It was a Thursday night and�I sat in the big chair by the radio with my feet on the hassock, the radio turned up so loud that it had a brazen metallic quality like a public-address system at a carnival. Burns and Allen and Eddie Cantor � they all screamed at me trying to make me laugh, trying to drive the fear and the hurt out of the small apartment. I kept the bottle of rye by the chair and drank from the bottle � gasping swallows that made my stomach turn and did nothing to slow the merry-go-round in my head. But instead of gay wooden horses on that merry-go-round, I kept thinking of the three of us � Todd Jain, which is myself, Billie, my wife � and the body of the stranger in the kitchen.
Maybe I should have known more about Billie. I came home from the wars and found her and decided in the space of a breath that she was what I wanted.
She had been singing in Laurie�s Old Cuba, and not singing very well � but good enough for me. Medium blonde, medium height, medium blue eyes � and a special sense of laughter. I got her to sit at my table, and right then we both knew how it was with us.
We were married a week later, and two weeks after that I went back to work in the Production Control Section of the Manufacturing Division of the Coralton Branch of Atchison Motors. She found us the white frame house in the Ridgemore section of Coralton and I bought it with the help of the G.I. bill.
Ninety bucks a week and a white frame house and a blonde wife and a lot of laughs. A good place to work and good chances of getting ahead. Everything was fine and mellow, like a violin background for an alto sax solo.
Billie wasn�t what you would call a determined housewife. Little rolls of fluff would collect on the hardwood floor under the bed � but what the hell. I picked up weight on her cooking and it was all like a long date � that first year. Every night a ritual. I�d put a stack of the good old records on the machine and we�d sit across the room on the couch with the lights low while they played softly. She�d sing with some of them, low and sweet, just for me. When the machine clicked off, I�d snap off the lights and we�d go to bed.
Now I sat, trying to laugh at Hope, and she was gone, my Billie, and there was a body in the kitchen, the crusting dark blood spreading across the green and grey linoleum that we had picked out.
I don�t know why I wanted laughs. I guess it was because I didn�t want to think about how little she had told me about herself. I have not exactly lived like the angels and I knew that once upon a time there had been a guy in her past. It is always better not to ask questions. You say to yourself and to her that the answers won�t bother you � and yet they do. They come back. And they hurt. Maybe she would have told me more if I had asked more questions...
So I was left alone in the house and I turned the radio on loud so that there would be voices in the house and I tried to fuzz my mind with the cheap rye and all I got was knots in my throat and an ache to see Billie that was like a pulled tooth.
I came home, like I always do. I knew we weren�t going anywhere that night, that Thursday night, so I ran the car right on into the garage and slid the garage doors down � from the outside. If I had gone in the back door as usual, I would have found the body sooner. But when I turned into the drive I had seen the white edge of an envelope sticking up out of the mailbox. The afternoon mail, or some kind of circular, I thought. Anyway, I walked around the yard and found out that it was a bill delivered through the mail. I figured that probably Billie just forgot about the mail. I opened the front door and walked in and shouted, �Billie! That man is home again.�
No answer. And my voice made a hollow, echoing sound. I waited and shouted, a bit louder, �Billie!� Again no answer.
I walked through the house. Into the kitchen.
I stood for a long time looking at the thing on the floor. I had never seen him before. He was a lean dark man, smallish, and I guessed that in life he had been very dapper. His hair was still greased down, undisturbed except for an oily lock that fell across his forehead. The kitchen knife had gone in on the left side of his throat, low. The point came out just under his right ear. He was on his back with a pool of blood under the back of his neck. His grey snap brim felt was right side up under the kitchen table. Somehow, the body was very flat against the floor, like something that had been deflated, something boneless. I got the silly idea that if his clothes were slit down the side, he would spread out across the linoleum, a pool of bluish-grey fluid. His bloodless lips were pulled back from very white teeth. His small black mustache was vital, bristly � the only live thing about him. I wondered about it growing after he was buried. His lids were almost shut and the part of the eyes that I could see glistened flatly.
