I didn’t wait for the weather report, but reached over and switched off the television set as soon as the newscaster was through speaking and the commercial started to come on.
We were sitting in the living room and I was in my shorts and Marilyn was fully dressed. I drew a long puff from the cigarette I held in my hand and looked at my wrist watch, which was a wasted gesture as I had j ust heard the announcer give the time. I started to get up.
“She still isn’t here, kid,” I said. “We’re crazy to hang around any longer. You heard the broadcast. Everybody in America knows that Marcus was killed up the road in that car accident.”
"You promised, Sam,” Marilyn said.
“I know, baby. But how long do we wait? Can’t you understand? Marcus’ friends—”
“She’ll be here, Sam. And don’t forget, Marcus’ friends don’t know where we are. They won’t even be sure that I was with him. ’ ’
“You know better than that,” I said.
“All right. They’ll know. But we have to wait, anyway. Oh, honey, don’t worry. Think about the future. Just you and me and Suzy and all this money. ”
She looked over to the table where the suitcase lay, still opened where we had left it when we had recounted the money a few minutes ago.
“Just the three of us. In South America where we’ll be safe. And, honey, you’ll love Suzy. You’ll love her as much as you’ll love me. Just be patient.”
“Sure,” I said. “Sure. But I don’t need Suzy, honey. One of you is plenty. Plenty for any man. Anyway, what will Suzy think? After all, you say she takes care of you and so forth. Maybe she won’t care so much to have me along on the party.”
Marilyn quickly crossed over and stretched up and kissed me Eghtly.
“Sam,” she said, “you’ll have to meet Suzy to understand about us. Why, do you know we are identical? Absolutely identical. You won’t be able to tell us apart, I’ll bet. And Suzy is just like I am. She'll like you as much as I do. She’s bound to.”
Did she like Marcus as much?” I couldn’t help saying.
She didn’t get sore.
Marcus was different,” she said. “I never loved him and Suzy knew it. Suzy couldn t stand him and neither could I. But she’ll like you.”
In the same way you like me?”
She looked at me and smiled wickedly.
“We’ll see,” she said. "We’ll see when she gets here. Just be patient. I’ll tell you what. I’ll go in and bring you the rest of your clothes and we can get all ready.”
She turned quickly and entered the bedroom. I started to follow and it was then I heard the sound at the door.
I turned swiftly, staring, and I saw the knob move. I heard the key turning and as I took a step forward the door suddenly slammed open.
It wasn’t the gun he held in his ugly fist that stopped me cold in my tracks, although I must admit that would have been enough to do so. No, it wasn’t the gun. It was the man who held it. I couldn’t have been more surprised seeing him there, his wide beefy shoulders filling the doorway and his short-cropped red hair almost reaching to the top of it. Nothing was changed but his shirt. He’d traded the torn dirtyT-shirtforaturtle-neck sweater. He hadn’t been able to change the purple bruise on his jaw where my right hand reached him, however.
He was smiling and it failed to improve his face in the slightest.
Battle, the demon deputy, was back in action.
He lifted a tufted eyebrow over one small piglike eye and his crooked mouth twisted into what he probably fancied was a sinister smile. It just made him look more then ever like a pig with indigestion.
"My, my,” he said, “you do like to check into tourist camps, don’t you?”
He moved forward, closing the door behind him with one hand but keeping the other one very steady on the gun. I almost felt complimented. This time he seemed to think a gun was necessary.
“Saw your car and remembered it,” he said. His tiny eyes quickly took in the room, passing hurriedly over the opened suitcase. I guess he didn’t see the money or if he did, it didn’t register.
“You seem to have as many names as you have tourist rooms, Mr. Russell,” he said, accenting my name and looking very smug at his own brightness. He reached out with a foot as big as a small steam shovel, catching his toe under the rung of a straight backed chair to pull it up and sit. I thought the seat would go under his vast bulk, but it held.
"You are supposed to knock before you bust into private rooms,” I said, “or hasn t your boss told you about that yet?”
The sarcasm was lost on him.
