Richie nodded, and a lost and helpless feeling was beginning to spread over him, and he wondered, with a vague fear, what Joshua Crawford’s plans were for Richie Parsons.
“We’re in competition, you and I,” continued Crawford. “Ridiculous, but true. And I think you’ll have to agree with me that there’s no contest.”
The silence lengthened again, and Richie realized he was expected to make some sort of answer. At last he mumbled, “I suppose so.”
“The easy thing for me to do,” said Crawford, “was let the police know where you were. Easy. But also cruel and unnecessary. I’m not a cruel man, Richie, and I don’t do the unnecessary. So I’m giving you your choice.”
“What choice?” asked Richie miserably. He could see no choice.
Crawford took one hand from the steering wheel long enough to reach within the jacket of his tailored suit and withdraw a business-size envelope. He dropped the envelope on the seat between them. “It’s getting cold in New York,” he said. “Winter is on the way, and you’re going to have to start shifting for yourself. There’s a one-way plane ticket to Miami in that envelope, plus five hundred dollars in ten-dollar bills. Enough to keep you alive until you find a place for yourself down there. You can take the ticket and the money and go to Miami, and that’s the end of it. Or you can decide to stay.”
Richie knew that he was now supposed to ask what would happen if he were to decide to stay, and he also knew what the answer would be. But he was supposed to ask, and he did. “What if I don’t go?”
“I call the police,” said Crawford, “and you go back to Scott Air Force Base.”
Richie looked gloomily out the window. He saw a street sign, and saw that they were now traveling on Rockaway Parkway, and it seemed to him that it shouldn’t be “Parkaway, we’ll rock away together.”
He parked his thoughts back where they belonged. Joshua Crawford was driving him to the airport, that was clear enough. He had to decide, he had to make up his mind what to do.
But what decision was there? Take the ticket and the money, take the plane, go away to Miami and see what would happen next. Or stay here and be taken by the police. What choice was that?
A sudden thought came to him, and he voiced it. “What does Honour Mercy say?”
“I haven’t said anything to her yet,” said Crawford. “I want you out of the way first.”
“How do you know she’ll become your mistress?”
“She will,” said Crawford. “If you aren’t around. And you won’t be around, one way or the other.”
Richie leaned against the door on his side and gnawed on his lower lip, sinking easily into depression and self-pity. He compared himself with Joshua Crawford, and he found himself coming in a very distant second. Joshua was rich, he was successful, he was assured, he was strong. He was driving this car, he could give Honour Mercy anything she wanted. Richie Parsons was young, he was poor and uncertain and weak and afraid. He could give Honour Mercy nothing but himself, and that was a poor gift indeed.
“What’s your choice?” Crawford asked him.
Wordlessly, Richie reached out and picked up the envelope.
“You understand,” said Crawford, “that this is permanent. If you try to get in touch with either Honour Mercy or myself, I’ll have to turn you in. You understand that?”
“Yes,” whispered Richie.
Somewhere, they crossed the line separating Brooklyn from Queens, and wound up on a divided highway, and the speedometer needle moved up to sixty. Then they turned off the highway to another highway and signs said that they were entering New York International Airport, known as Idlewild.
Idlewild was as big as Scott Air Force Base, which meant it was larger than any airport should be. There was a four-lane divided highway within the airport grounds, and sprawling low buildings far off the highway on either side bore huge signs giving the names of various airlines.
The temporary terminal was miles away from the main entrance, but finally they got to it and the Lincoln slowed to a stop. “Here we are,” said Crawford. He looked at Richie and his expression was now sympathetic. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I think this is the best way to do it. For everybody concerned.”
Richie mumbled something and got out of the car. Then, all at once, he remembered his uniform, still packed away in the AWOL bag and in the closet at the apartment he’d been sharing with Honour Mercy. “My — my clothes,” he said. He was poised half-in and half-out of the car. “I’ve got to get my clothes.”
“Buy some more,” said Crawford. His hand dipped down, came up with a wallet, six twenty-dollar bills were suddenly in Richie’s hand. “Buy some more,” Crawford repeated. “Your plane is leaving at six, and it’s after four now.”
“But I need—” He couldn’t come out and say it, about the uniform.
Crawford was impatient now. He’d obviously thought the whole distasteful thing was over with. “Is there something special you need?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“My — my uniform.”
Crawford looked puzzled, and then surprised, and then he smiled. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for,” he said. “My apologies. The old deserter dodge, is that it?”
Richie was humiliated and defeated. He mumbled and nodded his head.
“I’ll mail it to you,” he said. “General Post Office, Miami. You’ll have it within the week.”
“I need it,” said Richie desperately.
“Don’t worry; I’ll send it to you.”
There was nothing Richie could say, nothing he could do. He stepped out onto the concrete, and the door swung shut behind him. He turned to say something — goodbye, something — but the Lincoln was already purring away. He watched it pull out to the main airport road and swing away, back to the city again.
The envelope was cold and crisp in his hand. Holding it tightly, he went into the terminal building and searched for the men’s room. Finding it, he invested a coin in privacy, and, once within the stall, opened the envelope. It contained the ticket, one-way, and some ten-dollar bills, fifty of them. With the money Crawford had just handed him, he now had six hundred and twenty dollars. And the ticket.
He’d been bought out, paid off, patted on the head and sent on his way. Never before in his life had he felt quite as weak and puny as he did this minute. He was the ninety-seven-pound weakling from the ads; but in his case the condition was worse. He wasn’t merely weak physically. He was weak in every way. He had no force, no stamina, no courage. He could stand up to no one. Crawford had bought him, paid him off—
A sudden thought came to him. Crawford had paid him off. Why? Crawford had waited until he was out of the way before approaching Honour Mercy. Why? Crawford hadn’t taken the easy and simple and inexpensive method of turning Richie over to the Authorities. Why not?
There was only one possible reason. Richie was more competition for Crawford than he had supposed, or than Crawford had admitted. There was no other explanation for Crawford’s actions.
He thought about the relationship between himself and Honour Mercy, of their meeting in Newport, of her unquestioning acceptance of him, of her no-strings-attached sharing of his lot with him. He remembered how readily she had left Newport with him, willing to go anywhere with him, to leave a steady income and a comparably good life because he was in trouble.
Lately, she’d been growing away from him, she’d been talking as though only laziness was keeping him from working and supporting himself. But still they lived together, still they shared the same bed and gave him freely of her money. Still, when they were in bed together, they made love and enjoyed each other as much as ever.