It was the first time in my life that I had seen violent death. I�d spent two and a half years overseas without hearing a shot fired in anger.
I looked in every room, every closet, the cellar, the attic. I walked as quietly as I could in the empty house and I didn�t find Billie � living or dead. Somehow I knew that she wouldn�t be there. I knew it because the thing in the kitchen had hands and in one of the hands was a piece of figured blue material � and I knew that material. My hands had been pressed tight against it, and under my palms her smooth warm back under the fabric. I had always liked it because it was tight around her slim waist and flared over the flowing lines of her hips.
And a piece of the dress was clutched in his dead fingers.
Her purse was on the floor by the kitchen table. I emptied it out. Five dollars and seventy-five cents. Cigarets. Compact. Mirror. Keys. Driver�s license. Lipstick. Pencil. Grocery list.
I checked on her clothes. As far as I could see, they were all there. Her personal bankbook and the key to our safety deposit box were in the top left bureau drawer under her nylons.
I should have gone to the phone and called the police and sat tight, waiting for them to come, ready to answer their questions. Every minute you delay doing a thing like that makes it less possible. I got home at five-thirty. By seven-thirty it was too late. The picture was too clear in my mind. The stranger out of her past. The argument. Billie�s hand tight on the knife.
She�s a husky girl, my Billie. Good shoulders. Quick. The radio blared at my ear and, as I shut my eyes, I could see those good shoulders behind the blow, see the man fall, see Billie frightened, standing there. Then I could see her tear the door open and run out, turning as she went down the block to look back at the house.
Why hadn�t I found out more about her?
I picked up the bottle and swallowed the last inch and a half of it. It made me suddenly and violently ill. I made the bathroom in a stumbling run. Afterward, green and shaking, I peeled off my clothes and took a shower � ice cold. I rubbed myself pink on one of the big towels, put on fresh clothes and went back down stairs. A dry voice was telling me all about the U.N. I clicked the set off and stood in the vacant, echoing house.
�Todd,� I told myself, �get hold of yourself. Sure, your little picture has been blasted to hell and gone. But she�s your wife, boy. Somewhere, this minute, she�s afraid. She needs you. What are you? A fair weather husband?�
I knew that if I called the police at eleven something, they would keep hold of me until I could give a good explanation of why I had waited from five-thirty until after eleven to call them. And there was no good explanation. With the cops around my neck, I could do little for Billie.
I braced myself and went out into the dark kitchen. I pulled the shades before I clicked on the bright overhead light. I knelt beside him, careful to avoid a few scattered spots of blood. I bent over and looked closely at the black plastic handle of the knife. There were a few smears on it that could have been fingerprints. I reached toward it with my handkerchief and then paused. If they were Billie�s prints, I wanted to wipe them off. But suppose they belonged to someone else? Wiping them off would make it worse for Billie. And I had no way of telling who they belonged to. I left them.
My stomach turned over when I touched his slack body. I had to roll him onto his side to get at his hip pockets. He had a wallet. A cheap thing in black imitation leather. There was sixty something dollars in it, a poem, typed, torn with much handling, a guest card to something called the Chocolate Club in Chicago, live hundred miles away, with the name Robert Jones typed on it in red ink. Nothing else.
In his side pockets I found cigarets, a cheap lighter and a soiled handkerchief. In the bottom right pocket of his vest I found a crisp folded note. I looked at it stupidly. It said, �Todd Jain, 112 Ridgemore Road, Coralton, Ohio.� My name and address!
I checked the labels in his clothes. All purchased in Chicago. I squatted on my heels and tried to think. Finding my name on him made no sense until I realized that Billie was Mrs. Todd Jain. Sometimes you forget. Obviously, it was her address as well as mine � and it was Billie that the guy was interested in. But not interested any more. Not interested in anything any more. I glanced down at the two packets of matches I had found in his coat. One was from a Chicago restaurant. The other was from Laurie�s Old Cuba. Where Billie was singing when I met her.
