Madball (13 page)

She was sitting on her trunk trimming her toenails when Leon came. He stood looking down at he
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for a minute without saying anything and then he opened his trunk and took the whisky bottle from it, a fifth bottle a little less than half full. He twisted off the cap and drank from it.

She asked, "Can I have one, Leon?" He never offered her a drink but he always gave her one on the rare occasions when she asked for it. She didn't drink much or often; it tended to upset her stomach and she could never get drunk because she'd always get sick first. But tonight she needed at least one drink to quiet her nerves.

He passed her the bottle. "Drink all you want to, Doll. Just leave me a nightcap. I'm going over to the G-top." When the meaning of what he just said sank in, Dolly almost choked over the raw whisky going down her throat. Why tonight of all nights did he want to play poker in the gambling top? True, he played an average of about twice a week and he hadn't played for several nights now; she should have counted on the possibility, even the probability, of it happening. But she'd overlooked it completely. For a moment she almost cried out, "Leon, please don't!" But then she realized she didn't dare; she couldn't give a reason why she didn't want him to play, and she'd never objected before. Most times she'd been really glad to be alone for a while, even though she could never count on being safely alone while he was gone because he usually came back briefly several times on one excuse or another but really to check up on her, to be sure she was still here and alone. If she wanted even to go for a cup of coffee she'd have to go to the G-top first and tell him she'd be in the chow top for a while; and like as not five or twenty minutes later he'd come to the chow top himself presumably to get some coffee too but really to make sure she was there and either alone or in the company of another woman.

But tonight of all nights! He might play all night long if he won and she didn't dare leave here while he played!

She'd have to get word to Joe somehow, at whatever risk; she couldn't bear to think of his waiting for her all night long when she might not be able to come at all.

She said, "Can I have a buck, Leon? I'm getting hungry. Think I'll go over for coffee and a sandwich now." She was thinking fast; a few minutes from now would be the safest time to let Joe know. She could go past his sleeping top between her and the chow top and tell him she probably wouldn't be able to come and if she did it would be awfully late.

Leon took a small roll of bills from his pocket, peeled off the outside one and gave it to her. Then he took another quick drink of the whisky and left, lifting the sidewall of the top and ducking under it.

She stared at the whisky, wondering if she should risk putting the sleeping stuff in it now. Surely she was safe for a few minutes; not until he'd bought chips and played at least a hand or two would he leave the game to check up on her here or at the chow top. She found a tumbler in her trunk and poured into it about two ounces of whisky from the bottle so she could have a couple more drinks herself to help her stay awake and then, listening very carefully for footsteps, she emptied the teaspoonful of
cl
ear liquid from the little bottle into the whisky bottle and shook it so it would mix well. The bottle was less than a third full now so that would make it fairly strong with the sleeping draught; it would probably work all right on Leon if he took even a couple more drinks out of it after he came back. And if he came back early he might even drink it all before he turned in.

But whether he got back early or not would depend on whether he won or lost. Leon was systematic in his gambling. He always played a certain definite amount
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she wasn't sure just how much it was but she thought it was ten dollars
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and he never lost more than that in any one game; when it was gone he would quit. But if he won he'd play on till the game broke up and that was seldom before dawn.

So tonight, if he started out losing, he might be back quickly, half an hour or even less, and everything would be all right. But what if he won! She'd have to get word to Joe. And right now, with the game just getting started, would be the least risky time to do it.

She drank half of the whisky she'd poured into the tumbler to give her courage and then stepped into a pair of slippers and went out under the sidewall.

She took a quick look in the direction of the G-top to be sure Leon wasn't coming back and then ran around behind the freak show top and to Joe's place. No light. She called, "Joe," softly and then, when there wasn't any answer, again and more loudly.

He couldn't be there or he'd have heard that second call, He hadn't, of course, expected her this early. After all it was less than half an hour since the last show they'd put on; Joe would figure at least an hour for Leon to go soundly enough to sleep, even if he turned in right away.

She hurried back to the midway and along it to the chow top. Maybe Joe would be there.

But he wasn't. She waved to a few groups at tables but didn't join them. She sat alone at the counter instead. She'd make her sandwich last as long as she could and maybe Joe would come in. Joe or Mr. Evans; either would do because if she could tell Evans he'd get word to Joe. All she had to tell either of them was that Leon was playing poker. From that either of them would know the score -
that Leon might come back at any unexpected minute or he might play all night, and that she couldn't take the risk of going to Joe until Leon was back.

She sat so she could watch the door while she ate. If either of them came in she could start out right away, as though she didn't want to finish her sandwich, and could speak those few words as she passed him.

But it was Leon, not Joe or Evans, who came in just as she was finishing her sandwich.

He said, "Doll, I can use a sandwich myself. And since you're here I won't have to wait for it. Will you get me one and bring it to the G-top on your way back?"

"Sure, Leon. A hamburger?"

"Nah, make it a cheese. Easier to eat while I'm playing cards."

"Okay, I'll bring it. How you doing?"

"So-so. Few bucks ahead. Hurry up with it, will you?"

He went out and she ordered a cheese to go. She couldn't sit here now any longer than it would take Hank to make the sandwich; Leon had seen that she'd finished her own meal and would be expecting her right away. Well, making a stop at the gambling top first would make it safer for her to go back by way of Joe's place again and maybe by now he'd be there and she could tell him.

But when she went into the G-top to give Leon his sandwich she saw that everything was all right. Joe Linder was in the poker game too, sitting right next to Leon. He'd been smarter than she because he'd realized Leon might decide to play tonight and had done the smart thing by joining the game himself. If Leon lost he'd know exactly when Leon left and he could leave a few minutes later and be waiting for her. If Leon won and played all night he'd know that too.

