Recoil (11 page)

I
dropped the glass and stood up, my hands raised. I turned around. She was grinning that cute crinkled grin, and her brown eyes were dancing with gay good humor.

“Whatsa matter, baby? Aren’t ums glad to see mama?”

“God!” I said “God Almighty!”

“Poor, poor baby. So sweet and trusting and obliging with Madeline…and all for a little petting. He didn’t even get to sleep with her.”

“No,” I said. “I didn’t. I’ve got that to be thankful for at least.”

“Tsk, tsk,” she said, grinning again. “Sour grapes, don’t you think so, Bill?”

“Very sour,” said Hardesty.

He had risen from the floor and kicked the glass into the fireplace, and now he moved over to her side and put his arm around her.

She leaned against him, her crisp brown hair brushing against his neck. She took his hand into one of hers and raised it up and pressed it tightly against her breast.

“There,” she said, comfortably. “Hold the gun, will you, Bill? It makes my li’l fingers tired.”

Hardesty took the gun and dropped it into his pocket. “We won’t need that,” he said. “Pat’s ready to listen to reason, aren’t you, Pat?”

“Reason,” I said. “Reason.”

“I’m sorry, boy,” he said, and he sounded like he meant it. “Some things you can only do the hard way and this is one of them. You’ve never had a chance. You’ve been licked from the start.”

“So I see,” I said, dully.

“Doc knows you’ve been seeing Madeline. You were supposed to see her. You were bound to see that something was wrong, to be disturbed about it. It was Madeline’s job to keep you from taking any action. Let you take it out in talk, more or less.”

“Never mind,” I said. “I understand. I guess I’ve understood from the beginning. I just wouldn’t let myself believe it was true.”

Madeline’s grin faded. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Pat. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I told you to see me before you did anything, and you promised you would. If you’d kept that promise, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I don’t think you’d better say any more,” I said. “I’m afraid if you keep on talking to me I’ll try to kill you, and nothing will stop me but being killed. You don’t want that. Yet. It would spoil your plans.”

Hardesty shook his head, sympathetically. “We are sorry, Pat, believe me. I hope there’s no hard feelings?”

“Over her?” I laughed shortly. “All right, I’m going now.”

“Like another drink first?”

“No,” I said and I started for the door.

Madeline’s voice stopped me.

“Wait, Pat! No, wait, this is business!…Bill, maybe we should tell him, now. That car, I’m worried about that. Doc shouldn’t have bought it so soon.”

“You mean the one for—for Pat’s birthday?” Hardesty made a gesture of disgust. “Of course, he shouldn’t have, but you know Doc. He’s always got to be a jump ahead of everyone else, even if he jumps in the ditch.”

“But this is different. He wouldn’t go in for gestures at a time like this. I’ve got a feeling that—”

“Nonsense. This Arnholt deal breaks tomorrow night. It’ll take him at least a month to wind it up, follow it through the legislature and collect. How could he—he—”

Their eyes met, and he jerked his head at me. She nodded slowly.

“I suppose you’re right. We’ll be in a terrible spot if you aren’t.”

“Of course, I’m right,” said Hardesty. “Pat, I don’t want to seem discourteous, but perhaps…”

I heard a suppressed laugh as I went out the door.

…I drank a great deal of whiskey that night, and the more I drank the more sober I became.

Around midnight, when the stuff was virtually running out my ears, I went into the bathroom and vomited for what seemed like hours. When it was all out of me, I started drinking again and I kept on until I fell asleep.

In this fine house I went to bed drunk, with my clothes on, for the first time in my life.

A
long hot and cold shower and a close shave did wonders toward pulling me together. Afterwards, I had one short drink and got the morning paper from beneath the door.

Eggleston’s picture and a half-column story about him were on the front page. Since the dead man had not been robbed, it was believed that:

He wouldn’t be unable to explain very long. Not if he was only half as bright as this story made him out to be. This was Capital City. There were hundreds of cars here with official license plates, the white plates with the square S at each end. That cop last night had only got a glimpse of my plates, and he’d put them down as belonging to some other state. But he wouldn’t be long in changing his mind, having it changed by Det. Lt. Hastings.

I got the wallet out of my trousers and counted the money it contained. Only nine dollars, but there was a hundred and fifty more in the drawer of my writing desk. Doc had said it would be right there until he could get time to go to the bank with me.

A hundred and fifty-nine dollars. I could travel quite a ways on that if I had to.