I crammed the stuff back into his pockets and walked over and made certain that the kitchen door was locked, the key on the inside. I stepped around Robert Jones, clicked off the light and went upstairs.
I opened the bottom drawer of my bureau and found the gun. I won it in a poker game in Paris, along with two clips of ammunition. It�s a small automatic, a Czech Zbrojovka, Model 27, 7.65 millimeter. Since it was manufactured under Nazi rule, I hadn�t wanted to fire it, for fear of a malfunction, either through sabotage or faulty materials. This was something different. I chunked a clip into it, worked the slide to stick a shell into the firing chamber, and put the gun in my side pocket. It didn�t make much of a bulge.
I checked all the windows in the house, locking those that were unlocked, put on a coat and a hat and let myself out the front door, locking it after me.
Laurie�s Old Cuba is on Route 79, four miles from town. It is a joint, slightly better than average, and very profitable to Laurie, a thick, tough, careful man with a memory for names and faces. I was surrendering my hat and coat to the check girl when I felt a touch on my arm. I turned and Laurie, without the usual welcoming smile, said, �Walk ahead of me through the door beyond the bar.�
I couldn�t read anything in his face. I walked. It was his office, a small bare room with a desk covered with papers and a worn leather couch. I sat on the couch and he perched himself on the edge of the desk. I looked at him expectantly.
�Mr. Jain,� he said, his mouth tight, �you married yourself a nice little girl. I liked her and I don�t like many of the clucks they send me out here. She didn�t sing good, but she�s nice. All of a sudden, I don�t like you, Mr. Jain, and you know why.�
It was over my head. I said, �You seem to know all the answers. Talk some more until I catch up.�
He smirked at me. �Don�t know a thing, do you? The innocent husband! She came here to see me this afternoon at five o�clock. No coat, no hat. Her dress torn and her shoes about worn through. She wanted a hundred bucks to get out of town, no questions asked. She got it, and she got a dress out of wardrobe and a taxi to take her to the station. She was a sick looking chick. What would you think?�
Out of town. Away. Running away. I looked at him and l tried to smile but I knew what it must have looked like. I said, �When I left her at breakfast time, she was okay, Laurie. I came out here trying to find her.�
He studied my face for long seconds. At last he stuck his hand out and said, �Sorry, Jain. I�ve been sore at you all day and I guess I was wrong. What do you think�s the trouble?�
I knew but I couldn�t tell him. I couldn�t say, �Billie�s running because she knifed a guy in our kitchen.�
Instead, I said, �I don�t know, but I have a hunch it�s got something to do with a guy named Robert Jones from Chicago.�
�Never heard of him.�
I described him carefully and Laurie scratched his blunt chin with heavy fingers, staring into space. He said, �We get big crowds. Let�s ask Sam.�
He left me sitting there and came back in a few minutes with Sam, the head bartender. When I was half way through the description, Sam said, �I remember that guy. Was in here last night at the bar and asked what had become of Billie that used to sing here. I was going to brush him off, but he said he owed her a few bucks and wanted to pay, so I give him your address, Mr. Jain. He didn�t even know she was married. He wrote it down.�
So that was the reason for the note I found in his pocket. I said, �Remember anything about him?�
�Just what he looked like. He drank his liquor pretty fast and his hands were shaky. He kept his eyes on the back bar mirror giving a quick look to everybody that come in. He used the phone and then a taxi came out to get him.�
�You know the taxi?�
�I don�t know what outfit, but the driver is a guy that comes out here after fares quite a lot. A big, tall, skinny guy that wears a cap with the brim turned up.�
After Sam left, Laurie asked me, �What�s the deal on this, Mr. Jain? Anything I can do?�
I thanked him and left. Nothing he could do. Nothing anybody could do. He didn�t have any clue to the direction Billie might have taken, and he knew nothing about her past, nothing at all.
