I spit on your graves (14 page)

I suddenly thought of how my face must look and I ran back to the car. When I looked in the mirror I saw there wasn't too much to fix up. I washed myself with a little whiskey. My arms had stopped bleeding. I managed to get it out of my sleeve and tie it tight against my body with my scarf and some rope. I almost howled, it hurt so much when I bent it back. I managed, especially after I'd gotten another bottle out of the trunk. I guess I'd lost a lot of time—the sun was almost on the horizon. I took Lou's coat out of the car and draped it over her,—I didn't want

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to drag it around with me. I couldn't feel my legs any more, but my hands weren't trembling so bad any more.

I got back in behind the wheel and started the car. I wondered what she could have told Dex. Her story about the cops began to bother me, but I didn't really think about it. It just stayed in the back of my mind, like an echo.

I now wanted to take care of Jean and feel again what I'd felt twice while I was wiping out her sister. I found what I'd always been looking for. The thought of the cops bothered me, but still only vaguely—that wouldn't stop me from doing what I wanted to do,—I'd gone too far. They'd have to go damn fast to catch up with me. I still had about three hundred miles to do. My left arm was beginning to get numb, and I sent the gas-pedal all the way down.

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XX

I began to remember lots of things about an hour before I got there. I remembered the day I'd gotten my hands on a guitar for the fist time. It was at a neighbor's house, he gave me some lessons secretly. I practiced only one song, "When the Saints go Marching On" and I learned to play and sing the whole thing together with the chorus.

One evening I borrowed the neighbor's guitar to surprise everybody at home; Tom sang with me and the kid acted like he was crazy, dancing around the table as though he was leading a parade; he took a stick and twirled it about. Just then my pop came in and he laughed and sang with us. I took the guitar back to the neighbor, but next day I found one on my bed; a second-hand one, but a good one. Everyday I practiced a little. The guitar is a lazy man's instrument. You pick it up, strum out a tune and then you drop it, laze around, pick it up again to strike a couple of chords to accompany yourself while whistling some tune. The days go by quickly that way.

I snapped out of it suddenly when I hit a bump on the road. I think I almost fell

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asleep. I hardly felt my left arm anymore and I was parched with thirst. I tried to think back to the good old days just to get my mind off things, because I was so impatient to get there that whenever I started thinking about it I felt my heart pound against my ribs and my right hand tremble on the wheel. I had a lot of trouble driving with just one hand. I wondered what Tom would do if he were in my place; he was probably praying now back in his school. From Tom my mind traveled to Clem, and then to Buckton, where I stayed three months running a book-store and earning a good living. I remembered Jicky and the time I'd screwed her in the water, and how clear the stream was that day. Jicky so young, smooth, naked, like a baby, and all of a sudden that made me think of Lou and her black muff, thick and curly, and of the taste I had in my mouth when I bit it, a sweetish, salty taste, hot, and the smell of perfume from her thighs; ;and I again heard her screams in my ear. I felt the sweat run down my forehead and I couldn't let go the damn wheel to wipe it.

My stomach felt as though it was all swollen up with gas and pushed on my diaphragm crushing my lungs and Lou screamed in my ears. I reached over to the center horn-button, on the wheel, I had an extra

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set of horns on the car and I pressed everything down at once to drown out her screams.

I must have been doing about eighty-five or so; the car couldn't do much better, but then I started down a long grade and I saw the needle edge over three, four more miles. The sun had been up for some time. A lot of cars went by in the other direction, and I passed some on my side. After a couple of minutes I let up on the horns, I was afraid to arouse some motor-cycle-cops and I didn't have enough speed to get away from them. When I got there I'd take Jean's ear, but Lord, when was I going to get there.

I think I began to squeal there in the car, to squeal like a pig, with my teeth clenched, I was able to go faster that way, and I took a curve without slowing down with a horrible shrieking of the tires. The Nash swung over violently, but straightened up again after having cut over to the left shoulder and I kept the accelerator pedal down to the floor and I laughed happily like the kid when he danced around the table singing "When the Saints Go Marching On" and I almost wasn't afraid any more.

