Talk of The Town (17 page)

I dropped it into the pocket of my jacket having no illusions at all about threatening him with it. On television shows you ordered people around with a gun as if they were some kind of magic wand, but this was Redfield, and his wife had been beaten up and raped. The minute he saw her, the only way you’d stop him with a gun would be to empty it into him and try to stay out of his way till he died.

The thing I could use, however, should be in the right hip pocket of his trousers or the pocket of his jacket. But before I could try cither of them he heaved upwards and we rolled again, across the fallen bridge lamp, crushing it and scattering light bulbs. The only one that was turned on, fortunately, was that at the other end of the room. But in this new battle area we were facing towards where she had fallen when I’d shoved her, and he saw her at last, saw her sitting up with her hair in wild disarray and her clothes torn half off. He went silently berserk. If I’d weighed four hundred pounds I couldn’t have held him down. He broke the stranglehold around my throat, heaved me off, and scrambled to his knees. I hit him on the jaw hard enough to drop him, and it had no more effect than hitting a wall. He battered at my face, pushed to his feet, and kicked at my head. I caught his legs and up-ended him again, and this time as we threshed across the floor I found the sap.

It was ugly and vicious and I hated to do it, but it was the only thing that could stop him. Knocking him out was no good, even if I could do it. I had to try to talk to him. I cut his arms down with it as he was trying to get to his feet, and then worked over the muscles at the backs of his legs. She ran past me to the fireplace and came back with the poker, and managed to hit me with it once before I could take it away from her. I shoved her again. She fell.

Redfield lay against the wreckage of the coffee table. I pinned him with a hand against his chest as he struggled to get at me with arms and legs that would no longer answer his commands. Wind roared in my throat and I could taste blood in my mouth; I’d taken a lot of punishment to get that sap.

“Listen.”
I said. I had to stop for breath. “I didn’t do that. Do you think I’m insane? She framed me. She wanted me killed or run out of here so I could never come back. Don’t you know yet she killed Langston, you fool? How much longer are you going to try to close your eyes to it?”

I ran out of breath. I looked at his face as I gasped, and realized he was hearing nothing at all of what I said. He was conscious, and immobile, as I’d wanted him, and the whole thing was utterly useless. There was no way it could penetrate; there simply wasn’t room in his mind for anything beside that implacable yearning to get to me and kill me. His eyes moved once, towards her, and then back to my face. They were terrible. If I lived a hundred years, I thought, I’d never completely forget them. Then I remembered that if I lived until tomorrow morning it would be a miracle.

I stood up on shaky legs. There was no sound in the room except that of our breathing. I went over and yanked the phone out of the wall. I’d never find the keys to his station wagon, but he would have left those in the cruiser. It would make a wonderful, inconspicuous thing to try to get away in. But there was no point in even trying to think more than a minute ahead now. I turned at the doorway. She was lying on her side, sobbing. It was a good act. He had pushed himself out of the wreckage of the coffee table and was trying to crawl towards me like a dog with a broken back, still staring at me. And not once had he ever uttered a word. So I was going to talk to him, I thought.

Well, anyway, I’d gained a few minutes’ time and a car.

I ran outside and got in the cruiser. The keys were in it. I slid around the corner back at the other end of the block and headed for the highway. By this time I was beginning to think a little and I realized I had no chance of getting out of the State, even if I had another car. And that I couldn’t go anywhere until I’d found Georgia Langston. There was no telling what they’d do now.

Maybe Ollie had seen something. I still had a few minutes before Redfield could get to a telephone and spread the alarm. I slid in between two other cars in the parking area at the side of the Silver King and jumped out quickly. There was no one in sight. When I hurried through, the waitress and two customers turned to stare. I wondered what I looked like now.