I took a look at the clock, scooped up the clothes I had worn the night before and put them in the closet. The elevator operator had said I was wearing a dark suit—it was blue—black shoes—they were tan—and a gray hat—correct. I laid out a brown hat, a light gray suit, and brown-and-white oxfords.

I finished dressing and picked up the paper again. Another front-page picture and story caught my eye:

So that Doc’s crowd could make one last raid on the treasury.

I tossed the paper aside, and got up to help Henry with the breakfast tray. I told him to take everything back but the toast, orange juice and coffee. He fidgeted around the table, uncomfortably, doing everything twice.

“Something on your mind, Henry?” I asked.

“Well—” he hesitated, “you know that money you had, Mr. Cosgrove? There in your desk?”

I nodded. “What about it?”

“Well…I don’t know whether you noticed yet or not, but it’s gone. Dr. Luther took it. I thought I’d better tell you in case it slips his mind, since Willie and I are in your room so much.”

“I understand,” I said. “Did the doctor say why he was taking it?”

“No, sir. He just came in while I was cleaning up yesterday and got it.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for telling me, Henry. I won’t mention that you said anything.”

He gave me a grateful smile and left. I sat down at the table and munched at a piece of toast.

Nine dollars. Nine instead of a hundred and fifty-nine.

Sipping my suddenly tasteless orange juice, I knew what his explanation would be. Without looking around, I knew something else: that he was there in the room with me.

I don’t know whether Henry had left the door ajar, or whether he had opened it very quietly. But he was standing there, leaning against the wall, staring at me reflectively through the thick-rimmed glasses.

I poured coffee, took a swallow of it, and half-turned my head. “Good morning, Doc. Coffee?”

“Good morning, Pat,” he said, tiredly. “No, thanks.”

He crossed to the bed and sat down. I turned my back again and went on with my breakfast, listening to the rattle of the newspaper.

“Pat.”

“Yes, Doc?”

“I took the money you had in your desk. I thought we’d get that bank account opened for you.”

“Fine,” I said.

“I won’t be able to get down today, though. Maybe we can make it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” I repeated. For I had expected that, and what else was there for me to say?

The paper rattled again, and there was another long silence. I drank my coffee and waited. Waited for him to read the story about Eggleston. To re-read it, perhaps, and then stare at me, looking at my hair and my clothes and remembering that I had been out late last night.

His voice was overly casual when he spoke.

“That’s a nice-looking outfit you have on, Pat. I don’t believe I’ve seen you in it before.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I thought I’d put on something light with the weather getting so warm.”

I heard him light a cigarette. I even heard his slow meditative puffing.

“Why don’t you drive your own car today, Pat? The battery’s apt to run down if you don’t drive it once in a while.”

“I think I will,” I said.

“You can put the state car here in the garage.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.”

He didn’t speak again until I was drinking the last of my coffee, coffee that I didn’t want. “By the way, Pat—that group I’m having in tonight. I’d like to use your room for them, if you don’t mind.”

“Anything you say, Doc,” I said.

“We’ll have to shift the furniture around a bit. Bring in some other chairs, and so on. If you can get your dinner outside it’ll give us a chance to get everything ready before our guests get here.”

“I’ll be glad to help,” I said.

“No, no. Henry and Willie can take care of everything. Just drop in at eight-thirty, or a few minutes before, rather. We’ll be listening to a radio program, and I don’t want anyone coming in after it’s started.”

I nodded and turned around.

He got up from the bed and sauntered toward the door, his eyes shifting so that they avoided mine.

“It’s a tough world isn’t it, Pat?” he said, in a tired flat voice.

“I used to think so,” I said, “until you came along.”

“What do you mean by that?” He flicked me a sharp glance.

“I was referring to all you’d done for me,” I said. “The clothes, the job, the car, the home, the—well, the friendship you’ve given me. Unselfishly. Simply because I needed help. How can I feel it’s a bad world as long as there’s a man like you in it?”

A slow flush spread over his face. His lower lip drew back from beneath the protruding teeth.

“See you tonight, Pat,” he said abruptly, and the door slammed behind him.

I
called Rita Kennedy’s office.

I heard the sharp intake of her breath as I identified myself.

“I’ve got some more of the forms ready,” I said. “I wonder if you’d like me to bring them in today?”

“I—don’t bother,” she said. “Just forget about them. And leave your car at home. We’ll send someone to pick it up in a day or two.”

“Oh,” I said. “You mean I’m fired?”

