Someone Is Bleeding (11 page)

“What do you call it?”

“Listen, Peggy, isn’t it . . .”

“Oh, don’t start,” she said. “I’ve had enough lectures this week.”

She leaned back against the gnarled tree trunk with a sigh. She stared at her lap, then closed her eyes as if to shut me out.

“Everybody wants to investigate me,” she said.

I reached out and took her hand but she drew it back.

“Peggy, I’m sorry if I . . . offended you. But I think I have a little right to know something about you. Apparently you don’t care to tell me anything about yourself. I have to find out some way.”

“You don’t believe what I’ve told you, do you?”

“You’ve told me practically nothing.”

“Maybe I thought it was better.”

“Maybe I didn’t,” I said.

She opened her eyes.

“What would you like to know?” she asked, bitterly, “how I killed Albert? How I took an icepick and . . .”

“That’s enough, Peggy.”

“Let me tell you all about it,” she said.

“You
did
kill your husband, Peggy.”

“Yes, and I’d kill him again! You hear that, I’d kill him again. He was a pig, an
animal!”

”And would you go through everything else again. The trial, the accusations, Jim?”

“Why do you always keep harping on Jim? He’s always been good to me.”

“Good! He threatens to have you executed for a crime you’ve already been acquitted on! Is that what you call being good to you?”

“Maybe he’s . . .”

“What?”

“I don’t know.”

“I guess not. Well, Jim hasn’t been exactly good to me.”

“He’s your friend.”

“Does a friend have you beaten senseless?”

“That was a mistake and you know it,” she said. “He thought you were with his wife.”

“He doesn’t give a damn about his wife!”

“She’s an alcoholic and a nymphomaniac, why should he?”

“What? Is that what the son of a bitch told you? God damn it, Peggy. when the hell are you going to get some sense in your head? Oh, stop looking so goddamn petulant! That man has been shooting lies into you until you’re poisoned! He’s the one who
made
Audrey into an alcoholic. And you’re as much of a nymphomaniac as she is! She’s so faithful to him, it’s pathetic.”

“Jim told me . . .”

I slammed a palm against my forehead.

“Jesus!
Jim told you, Jim told you! Horse manure! Let me tell you what he told me. He said he’d do anything to win you. He said he’d lie and cheat and connive and consider it all justified if he won your affections. He said he’d lie about me. He said I could keep refuting his lies but he’d keep lying until you didn’t know whether you were coming or going. He said you killed three men! He said you were deranged! Is that the man you want to marry?”

Her face was pale as she looked at me. She shuddered with caught breaths. And I kept thinking of how many troubles would be avoided if people would only tell each other the truth.

“Is all this true?” she said, her voice shaking.

“Uh!”

I lurched to my feet and started sliding, stumbling down the hill in a blind rage.

“Davie!”

I stopped but didn’t turn. I heard her shoes on the hill. Then she came heavily against me and moved around to face me.

“Don’t leave me!” she said. Almost angrily, as if I were betraying her.

I held her in my arms without spirit.

“Why can’t we get away from all this?” she said unhappily. “Why does it follow us wherever we go?”

“Murder has a way of following people.”

We stood there a few silent moments, then went back to the tree and sat down on its roots. I took two apples out of one of the bags and we ate without speaking.

“I can’t believe it,” she said after a while.

I looked at her sharply.

“Davie, I don’t . . . mean I don’t believe you. I mean that it’s so incredible to me. Why hasn’t he ever told me about his wife, told me the truth?”

“Because he only tells lies or that segment of the truth which serves his advantage. Like the way he told me how you cut open Dennis’s arm but neglected to tell me also that Dennis threatened to expose his crooked practice to the police.”

“He told you . . .”

“Peggy, don’t deny this. It’s been verified.”

“I . . . I cut him. He tried to . . . to make love to me.”

“Why should that frighten you so?”

“Davie, if you went through what I did, you couldn’t stand having anyone’s hands on your body. Can’t you
see
that?”

“I . . . suppose.”

“He . . . touched me. He tried to make me take my blouse off. I . . .” She shuddered. “I don’t know what happens when . . . men try that. It just makes me . . .” She couldn’t find the words but could only express it by the clenched fist she held shakingly before her.

“All right, Peggy,” I said, “I’ve understood that a long time. You’ve never seen me try it, although God knows I’ve wanted to.”

She looked at me sadly.

“Oh Davie,” she said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to tease you. You know I don’t. It’s Just that . . .”