The bar was crowded. A man I didn’t know was behind the bar. Well, I thought wearily, he couldn’t stay on duty all the time. Then I saw him down near the other end. He was checking the cash register. I went clown and found an open space and called his name. Customers turned to stare. I caught sight of my face in the bar mirror. The cut place over my eye had been opened again, and the blood had dried on the side of my face. The other eye was developing a shiner, and I had a big puffy area on the left side of my jaw. I stuffed the torn pennants of my shirt down inside my belt and buttoned the jacket. It didn’t help any that I could see.

Ollie turned, and hurried over. “Good God, Chatham, what happened?”

“It’s a long story,” I said.

“Have you seen anything of Mrs. Langston tonight? You didn’t see her leave over there, by any chance?”

“No,” he replied.

“But she called here a few minutes ago. Wanted to know if I’d seen you—”

“Where was she?” I interrupted. “How long ago?”

“I don’t know where she was. But it wasn’t over five minutes ago.”

“Was she all right?”

He looked surprised. “I guess so. Seemed a little worried about you, that’s all.”

At that moment there occurred one of those unexpected lulls that happen now and then in bars. The jukebox quit abruptly and several people stopped talking at about the same time, with the result that one voice somewhere behind me took over the floor. It was familiar, and still it wasn’t. I turned. It was Pearl Talley, sitting with his back towards me, telling one of his interminable stories.

“. . . So the first man says, “”Look, Morris, we know by you it’s a sickness already, it should happen to Hitler, but, Morris, we’re only asking would you please—”

“Tobacco Road Yiddish,” Ollie said. “He also does a good southern Swede.”

“It’s not bad,” I said thoughtfully, still looking at Pearl.

“Oh, sometimes when he gets wound up he’ll go on all night with those half-witted dialects.”

“Maybe he even speaks English?” I said.

Ollie grinned and shook his head. “I’ve never heard him try.”

“Well, I’ll see you,” I said, and started to turn away.

“Anything I can do for you?” he asked. “Run you in to a doc if you haven’t got a car.”

”I’m all right, thanks. I’ve just got to find Mrs. Langston.” And get out of sight within the next five or ten minutes, I thought, if I wanted to see tomorrow’s sunrise. I went out the door, and looked across the road. Her station wagon was parked in front of the office. Nothing surprised me any more. I broke into a run, and was almost hit by a car. The driver called me something unprintable and sped on. I ran into the lobby and could hear her moving around in the living-room. She turned as I shoved through the curtains. She was still dressed exactly as she had been at dinner, and as far as I could see she was unharmed. She looked at my face and gasped, and then, is if we’d been rehearsing it for a week, she was in my arms.

“I’ve been so worried,” she said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Bill, what happened?”

“No time now,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here. Fast.”

She grasped the urgency in my voice and asked no questions. Running into the bedroom, she came out with her purse and a pair of flat shoes. We hurried out. She locked the front door. It occurred to me the back one was probably broken open, but it didn’t seem very important.

“Where does Talley live?” I asked, as I hit the starter. “I mean, east of town, or west?”

“West,” she said. “On the other side of the river, and then south four or five miles.”

We’d risk it, I thought. I had no plan of any kind except to get off the highway and out of sight, but once we were committed we’d never get back through town or across that bridge. In a few minutes everything was going to be closed to us.

I whirled around and shot onto the highway, headed towards town. And almost at the same instant I heard the siren wailing up ahead of us. It was too late to turn now. I kept going straight ahead, holding my breath. The Sheriff’s car shot past us, doing sixty. He hadn’t seen us. They were still looking for me in their cruiser.

“Watch him,” I said, opening up as much as I dared. “Is he turning in?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “What is it, Bill?”

They’d find their cruiser across the street, and then they’d be looking for this station wagon. “In a few minutes,” I said. “If we get through town.”

I went through as if I were driving on eggs. The streets were quiet now, with not enough traffic to cover us. I felt naked. Nobody paid any attention to us. We came onto the bridge at River Street and I was tied in knots expecting to hear the growl of a siren open up behind us. Nothing happened. Breath escaped from me in a long sigh. I eased in on the throttle and was doing fifty by the time we were across the river. “Where do we turn?” I asked.