“I’m sorry, Pat. Your check will be drawn up as of the close of business last night. We’re unable to keep a man like you on the payroll. That…that isn’t any reflection on your work, you understand.”

I understood. There’d been inquiries already and Rita had answered them truthfully.
“A tall red-haired man? No, we have no one like that.”

“When will I receive the check?” I asked.

“It’ll be several days, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t wait on it.”

“I’m broke, Miss Kennedy,” I said.

“Broke!” she said. “Oh, good lord!” And then the concern went out of her voice and it was as clipped and curt as it had been at our first meeting. “That’s too bad, Pat. I’ve done all I can. Much more than I should have.”

“I know,” I said. “I appreciate it.”

“Don’t bother to thank me for it. Ever. I haven’t really done anything. I can’t be expected to remember everyone who ever worked for us.”

“Of course not,” I said. “Good-bye, Miss Kennedy.”

“Pat.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Why did you do it?”

“I didn’t. But I’ll never be able to convince anyone of the fact.”

“Did it have something to do with Doc?”

“Something,” I said. “But I don’t know what.”

There was a short disbelieving laugh, and then the click of the receiver. That ended me with Rita Kennedy. As far as she was concerned, I no longer existed.

It was too late, now, to turn to Myrtle Briscoe. I couldn’t go to her now, with a rap for murder hanging over me.

I drove downtown, cruising slowly past the building where Eggleston had had his offices. There wasn’t anything to see there, of course. It was just something to do, some way of killing part of the long day ahead of me. Perhaps the last day of freedom I’d have. If I’d had my way I’d have stayed at the house. But Doc had made it very clear that he didn’t want me there before tonight, and going back would mean bringing on a showdown. I was going to have to face one very soon, but there was no sense in jumping toward it. If Doc was certain that I was going to be washed up, he’d be the first man to throw a bucket of water. He’d feel that he had to, regardless of what his plans had been for me.

I turned the corner and idled the car up the street. I didn’t feel like seeing a show. I didn’t want to go to the library. I didn’t want a drink either, but I had to do something. I ran the car on a parking lot, waiting in it while the attendant parked another car.

He came hustling up to me, a big smile on his face. And then the smile froze, and I knew that that was the last place in town I should have come to.

“Yessir,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “How long you going to be, sir?”

“Just long enough to get a tire fixed,” I said. “You fix them, don’t you?”

“Well—uh—” He hesitated, staring at me.

“Well, how about it?” I said irritably. “I haven’t got all day.”

“Uh—” Some of the suspicion went out of his face and a flush of anger replaced it. “I can get it fixed for you, mister. You leave your car here, and I can have someone come and fix it.”

“Oh, hell,” I said. “I’ve got no time for that routine. Where’s a garage near here?”

“Y-you—you work for the state, mister?”

“Work for the state?” I snorted. “Would I be driving a wreck like this if I worked for the state? Now do you know where I can get a tire fixed or not?”

He shook his head. Not in answer to my question but to the one in his mind. I wasn’t the same guy; he wasn’t going to be a hero.

I said something under my breath about dumbbells, just loud enough for him to hear it.

A couple of cars drove in just then, and he didn’t have a chance to say anything more and I didn’t have to. He trotted off sullenly, and I drove away. Within the next ten minutes, I drove a good five miles away.

I picked a quiet residential street, brought the car down to a steady fifteen miles an hour, and turned the radio to catch the police calls. I drove and listened until noon, and nothing came over the air. They weren’t looking for me. Yet.

Around noon I stopped at a drive-in and had a hamburger and a bottle of beer in the car. The check brought my nine dollars down to less than eight-fifty. It also started me to thinking again about that one hundred and fifty that Doc had appropriated.

The more I thought about it the more certain I became that he’d taken the money to keep me from running away. He’d never intended to open any bank account for me and he didn’t now. And then something had happened, or was going to happen, that made it unsafe for me to have that money longer.

It couldn’t have anything to do with Eggleston, since he couldn’t have foreseen how I’d be involved in that. And the only thing impending was the Fanning Arnholt scheme. So, somehow, he must be intending to use me in that. I was going to be used, and not several weeks from now but tonight.

I grinned to myself, thinking of Madeline and Hardesty. This was going to spoil their plans. The thing was going to explode on them before they were ready for it, and they’d have to do their own dirty work, whatever it was, instead of dragging me in on it.

They weren’t going to like that. Not a bit. Hardesty in particular, with the secure and respectable position he held in the city, was going to hate being caught with his neck out. There’d be a blow-up between him and Doc and Madeline. I might get enough to clear myself of Eggleston’s murder.

