Dark Passage (4 page)

“San Francisco.”

“I see you live there.” The same
voice.

“Yes.” It was her voice. “What’s the
matter, officer? Have I done something wrong?”

“I don’t know yet, miss.” The same
voice.

Then another voice. “Carrying
anything?”

Then her voice again. “Yes.”

“What have you got?” The first voice.
“What have you got there in the back!”

Her voice. “Old clothes. I’m making a
collection for China War Relief.”

The first voice. “We’ll have a look, if
you don't mind.”

Her voice. “Go right ahead.”

The sound of the door opening. The sound
of the blonde girl moving over so that the policemen could gain
access to the back seat. He started to picture it again. They were
looking at the blanket. They were going to lift the blanket. Then
he could feel it—their fingers touching the blanket, lifting the
edge of the blanket. He pulled his hand inside the sleeve of
Studebaker’s coat. They could see the sleeve now, but they couldn't
see his hand. And they could see part of the coat and that was as
far as they got. They took their fingers away from the
blanket.

The first voice. “Well, I guess it’s all
right, miss. Sorry to have troubled you, but we're checking every
car on this road.”

Her voice. “Perfectly all right, officer.
Will there be anything else?”

“No. You can drive on now.”

The sound of the door closing. The sound
of the motor rising. The Pontiac rolled again. Parry felt a wetness
against his lips and it was blood coming thickly from the back of
his hand, getting through the place where his teeth had penetrated
the sleeve.

The Pontiac made a turn. It picked up
speed and it went more smoothly now. Parry knew they were on
another road. He got his head halfway out of the
blanket.

He said, “You told them to go ahead and
look.”

“I had to,” she said. “I knew they would
look anyway. I had to take the chance.”

“Do you think we’ll be stopped
again?”

“No. From here on it’s going to be all
right.”

“Everything’s going to be all right,”
Parry said. He looked at the back of his hand. His teeth had gone
in deep. The blood wouldn't stop. And his elbows were beginning to
hurt again. And he wanted a drink of water. He wanted a cigarette.
He wanted to go to sleep.

He closed his eyes and tried to get
comfortable. Maybe he could fall asleep.

She said, “How’s it going?”

“Dandy. Everything’s going to be all right
and everything's dandy.”

“Stop it, Vincent. You’re
free.”

“Free as the breeze. I don’t have a worry
in the world. I'm doing great and everything's dandy. Look, if
you're not the police, who are you?”

“I’m your friend. Is that
enough?”

“No,” Parry said. “It’s not enough. If
they catch me they catch me, but in the meantime I want to stay out
as long as I can. And I won't stay out long if I make mistakes. I
want to be sure this isn't a mistake. How did you know I was on
that road?”

“I didn’t. That is, I wasn't sure. But I
had a feeling-”

“You had a feeling. So you went to a
fortune and he told you Vincent Parry broke out of San Quentin and
was going into the hills and through the woods and getting a lift
in a Studebaker.”

“Don’t make fun of fortune tellers.” Her
voice was light. He wondered if she was smiling.

He raised his head a few more inches from
the blanket. He could see her blonde hair above the grey velour
upholstery. All he had to do was get hold of her hair and pull her
head back to get a crack at her jaw.

“How did you know I broke out of San
Quentin?” he asked.

“The radio.”

He brought his head up another inch. He
said, “All right, that passes. Let’s try this one—how did you know
I was on that road?”

“I know the section.”

“What are you giving me?”

“I’m telling you I know the section. “Her
voice was no longer light.” I know all the roads around here. The
first radio announcement said you got away. The second announcement
said you got away in a truck. They gave the location where police
stopped the truck. I know the section very well. I used to
paint.”

“You used to paint what?”

“Water color. Landscape stuff. I used to
hang around there and paint those meadows and hills. Sometimes I’d
go into the hills and I'd get a slant on the woods. Then sometimes
I'd use the road to get another slant on the woods. That's how I
knew about the road. I had a feeling you'd be on that
road.”

“I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Don’t you want to believe it? Then don't
believe it. Do you want to get out?”

“What?”

“I said do you want to get out? I got you
past the police. If you had taken that Studebaker you’d be on your
way back to San Quentin by now. That's one thing. And if they had
pulled back that blanket another few inches I'd be letting myself
in for a few years of prison. That's another thing. Right now I'm
letting myself in for a broken jaw.”

“What do you mean a broken
jaw?”

“You’re all set to clip me one, aren't
you?”

Parry said, “Now I know why you stick up
for the fortune tellers. You’re a fortune teller yourself. You're a
mind reader.”

“Please, Vincent. Please wait it
out.”

“Wait for what?”

“For the chance. A real chance. There’s
going to be a real chance for you. I have the feeling-”

“Let’s try a hard one,” Parry said. “Tell
me the date of my birth.”

“April first, the way you’re acting now.
Do you want to get out?”

“You want to get rid of me, don’t
you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m beginning to feel afraid.”

“Sister, I don’t blame you. The
law-”

“I’m not afraid of the law, Vincent. I'm
afraid of you. I'm sorry I started this. I'm sorry I threw the
blanket in the back of the car and went out to find you. Now I've
found you and I'm stuck with you. I didn't know it would be this
way.”

“What way?”

“You. The way you’re carrying on. I
thought it would be very different from what it is. I thought you'd
be soft. And kind. And very grateful. Very grateful for every
little thing. That's the way I always imagined you. That's the way
you were at the trial.”