“A little over a mile,” she said. “There’s a service station.”

I prayed he’d be closed, but he wasn’t. However, he was busy waiting on a customer as we made the turn and I didn’t think he saw us. I straightened out and hit the throttle again. It was a gravel road running through timber and there were no other cars in sight. I slammed on the brakes.

“Look,” I said, “you can still get out. If I’m not with you, they can’t stop you. Go back to the highway and head east.”

“Are you in trouble?” she asked quietly.

“Serious trouble. And you will be too, if you’re caught with me.”

“And leave you here in the dark, on foot?” she asked. “Bill, you’re making me angry.”

“I tell you—”

“If you’re in trouble, it’s because of me. I don’t know what you’re going to try, but I intend to help. Now, keep going, or I’ll drive.”

“It’s a thousand-to-one shot—”

“Bill!”

I put the car in gear and hit the throttle. “Stubborn,” I said, and grinned in the darkness. It made my face hurt.

“Have you ever been to his place?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “Just by it. This is the road that goes down-river to the Cut where Kendall kept his boat.”

“It figures,” I said. I fought the car around a turn, throwing gravel, just inside the ragged edge of control. “Let me know when we’re getting near.”

”All right. I think about a half-mile before we get there we pass a fence and a cattle-guard.”

“Good.” We came around another turn and there was nothing but darkness and trees. We sped on, meeting no one. In another few minutes the fence flashed past and I heard the cattle-guard clatter beneath the tires. I slowed abruptly, watching the sides of the road. In less than a hundred yards I found a place I could get off. A faint pair of ruts went off to the left, winding through the trees. I followed them until they disappeared, and kept going, picking my way between the trunks and around clumps of underbrush. The ground was dry and firm. When we were at least a quarter mile from the road I stopped. I cut the ignition and headlights. It was immensely silent and black all around us, as if we were alone on a whole continent that hadn’t even been discovered yet. When I turned, it was impossible to see her beside me. I put out a hand and my fingers brushed her cheek. She came towards me, and then I was holding her very tightly and whispering against her ear.

I was scared,” I said. “I was scared stiff.”

“So was I,” she replied. “What happened, Bill?”

“I’m batting one-thousand,” I said. “First I was booby-trapped by a hillbilly who thinks intelligible English is a dialect. And now I’ve been clobbered by a small-town school teacher.”

“What do they want you for?”

“Rape,” I said simply.

She cried out. “How did she do it?”

I told her the whole thing. “I walked right into it. She even set it up so I’d get there in a cab, to have the driver’s story to back her up. Then she stalled just long enough to make it look right. Was it a man or woman that called you?”

“A man. He said you’d been in a fight and were badly beaten up, and Calhoun had arrested you. I went to the jail and the hospital—”

I sighed. “He gets monotonous. But they had help on their telephone circuit this time. Let’s try Frankie, that guy I bumped into. Who’s he?”

“Frankie Crossman. He runs Pearl Talley’s junk yard, out in the west end of town.”

”You’re doing fine. Frankie’s in. He’s another one who’s mouse-trapped me. He started the fight so that acid-thrower could get away.”

“But how did they turn things over in the living-room that way?”

“One of them went over and broke in the rear as soon as they saw you drive away. You see, it had to look as if something terrible had happened to you, without anything’s actually happening—anything, that is, that might start Redfield wondering afterwards if maybe I
had
been tricked into coming there. Your being gone temporarily had nothing to do with it; I just got a few drinks under my belt, started thinking about the way she looked without her clothes on, and went charging over there like a rutting moose-”

“Incidentally, how
does
she look without her clothes on? And how would you know?”

I told her about it, and added, “You see, she’d already laid the groundwork for it. Trying to remember me. I was the Peeping Tom.”