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XXI

That damn shivering came back on me anyhow, just before I got to the hotel. It was almost half past eleven. Jean must have expected me at breakfast as I had told her. I opened the door on the right and got out that side because with my arm it was easiest that way.

The hotel was a sort of white building in the local style with drawn blinds. They still had plenty of sun down there, even though it was towards the end of October. I didn't find a soul downstairs. It was nowhere near as nice a place as described in the ad, but as far as privacy, you couldn't have asked for anything better.

I counted about a dozen other shacks and a gas station and cafe a little off the road, probably a truck-stop... I went outside again. As I figured, the sleeping cabins ought to be separate from the hotel and I thought they might be up the path that led off at right angles to the road. There were some miserable trees about and some sparse grass. I left the car and went up the path. It turned not far up, and right after that I ran into Jean's car in front

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of a cabin with two fairly clean rooms. I went in without knocking.

She was sitting on an armchair and seemed to be sleeping. She didn't look so good, but still had on her swank clothes. I wanted to wake her up but the phone,—there was one in the cabin,—began to ring right then. I lost my head like a dope and jumped on it. My heart beat wildly again. I took off the receiver and slammed it back on. I knew that Dex was the only one who might call her. Dex or the cops. Jean rubbed her eyes. She got up and I kissed her right off, so hard she almost cried out. She felt wide awake now. I put my arm around her to lead her out. Just then she noticed my empty sleeve.

"What's the matter, Lee?"

She looked frightened. I laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh.

"It's nothing. I tripped like a dope getting out of the car and I smashed my elbow."

"But you've been bleeding."

"Just a scratch. Come on, Jean, I've had enough of that trip. I just want to be alone with you now."

The phone started ringing again and I felt as though the electric current had been stepped up through my body rather than going through the wires. I couldn't control

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myself and I grabbed it and threw it on the floor.

I broke it to bits with my heels. I suddenly felt as though I was crushing Lou's face again with my shoes. I broke out into a sweat, and I almost ran out. I know that my lips were trembling and I must have looked like a madman.

Fortunately Jean didn't press me. She went out and I told her to get into her car. We'd ride off a bit to be more alone and we'd come back for breakfast later. It was damn late for breakfast, but she seemed to be in a daze. Still sick, I guessed, because of the baby that was coming. I pressed on the gas pedal. The car jerked as I started it, throwing us back hard against the seat. It was almost all over now. Just hearing the motor calmed me. I said something to Jean to explain about the phone; she began to notice I was raving and I told myself it was about time for me to stop it. She snuggled against me and put her head on my shoulder.

I waited until we had covered about twenty miles, and then I looked for a good place to stop. I found a stretch where the road was built up on an embankment. I thought that we could just slide down the embankment and I could do it there. I stopped the car. She

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got out first. I felt Lou's gun in my pocket. I didn't want to use it right away. Even with only one arm I could take care of Jean too. She bent over to fix her shoe and I could see her thighs under the short skirt that tightly molded her hips. I felt my mouth become dry. She stopped near a bush. There was a spot there where you couldn't see the road when you sat down.

She stretched out on the ground. I took her right there, but I didn't let myself go all the way. I tried to keep myself calm, in spite of her wriggling; I was able to make her go off without having gone off myself. And then I spoke to her.

"Do you always like it so much when you get laid by a colored man?"

She didn't say a word. She looked paralyzed.

"You know, I've got more than an eighth colored blood in me."

She opened her eyes again and I laughed. She didn't know what was going on. And then I told her everything : the whole business of the kid, how he fell in love with a girl and how her brother and father had taken care of him; I told her what I wanted to do with her and with Lou, to get double revenge. I felt in my pocket and pulled out Lou's wrist-

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watch. I showed it to her and then said I was sorry I hadn't been able to bring her one of her sister's eyes, but they were too poor condition after the special treatment I had given them.