You re supposed to register under your own name,” he said, taking my gambit and neatly cornering me. “Furthermore, in this state, it is illegal to register in a public hotel or lodging house with a woman other than your own wife—or didn’t you know?”
f J didn t know, I said, playing it for laughs.
"Don’t be unhappy. You’ll learn fast from now on in, Mr. Russell.”
“Did the car tell you my name?” I asked, stalling for time. I was listening for sounds from the other room. I wanted a second to catch my breath.
"The license plates told me,” he said, “after I checked with New York. They told me several things, or at least a farmer a few miles down the road who saw them early this morning, told me several things.”
“Never believe a farmer,” Isaid. It wasn’t very witty, but at the moment I didn't know quite what to say. I got part of the picture. But I didn’t get it all. And I knew that it was a whole canvas.
He had, without doubt, spotted my car at Cutter’s Cabins and taken the number down. He’d seen the same car sitting in front of the Whispering Willows and had known I’d checked in. He’d found out that I was there under a false name and had registered with a woman who was not my wife.
But why the gun—why the sinister, sly mannerism? Sure, he didn’t like me and there certainly was no reason he should and he probably would do everything he could to give me a hard time. He undoubtedly felt he had that right after my butting into his little act up the road earlier in the day. But why the gun? You don’t use a gun to arrest a man on a charge of checking into a tourist camp under an alias with a woman.
His crack about the farmer up the road came through then and I began to sweat gently under the armpits. He may have looked stupid, but he had the instinctive sense of an animal. He seemed to smell my sudden fear.
What passed for a smile came back.
“The farmer’s name is Kilski. He runs a broiler spread. Maybe you remember the place? It’s just before you come to a culvert, on Route 301. Funny thing about that culvert. Seems some guy missed the road and flipped over into it and got himself killed this morning. Does that mean anything to you?”
“It means you should be very careful to drive with caution. The life you save may be your own.”
I was still the life of the party. Just one little bon mot after the next. It went right over his head, but it didn't matter. It wasn’t a very good crack, anyway.
“This chicken farmer, this guy Kilski who saw your car, he said you were headed toward New York. You’re an odd man, Mr. Russell. You were going to New York and then suddenly you changed your mind and started back toward the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. Just about the time a guy piles up his Caddie and gets himself killed. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You always seem to be changing your mind. Like checking into one tourist camp under one name and then turning around and checking into another one under another name. What’s the matter, fellow—can’t you ever make up your mind?”
He was getting ahead of me in the joke department. I decided humor wasn’t my forte after all.
“All right, Battle,” I said. "So I’ve checked into a public establishment, as you put it, under a false name. So it’s a misdemeanor at best. What’s with the gun? You don’t need it to serve a summons. ”
If I thought he was going to put the gun away and apologize, I was very far out in left field.
“You look at television?” he asked. His eyes went to the set.
"Can’t stand it,” I said. “I read books.”
“Too bad. You see, that guy I was talking about—it was on the air and in all the late afternoon newspapers. Seems he was pretty important. Guy named Marcus. Big time racketeer. Supposed to be the money man for the mobs. He was on his way from Florida and the news commentators seemed to feel that he had been down there for other reasons than getting a suntan.”
“A lot of people go to Florida.”
“Not like this guy Marcus. They say be went down to pick up the money which the Cuban gamblers were able to get out of the country after those anarchists with the beards took over. Poor fella—-just think of it—probably bringing all that dough back to his pals and he has to go and get himself killed.”
“I’m bleeding for him,” I said.
“You’ll be bleeding all right, Mr. Russell,” Battle said, and I didn’t like the look on his face when he said it. He started to say something else, but I missed the words. I was listening again to the slight sound coming from the bedroom. I don’t know how Battle himself missed hearing it unless he was so fascinated by the sound of his own voice.
I looked quickly back at him and again listened. I wanted him to keep on talking.
“Yes,” hesaid. “This day has just been chuck-full of coincidences. First let’s take you. You just happen to be driving north on Route 301 about the time this guy Marcus gets himself killed. That chicken farmer just happened to be out in the field and saw you go by and remembered your car ‘cause he saw you slow down and pull to a stop near that culvert I was telling you about. Then I just happen to run into you while I am on my way to check into the accident.