“What can we do?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “Up till now it’s been a case of one minute at a time. My only chance is to get out of the State, and Redfield knows it. I could turn myself in, hire a good lawyer, and fight extradition until the Sheriff gets back. But he’s not going to let me get out. The highways are all blocked right now.”

“You think he’s gone bad?”

“It’s anybody’s guess,” I said. “It’s been digging him for too long. He’s got enough of it now to see the truth, if he wants it, but I don’t think he will. He’s been burying his integrity a little at a time to hang onto her, and that probably makes it easier to go all the way in the end.”

“Why did you want to come here, near Talley’s place?”

“A hunch. A very long shot I think I’ve got him tabbed now, and there’s a chance we might even be able to prove it.”

“What do you mean?”

I lit cigarettes for us. Nobody could see us here. “Talley is the boy who was making those filthy phone calls, almost beyond a doubt. He hired the acid job. I think he was there the night your husband was killed. And I’m pretty sure he was the one who tried to get me.” I told her about that.

“Oh, God,” she said.

“The telephone seems to be his favorite weapon, next to acid and shotguns. I kept picking up little leads that seemed to point to him, but I couldn’t believe them because the man we were looking for spoke something that at least resembled English. I didn’t know until tonight that Talley could speak anything but hawg-lawg-and-dawg—”

“He’s a wonderful mimic”

I know. Tell me everything you can about him.”

I suppose you’d say he was the local character,” she began. “There’s always a new Pearl Talley story going the rounds. He deliberately acts like a simple-minded hillbilly or some sort of low-comedy clown—why, I don’t know, because it never fools anybody any more. Actually, I don’t think he has much education, but he has a mind as sharp as a razor. Nobody’s ever beaten him in a business deal. He buys, sells, and trades real estate all the time, as a speculator, but he’ll spend three hours maneuvering and haggling the same way to trade somebody out of a fountain pen.

“He came here from Georgia about eight years ago, as I understand. With nothing but a ramshackle old truck loaded with some scrubby calves he wanted to trade or sell. I told you, I think, what he owns now—that big junk yard, a half-interest in the movie theater, and three or four farms that he runs cattle on, and a lot of highway frontage.

“He lives on this place and has relatives living on the others. Kinfolks, as he says. Nobody knows how many he has, or where they come from, or where they go to, or even whether he pays them anything. He’s not married, so there are usually one or two over here with him, along with whatever ratty girl he’s living with at the moment. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with a woman that didn’t look like the dregs of something, and usually they’re young enough to be juvenile delinquents, and probably are. I suppose a psychiatrist would say he was afraid of women, or hated them, and didn’t want one around he couldn’t degrade.”

“He apparently does all his business in bars, but they say he drinks very little himself. Somebody once told me his house is even a little like a honky-tonk, with a coke machine and a jukebox. I understand they can play the jukebox with slugs, but everybody has to put real dimes in if they want cokes. On the other hand, though, they say he’ll bring in a bunch of moonshine every now and then, absolutely free, and get them all drunk. Not convivially drunk, but falling-down drunk, animal drunk. While he stays sober, of course, and watches them make beasts of themselves Ugh! You’ve no doubt gathered I don’t like him.”

“Probably with good reason,” I said. I think he was trying to drive you insane or wreck your health, simply to buy your motel at a reasonable figure. No doubt it was perfectly logical from his point of view.

She was aghast. “But, good Lord, Bill, would he try to kill you just for that?”

I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m hoping it was for something else. Do you know whether he’s ever been arrested? For a felony, I mean?”

“Not that I ever heard of. Why?”

“It’s just a hunch so far. I may be able to tell a little more about it when I get to a phone.”

“Where on earth,” she asked incredulously, “do you expect to find a telephone out here?”

“Why, I thought we’d use Pearl’s,” I said.

“But—”

“It strikes me we’ve been shoved around by these telephoning guys about long enough. What do you say we change our tactics and go on the offensive? We’ve got nothing to lose now; any direction from here is up.”