I wondered how Doc was going to wind up the Arnholt scheme tonight, something that even I could see should take two or three weeks. And I remembered those rare out-of-character glimpses I’d had of him, as on my first night out of Sandstone, and I knew exactly how he was going to wind it up. I felt certain that this, if nothing else, would bring on a quarrel with Madeline and Hardesty.

Madeline…

I tried not to think about her. When I thought about her I hated myself because, well, I couldn’t hate her. I couldn’t no matter what she’d done or might do, and I knew I never could.

Slowly, the afternoon passed. I drove around until three and had more beer at another drive-in. And then I did more driving, still sticking to the residential streets, and around five o’clock I stopped at a neighborhood bar and restaurant.

I sat down at the end of the bar and had a ham sandwich, potato salad and coffee. It was a small, sidestreet place and I was the only customer. My ankles ached from the day’s almost steady driving. I decided to kill some of my remaining time there.

After I’d eaten I had a brandy and dropped a few nickels in the juke box. I rolled dice with the bartender for drinks and won once and lost twice. By seven o’clock I was pretty well relaxed; as relaxed as I could be under my circumstances.

And, then, the cop came in.

He was a big, lumbering fellow with a broad red face, and he had little round unblinking eyes. He came through the door slowly, twirling his club as though it were an extension of his fingers, and stopped at the front of the bar. He looked the place over, walls, ceiling, floor and fixtures; studying it as if he might be considering its purchase. Then, he lumbered down to us.

The bartender finished his roll and passed the cup to me. I picked it up, numb fingered, and the cop swung the club up, caught it, and pointed it over his shoulder.

“That your coupe out there?”

“Yes,” I said, easing my feet off the stool rungs. “It’s mine.”

“Buy it new?”

“No.”

“How long you had it?”

“Not very long,” I said.

He stared at me blank-faced. The club came down and began to twirl again.

“What’d you pay for it?”

“A hundred and seventy-five.”

“Who’d you buy it from?”

“Capital Car Sales.”

He caught the club under his arm, took a pencil from the side of his cap and a notebook from his hip pocket. He wrote in the book, his lips moving with the movement of his hand. He closed it, returned it to his hip and replaced the pencil in its clip.

“Been lookin’ for a good cheap coupe,” he said. “Think I’ll go down and see them people.”

And then he turned and lumbered out, the club spinning and twirling at his finger tips.

I had two more drinks, stiff ones, and got out of there.

At eight-fifteen I turned up the long wooded drive which led to Dr. Luther’s house.

Three blocks from the house, a convertible was parked against the curb. I was swinging out to pass it when a woman stepped into the beam of my headlights and held up her arm.

Lila.

“Oh, Pat,” she said, as I stopped beside her. “I’m so glad you came along. I seem to be out of gas.”

“That’s too bad,” I said. “If you’ll steer your car, I’ll push it home for you.”

“Oh, that’s a lot of bother,” she said, and she opened the door of my car and climbed in. “Let’s just leave it here. I’ll send one of the boys back after it.”

I closed the door for her, but I didn’t drive on. She could have walked home in five minutes. Why wait for me? For obviously she had waited for me.

I turned and looked at her, and she smiled at me brightly in the darkness. “Well, Pat? Hadn’t we better be going?”

“Doc told you to wait there for me, Lila,” I said. “Why?”

“Now what are you talking about, Pat?” she laughed. “I told you I was out of gas.”

“Do you know what you’re doing, Lila? Or are you just running blind, doing as you’re told?”

She shook her head, not answering.

“Lila,” I said. “I think you’re pretty straight. I think you’d like to be straight. But you’re mixed up in something damned bad. If you keep on, the same thing that happened to Eggleston may happen to you.”

“Eggleston?” Her voice was puzzled. “Who’s he?”

“You know who he was. The private detective.”

“I don’t know anyone named Eggleston—any private detectives.”

“Don’t hand me that,” I said. “You had an appointment with him last night…and he was murdered.”

“Murdered?” she said blankly. “And I had an appointment with him? You’re joking, Pat!”

I grabbed her by the arms and started to shake her; and then I let go and slid under the wheel again.

“Yes,” I said, “I was joking. Now I’ll drive you home.”

“I really don’t know anything about it. Honest, I don’t.”

“No,” I nodded. “You don’t. Eggleston’s appointment was with Mrs. Luther. You’re not Mrs. Luther.”