“A day of coincidences, all right. I just happen to drive by here and remember your car from earlier. And poor Marcus. He just happens to get killed while he is driving around with a car full of money. You know what the final and funniest coincidence of all is?”
Don t tell me,” I said. “I can’t bear too many surprises in one day.” Comes the jokes again,” he said. “But I’ll tell you, anyway. I can take jokes.
The final coincidence is that when we searched the car after we got to the accident scene, there wasn’t any money. Not one little bit. Just the couple of hundred bucks Marcus had in his wallet along with his credit cards and identification.”
"Maybe that chicken farmer—Kilski you said his name was didn’t you?— maybe he wanted to see why I stopped.”
"Oh, he saw all right,” Battle said. “But if you can stand it, Г11 tell you about the last and the strangest coincidence of all. Want to hear it?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’m a captive audience.”
“Always jokes. Oh well, I’ll tell you anyway. The final coincidence is that poor Marcus didn’t really get himself killed by driving off the road and hitting a culvert.”
“No?” I said. He was beginning to get a little ahead of me. “You mean the news commentators were wrong? There was still a spark of life...?”
"Oh, no, nothing like that. He was killed all right. But it wasn’t the accident. The Cadillac wasn’t the weapon. The weapon was a blunt instrument, Mr. Russell. An iron pipe or a blackjack or something along those lines. Applied expertly to the base of his skull.”
I looked up sharply. I was remembering something. And the words came out without my really thinking about them.
“I seem to remember that you are pretty handy with—”
He leaned forward and the hand which was free swung and the blow caught me alongside the face, leaving my cheek feeling as though someone had just removed the flesh. He hadn’t even stood up to reach me.
The joking hour was over.
He stood up.
“You in the bedroom, ” he said. “You can come in now. ” He was looking at the bedroom door but the gun was still looking at me. There was no sound from the other room.
“Call your broad in,” Battle said.
I didri t move and he began to raise that left fist again.
“Come on in, kid,” I said loudly. "We got company.”
Nothing happened.
“She must be shy,” he said. “Come on, we’ll get her. Maybe she wants an escort.”
He reached out, grabbing me by the hair and swinging me around. The gun prodded me in the back. We started marching into the bedroom. I was just about at the door when I felt the gun muzzle leave my back and sensed that he had stopped. There was a long low whistle. Mr. Battle had finally found what he had come looking for.
Well, twist my dirty—” he said, using an expression I hadn’t heard in twenty-five years. He whistled again and I half turned around.
His eyes went from the suitcase full of money to my face and he slowly shook his head.
“You really are the most careless man I have ever known,” he said. “Leaving this loot just lying around like so much hay in a hopper. Tish, tish.”
Almost reverently he reached over and flipped the lid of the suitcase shut.
“Let’s see if the girl is one half as pretty,” he said.
But Battle was disappointed and his disappointment was only matched by my own surprise. Because Marilyn K. was no longer in the bedroom. She wasn’t in the bedroom and she wasn’t in the bathroom. In fact, she wasn’t any place in the suite at all. The moment I saw that the Venetian blind was pulled up and the window open a crack at the bottom I realized what had happened. I understood the noises I had heard.
I don’t know whether Battle realized that she had been there and had sneaked out while we had been talking or not. But in any case, her absence didn’t seem to bother him.
“So the chick is gone,” he said. “Too bad, but after all, a man can’t have everything.” He pulled the window tight and dropped the blind.
I had finished up with all the jokes and now I was getting a little desperate for something to say. And I was getting a little tired of playing charades.
“So you have me and you have the money,” I said. “That doesn’t prove it is Marcus ’ money and even if it is, it doesn’t prove that I took it from him. But you are an officer of the law. I suggest you take me in and book me—on any charge you like. I’ll do my explaining in front of the proper authorities. ”
I had decided to play it serious from now on, but so, unfortunately, had he. He slapped me again and froze the other side of my face.
