Savage Night (14 page)

F
ay was an actress. The Man had been right about that. I didn’t know how much she’d been acting up until how, but she could have been doing it all the time. She was good, what I mean. A whole week had passed since she’d seen those handprints, and if I hadn’t known that she
had
seen them, I’d never have guessed that there was anything wrong.

She’d come up to my room that night, that Sunday, and we’d kicked the gong around for almost an hour; and she’d never let on. We’d been together again on Wednesday—and I mean,
together
—and there still wasn’t any indication that she knew. She’d never done or said anything to show that she was hell-hot sore.

She was waiting. She was going to let it all slide, convince me that she hadn’t seen anything, before she made her move.

She waited a whole week, until the next Sunday night and…

That week.

I’d thought that school couldn’t be any worse than it’d been that Friday, but it was. Maybe it just seemed worse because there was so much more of it and so much less of me.

That wire Mrs. Summers had told me about. This trouble with Fay. Ruthie. Kendall. Jake…

Jake was at the house for almost every meal. A couple of mornings he even ate breakfast with Kendall and me. He was still hitting the jug pretty hard, but he didn’t seem to sag so much.

He seemed to be getting bigger, and I was getting littler. Every day there was a little bit less of me.

I said he was hitting the bottle pretty hard. But he wasn’t even in it with me. I had to nail down my breakfast every morning with a few drinks before I could go to school. And I had to have more in the afternoon before I could get to work, and at night…

Thursday night I took a bottle up to my room with me, and I got half cockeyed. I got a notion in my head to go over and wake Kendall up and tell him I was too sick to go on. I’d tell him I wanted to take him up on that business of going to Canada in his car, and I knew he’d argue a little but not much, because if a guy was that far gone, there wasn’t much use in trying to use him. So he’d let me do it, and I’d go there, and in a few days someone from The Man would show up and…

But I couldn’t get that drunk. It would have been too easy, and there was still a little hope left in me.

I had to go on waiting and hoping, losing more of the little that was left of myself.

It didn’t seem possible that I’d slipped so far, that so much had gone wrong in such a short length of time. I guess I’d been walking on the edge of a cliff for a long time, and it didn’t take a very big breeze to start me sliding.

It was almost a relief to slide.

Well…

I got through the week. Sunday came again, and I kind of wanted to go to church and see Mrs. Summers again but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I got to thinking
why
about her—why I wanted to please her and make her face light up—and all I could think of was that I might be trying to pull something on her like I had on Mrs. Fields.

I spent almost the whole day at the bakery; not just my shift but the day. I was actually there longer than Kendall was, and you had to go some to beat him.

Finally, though, it was ten o’clock, and I hadn’t done anything but loaf for a couple of hours. So when he suggested knocking off, I didn’t have any excuse for staying.

I showered and changed clothes. We walked home together.

He said I was doing fine. “I’ve been able to turn in a very good report on you, Mr. Bigelow,” he said.

“Swell,” I said.

“Studies going satisfactorily? Nothing I can help you with? After all, we mustn’t lose sight of the fact that your job is only a means to an end. If it interferes with your school—the reason for your being here—why—”

“I understand,” I said.

We said good night and I turned in.

I woke up a couple of hours later when Fay crawled into bed with me.

She’d taken off her nightgown, and she snuggled up close to me, warm and soft and sweet-smelling.

A little moonlight sifted past the edge of the window shades. It fell across the pillows, and I could see into her eyes. And they didn’t tell me a thing, as they should have. And because they didn’t, they told me a lot.

I knew she was ready to spring it.

“Carl—” she said. “I—I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Well?”

“It’s about Jake. H-he—he’s going to go back to jail until after the trial.”

My guts sank into my stomach like a fist. Then a little laugh came out of me and I said, “You’re kidding.”

She rolled her head on the pillows. “It’s the truth, honey, if he’s telling me the truth. Is it—is it bad?”

“Bad,” I said. “Is it bad!”