“All right.”

‘What did you say about Jim’s practice?”

“You mean you don’t know that either?” I said wearily.

“No, I . . .”

”He’s connected with the crime syndicate here, Peggy. He’s criminal.”

“Oh,
no . . .”

“Is there anything else you need?” I asked. “He’s lied to you, he’s cheated you, he’s threatened you. He’s a criminal, he’s had two men killed, he’s turned his own wife into a drunk. Is there anything else you need?”

She glanced at me, then back. She sat there silently, looking at the ground. “I’m so . . . confused,” she said.

“It’s been his most effective weapon against you,” I said. “Confusion.”

“It’s so hard to believe. All at once.”

“Take your time,” I said. “He’ll be the same for years to come.”

“Jim,” she said, shaking her head.

After a while, we got up and climbed the rest of the way. At the peak of the hill we stood panting and looking down at Los Angeles, which was spread like a carpet at our feet. The climb had been exhausting. At least it had worn away our tempers.

“You should see it at night from here,” Peggy said.

“I bet. it’s nice.”

“It is.”

She turned to me. She looked into my eyes, then lowered them. She looked up again, and her hand stole into mine.

“Davie.”

“Yes.”

“I’m . . . sorry. I mean. I’m sorry. That I keep . . . fighting the only thing that ever meant anything to me.”

She looked up and smiled.

And I don’t know what happened. Words came over me suddenly. I don’t know from where. But suddenly they were in my mouth and I was speaking them.

“Peggy, marry me.”

She looked startled.

“Marry?”
she said.

“Why not? Don’t you love me?”

“Davie.
Davie,
you know I do.” Her eyes on mine, the way they were that first night. “Oh, Davie.”

“Will you?”

“You want to marry me?”

”Yes, Peggy”

“You love me enough to many me after all this?”

“Peggy!”

The moment seemed huge. Maybe it was the moment that overwhelmed me more than a love for Peggy. High on a hill as if we stood above the world. The hot sun on our heads, the wind on us, the white-domed castle waiting for its prince and princess.

“I love you enough for that,” I said.

“I want to tell you,” she said, “I want you to know.”

I felt myself shiver.

“Know what?”

“I’m going to tell you . . . about myself. Then when . . . when it’s over you can decide. If you want me or not. If you even want to see me again after today.”

“Peggy, stop . . .”

“Don’t say anything,” she said. “Listen.

“I killed my husband,” she said. “You already know that. But you don’t know why. Not really,” she said, as I was about to speak. “You can’t know how it was.”

She clasped her hands in front of her. She didn’t look at me. She looked out at the darkening hills

“My mother was dead a long time,” she said. “And the woman I stayed with when my father was away had too many troubles to spend any time with me. No one ever told me about . . .
men
. I didn’t know
anything
. Oh God, I was so ignorant. Once I . . . once I thought you could have a baby if a man kissed you. I was afraid to let any boy kiss me. Once a boy kissed me at a party in grade school. I was
paralyzed
. I was so afraid. I thought they all hated me and were making me have a baby. I was in torture for
three
months, Davie. Until a girl I knew found out and told me the facts.”

I heard her throat move and I knew how much it must have embarrassed and hurt her to tell me these things. I could feel it. I was probably the only one she’d ever told in her whole life.

“I was forced to get married,” she went on. “You know about that. I was barely seventeen but I got married. Graduated from high school one day and the next day I got married. Because my father accused me of . . .”

“I know,” I said.

Married without knowing the slightest thing about sex,” she said, “My wedding night was a nightmare. You can’t know how hideous it was. He was like an animal. I know you don’t like me to use the word but it’s the only one that describes him. He chased me around the hotel room. Maybe that sounds funny but . . .” Her voice broke “It wasn’t funny, I was so afraid I couldn’t even think. All I could do was run and the more I ran and the more I cried, the more excited he got. He trapped me in a corner and he . . .
ripped
my nightgown off my body. Into shreds! I hit him, I scratched him, but it didn’t do any good. It just excited him.

“I was raped by my own husband.’’

She sat there in silence, a shiver wracking her frame Breath quivered in her throat.

“It was like that all the time,” she continued, “all through my married life. Me with no knowledge of anything, just fright. And him . . .
brutalizing
me. Night after night until I thought I’d go out of my mind and commit suicide. You don’t know what it’s like to lie awake at night and plan on committing suicide. I kept trying to make myself do it. But I didn’t have the courage. So instead I just went deeper and deeper until I . . . I lost my head.”