I drove down into town. It had started to rain and the streets were slick. The sidewalks were empty and traffic was light. I parked outside the railroad station and went in. Only one ticket window was open � a puffy, grey man behind the grill wearing a green eyeshade and fancy garters to hold his shirt sleeves up.
�Where to?� he muttered.
I cursed myself for not asking Laurie the color of the dress she had borrowed. I said, �I�m trying to find out where a girl went. A blonde girl. She must have come down here around six or seven. Maybe twenty-three or four.� Billie is twenty-five, but she looks younger. �No luggage.�
�Where�d she want to go?� he asked, without interest.
�I don�t know.�
He looked at me sadly for a few minutes. �Brother I seldom look at the faces, but I remember all the places I sell tickets to. I�d like it if I couldn�t remember, but I can�t stop.�
I thanked him and walked over to the exit where two bored taxi drivers were standing, half asleep. One of them put on his business smile and said, �Taxi, Mister?�
�No thanks. I�m trying to locate a tall, skinny, guy that wears a cap with the brim turned up and goes way out to Laurie�s for fares pretty often.�
The one who hadn�t spoken said, �He means Slim over to Wayholtz�s.�
�Where�s that?�
�Two blocks down on the corner toward Water Street.�
�Thanks.� I hurried back to the car, spun it around and gunned it down to the corner he mentioned. Wayholtz was written in chipped paint across a dirty window. A blonde with a face like wet putty sat at a table with a phone, a pencil and a pad of paper.
�Slim around?�
�On a job. You want a cab?�
�No, I want to see Slim for a couple of minutes.�
�Stick around. When he calls back in I�ll tell him you�re here.�
I located a wooden bench along one wall. I sat down, picked up a frayed paper and tried to read but I couldn�t make any sense out of the words. The phone rang. �Wayholtz. Yes man. Corner of Lincoln and Walnut. That�ll be about ten minutes, mam. Thank you.� Click. The soft sound of the pencil on the pad.
She looked around. �You got some more of those. I�m out.�
I took her a cigaret and lit it. She watched me over the match flame. She said, �Wet night, isn�t it?� The tone of her voice said, �You interested in me at all?�
Before I could answer, the phone rang again. She scooped it up. �Wayholtz. Who? Yes. Yes. That�s right.� I could see her tense, see the back straighten, see her breathing change. Somehow it alarmed me. �Yeah, I can make it out. Right away. Yeah.�
She hung up the phone and turned on the chair, looking up at me. She took a slow deep drag on the cigaret, and huffed it out, staring at the glowing end.
She said, �You won�t get to talk to Slim, friend. That was the cops. They found him in the cab out near Laurie�s with the back of his head shot off.� She glanced up at me quickly. �You wouldn�t have been coming down here to make yourself look good, friend?�
I said, �I�ve never seen the guy. I wanted to ask him about a fare he picked up at Laurie�s tonight It�s important.�
�The police want a list of his calls for the evening. They�re coming over after it. You better stick around.�
I fished out my wallet and put a ten dollar bill on the desk. �Give me a list too and forget you ever saw me.�
�Are you giving orders?�
�Asking favors. I want to know about a call yesterday. To go and pick up a man at Laurie�s. A single.�
She stared at me for ten more seconds, her face absolutely blank. She opened a drawer, took her purse and put the ten in it. She opened another drawer and leafed through some sheets. �Slim picked up a guy at ten o�clock and took him down to the Hotel Ames. No other calls from Laurie�s all evening.�
�How about a call very early this evening � to pick up a girl. Also a single.�
Her lip curled slightly when I mentioned the girl. She said, �I remember that one. He took her to the bus terminal. You got your ten worth?�
As I reached the door, she said, �Honey, if you shot Slim, I�m being an awful sucker.�
I turned and said, �What was the last call he got?�
�To pick up a single at the Hotel Ames. No destination given. Come back when we ain�t so rushed.�
I was headed down the street when I heard the siren. I ignored it and drove to the bus terminal. There was a woman with four small children, sitting on a long wooden bench. Three of the kids were asleep and the fourth was reading a comic book. An old guy with ragged elbows was sleeping in a corner. There was a woman with grey hair and a jaw like John L. Lewis behind the ticket grill.