And that meant
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why, it meant she could go to him no matter how long Leon played, even if he played until five in the morning it would be all right. He'd still take a few drinks out of that bottle, and if he played that long he'd be so dead sleepy that it would probably be safe even if he didn't. Surely once he got to sleep after an all-night session he wouldn't waken for at least a few hours.

She very carefully didn't look at Joe nor he at her while she was in the G-top. She gave Leon his sandwich and hurried out, back to their living quarters behind the canvas partition.

She might as well turn in and pretend to be sleeping when he came back. She turned off the bare bulb that dangled from overhead; there was still plenty of light to see by, coming in over the top of the partition from the high bulb in the middle of the top that was left burning all night. In the relative dimness she slipped the gingham dress over her head and folded it neatly on one corner of her trunk where she could get it easily when the time came. Then, with the slip in which she slept in her hands ready to put on, she looked down at her body, suddenly and pleasantly aware of it, of its nakedness. She saw that it was good, thought of it being caressed and fondled, a source of ecstacy to herself and to another. She dropped the slip onto the trunk and for a moment her hands cupped her breasts and it was as though Joe's hands were there instead of her own.

Then, suddenly realizing that Leon might come back at any moment, she put the slip on quickly. She unrolled the bedding and spread it, got in under the blanket. Before lying down she reached for the tumbler on the corner of the trunk and drank what
was left of the whisky she'd poured out for herself. She almost wished now that she'd saved out more before doping the rest. But perhaps it was better that she hadn't. It would be horrible to make herself drunk or sick tonight.

She lay back and closed her eyes, to dream awake, knowing there was no slightest danger of her falling asleep no matter how long the wait.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

STANDING IN THE DARK at the window of his trailer, the window that gave him a full view of Joe Linder's sleeping t
o
p, The Murderer sweated.

Something had gone wrong, or was going wrong.

Almost half an hour ago he had seen Dolly go to that top and stop outside, stand there a moment and then hurry on. Wasn't Linder there to answer her call? Or hadn't she called?
Had she simply lost her nerve?

The thing had seemed so simple, so foolproof, when he'd planned it, and now he saw chance after chance for something to go wrong. If they weren't both killed, for instance, if one of them was only injured, his part in it would come out in the survivor's story. His acting as intermediary between them in making the assignation, his having given Dolly the little bottle of "sleeping stuff" that could be proved, even from the empty bottle, to be water. He'd have some impossible explaining to do if that happened. And if it was Dolly who survived, the fat would really be in the fire. Once she realized how he'd double-crossed her on the sleeping potion she'd tell them that he'd killed Mack Irby.

He tried to pull his mind back from panic and make it think logically for him. Dolly's trip had been too damned early; it had meant something other than that Leon was safely asleep and that she'd been going to Joe. He'd started his vigil at midnight and her brief stop in front of Joe's sleeping top had been only a few minutes after that. The freak show had closed at eleven-forty, not much over twenty minutes before then. Much too short a time for Leon to have had any drinks, undress and get to bed, be soundly enough asleep for Dolly to risk leaving him.

A thought came to him. What if Leon had gone to play poker in the gambling top? In that case Dolly might have taken the risk of a quick preliminary trip to Joe's to tell him about it. If that was the case everything would still work out
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if only Leon didn't hit a winning streak that would keep him playing all night.

If that was it, had Joe got whatever Dolly had called out to him while she stood there? He didn't think so; if Joe had been inside and if Dolly had called, surely he'd have stuck his head out, not merely talked through canvas.

Too many ifs.

Another one had already struck him just about the time he'd started watching. What if Leon awakened when Dolly, maybe made over-confident by thinking his sleep was drugged, got up to leave him? Leon might beat and frighten the whole story out of her
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and in that case might not Leon come knifing for him instead of or ahead of Joe Linder? That thought had sent him to the locked suitcase to get the gun he kept there, the snub-nosed .38 revolver. It was in his pocket now and its weight there was comforting when he thought of Leon and Leon's knives. At least he could get Leon before Leon could get him, whatever that might lead to. It wouldn't lead to anything except safety, of course, if Leon killed Dolly and Joe first. It would be even better that way except that he'd have to have a story for the cops as to why Leon would have chosen him as a third victim. Well, he as well as Joe could have been making passes at Dolly.

But damn it, was or wasn't Joe behind the enigmatic canvas of that sleeping top? If not, why not? He should surely, by now, be there waiting for Dolly.

Well, that much at least he could find out. No risk there and if Joe was home he could find out whether Dolly had called anything to him or whether she'd come but lost her nerve
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and in that case what would he do now? The hell with deciding that now. Find out first if Joe was home.

He left the trailer and hurried over to the sleeping top. He called Joe's name and there wasn't any answer. Since at least he knew for sure that Dolly wasn't inside, he pulled back the flap and look in with his flashlight. No one.

He walked back to the trailer and sat on the steps, wondering if he should take the risk of going to the G-top.

But what if, while he was in there, Joe came back and Dolly joined him?

Someone was coming toward him in the darkness between two of the tops. Too late to get back into the trailer; whoever it was had seen him on the steps by now. He stood up and put his right hand into the pocket that held the gun, his hand clenching it ready to shoot. Then he saw who was coming and took his hand out of his pocket again. It was only Sammy.

"Hi, Mr. Evans," Sammy said. "Can I look at pitchers?"