It wasn't easy for me to say all that. The words didn't come out by themselves. She lay there on the ground, with her eyes closed and her skirt pushed up on her belly. I again felt that strange sensation that ran up my back and my hand closed on her throat and I couldn't stop myself; it came; it was so strong that I let her go and almost staggered to my feet. Her face was all blue, but she didn't move. She was still breathing I think. I took Lou's gun from my pocket and I sent two bullets into her neck, almost point-blank; the blood started bubbling out, slowly, in spurts, with a squirting sound. All you could see of her eyes was a white thread between her lids. She jerked suddenly, and I think that that was when she died. I turned her over so I wouldn't have to see her face any more, and while she was still warm I did to her just what I had done in her bedroom.

I think I must have fainted after that. When I came to, she was quite cold, and couldn't be stirred. I left her there and went up the bank to the car. I could hardly drag my feet; there were bright spots before my eyes; when I

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was back behind the wheel I remembered that the whiskey was back in the Nash and my hand began trembUng again.

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XXII

Sergeant Culloughs put his pipe down on the desk.

"We'll never be able to stop him," he said.

Carter shook his head.

"We can try."

"You can't stop a man doing a hundred miles an hour in a light car like that with nothing but a couple of motor-cycles!"

"We can try. Might break our necks, but we can try."

Borrow still hadn't said anything. He was a big, sprawling fellow, somewhat dark, ^ and he spoke with a drawl.

"I'm for it," he said.

"What do you say?" Carter asked.

Culloughs looked at them.

"Fellows," he said, "You might break your necks, but if you make it you can be sure of a promotion."

"After all you can't let a damn nigger turn the damn country upside down like that," Carter said.

Culloughs didn't reply, but looked at his watch.

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"It's five o'clock," he said. "They called about ten minutes ago. He ought to go by in about five minutes. If he does go by."

"He killed two white girls," Carter said.

"And a mechanic," Barrow added.

He checked the 45 in the holster at his side and went to the door.

"There are some others hot on this trail," Culloughs said.

"According to the last report, they're still there. The headquarters staff car is after him, and they expect another too."

"I think we'd better get going," Carter said.

"Get on behind me," he said to Barrow. "We'll take only one bike."

"That isn't according to regulations," the sergeant objected.

"Sorrow's a dead shot," Carter said. "But when you've got to drive the bike too, you can't shoot your best."

"Oh, do as you damn please." Culloughs said. "I wash my hands of the whole business.

The powerful motor-bike took off with a jerk. Barrow who was hooked onto Carter almost lifted him out of his seat. He was sitting backwards, back to back against Carter. The two of them were tied together by a

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leather belt.

"Slow down as soon as you get out of town," Barrow said.

"It isn't according to regulations," Culloughs grumbled at the same instant, as he watched Borrow's bike gloomily.

He shrugged his shoulders and went back into the police station. He went out almost right away and watched the big cream-colored Buick flash by with a roar of its motor. And then he heard the sirens and saw four motorcycles go by—so there were four of them after all—and then a police car right behind them.

"Damn lousy road," Culloughs grumbled again.

He didn't go back in.

He heard the sound of the sirens fade slowly away.

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XXIII

Lee moved his jaws dryly. His right hand shifted about nervously on the wheel and he pressed down on the gas pedal with all the weight of his body. His eyes were bloodshot and the sweat streamed down his face. His blond hair was matted with sweat and dust. He could hardly hear the scream of the sirens behind him even when he listened for it, and the road was too poor for them to shoot at him from that distance. He noticed a motorcycle just in front of him and he swerved to the left to pass it, but it kept pacing him. Suddenly the wind-shield was pierced by a missile and he caught a shower of splintered glass right in his face. The motor-cycle was motionless relative to the Buick and Barrow was able to take as careful aim as at the firing range. Lee saw the flashes of the second and third shots, but the bullets missed him. He was now doing his best to zigzag about on the road to duck the shots, but the wind-shield shattered again, and even closer to his face. He now felt the strong draft through the perfectly round hole the big metal .45 slug had cut through.