“You attended the trial?”

“Yes. I was there almost every
day.”

“How come?”

“I was interested.”

“In me?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry for me?”

“Yes. At the trial. And after you were
sentenced. And earlier today. Now I’m no longer interested. I did
something I wanted to do very badly. I did my little bit for you.
And it hasn't turned out the way I thought it would turn out.
You're not soft, Vincent. You're mean—and I'm stuck with
you.”

“You’re not stuck with me,” Parry said.
“I'm getting out here. And I'm not doing what I did to Studebaker.
All I'm doing is saying good-bye and good luck.”

The Pontiac went over to the side of the
road and came to a stop.

“How is it?” Parry said.

“It’s clear.”

“Any place I can duck?”

“Take a look.”

He brought his head up and gazed through
all the windows. Directly ahead the wide road sliced through a
narrow valley devoid of houses. On the right side the valley
widened and on the left side there was a patch of woodland going
level for a few hundred yards and then climbing up a
mountain.

“This will be all right,” Parry said. He
put his hand on the door handle. He tilted the back of the empty
front seat, quickly opened the door and leaped out. Running toward
the patch of woodland he heard the Pontiac going away.

He was twenty yards away from the woodland
when he heard a motor grinding and without looking he knew that the
Pontiac was in reverse and coming back. He turned and raced toward
the road.

The door was open for him.

She said, “Get in.”

He jumped in, closed the door and got
under the blanket as if it were home and he had been away from home
for a long time.

The Pontiac started forward and went into
second and moved up to third and did forty. She held it
there.

Parry said, “Why did you come
back?”

“You looked lonely out there.”

“I felt lonely.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Better.”

“Much better?”

“Much.”

For a while they didn’t say anything. Then
Parry asked her if it was all right to smoke and she opened both
side windows and tossed a book of matches over her shoulder. She
asked him to light one for her. He lit two cigarettes, reached up
and gave her one, then got down under the blanket and pulled smoke
into his mouth. The smoke aggravated the heat that was already in
the blanket. He didn't mind. He found that the thirst was going
away and going along with it was the pain in his elbows and the
back of his hand had stopped bleeding.

She said, “I forgot something.”

“You mean you left something with the
police?”

“No, I forgot something when I said you
weren’t soft, the way I'd expected you'd be. When I said you were
mean. I forgot that you were in a prison for seven months. Of
course you're mean. Anyone would be mean. But don't be mean to me.
Promise me you won't be mean to me.”

“Look, I told you before—you’re not stuck
with me.”

“But I am, Vincent. I am.”

Parry took the cigarette from his mouth,
put it in again and took a long tug. He got the smoke out and then
he sighed. He said, “It’s too much for me.”

She didn’t answer that. Parry felt the car
turning, going slower, heard the sound of San Francisco coming in
and getting under the blanket. The sound of other automobiles and
the honking of horns, the hum of trade and the droning of people on
the streets. He was frightened again. He wanted to get away from
here and fast. He began remembering pictures he had seen in travel
folders long ago. Places that looked out upon water. Lovely
beaches. One was Patavilca, Peru. Another was Almeria, Spain. There
were so many others, it was such a big world.

The Pontiac came to a stop.

CHAPTER 4

Parry got his head past the edge of the
blanket. He said, “What’s the matter?”

“We’re at my place. It's an apartment
house. We're on Geary, not far from the center of town. Are you
ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“You’re going to get out of the car.
You're going to stay at my place.”

“That’s no good.”

“Can you think of anything
better?”

Parry tried to think of something better.
He thought of the railroad station and he threw it away. He thought
of hopping a freight and he knew they’d be watching the freight
yards. They'd be watching every channel of possible
getaway.

He said, “No.”

“Then get ready, Vincent. Count up to
fifteen. By that time I’ll be in the apartment house and the
elevator will be set to go up. When you reach fifteen get out of
the car and walk fast but don't run. And don't be
scared.”

“What’s there to be scared
about?”

“Come on, Vincent. Don’t be scared. It's
all right now.

We’ve reached home.”

“There’s no place like home,” Parry
said.

“Start counting, Vincent,” she said and
then she was out of the car and the door closed again and Parry was
counting. When he reached fifteen he told himself that he couldn’t
do it. He was shaking again. This wasn't her apartment house. This
was her way of getting rid of him. What did she need him for? What
good could he do her? She had the keys to the car and now she was
taking a stroll. When he got out of the car he would see there was
no apartment house and no open door and nothing. He told himself
that he couldn't get out of the car and he couldn't remain in the
car.

He got out of the car and faced a
six-story yellow brick apartment house. The front door was half-way
open. He closed the door of the Pontiac. Then he walked quickly
across the pavement, up the steps of the apartment
house.

Then they were in the elevator and it was
going up. It stopped at the third floor. The corridor was done in
dark yellow. The door of her apartment was green. The number on the
door was 307. She opened the door and went in and he
followed.

It was a small apartment. It was
expensive. The general idea was grey-violet, with yellow here and
there. Parry reached for a ball of yellow glass that had a lighter
attachment on top. He lighted a cigarette and tossed the empty pack
into a grey-violet wastebasket. He looked at a yellow-stained radio
with a phonograph annex. Then he found himself glancing at the
record albums grouped in a yellow case beside the yellow-stained
cabinet.