“I don’t mean he’s going right away, honey. Tonight’s the first time he’s mentioned it, and the way he hates jail it’ll probably take him a week to work himself up—”

“But,” I said, “what—why is he doing it?”

“Gosh, I just don’t know, honey.”

“You told me he couldn’t take jail. You told me he’d never go back. He knew it wouldn’t change a damned thing.”

“You told me that, too, honey. Remember?” She squirmed lazily against the sheets. “Scratch my back, will you, baby? You know. Down low there.”

I didn’t scratch it. If I’d got a grip on her hide right then, I’d have pulled it off of her.

“Fay,” I said. “Look at me.”

“Mmmm?” She tilted her head and looked. “Like this, Carl?”

“Jake’s been getting his nerve back. He’s in a lot better shape than he was when I came here. Why this sudden notion to go back to jail?”

“I told you, honey, I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense.”

“You think he means it?”

“I’m pretty sure he means it. Once he gets an idea in his head, like he did about you, you know, he never lets go.”

“I see,” I said.

“Is it ba—we can do it, now, can’t we Carl? Let’s kill him now and get it over with. The quicker it’s done the sooner we can be together. I know you’d probably rather go on like this as long as you can, but—”

“Why?” I said. “Why do you think I’d rather?”

“Well, you would, wouldn’t you? You’re having a good time. You and your dear sweet little—t-trashy little—”

I said: “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Never mind. The point is I’m not going to go on like this any longer. Even if you do want to.”

She wouldn’t come all the way out with what was eating on her, and anyway I already knew. It would only lead to a brawl, and things were bad enough as they were.

“I’ll tell you why I’d rather wait,” I said. “I was told to. And the guy who told me wasn’t talking to exercise his lungs.”

“W-what do—” Her eyes shifted nervously. “I don’t see what difference it makes if—”

“I told you. I spelled it out for you.”

“Well, it doesn’t make any difference! I don’t care what anyone says. We can do it now just as well as not.”

“All right. It doesn’t make any difference,” I said. “You said it doesn’t, so that settles that.”

She looked at me sullenly. I reached across her to the reading stand and got a cigarette lighted.

I let the match burn until the flame was almost to my finger tips. Then I dropped it, squarely between her breasts.

“Oooof!”
She slapped and brushed at the match, stifling the instinctive scream into a gasp. “Y-you!” she whispered. “W-why did you—?”

“That’s the way acid feels,” I said. “Just a little like that. I imagine they’d start there and work up.”

“B-but I—I haven’t—”

“You’re in with me. If I get it, you get it. Only you’d be a lot more interesting to work on.”

That was wrong, to throw that kind of scare into her. I shouldn’t make her think she had nothing to lose by pulling a doublecross. But…well, you see? For all I knew, she was already pulling one. Or on the point of doing it. And if I could make her see what it would cost her…

“You’re sure about it?” I said. “You didn’t misunderstand him, Fay? If you did, you’d better tell me.”

“I—I—” She hesitated. “W-well, maybe I—”

“No lies. If that’s the way it is I’ve got to know.”

Her head moved shakily. “T-that’s the way it is.”

“I see,” I said.

“I—I’ll talk to him, Carl! I’ll m-make him—he’ll listen to me. I’ll try to make him change his mind.”

“You talk him into it,” I said. “Then you try to talk him out of it. Huh-uh, baby. You’re not that good.”

“B-but I—what makes you think I—?”

“Don’t kid me,” I said. “How was it supposed to be, anyway? Jake’s a nice boy, so they give him plenty of privileges in the jug, huh? He’ll be safe and you can go right on seeing each other, and he won’t be missing a thing. Is that it?”

She bit her lip. “M-maybe he doesn’t mean it, Carl. Maybe he knows I didn’t intend to—”

“Maybe,” I nodded. “Maybe a couple of times. But like you said he’s got the idea, and he doesn’t let go of his ideas.”

“B-but if…Oh, Carl, honey! W-what will they—?”