“Right now I am the proper authority,” he said. "And let’s stop with the wise-guy stuff. I know all the answers. You killed Marcus and you took his dough.”
“Sure,” I said. “Sobook me.”
My face had only the two sides so he decided to start on my abdomen. This time he used his fist and I doubled up and went down on the bed. I was still trying to get my breath as he outlined it for me.
“We don’t need no higher authority,” he said. “I got you and I got the evidence. You, I don’tcare about; the evidence, I do. I’m not even going to bother to take you in.”
“But you are going to take the evidence?”
Yeah—I’m going to take the evidence.”
I ma great one for talking before I think what I am going to say and I did it again.
Great, I said. “I can’t think of a quicker way for you to commit suicide. Those friends of Mister Marcus are going to be around soon, looking—”
I should have saved my breath.
Thats where you fit in, buddy,” Battle said. “They’ll find you. And—
don’t interrupt me now—they’ll find the money. Some of it. Say maybe a few grand. That I can spare.”
The canvas was complete at last. He had finished his diagram.
"And of course I am going to tell them that I just swallowed the remainder of the money,” I said, “and they will believe me.”
“I don’t think they would believe you,” Battle said, “but that doesn’t really matter. You see, Russell, you are not going to be in any position to talk. When they find you—or later—or ever.”
It hit me then—full in the face. I knew exactly what he had planned from the second he keyed that door open. If he found the money—and he fully expected to—I was to be set up as the patsy. But not a live patsy. A dead patsy.
I was no longer afraid of the gun in his hand.
He’d kill me—he had to kill me—but he couldn’t do it with the gun. The sound of the shot would bring people and people were the one thing in the world he couldn’t stand to have around. Not until he had knocked me out and gotten me and the suitcase away from the motel.
Oh, he was going to murder me all right. There wasn’t the slightest doubt about that. But not with a gun and not until he had me safely away.
I opened my mouth to yell.
The hand is faster than the eye and it is certainly faster than the larynx. His hand was over my mouth and his knee buried itself in my groin. I would have bent double in agony but I couldn’t. He had already slammed me to the bed and with his knee still in my lower stomach, he was holding me now by the throat, cutting off my breath. I knew he wanted to get me out of the place alive if he could.
I could feel the blood throbbing in my temples and the room began to grow dim. I couldn’t retain consciousness for more than another couple of seconds and I was completely powerless to move. My eyes were popping and I could barely see when suddenly it seemed that a shadow drifted over his shoulder. I was dimly wondering if I was seeing some sort of optical illusion when there was the sudden unmistakable sound of a hard object smacking against solid flesh.
I blanked out for a matter of seconds and when I opened my eyes, the pressure at the throat was gone. The knee was still in my groin but again there was no pressure. I was in agony but I heaved and he rolled off me.
I shook my head, pulling myself to a sitting position on the bed as his body slid to the floor. It took me another few seconds to focus.
Marilyn slowly came to life out of the fog which surrounded her and she looked just as sweet and young and adorable as she always looked. Even standing there with the tire iron in her hand and the tiny frown between her azure blue eyes.
“A very nasty man,” Marilyn K. said. “Did he hurt you bad, baby?”
# “He damn near killed me, ” I said, choking out the words. I looked down at
Battle, surprised to see him lying there at my feet with his nasty mouth opened wide and the gurgling sounds coming from his throat. He was out like an exploded flash bulb. I hadn’t believed that even a tire iron could make an impression on that anthropoid skull. I had to hand it to Marilyn—whiskey bottle or tire iron, she was a genius.
“I heard everything he said,” she said. "Everything. And Suzy still hasn’t showed up.”
She was also a genius with the non sequiturs.
I started to stand up, but fell back to the bed and my hands went to where his knee had been. The pain was excruciating.
“He’s a filthy man,” Marilyn said, looking at me with eyes filled with sympathy. “If he has injured you I’ll kill him. And the language he used. Have you got a pocketknife with you, honey?”
I looked up at her in quick alarm.
