I gave him my right name, William Collins. “This is our car, all right, but we left the house in kind of a hurry tonight and I’m not sure that—” I glanced at Fay. “I guess you’ve got the papers with you, haven’t you, honey? In your purse, maybe?”
She got her purse open, fumbled it open. She began pawing through it, moving the stuff it was filled with this way and that. The cop scowled suspiciously and bent close to me.
“I’ve seen you some place before. What’d you say your name was?”
“Collins. We’re waiting for a friend of mine, Jack Billingsley. He’s due on the train soon.”
“I’ve seen you. Ever been in any trouble? What do you do for a living? How about them papers, lady?”
“No, I haven’t been in any trouble. You must have me mixed up with someone else. I’m retired now, but I used to—”
“I ain’t got you mixed up. I’ve seen you. Let’s see your driver’s license.”
He glanced over into the back of the car. I thought of the boy and I reached for the gun in my pocket, but he jerked his eyes back to me. Then he turned the flashlight into my face again.
And suddenly he grabbed me by the arm.
“Hold it!” The light filled my eyes, blinding me. “What’d you say your name was?”
“Collins.”
“Yeah. Yeah, why sure, it is!” He laughed and let go of my arm. “Kid Collins, why, sure. It was on the West Coast. I won twenty-five bucks on you.”
He shook hands, leaned in and shook hands with Fay. “You say you’re retired now, Kid? Livin’ here in town, are you? Didn’t mean to give you and your wife a bad time, but it’s been so long ago and you being right here where all this is happening…”
“What’s going on?” I said innocently. “Some kind of trouble?”
“You said it.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Let’s see. Don’t believe you’d better try to pull out now, but maybe…Back it up a ways, Kid. Get back there around the middle of the block.”
I started the car and put it in reverse. He backed up with me, kind of pushing himself along with his feet. And I had to watch where I was going, of course, and keep an eye on him, too. So that was why I missed what went on.
I didn’t see Uncle Bud come out of the station. Uncle Bud with the suitcase, and Bert right on his heels. I didn’t see him try to break and run from Bert. I was looking behind me until I heard the shot, and by the time I got turned around it was all just about over.
Uncle Bud was sprawled on the steps. Bert had grabbed up the suitcase and was heading back toward the station entrance. And he’d got just about two steps when the cops inside cut loose on him—the detectives who had been waiting in there.
He screamed. I heard the one scream above the blast of their guns. Then, he toppled over backwards, still hanging onto the suitcase, went tumbling and rolling down the steps until his body struck the sidewalk.
“Well, that’s it.” The cop nodded to me. “Guess you’ll have to pick up your friend a little later, Kid. This place is going to be pretty hot for a while.”
“Yeah. It kind of looks like it would all right.”
“Just make you a U-turn right here, and I’ll signal for the boys to let you through.”
I turned around in the street, and drove back to the intersection. He signaled, the cops let me through, and I kept on going.
22
I drove almost until dawn, just driving aimlessly, just riding—going on—until it was time to stop going. I didn’t know when that time would be, but I figured it couldn’t be very far off. And I knew I’d know it when it did come. Things would work out a certain way, so that I could stop living and Fay could go on. It would all work out in time, just a little more time, and meanwhile I had to keep going.
Finally, a little before daylight, I turned off the highway and into an old trail. It was so overgrown with weeds and grass you could hardly see it, and it faded off into a sort of jungle of underbrush. But I ploughed the car on through it. And after a few hundred yards, the ground sloped downwards to a creek. It was practically dried up, just a little trickle of water between two high banks, so I turned the car into it and stopped. I had to. With a trail that no one would ever spot and with this archway of trees overhead, it was just what I needed. Exactly the right place to wait while things were working out a certain way. And now that I’d gotten to it, the car had run out of gas.
Fay had brought a full quart of whiskey with her from Uncle Bud’s place. She’d started slugging it down as soon as we’d got out of that police trap, and now she had passed out.