She drew in a quick breath and bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

“I was pregnant,” she said. “I was sick. I couldn’t hold down any food. Nights I used to just stay in the bathroom on my knees on the cold tile floor . . . just
waiting
to throw up.

“But that didn’t matter to him. No, he wanted his flesh, his . . . his toy! I killed him and I swear I’d do it again,
I would, I would!”

“I understand,” I said. But did I?

“No,” she said, “I haven’t told you yet.”

She hesitated a moment. Then she said, “Once I went to a movie and . . . and
the person
I was with put his arm around me and tried to put his hand inside my blouse.”

“Peggy.”

“No, you have to know sooner or later, Davie. This isn’t just another story I’m telling you.

“That same person . . . attacked me later in the car.”

“Peggy, don’t. Stop torturing yourself.”

“Do you know who it was?”

“Peggy”

“Do
you?”

Her hands were shaking uncontrollably in her lap.

“Peggy,
please.”

“It was him!”she said, her voice shaking with the memory. “Him!
My own father!”

As we entered he looked up from the couch. He was dressed informally in a brown suede jacket with a lightly patterned sport shirt under it.

“I’ve been looking for you all day, Peg,” he said firmly. He didn’t even glance me.

“Jim,” I said.

“Will you get dressed as quickly as possible,” he said to Peggy. “We’re to go to a barbecue at Lamar Brandeis’ beach house. We’re late already.”

I held my temper. The axe would fall on him soon enough. I glanced at Peggy.

“Jim, I . . .” she started.

“Peggy, I wish you’d hurry.”

She took a deep breath. “I can’t, Jim,” she said.

His eyebrows drew together and I felt inclined to utter a mocking “Bravo” at this splendid bit of facial business. But facetiousness didn’t have much of a hold on me. I was thinking of what he might do to me or have done to me when he found out. More particularly of what he might order Steig to do.

Jim was looking at her gravely.

“And why, may I ask?” he said, still ignoring me.

She couldn’t finish. She seemed halted by those eyes. Those grey-blue eyes on her, probing, demanding, almost hypnotizing.

“Peggy is staying here,” I said.

“No one is speaking to you!”

Anger at last! And anger in Peggy’s sight. I almost reveled at it. Something ugly that had been veiled too long from her eyes. Now at last, revealing itself.

“Listen, you pompous ass,” I started.

Davie,” she pleaded. I stopped and her eyes moved over to Jim. Her throat moved. She bit her lip. “Jim . . .”

“Well,
what
is it, Peggy?”

”Jim, Davie and I are going to be married.” She spoke quietly; half in defiance, half with the still remaining timidity.

Jim Vaughan’s body twitched. Something almost gave. Like a great wall about to topple. He stared at her, speechless for the first time I could remember since I’d met him, so many years ago. Someone had finally hit Jim Vaughan where it hurt.

And, suddenly, it came to me that Jim was in the same boat as Peggy and Audrey. And all of us to some degree. He was starving for real love and he’d never received it. And now it was tearing him apart at last because the shell he’d made to hide himself was cracking.

“It’s not true,” he said.

She nodded once. “Yes. It is.”

Something seemed to drain from his body. He pumped it back with will power. He managed a thin smile.

“Oh?” he said. “And have you told him how you murdered Albert? Is he willing to . . .”

“Your lies won’t work anymore.” I told him.

“Lies?” he said.

“I know who murdered Albert. And Dennis. I know about your argument with Dennis. I know that he threatened to expose your . . .your
practice
. And I know about that call Peggy made to you the night that Albert was killed.”

I didn’t know the last thing but I suspected its truth.

“I know a lot of things Jim,” I finished, “a lot of them.”

He turned and walked to the door. There he turned again. He looked at us, his face a stone mask. His eyes settled on me like the benediction of a cobra.

“Then maybe you also know,” he said, “how you’ll live long enough to marry Peggy.”

Peggy gasped.

“Jim!
You wouldn’t . . .”

For a moment, Jim’s face was stripped of everything. The animal, the hating, frustrated animal showed for that moment. And it was ugly.

“I’ll do anything for you,” he said. “I’ve lied, I’ve cheated for you. Yes, I’ve
murdered
for you! And now . . .”

His words went on. But they were lost in the sudden explosion of joy in me. He had confessed! Peggy was free. Sick in mind and afraid—but free. And it seemed as if breath began for the first time since I’d been struck on the head that night that seemed so long ago. That had been about two weeks before.