“He didn’t do anything permanent,” I said. “And for God’s sake, I’m not going to—”
“Silly,” she said. “I just want the knife to cut the cords from the Venetian blinds. We have to tie him up.”
“He doesn’tlook like he’ll be moving around for some time,” Isaid. Iman-aged to reach down and get the gun which had fallen to the carpet.
“We’ll tie him up anyway,” Marilyn said.
I had a knife and while she cut the cords from the blinds, she explained how, while we had been talking, she'd climbed out the window and gone around and gotten the tire iron from the trunk of my car. She came back through the door he’d left open and she’d come just in time.
Who is he, anyway?” she asked. “And how did he know you?”
His name’s Battle and he’s a deputy sheriff. The private stooge of an as
sistant D. A. named Fleming. I met him this morning down the road when I went out for a breath of air.”
She looked at me curiously.
Well, he was right about one thing. You do manage to get around. Here,” shesaid, handing me a length of cord. "Tiehim.”
It will be a pleasure, ’ ’ I said. ‘ ‘And then, honey, we are leaving. We are leaving just as fast as we can get out of here. Suzy or no Suzy, you and I are blow-
ing. This place is getting hotter than the hinges of hell.”
“Please don’t swear, Sam,” Marilyn said. “And we are not leaving. We can’t leave now.”
“We can’t leave?” I guess I must have raised my voice to a near scream. “Dear God, don’t you realize that this guy is a deputy sheriff? You said you overheard what he had to say. That someone spotted my car when I stopped to pick you up. Honey, we have to get out of here. Right this minute.”
She shook her head, looking stubborn.
“I don’t care about Suzy,” I yelled. “I tell you—”
“But it isn’tSuzy any longer,” she said.
I opened my eyes wide.
"Well, if it isn’t Suzy then just why—■?"
“Socks,” she said.
“Socks?”
“Socks. Socks Leopold. He's outside. In the cocktail lounge. Isaw him when I was coming in with the tire iron. He has Binge and Hymie with him.
I sank back on the bed.
“Give it to me slow,” I said. “I’m still a little punchy. I’ve been through a lot today. Who is Socks and who is Binge and who is Hymie?”
She sighed and spoke slowly, as though she were explaining the facts of life to a not too bright thirteen-year-old.
“Socks is Marcus’ boss. He's the one who really runs things—both in New York and Florida and in Cuba. Aurelio—Mr. Marcus—was just really a sort offrontforhim.
“Great,” I said. “Just great! And who are Binge and Hymie?”
“Well, I don’t really know. Except Mr. Marcus always called them in when someone gave him trouble. Binge and Hymie took care of the trouble.
“So Binge and Hymie are the muscle and your Socks is the brain,” I said. “God, this is just great. Here we are, with a half-dead deputy sheriff on our hands and outside we have a little reception committee. Tell me, did they see you? Do they know you are here?”
“I’m sure they don’t,” Marilyn said. “I saw them first and I am sure they didn’t see me.”
“Then why did they come here?”
“It’s simple, silly,” she said. “Don’t you see? They heard about what happened to Mister Marcus and they drove down here. They went to find out what happened to the—well, they just want to find out what happened. So they had to stay some place and this is the only decent place around.
And so they just accidentally came here and checked in,” I said, my voice a little desperate.
But they didn't check in. They just stopped by to have dinner. Maybe they will check in, but they haven’t yet.”
“How can you tell?”
“There was no one in the lobby and I looked in the registration book. They weren’t checked in.”
“Under other names?”
“No. I saw Socks’ car outside and checked the license number. The book has the license numbers of the cars which check in. They will go away after a while, but in the meantime we have to stay here.”
I shook my head.
"Honey,” I said. “You are not thinking very clearly. Suzy is due any minute now. Remember? When she comes, and they see her—”
“That’s all the more reason why we have to stay,” Marilyn said. She saw the expression on my face and hurried on. “Please,” she said. “Please, I have it all figured out.”
“You have what figured out?” I guess I sounded a little hysterical.
“Everything,” she said. “I overheard just about all that this horrible man said to you.”