I said, �A girl came here between six and seven in a taxi. She was a young blonde and she had no luggage. Where did she go?�
�Don�t shout at me, young man.�
�Please! Do you remember a girl like that?�
�I certainly do. Bought a ticket through to Chicago, and then sat right over there on that bench by the gum machine and let two Chicago buses with empty seats leave without her. Sat for hours with her hands folded looking at the wall. Sort of dopey. Then she got up and left. Never came back.�
�Left! She didn�t take a bus?�
�You heard me.�
I thanked her and walked out into the night, looking up and down the dark wet sidewalk as though just by wishing I could materialize her out of the murk. The Ames is only a block from the bus terminal, so I left the car where it was and walked it.
The Ames advertises itself as a family hotel. I would hate to be a member of the kind of family that would want to stay there.
A pimply boy of about nineteen lounged behind the desk pinching at a spot on his chin. When I walked up, he wiped his fingers on his shirt sleeve and spun the register around. �I don�t want to register. I want to ask about a guest of the hotel.�
He looked at me with sudden suspicion. �Police?�
�No.�
�I didn�t think so, or I wouldn�t have asked. They don�t like to be asked. Who do you want to ask about?�
�A Robert Jones of Chicago.�
He turned and examined a cheap visible card file. �Not registered.�
�Then let�s put it this way. A guy who would come up to my shoulder. Pasty face. Small black mustache. Grey felt hat. Very white teeth. Dark blue suit cut too square in the shoulders.�
He pinched at his chin again. �I know that one. He gave me a five not to answer any questions about him if somebody comes in with a description.�
�I get it. It costs another five to find out?�
�Mister, I wouldn�t cross him for less than ten. And for fifteen I can tell you who else was looking for him.�
He grinned as I pulled out my wallet. I laid the two bills on the desk. He picked them up, folded them three ways and stuffed them in his watch pocket.
�The only one we got that fills the bill is a Richard Henderson from St. Louis. A small nervous guy. Checked in yesterday night early and went on out. Hasn�t come back in tonight. Left the hotel around noon today.�
�How do you know all this without looking at the records?�
�Friend, that�s what the other five was for. I know because I checked. I checked because early this morning before I went off duty, a guy comes in and gives me ten bucks for the same work I�ve given you. This Henderson must be a popular kid.�
�What did the guy look like who asked about him?�
�Same kind of guy, only without the mustache. Smallish with that look on their face that tells you they know the angles. It�s a cinch that neither of them work for a living.�
I thanked him and left. I sat in the car for a long time. I wondered what to do, where to go. I hated the thought of going back to the house, going back into that place of silence and death. When I had started the motor, I drove away aimlessly. A long time later I realized that I was approaching the entrance to Ridgemore Road. Habit turned me into the road and into my own driveway. I rolled it up into the garage and cut the lights. As yet I had no plan, no coherent thoughts about the whole business.
I shut the car door softly and walked around toward the front door. She came from behind the bushes by the front steps and threw herself in my arms, coughing and sobbing. The sleazy dress was soaked through and her hair was ribboned down across her wet face. I stood in the rain with my arms around her, feeling her shuddering against me, hearing her saying between her sobs, �Oh. Todd! Todd! I couldn�t. I just couldn�t.�
I unlocked the front door and got her into the hall. She was trying to say something to me, but she was shuddering and shivering so badly that she couldn�t. I helped her up the stairs and into our bedroom. I got the shower going and found her robe as she stripped off the soaked clothes.
Twenty minutes later, I tucked blankets around her on the downstairs couch and got her a healthy shot of straight brandy. Her teeth still chattered from time to time.
�All of it,� I ordered.