“Nothing,” I said, and I lay down again and pulled her into my arms. “I’ll straighten it out. We should have waited, but as long as we can’t—”

“You’re sure it’ll be all right? You’re sure, Carl?”

“I’m sure,” I lied. “I’ll fix it up. After all, Jake could have got the idea by himself. They won’t know that he didn’t.”

She sighed and relaxed a little. I kept on soothing her, telling her it would be all right, and after a while I got rid of her. She slipped back to her room.

I uncorked a pint I had, and sat on the edge of the bed drinking. It was around daylight when I went to sleep.

…I called The Man from a booth in that quiet little bar I’d found. He answered right away, and the first thing he asked me was where I was calling from. He said that was good, splendid, when I told him. And, dammit, it
was;
it was as good as I could do. So many drunks phone from bars that no one pays any attention to the calls.

But I knew he didn’t think it was good. He didn’t think I should be calling him at all.

He told me he’d call me back. I hung up and had a couple of drinks while he went to another phone.

“All right, Charlie—” his voice came over the wire again. “What’s on your mind?”

“Our—that merchandise,” I said. “It looks like it was going off the market. We’ll have to act fast to get it.”

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“You’d better speak plainly. I hardly think that our conversation can be completely camouflaged and comprehensible at the same time.”

“All right,” I said. “Jake’s talking about going to jail until after the trial. I’m not sure whether he means it or not, but I thought I’d better not take any chances.”

“You want to do it now, then. Soon.”

“Well”—I hesitated—“I can’t do it after he’s in jail.”

“That isn’t what we agreed on, Charlie.”

“I know,” I said, “but I—”

“You said he’d been talking about it. To whom?”

“To Mrs. Winroy.”

“I see. And does she still have your fullest confidence, Charlie? You’ll recall, I believe, that I had some few small doubts about her myself.”

“I think she’s telling the truth,” I said.

“Why does she say Jake’s going to jail?”

“She doesn’t say. Jake didn’t tell her.”

“Strange.” He paused. “I find that slightly puzzling.”

“Look,” I said. “I know it doesn’t seem right, but Jake’s halfway off his rocker! He’s running around in circles.”

“A moment, please. Am I wrong or wasn’t it Mrs. Winroy’s job to keep Jake available? You were very sure she could do that, weren’t you? And now the opposite has happened.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Why, Charlie?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know whether he’s really going to do it.”

He was silent for a long time. I’d about decided he’d hung up. Then, he laughed softly and said:

“You do whatever you think is necessary, Charlie. As soon as you think it’s necessary.”

“I know how you feel,” I said. “I haven’t been here very long, and…I know it would look better if I could have waited.”

“Yes. And there’s the matter of publicity, having the story kept alive for weeks. Or perhaps you’ve forgotten that in the press of your other affairs?”

“Look,” I said. “Is it all right or not? I want to know.”

He didn’t answer me.

That time he
had
hung up.

I picked up my books off the bar and went on to school. Cursing Fay, but not putting much heart into it. It was my fault for bringing her into the deal.

The Man hadn’t wanted her in. If she hadn’t been in and Jake had got this jail idea on his own, I wouldn’t have been held responsible. As it was…

Well, a lot depended on how things worked out. If it all went off all right they’d go easy on me. No money, of course. Or, if I had the guts and was stupid enough to ask for money, a few bills and a beating. They’d leave me here—that would be my payoff. I’d be left here to rot, with no dough but the little I had and no way I could get any more. Just barely scraping by on some cheap job, as long as I could hold a job and then…

The Man would get a kick out of that. Hell—
the
hell—he knew you didn’t have to dig for it, too.

And if the job didn’t go right…

It didn’t make much difference. I couldn’t win.

I
t was Sunday when Fay had given me the bad news. We set Jake up for Thursday night.

So there were four days there, between the first thing and the second. Four whole days. But it didn’t seem that long. It seemed like I’d walked out of the bar, after I’d talked to The Man, and stepped straight into Thursday night.