She was beginning to lose me again.
“Don’t you see his plan?’ she asked, shaking her head sadly.
“His plan?”
"Yes. Like he was going to do to you. Only we will do it to him. You go out and get the car and drive around to the carport in back. We’ll gag him if he comes to and then you just take him in the car and you leave him somewhere. With some of the money on him. I hate to give up any of the money, ’ ’ she continued, rather sadly, “but it will be best. A whole package of hundred-dollar bills. They have the Havana bank wrappers still around them.
“Well, wherever you leave him, you have to make it look like it was an accident. Like he was hit by a car or something. And then you get right to a phone and you call the state police and you tip them off to where he is. Then they find him and the money and put two and two together.”
“And your pal Socks will figure he was the first one at the scene of the accident and got away with the loot,” I finished for her. “And in the meantime, those apes will see your sister and will case this joint and turn up the real loot and—”
Please,” Marilyn said. “Please, honey. Listen. Of course Suzy will come and they may see her. But they won’t dare actually do anything as long as Suzy and I stay here at the motel. They are much too smart for that. And I want them to come in. I want them to look for the money. But they won’t find it.”
“Why not?”
Because you will have the money with you. Don’t you see, honey? They search the room and they don't find the money. And then the story is out that this Battle is found unconscious with some of the money on him. They won’t be bothering me anymore. They’ll be trying to get to him to see who was in it with him when he found Marcus’ body. While they are doing that, well, that’s when Suzy and I will duck out to meet you. ”
I drew a long sigh and shook my head. She was good. She was very, very good.
“And you trust me to take the money?” I said.
She gave me that almost sly look from under her eyelids. A look that suddenly wanted me to forget the pain in my groin and forget just about everything but the hours we had spent together that afternoon.
“Of course I trust you, honey.”
I nodded. She could make a guy feel wonderful.
“There’sjust one flaw,” Isaid. “I’ll have the money and Socks can’t, or his boys can’t, know about that. But one guy will know. Battle. And sooner or later, after he is found, he is going to—”
I didn’t like the way she was looking at me.
“I’mnotgoingto kill him,” Isaid. “Baby, I love you a great deal and I love money, but I am not—”
"Sam,” she interrupted in shocked surprise, “who ever suggested anything like that? Of course you aren’t going to kill him. Who ever suggested that you should? There will be no reason to. By the time he does come to and tells his story—which I don’t think he would even dare tell—why, by then you won’t have the money if they do pick you up and it will just be his word against yours.”
“I won’t have the money? I thought you said—”
She sucked in her lips and shook her head.
“After you drop Battle,” she said, “you must drive straight into Baltimore. I don’t think it is very far and as I remember you pass an airport on the way. Friendship Airport, I think it is called. Well, cut in and go to the waiting room. You will find a whole lot of lockers where passengers on the airlines check luggage while they are waiting between planes. So you just check the suitcase with the money.”
“And then?”
“And then you put the key in an envelope, but be sure to wrap it well in a couple of pieces of paper. Address it to General Delivery. But not to yourself. Just in case you are picked up for questioning, which I don’t think you will be. Address it to, well, say Mr. and Mrs. Harold O. Southern, General Delivery, Baltimore.”
“Why Mr. and Mrs.?”
“Why so either one of us can pick it up if the other one can’t make it. And then, whichever one does, takes a train and goes to Washington. Checks into
the Statler and waits and the other one comes as soon as he can. Either you— I orSuzy and me.”
Boy, I had to hand it to her. She had it figured. I began to wonder why she had ever wanted me around in the first place, except to drive her to the nearest telephone after she had been stymied there at the side of the road.
For the first time I really began to look forward to meeting sister Suzy. She had said Suzy was the bright one and took care of her. Suzy must really be something in the mental department.
One thing, however, I was quite sure about. No one in this world could top Marilyn K. in what was a far more important female activity.
Battle began to stir and his mouth opened and closed as he gasped. He reminded me, with his snaggled teeth, of a dying barracuda gasping for air.