She downed it and made a face. �It tastes awful, but it feels good inside.�
�Now I�ll let you talk. Tell me what happened, Billie.�
She gave me an odd look. �I ran away. I was afraid. I should have known that you... that you�d understand, and I knew you�d need me. Is he still... is he out there?�
�He was when I got the brandy. Who is he? Do you know?�
Her eyes grew wide. �Didn�t he tell you? Then why did you... why did you do that to him?�
�Me? I never saw the guy living. You said you were afraid. Darling, I thought
We had been talking in low tones. Almost whispers. For long seconds we looked into each others eyes and then my arms were around her, her arms tight around my neck. We clung to each other like kids lost in the woods, but lost together.
I began to think over her words and I pushed her back. �Billie, what was it that the guy could have told me that would make me want to kill him? Tell me! What was it?�
I had raised my voice. She said, �Hush, darling,� and took my hand in both of hers. She looked down at my hand and said, �I can�t look at you while I tell you this. His... his name is Vincent Schwartz and I met him in Chicago when I was still in highschool. He told me a lot of silly things about myself and I guess I was... infatuated. He had some money and I ran away from home with him. We were married in Maryland six years ago. A month later, he took my money and his clothes and walked out on me. I was afraid to go home. I got a job singing and by the time I found the guts to go back to Chicago, my mother had died. I kept on singing and... and finally I met you.�
�How did you get your divorce?�
�That�s it. I never did.�
I yanked my hand away from her and said, �Why, you little tramp! You mean to tell me that you married me knowing that you were already married? What do you take me for?�
She looked at me and the misery in her eyes was too much. I stopped shouting at her and she said, �Don�t you see. It wasn�t really a marriage. I don�t know anything about legal stuff, but I did think that he�d never come into my life again. I fell in love with you right at the beginning, Todd, and when you asked me to marry you, I just
I managed to smile, though I didn�t feel much like it. �What happened today?� I asked her.
�At about two o�clock, I heard a knock on the back door and I went to it. He forced his way in so quickly that he was in the mid-tile of the kitchen before I saw who it was. When I recognized him, I thought I would faint. He said that he�d been looking for me and what was the matter, wasn�t I glad to see him. He had the most awful smile on his face. I told him to get out and he said that he was staying a long time, that he wanted a nice quiet house to hide out in and the taxi that had brought him had already gone on back. He said that the house was big enough to have a guest room and that he was going to stay until the heat was off hint. I said that he couldn�t and he said that if I said no, he�d call you up and ask what the hell you thought you were doing living with his wife. I finally said that he could stay if he�d promise to tell you he was my cousin from Chicago and never let slip about my being married to him.
�He was very jumpy and I told him that I was going to walk over to the market and get my groceries. He said that if I wasn�t back in fifteen minutes, he�d know I was trying something funny and he�d get you on the phone and spill the whole story.
�As I walked to the store I realized that the only way out of it was to call you and have you meet me at the store and go for a ride and l was going to tell you the whole thing. I phoned the company from the market and the girl said you had gone out.�
�I was over at another plant in the city.�
�She didn�t seem to know that. I called every ten minutes until she really started to get angry with me. Then I decided that I would go back and tell Vincent that I wasn�t going to keep it a secret from you and he might as well leave anyway. I got back to the house about an hour after I left, and I hadn�t bought any groceries. He was... on the floor. And one of my knives in his throat. I bent over him and he wasn�t quite dead. His hand caught the edge of my skirt and it tore when I pulled away from him. Then he was dead. I knew that you did it. I thought that you came back and he told you and you killed him. I ran out of the house because I thought you�d kill me too. I was frightened. I went over into Ridge Woods and after a long time I started walking and walked out to Laurie�s.�
�I know about that,� I said. �You borrowed a hundred from Laurie and took a Wayholtz cab down to the bus terminal. You bought a ticket to Chicago and didn�t use it.�
She widened her fine eyes in surprise as I told her what she had done. But she didn�t ask me how I had found out. She said, �And then I walked over to the station in the rain and found the same cab driver who had taken me down from Laurie�s. I had him bring me up here.�
�Up here! To this address?�
�Of course. What makes you so excited about it, darling?�
�Only this, Billie. That cab driver was found dead in his cab and the police are going to check the fares he had this evening. You know what�s going to happen when they come here.�
�What can happen � now. Neither of us did it.�
I looked at her in exasperation. �Don�t be such a dope. We can�t prove that either or both of us are innocent. This Vincent was knocked off this afternoon. It�s now three o�clock in the morning. The coroner will say he�s been dead for twelve hours. How do we explain not reporting it earlier if we�re so innocent?�
She bit her lip. �Of course.� She brightened up. �Couldn�t we just say that you thought I did it and I thought you did and that�s why we didn�t report it?�
�They�ll love that. They�ll just laugh and laugh and laugh. Look, what kind of business was your... first husband in?� It hurt me to say that word.
