone. You
might as well get used to the thought that I’m going to be right beside you
until I can figure out—”

 
          
“Do
you think
I’d…?”
Her voice trailed
off, shocked and rather frightened.

 
          
“Nicholson,”
he said, watching the road, “by me, you’re the great unknown. After that
exhibition back there, I’m not taking any chances on what you might do, not
any.”

 
          
“Don’t
you understand what being put into a cell…?” She glanced at him. “Don’t you
understand? I don’t know anything about it. I don’t even know who’s supposed to
have been killed.”

 
          
“That’s
all right,” he said. “We’ll talk about it later.”

 
          
“You’re
frightened,” she said sharply. “You’re frightened silly.”

 
          
He
glanced at her and grinned, feeling his lips slide back from his teeth. “Are
you just figuring that out?”

 
          
She
did not say anything.

 
          
He
said, “You’ve got no idea of how scared I am, Nicholson. No idea at all.”

 
          
She
said, “He can’t do anything. You were helping me. He didn’t have any right…”
She did not believe a word of it. She was just talking to hear herself talk.

 
          
He
did not take his eyes off the road. “You had it coming. What the hell did you
learn over there, anyway? If you haven’t got sense enough not to wrestle with a
guy like that. What did you want to run for, in the first place?”

 
          
“I
told you. I… suddenly I just couldn’t go into the place. It seemed just like
the place… where
they
had me…”

 
          
He
said, “That’s all right. I’ll listen to your war experiences some time when I’m
feeling respectful. Take a look behind. Can you see anything coming?”

 
          
She
turned in the seat. “No. There’s nothing.”

 
          
“If
he picks us up I’m going to give him a run for it. Get down on the floor if it
happens. He’ll probably shoot.”

 
          
“Aren’t
you—” She hesitated. “Aren’t you being a little silly, Mr. Emmett? This is the
United States
, you know.” She was again just talking to
hear herself say what she wanted to believe, hoping that he would reassure her.