Again she was faster than I was. She tore the pillow case in two and jammed in into his mouth, telling me to cut another piece from the Venetian blind cords. While I was cutting it, I heard a dull thwack and I turned just in time to see her again hitting him with the tire iron.
She looked up at me, shaking her head defensively.
“I really didn’t hurt him,” she said childishly. “I know how to hit so it just knocks them out and doesn’t fracture anything. Marcus' bodyguard taught me. He used to be a policeman.”
“Did he use a tire iron, too?” I couldn't help asking.
“Don’t be mean to me, Sam,” she said. “And hurry up now. It’s dark out and you better get the car around to the back. But be very careful. Don’t let anyone notice you.”
"I’ll be very, very careful,” I promised. “You don’t mind if I have a drink first, though, do you. I can use one.”
“You really should eat something before you drink any more,” she said.
I agreed with her. I needed to build up my strength. Watching her, as I poured the drink, I knew I would want every ounce of strength I could possibly get, once we were alone again. I was already dreaming about that small safe little place somewhere in South America, as I left the motel suite and went out in front to get the car.
I was tempted to stop in at the cocktail lounge on the way and see if I could pick out Marcus’ boy friends, but I resisted the temptation. I didn’t want Battle staying in that room a second longer than necessary, even if he was gagged and had his hands tied behind him. I had a lot of confidence in Battle’s resistance and his eventual capacity for making trouble, even with his hands tied.
There was a new man behind the desk in the lobby but he ignored me as I P®ssec^ through. Outside were a couple of dozen cars, most of which proba-
У belonged to the crowd that had come in for dinner. The cars which be-
longed to the transients were around in the carports behind the individual suites, where I wished that Marilyn had had the sense to leave mine.
Battle’s old station wagon was parked at an angle two or three slots down from the entrance. He’d left his door open and as I passed, I gave it a shove, slamming it shut. As I did I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and I looked up.
The long black Imperial limousine was parked next to it and leaning against the front fender was a short, broad-shouldered man with a broken nose and wearing a Brooks Brothers suit. The tip-off was the shoes. They were Harlem yellow. He had "racket” written all over him.
He was watching me casually but missing nothing. No special interest; he was the kind who watched everything. I saw that the plates on the Imperial were New York. Broken-nose would be either Binge or Hymie.
She had left the keys in the Pontiac and I hit the starter button. The motor turned over and nothing happened. I goosed the gas pedal a couple of times and tried again. I guess I must have been nervous. I managed to flood the engine. I tried twice more and still nothing happened.
I swore. The battery was a little old and I was afraid of drawing too much juice so I just waited for a minute or so.
The joker who had been leaning against the Imperial walked over. He shook his head a little sadly. “Flooded her,” he said.
“I know.”
“You gotta be careful with these old heaps,” he said. "You flood 'em and they’re hell. When you try again, keep your gas pedal all the way down to the floor.”
I said thanks and I put the gas pedal on the floor, which I knew all along I should do. I pushed the starter and the engine caught.
“You should trade that iron in,” Broken-nose said. “I see you are from New York.”
“Right,” I said.
“Been down to Florida? You got a nice tan.”
He was leaning against the door and the only way I could get rid of him was to either take off and leave him hanging on air, or answer him. I answered him, without enthusiasm.
“Nope—Baltimore,” I said. “I got a sun lamp.”
He nodded, thought about it for a second or two and decided there wasn’t anything more to say and took his arm off the door and went back to lean on the fender of the black Imperial. I pulled out of the parking spot, circled the motel and drew up behind the suite where Marilyn K. was waiting. She opened the back door the moment I knocked.
Cut off that overhead light, ” I said, “ and then just stand here and see that
no one comes by. I’ll go in and get him.”
I She nodded and switched the light as I stepped into the living room of the suite.
He was exactly where I had left him. Lying flat on his back. There was only one thing different. The area between his little pig eyes and the line where the wiry red crew-cut began was no longer convex. It was concave. And the short, tortured gasps were no longer coming from his barracuda mouth. His chest wasn’t slowly rising and falling.