�Why I always suspected that he must have been in some kind of gambling. He talked about having a bunch of people collecting on the numbers for him and then he took his percentage and turned the rest over to some person he called the boss.�
�That�s not gambling. That�s a sure thing. It�s easy to figure that whoever knocked him off had twelve good hours to use getting far away from Coralton.�
Then I snapped my fingers. �Hey! Wait a minute! That cab driver. I bet you that he was knocked off because he could identify the fare he brought up to this house while you were at the market. I bet that Vincent took this same Slim to bring him up here, and then when the cab got back into town, the killer caught it and asked Slim to take him to where he left the previous fare off. He got nervous and wanted to cover his traces. Maybe he didn�t originally intend to kill Vincent. Let me think now. Did he ask the desk clerk...
�What on earth are you talking about?� Billie asked.
�Just this. It looks like the killer wants to make a clean sweep. He doesn�t want to leave town while there�s anyone left who can tie him up to Vincent in any way. He�s done two murders. There�s only one left. The hotel desk clerk at the Ames. Either he
�You�re not leaving me in this house with that
�Then put a coat on over your robe and you won�t have to get out of the car.�
My tires screamed as I made the Ridgemore corner, turning into the main drag into town. The speedometer was edging up toward seventy when I heard the howl of a siren coming after me. I tried to push it up a little higher, but there wasn�t more than seventy-two or three in my crate. The white sedan edged me over to the curb and I had to slam on my brakes to avoid a crack up.
They both jumped out and came back to me. One had his gun in his hand. I rolled down my window and said, �Emergency officer!�
He flashed a light on me and on Billie. �Emergency? What kind?�
I said, �You heard about the taxi driver that was killed tonight? I think I know who he�s going to get next. The night clerk at the Ames.�
One of them yanked the door open and the other one shone the light in my eyes. He said, �Step out, brother. That news hasn�t been on local broadcasts and it goes over the police band in code. Get your hands up high. Right. Now turn around slow and put the palms of your hands on the roof of your wagon. Hold �em there.�
I heard them say something in a low tone. They slapped at my pockets and pulled out the automatic I had forgotten. �Got a license for this?�
�You�re wasting time,� I pleaded. �There isn�t much time.�
They shoved me into the rear seat of their sedan and handcuffed my right wrist to a heavy ring set into the back side of the front seat. One of them drove my car and we followed along, going much too slowly.
I said, in as reasonable a tone as I could manage, �Look, officer. Maybe I�m giving you a big juicy line. Okay. So you take me down to Headquarters. Then suppose it turns out that I was right, and that night clerk is shot?�
He said, �Keep your pants on, brother. The hotel is the first stop. Johnny�ll run in and take a look around. Then we can take you and the lady on down and get this here thing puzzled out.�
The Ames looked bleak and dreary. We parked behind my car and I had to sit and wait, watching the other cop saunter in. The one driving the police sedan said, �You got yourself in a nice spot, friend, Already I got four counts on you.�
I didn�t answer. I was too sick at heart to answer. I knew what would happen. The one he called Johnny would wander in and say, �Anybody try to shoot you tonight?� The kid would grin and say, �Should they?� And then Johnny would say, �We got a nut out in the car that figures you for the long ride. See you later.�
Then, by the time I made them see my point, if they ever saw my point, it would be too late.