I corked the bottle and sat it down on the floor. I looked back at the boy. He was asleep. Really asleep and not just unconscious. I tucked the blanket around him a little better and went to sleep myself. It was safe enough with Fay passed out. She’d be that way for hours, and I’d be sleeping pretty lightly.
I waked up around noon when the boy started stirring. I got out quietly, lifted him out, and laid him down on the ground. I scooped up some water in a rusty can and gave him a drink. Then, I let him go to the toilet, washed his face and hands for him, and put him back in the car. There was nothing else I could do for him, and he wanted to get back in. Just that little exertion had worn him out.
I got back in the car myself. There was still a good pint of whiskey in the bottle, a little more than a pint I mean, and that would be more than enough for Fay. So I took one pretty good drink of it and corked the bottle back up again.
It was the middle of the afternoon before Fay waked up. She took a drink and left the car for a few minutes. When she returned she looked at the boy, tried to talk to him—to ask him how he was, and so on. And then she got back into the seat with me and picked up the bottle.
“Well? What do we do now, stupid?”
I shrugged. “How do I know. You tell me if you’ve got any ideas.”
“Hell!” She shook her head dully. “Hell! What a mess! The whole damned country looking for us. No money and no car and a kid that’s as good as dead, and—” Her voice broke, and she took another big drink. “What a mess! What a combination! Everything else, and a lunatic to boot.”
“I’m not crazy. I’m just—”
“No, you’re not! You’re just mean and rotten and no good! I could feel sorry for you if you were really crazy, but—Aah, forget it. Turn on the radio.”
I turned it on. We sat listening all through the afternoon, and it was all pretty much the same thing. A lot of words built around a few facts. Or, I should say, what they thought were facts.
Bert and Uncle Bud had died before they could talk. The playground matron “believed” that Bert was the kidnapper, and the cops “believed” that he and Uncle Bud were the principals in the crime. Fay and I were kind of small fry, supposedly. Just a couple of stooges.
Then a familiar voice came over the radio—Doc Goldman’s.
Doc Goldman wasn’t sure that Fay was actually in on the deal. It was possible, he thought, that she might have been acting under coercion. As for me, well, I wasn’t completely responsible for what I did. I knew what I was doing, so I could be held legally responsible. But I had tried to save the boy’s life—I’d risked discovery and capture to steal that insulin. And it was just possible that I’d been forced to take part in the crime along with Fay. I could have been, even though I’d slugged him and tied him up. That was a natural reaction for a guy like me who thought he was in danger. Any time I got in a tight spot, I’d just about have to turn violent.
It was a pretty thin theory, of course; about me being coerced. I mean. There were all kinds of holes in it that I couldn’t fill, and I sure wasn’t going to try. Still, it sounded hopeful, taken along with some of the facts. And what Doc and the cops thought about Fay sounded a hell of a lot better. All she needed now was something to kind of top off their theories. To sew them all up tight and leave her in the clear.
Doc talked quite a while—about us and to us. He kept urging us to come in, if we had the boy. If. W
e couldn’t get away. We’d have to give up sooner or later. So if the boy was alive, if Bert or Uncle Bud hadn’t killed him, if he was with us…
The car battery was going dead. Doc’s voice grew fainter and fainter, and finally it faded out entirely. And now it was night again.
I heard Fay take a drink. I heard her as she took another one, a long one, and dropped the bottle out of the side of the car. She’d be feeling pretty steady by this time. Her nerve would be built up, and that hard, ugly streak would be cropping out. She’d be up to anything in this mood.
And they didn’t know that we had the boy. That motorcycle cop had said that we didn’t, and the cops who’d let us through the street block said the same thing. Maybe they really believed they’d looked in the car, or maybe they were just trying to get themselves out of a jam. But, anyway, no one knew the truth.
Fay struck a match to a cigarette. It glowed in the darkness, lighting up her face as she took a long deep puff. “Well, we know what we have to do. Let’s get it over with.”