I leaned over him quickly, but it wasn’t necessary to listen to his heart or feel his pulse. He was dead. He had to be dead. No man could live with his entire forehead bashed in.
There was surprisingly little blood.
I didn’t touch him. Instead I stood up and slowly went toward the door where Marilyn stood looking out. I took her gently by the arm and pulled her into the room, closing the door after her.
“You’d better hurry,” she said. “Hurry and get him into the car.”
“Why did you do it?” I tried hard to keep the anger out of my voice.
“You are hurting my arm, Sam,” she said. “Why did I do what?”
“Why did you kill him?”
She looked up at me, wide-eyed.
"Kill him? Kill who?”
“Don’t be cute, kitten,” I said. “I asked you a question. Why did you kill him? Why did you beat that deputy’s head in with the tire iron as soon as I left the room.”
“Oh Sam,” she said. “I didn’t kill him. Of course I hit him. I had to. The minute you left to get the car he came to. I guess he was just acting all along. Anyway, he reared up and started for me.”
“He was tied,” I said, coldly.
“Of course he was tied. But he got up and he’s a big man. He started for me and he was between me and the door. And so I reached for the tire iron and I had to hit him again.”
“You hit him again all right,” I said through clenched teeth. “I thoughtyou said you knew how to do it—that one of Mister Marcus’ boys had taught you.”
Don’t be mean to me, Sam,” she said. “I didn’t have time to do anything but just swing. Otherwise he would have been on top of me. Anyway, he probably isn t really dead. He’s probablyjust—”
He s dead, ” I said bitterly.
Well then, you should certainly hurry and get him out of here. And don't ook at me like that, Sam. I told you it was an accident. Self-defense. Anyway, it so ves one problem. When you call the state police and they find him, you
Won’t have to worry about what he will say. ”
I didn’t answer her. I was afraid that if I did, I'd lose my temper completely.
Wordlessly I went back and got my arms under his shoulders. I didn’t try to lift him, but just dragged him along the floor. The tire iron was lying where it had fallen and I kicked it out of my way, suddenly sick to my stomach.
She held the door open for me and then circled and opened the trunk of the Pontiac. It was a job getting him in and closing the Ed. I was sweating when I went back inside. I didn’t say anything, but just went over and poured a water glass fuU of Scotch and took it without a chaser.
She had gone in and got the bags and was carrying them with her when she came back. She was panting a Ettle and dropped them to the floor. She went back and returned a moment later with a package of money, tightly wrapped in a printed bank band.
“Here,” shesaid. “You had better put it in his pocket after you get him out of the car. Now don’t forget.”
I reached for the money, saying nothing, and I guess she read the expression on my face.
“Darling,” she said. “Darling, I told you I didn’t do it on purpose.” She leaned forward on her toes and her arms went out and around my waist and she puUed herself tight against me. “Honey.”
I guess it was then I realized for the first time that lust is even stronger than revulsion.
The money feU from my hand to the floor and as our lips met, my own arms went around her and my hands dropped down her back and as she strained against me, they found their favorite hold. Nature had designed her buttocks exactly the right size and shape to fit into a man’s palms.
She started to moan a Ettle and her tongue was forcing my lips apart. I didn’t care then, for the next few minutes, whether she had murdered Battle or whether she had murdered a dozen men. I didn’t care about the pain in my groin where Battle had kneed me; I didn’t care about anything on this God’s green earth but just one simple thing.
I started to move, with her clinging to me, toward the bed.
But she twisted suddenly and I was made aware once more of her fantastic strength. She twisted and pushed against me with her own two small hands, pulling her lips away.
‘No—no, not now,” she said. “Suzy will be here any minute and you have to get started.”
I groaned.
Suzy!” I said. “Jesus Christ!”
Sam,” she said. “Please don’t swear.”
I released her, staring at her.
“Hurry now, Sam,” she urged. “And don’t forget. Mr. and Mrs. John Southern, General Delivery, Baltimore. And we’ll meet at the Washington Staffer.”
I picked up the money as I left the room. I also picked up the half-empty bottle of Scotch.