I put my arm around Peggy. “Don’t argue with him,” I said. “I

“Don’t argue with him,” I said. “You don’t have to argue. Look at him, Peggy. He’s beaten.”

Those were my words but my stomach was throbbing because I knew that from that moment on, my life was in danger. All possible friendship between us was kicked away for good. His face was cold and murderous.

“I’ve despised you for a long time,” he said, “And now, by God, I’ll see to it you bother me no longer.”

I tensed myself instinctively, almost expecting him to reach into his pocket and take out a gun. Or an icepick, my imagination said.

I should have known better. That was not his way. Once I’d seen Jim refuse to sweep a floor in his fraternity house room. And he would always have someone else do his dirty work. And murder was dirty work.

He just opened the door.

“Good night,” he said as casually as his shaken system would allow.

Then he closed the door quietly and we heard him walking down the path, unhurried, carrying through to the last his pretense that the illusion of his casualness might even deceive himself. We stood there motionless and silent until the sound of his footsteps had disappeared. Then we heard a car door slam and the big Cadillac drew Jim Vaughan away into the night.

Her hands were shaking.

“I never knew he was like that,” she said, frightened. “I never even suspected he was like that.”

“I know you didn’t, Peggy.”

“What are we going to do?”

In answer, I went to the phone and dialed.

“Lieutenant Jones,” I said when they answered.

I felt her hand grow limp in mine.

“Yes?”

It was Jones. I told him what Jim had said.

“I’ll have him picked up,” Jones said, “and you’d better come by the morning. With Miss Lister.”

”I will,” I said.

“All right. You say he just left 15th Street’”

“Yes.”

“All right. Good-bye.”

I hung up and looked at Peggy.

“All over, baby.” I said.

How wrong can a guy get?

I left about ten. First I stood at the door and looked through the small peephole. Then I opened it and looked up and down the path to see if there was anyone around. There wasn’t. I turned and kissed her.

“Good night, baby,” I said.

“Good night, Davie,” she said. “Please be careful.”

“Don’t worry.” I told her. “he’s probably been picked up already.”

She looked worried still.

“Do you really think so?” she asked.

I nodded. I hoped so, anyway. I hated to think of him and Steig running loose. I also didn’t care for the idea of Audrey alone, her life ended. But I didn’t let myself think about that.

“Maybe you should go down to the station and see.” Peggy said

“That’s a good idea. Very good.”

“Be careful, Davie. If I lost you . . .”

“Shhh. No more now. Smile.”

She smiled.

“You
will
be careful,” she said

“Honey,” I said, “I
like
living You’ll find that out when we’re married.”

That angelic smile.

“Married.” she said, almost sighing the word, “to a man I can trust. Oh, I’m so . . . you have no idea how relieved I feel. I can forget everything that ever happened.”

I kissed her cheek.

“Breakfast at nine,” I said. “Bacon and eggs.”

“I’ll have it ready,” she said cheerfully.

I approached the car cautiously. All sorts of ideas filled my head. Steig was behind a bush or a tree with a rifle, a pistol, an axe, an . . . I wouldn’t let myself think the word. Or Steig was in his car waiting to run me down, to drive me to the curb, fire a gun into my brain . . .

I moved along the house, my heart pounding violently. I thought of going back to the house but I felt too ashamed. I’d just said good-bye I knew she’d welcome me back. I could sleep on the couch. But I’d feel silly. And there was nothing definite to be afraid of, anyway. Just imaginations. And I was curious to know whether the police had picked up Jim and Steig. If they hadn’t, my imaginations would come to life.

No black Cadillac in sight. Only my little black Ford. I ran to it and jumped in fast after cursing at my shaking fingers that wouldn’t let me find the lock with the key.

I slid in and pulled the door shut and locked it. I looked around anxiously as I searched for the ignition with my key. No black figures dashing at the car. I would have been helpless if there had been. I swallowed and slid in the key.

Another fear. Bomb in the motor. I knew it was far-fetched but my mind would not discount it. I looked up and down the street, feeling the tug of rising fear in me. I got out and pulled up the hood, threw the flashlight beam around it. No infernal machine. I felt like an ass Then I jumped around nervously and looked back up the street. I got back in the car.

I started the motor. Illegal U-turn before I thought. I could have gone over to Santa Monica Boulevard. I turned left at Wilshire and headed toward the ocean. At Lincoln I made another left turn and started for the police station.

I don’t know when I first became conscious of the car following me.