I nodded. I said, yeah, we might as well.
“One thing, Collie…” She hesitated, some of the sharpness going out of her voice. “You’ve done some pretty inexcusable things, but I know you weren’t responsible. You thought you had to protect the boy from me. Whatever I said, I’m sorry.”
“Forget it, Fay. It’s all my fault. I thought it was smart to keep the boy alive, but I guess it’s just about the dumbest thing I ever did.”
“Well, regardless of who was at fault, I—What?” Her head snapped around. “Why, C-Collie, what do mean by that?”
“You don’t get it? You call me stupid, and you don’t see what I mean?”
“N-no. No, I don’t see!”
“Aw, you’ve got to! Bert’s stuck with the actual kidnapping, isn’t he? He and Uncle Bud could be blamed for practically everything that I did, couldn’t they? And you—”
“Collie!” she said sharply. “What are you getting at?”
“—And you,” I went on, “you’ve got it just about perfect. It looks a hundred per cent better for you than it does for me. You were a woman living alone. Bert and Uncle Bud threatened you, and you were scared to death of me so you went along with us.”
“I asked you, Collie. I asked you what you were getting at.”
“You really don’t get it?” I laughed. “Well, I guess you probably wouldn’t at that. You’re sitting pretty already, and it won’t hurt you if the kid talks. But it’ll hurt me plenty. So—so there’s your answer, all spelled out for you. He’s not going to do any talking.”
Fay stared at me, silent and motionless for a moment. Then, still staring at me, she raised her hand and let the cigarette butt drop out the window. Slowly she shook her head.
“You don’t mean that. You can’t mean it. Y-you—you’ve been through more than even a normal person could take, and you’re excited and frightened. You don’t mean it, do you, darling. I know my Collie, and I know he’ll—”
I laughed, cutting her off. “I really had you fooled, didn’t I? Well, I guess I should, all the practice I’ve had. I started in almost fifteen years ago—I was up for a murder rap, see, and it was the only thing I could think of. So I went into the act, and it got me out from under. And then I went into the Army, and it got me out of that. It looked like such a sweet deal that I started working the act full time.”
“What act?” she said. “W-what are you saying?”
“The crazy stuff.” I laughed again. “Hell, it’s better than a pension. I could just roam around doing what I pleased—acting stupid, and cracking down when people fell for it. Then, whenever I got tired, I’d just turn in at some institution for a while. Those places are pretty swell, you know; just like a high class country club. A swell private room and anything you want to eat. Hell, you never tasted anything like it! And you ought to see how people knock themselves out to wait on you. Why, I was in one place where they had a nurse for each patient. Real pretty ones, to keep you cheered up and feeling good…”
I made it as strong as I knew how. Laughing and kidding about it. Rubbing it in on her hard. And at first Fay cut in a time or two, and then she just sat and listened. And, gradually, I felt the change in her. I could feel the last bit of uncertainty giving way to coldness and hatred and disgust.
“I don’t know why people never get wise,” I said. “You do all sorts of things to give yourself away—to prove, you know, that you’re plenty good at looking out for yourself. But somehow they never seem to catch on. They go right on falling for the act and feeling sorry for you.”
I snickered and lighted a cigarette. I held the match for a moment, while I took the gun from my pocket and checked the chamber. “Well, I guess I’ll get it over with.”
As I expected, she made a wild grab for the gun. I jerked it back and thrust it forward suddenly. Fay screamed as she had that time back at the house.
“I won’t kill you. I’ll just mark you up real good, like you’d been through a struggle. I was trying to keep you from killing the boy, see, and the gun went off accidentally.”
“D-don’t,” she sobbed. “Do anything you want to me, but don’t kill him.”
“Now, there’s a good idea. It’s better than just bumping off the brat and leaving him here. After all, it was Uncle Bud’s gun and you knew him a long time before I did.”