The night was punctuated with a hollow, booming noise. The man in the front seat jumped, bent over and clicked something. He shouted, �Emergency! Ames Hotel! Emergency!�
He was out of the car as the second sound came, pawing at his holstered revolver. I tugged at the heavy ring, knowing it was useless. The police sedan was only thirty feet from the hotel entrance.
A small man scuttled out and flattened himself against the wall. The cop fired. There was another shot and the cop went down heavily. I heard the slap of his bare hand against the sidewalk. The small man dove at my car and circled around the hood, snapping another shot toward the police sedan.
Something slashed at my head, something white hot, and the warm gush of blood filled my eyes. I blinked and saw my car leaving, saw something huddled on the sidewalk that could have been Billie. There was a distant, tearing, metallic crash � prolonged and horrible. The sedan seemed to spin and I slid off the seat. I fought to get back up but I couldn�t. The bottom of the sedan was full of soft blackness and I sank slowly, slowly...
I opened my eyes suddenly and everything was white, unbearably, unspeakably white, boring into my eyes like needles. But in the midst of the whiteness I had seen Billie�s face. I tried again and got the details. A square, white room. I was in bed and she was sitting beside the bed. I felt her fingers on my hand.
�Todd,� she said softly, �how are you?�
�Miserable!� I reached my other hand up and felt of my head. It was bandaged. �What happened to me?�
�You were shot in the head.�
�Then I�m dead.�
�Not quite, darling. Just concussion. It glanced off a door post and then off your forehead.�
I tried to grin at her. �Quite a night last night.�
�Last night! Silly! The night before last. It�s Saturday noon.�
�Who�s under arrest? What happened?�
�No, lean back. Don�t try to lift your head off the pillow that way. I�ll try to tell you very quickly and then you can go to sleep again. The man who killed the taxi driver and tried to kill the desk clerk was named Joseph Spardle. He was sent from Chicago after Vincent who had run off with twenty-one thousand dollars belonging to the numbers syndicate. Spardle was ordered to take the money back and beat up Vincent. Spardle traced Vincent through the booking agency which used to handle me. You see, Vincent had tried to locate me through the booking agency. They told him that Laurie�s was the last place I worked and so he came here. Spardle followed him.
�The policeman found Spardle with another knife in his hand, backing the night clerk into a corner. Spardle saw the cop, dropped the knife, pulled a gun and shot the cop through the head. He hadn�t meant to kill Vincent in our kitchen. He followed him up there the way you said and found him alone. They fought. Vincent knocked him back against the sink. Spardle came back with the knife and killed Vincent. He took the money off Vincent, who wasn�t quite dead yet, and left.
�He knew that since he had killed Vincent, and the Chicago police would be sure to question him, it was necessary for him to kill both the taxi driver and the desk clerk. They would remember him. That was what you�d guessed, too.
�Anyway, the policeman who stayed in the car with you put two shots into Spardle. I fell out of the car onto the sidewalk as he drove away. With two bullets in him, he crashed a light pole a block away from the hotel.�
�But how did you get all this?� I asked.
�Lieutenant Pierce, darling. He�s
�Darling, you should have seen his face when I said, �Why, that�s my kitchen, and that�s why I don�t want to go home. You�ll find the body at 112 Ridgemore Road.��
I said, �Say, did you ask the Lieutenant what they�re going to do about my carrying the gun without a license?�
�I�ve got it in my purse, silly. There�s no firing pin in it.� Billie smiled.
�Oh!�
�But I have got some bad news.�
�Yeah?�
�You�ve got a ticket for speeding.�
After she had gone and left me I tried to fall asleep thinking how nice it would be for the two of us to pick up living again right where we had left off. I tried and tried to think how nice it would be � but something was missing. Something wasn�t the same and wouldn�t ever be the same again. Something was slightly tarnished and it was up to me never to let her suspect that it wouldn�t be the same for me, but I knew it would be a lie.