But when nervousness kept me looking into the rear view mirror, I saw it.

Big and black and Steig at the wheel.

My hands clamped spasmodically on the wheel and my legs shook. There wasn’t much doubt now what he was after. He kept pulling closer, closer, gunning that big motor.

I stepped on the accelerator harder. In my mind I saw visions of him pulling alongside, a gun in his hand. My foot pushed down harder still and my small Ford spurted ahead. I forged away a little distance. Steig put on the gas and moved up on me.

I pushed harder, hit fifty, then sixty. Still he gained. I felt sweat breaking out on me. I roared past a red light, another. I kept hoping a policeman would pick me up. There weren’t any, though. I passed a car, saw Steig pass it too, the big car sweeping out into the opposite lane and then back. He moved up on me.

Suddenly I pushed down hard on the horn, hoping that the noise would attract a police car. The shrill blasts filled the early morning stillness. Still no police. Still the Cadillac moving closer as we both sped toward Venice.

At Olympic he was almost on top of me. My heart was tearing at my chest like a crazy prisoner in his cell. The old Chicago way. Pull alongside, empty gun into driver’s head. The rub-out.

Steig moved the Cadillac around me. He was almost beside me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw his face, white as tallow. My hand slipped off the horn. I saw his right arm raised. He was pointing something at me . . .

I jammed on the brakes and almost flew through the windshield as my tires shrieked in friction on the pavement and the car skidded to a dead halt. Steig went speeding past and across the intersection. I dragged the Ford around, almost panic stricken and started down Olympic for the ocean. I didn’t know what to do. I knew the police station was down this way but I didn’t know how I was going to get to it. All I could think of was I had to get away from Steig because he wanted to kill me.

I was half-way down the block when the black car came around the corner and started after me. I was suddenly very grateful that my car had been owned by a hot-rodder. The way it sprang forward at my touch, the speed it was giving me was the only thing I had then between life and a bullet in my head.

Then I cried out loud in horror as I roared past the Fourth Street intersection without thinking. There was no way to get to the police station now. I was headed for the coast highway! And on a straightaway I could never outdistance the Cadillac.

Then, as I started down, I saw the light behind me change and saw that Steig had to stop violently as a big trailer truck started across the intersection. It gained me another half block. Then the view behind disappeared and I fled into the dark tunnel under Second Street.

I turned the dark curve and was on the Pacific Coast Highway. I shoved the accelerator all the way to the floor and the Ford almost leaped ahead. The pistons pounded crazily under the hood, it felt as if the car was going to take off. The roar of the motor was tremendous coming out of the double exhaust pipes. The black ocean flew by, the high bluffs of Santa Monica above me. I raced along at ninety and way behind I saw glaring heads as the big Cadillac pulled out of the tunnel.

As I roared past the light on the hill that led to the Santa Monica business district I saw that Steig was gaining on me. No Ford could outdistance that car. souped up or not. At least not a Ford more than a decade old. Sweat ran down over my eyebrows, along my temples. The thing seemed insane but here it
was
. I came to California for the weather, the phrase occurred inanely. I came for the weather and about two months later a man was chasing me in a car because he wanted to shoot me.

I couldn’t keep going on the highway. He’d catch up to me too easily. My only chance was eluding him somehow.

At Channel Road. I wheeled around the corner and bulleted up the canyon, past the Golden Bull, alongside of the flash flood channel. I’d passed the first intersection when Steig turned too. I moved up to the second intersection and made a sharp left turn.

There were two streets branching off. Without thinking I steered my speeding car into the right one, too afraid even to think that it might not be a through street. My Ford powered up a gradual hill and spurted down the grade on the other side. The bright heads of the Cadillac swung around and were boring on me.

My hands were slick on the wheel now. I had to keep taking off one at a time to rub them, almost frenziedly, on my trouser leg. I had no idea where I was going. Finding a policeman was hopelessly out of the question now.

The only thing that could possibly save me now was Henry Ford’s 1940 model. I was almost praying that it held together. If anything went now, I was dead.

My eyes were straining to see if there was anything ahead. I was too upset to think of getting my glasses from the glove compartment.

I almost turned left, then saw at the last possible second a sign reading—
This Is Not a Through Street
. I jerked the car around, jumped over a curb and back into the street, gasping for breath. I roared up a hill, past the silent Country Club, past the tennis court that stood empty and white in the moonlight. The headlights behind me, the throaty growl of the Cadillac’s motor. Steig with a gun.