I turned in the seat and opened the door. I slid the gun back onto my hip, but not into the pocket. I let it slip past the pocket—as though I’d missed and didn’t know it—and down onto the seat. Then I got out, my back turned to her.
There was one shattering explosion, and I pitched forward against the creek bank.
Everything was silent for a moment. Then, I heard Fay scramble out of the car and take the boy out. Stagger away with him, her footsteps growing fainter and fainter…and then vanishing entirely. And I stayed where I was, unable to turn, my face pressed into the dirt. And that was the way it should be, I guessed, right where it had always been. And this—this, what had happened, was, as it had to be. She’d had to hate me. Fay had to go on hating me, thinking what she did about me, as long as she lived. And…and that…that was the way it would be, too.
But I wished she’d stayed a little while longer. Just a little, the minute or two more that I was going to stay. And if she’d wanted to talk mean or call me dirty names, it would have been all right, because it was just her way, you know. Fay just…if she’d just—
…“You silly looking goof! You couldn’t sell cyanide in a suicide colony!”
“I’m just waiting for a friend. Maybe you know him—Jack Billingsley? Big real-estate family. We were driving to California, and…”
“California, huh? Well, New York here I come!”
“The car broke down and I went for help, and I guess that darned crazy Jack Billingsley…”
“Jerk! Stupid! Souphound! Bark for me. Roll over and do some tricks…”
…I grinned, because she didn’t really mean a thing by it, you know. I barked, I guess it sounded like a bark maybe; and my body jerked, rolled a little. And then I stopped.
I just kind of stopped all over.
About the Author
James Meyers Thompson was born in Anadarko, Oklahoma, in 1906. In all, Jim Thompson wrote twenty-nine novels and two screenplays (for the Stanley Kubrick films The Killing and Paths of Glory). Films based on his novels include The Getaway, The Killer Inside Me, The Grifters, and After Dark, My Sweet.
…and A Swell-Looking Babe
In November 2011, Mulholland Books will publish Jim Thompson’s A Swell-Looking Babe. Following is an excerpt from the novel’s opening pages.
A Swell-Looking Babe
He had dreamed about her. Now, waking to the sweaty southern night, he found both arms clasped around his pillow, the cloth wet with saliva where his mouth had pressed against it, and he flung it away from him with a mixture of disgust and disappointment. Some babe, he thought drowsily, his hand moving from bed lamp to
alarm clock to cigarettes. A dream boat—and that’s the way he’d better leave her. Right in the land of dreams. He had to keep the money coming in. He had to keep out of trouble. And he had been sternly advised, at the time of his employment by the Hotel Manton, that bellboys who attempted intimacies with lady guests invariably landed in serious trouble.
“This is what they call a tight hotel,” the superintendent of service had explained. “A hooker never gets past the room clerk. Or if she does, she doesn’t stay long and neither does he. It’s just good business, get me, Rhodes? A guest may not be everything he should be himself, but he doesn’t want to pay upwards of ten dollars a day for a room in a whore house.”
“I understand,” Dusty had said.
“We’re not running any Sunday school, of course. As long as our guests are quiet about it, we’ll put up with a little hanky-panky. But we don’t—and you don’t—mix into it, see? Don’t get friendly with a woman, even if she does seem to invite it. You might be mistaken. She might change her mind. And the hotel would have a hell of a lawsuit on its hands.”
Dusty had nodded again, his thin face slightly flushed with embarrassment. That had been almost a year ago, back before he had lost his capacity for being insulted, before he had learned simply to accept…and hate. He had thought the job only temporary then, something that paid well, without the business experience and references usually required in well-paying jobs. Mom had still been alive. Dad had stood a chance of being reinstated by the school board. He, Dusty, had had to drop out of school, but it would be only for a few months. So he had thought—or hoped. He was going to be a doctor, not merely a uniform with a number on it.
He had nodded his understanding, blushing, trying to cut short the interview. And the superintendent’s face had softened, and he had called him by his first name.