I was through, washed up. I wasn’t living; I was just going through the motions.

Living is remembering, I guess. If you’ve lost interest, if everything is that same shade of gray, the kind you see when you look into light with your eyes closed, if nothing seems worth storing away, either as bad or good, reward or retribution, then you may keep going for a while. But you don’t live. And you don’t remember.

I went to school. I worked. I ate and slept. And drank. And…Yes, and Ruthie. I talked to her a few times on the way to and from school. I remembered—yes, I
did
remember her. I remember wondering what would become of her. Wishing I could help her some way.

But aside from Ruthie, nothing.

Except for the few minutes I was with her, I moved straight from Monday into Thursday. Thursday night at eight o’clock.

I snapped out of it then, and came back to life. You have to at a time like that whether you want to or not.

It was a slow night on the job, one of the slowest in the week. I was all caught up on my work, and no one had any reason to come into the stockroom.

I stood in the outer storeroom with the light turned off, watching the other side of the street.

Fay went by, right on the dot at eight.

I studied my watch, waiting. At eight-fifteen, Jake went by.

I unlocked the door and stepped out.

It was a good dark night. He was moving in a beeline for the house, not looking to right or left.

I sauntered down the side of the street the bakery was on, until he’d passed the intersection. Then I crossed over and followed him, walking faster because he’d got quite a way ahead of me.

I was about fifty feet behind him when he started across the parallel street to the house. Just about the right distance, allowing for the time he needed to open the gate. He fumbled with it, unable to find the catch, and I slowed down to where I was barely moving. At last he got it open, and I…

I froze in my tracks.

He—this guy—was a drunk, I found out later. He’d come out of that little bar catercornered to the house and wandered across the road, and I don’t know how the hell he’d managed it but somehow he’d fallen over inside the fence. He was lying there when Jake came along, inside and up against the fence. As Jake opened the gate, he rose up and sort of staggered toward him. And Jake let out a yell.

And that front yard was suddenly as bright as day.

Two big floodlights struck it from the vacant lots on each side of the house. Cops—deputy sheriffs, rather—swarmed up from everywhere.

I stood frozen for a second, unable to move. Then I turned around and started walking back to the bakery.

I’d gotten almost to the corner when I heard a yell from the sheriff rising above the other yells.
“Wait a minute, dang it! This ain’t the right—”

I kept right on going, and I was crossing the street to the bakery before the shout came.
“You there! Halt!”

I didn’t halt. What the hell? He was almost two blocks away. How should I know he was hollering at me?

I went right on into the bakery, locking the door behind me. I went into the main stockroom, closed the connecting door, and sat down at my work table.

I picked up the batch cards for the night, and began checking them off against my perpetual inventory.

Someone was banging on that outside door. I stayed where I was. What the hell again? I couldn’t let anyone in that door this time of night. Why, it might be a robber, someone trying to steal a sack of flour!

The banging stopped. I grinned to myself, flipping through the cards. I was alive again. I’d have laid down for them, but since I couldn’t do that, I’d make them lay me.

The door to the baking room slammed open. Kendall and the sheriff and a deputy came in, the sheriff in the lead.

I stood up. I went toward him, holding out my hand.

“Why, how are you, sheriff?” I said. “How is Mrs. Sum—”

He swung his hand, knocking mine aside so hard that it almost spun me around. His fingers knotted in my shirt, and he yanked me clean off the floor. He shook me like a dog shakes a rat. If ever I saw murder in a mug it was his.

“You snotty little punk!” He shook and swung me with one hand and began slapping me with the other. “Think you’re cute, huh? Think it’s smart to go around so danged nice an’ lovey-dovey, gettin’ people to trust you and then—”

I didn’t blame him for being sore. I guess no one can ever be as sore at you as the guy who’s liked and trusted you. But that hand of his was a hard as a rock, and Kendall couldn’t get past the deputy to stop him like he was trying to do.

I passed out.