She ran. She ran down the road through the black fringe of the park, toward the lighted area, toward the cab stand. Her purse, miraculously, was still clutched in her hand.
He followed for a few steps and she stumbled. He could have caught her then, but he stopped. She heard him laughing.
“All right, you little fool. Have it your way. I reach toward you and you think you’re being killed. Tell that to the cops if you think you can make it stick. I wasn’t going to hurt you, damn it! I just wanted to shake some sense into your silly head. You’ll realize that when you calm down — or you’ll get all upset and call me for help again. And don’t worry. I’ll know what to expect and Melissa won’t beat me to the phone next time.”
Talk. Hank and his endless talk. He never seemed to get tired of it. She scrambled to her feet and kept running toward the lights.
He had meant to kill her! She knew it. She had seen it in his eyes. But he was careful, always careful. She had thwarted his initial attempt, and now he felt that the act wasn’t prudent. She was out of the car now, too close to the street. He had tried to talk himself out of it.
His laughter, gloating and exultant, rang in her ears as she climbed into a cab and gave her address.
It was safe enough to go back. The driver would take her all the way up to her door for a tip. Then she’d get behind the bolt and stay there! She wouldn’t open the door for Hank or anybody else. And if she heard a saw scraping at her steel bar, she’d call the police.
She just wanted to go to bed and sleep, sleep, sleep. She was so very tired, so very sick of herself and everybody else.
Chapter Four
A Guy Named Joe
The cab driver took her key and opened the door for her. He smiled in gratitude for the tip, touched his cap, and left with a pleasant goodnight.
She closed the door and leaned against it, wiggling the bolt across and jamming the knob down.
It still gave her a feeling of security, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she walked into the living room.
Then she stopped, heart jumping crazily.
Joe Hilton was sitting in her lounge chair, smiling at her!
She wheeled, raced for the door.
The bolt stuck. She tugged at it — couldn’t make it move!
Joe walked calmly out to the hall, covered her mouth with his hand and dragged her away from the door.
“Whoever sold you on a bolt should have told you all the angles, girlie. Don’t ever shoot it until you’ve looked the joint over. If you’d have done that, you’d be out there with the cab driver by now, screaming your lungs out for help!”
He took his hand away from her mouth and pushed her into a chair.
“Joe... Joe, you’ve got to listen to me!”
His face hardened.
“Do I?” He had her bottle of scotch beside his chair and he poured himself a drink with his eyes snapping. It would be an angry drink, intensifying his emotions. It was always that way with Joe.
“Seems to me I listened to you once, my friend! That’s enough. That’s all. You know what I’m here for!”
Her fingers fluttered over the folds of the ice-green print, with the full, floating skirt. The prettiest dress she had. The material felt so soft, felt like the quilted satin of a coffin that her hands had pressed against in her dreams. The flower-scent of her clammy awakenings assailed her nostrils again, and she thought of her grandmother.
“May I have a drink, Joe? I need it. I just left Hank. He tried to kill me, too.”
He poured her a generous slug and handed it to her with a flourish. Joe had been in love with her once and he still had a flare for drama. But she didn’t miss the dark, bitter hatred in his eyes. He couldn’t pretend like Hank. The hatred was there, so it had to show.
“Well, what do you know! The rich boyfriend turned heel. What did you expect?”
“I don’t know.” Her thoughts were all a jumble now. “He put the bolt on for me...” She was going back to the beginning, trying to understand about Hank.
Joe grinned. “Yeah. Cute trick, that! It stopped me. I thought for a minute you were going to be smart and stay behind the bolt. Didn’t your boy tell you that the minute you left the place, you left it wide open for me? Didn’t you know that I wouldn’t have stood a Chinaman’s chance the other way?”
“I didn’t think. I couldn’t think! I thought you’d gone after some tool.”
“And he let you think that?”
“Yes.”
“Then he wanted me to get you, girlie. That’s all I can say. He’d know damn well that I’d have had to break the door down to get in!”
“Stop calling me girlie.”
“What the hell should I call you? Angel? Sweetheart? You double-crossing little tramp! Do you know what it’s like to be locked up for two years? You and your high-powered boyfriend I Pinchbottle scotch, boneless ham in the ice box, chicken, fancy cheeses! Do you know what I’ve been living on? I even had to bum my smokes, to hoard butts like a guttersnipe!”
“Joe — listen. Hank did it! Hank killed Merton and planned the rest!”
“Sure. Sure, he did! And you went along with it, hands up. You stole my gun. You told me where to be at what time. You smiled and looked at me out of those pale, fish eyes...”
She covered her face, sobs racking her body. “I know, Joe. I know! I’ve got it coming. I think I’ve known that all week. I’m dressed. I’m all dressed up...”
His eyes narrowed. He jogged a cigarette out of his pack, dipped his head to light it.
“All right, Lois. Cut the act. People get smart when they’re slammed in the jug for a murder they didn’t do. Even jerks like me get smart. In fact, I think I’m going to be smart enough to knock off my other pigeon before the law swoops down.”
She lifted perplexed, tear-filled eyes.
He pulled out a gun and waved it.
“Pick up the phone.”
She did.
“Call Hank. Tell him you’re lost without him. Tell him you’ve got to see him. Tell him anything.”
“He won’t come.”
“Don’t be stupid. He’ll come all right. But if you tell him I’m here, I’ll plug you on the spot.”
“But, Joe—”
“But nothing. Get him over here. Fast!”
She did it. What else could she do? What did it matter now? She told him she thought the police were watching the building, that she might be forced to tell the whole story about Merton.
He said: “Sit tight, darling. We’re going to have to figure an out together. I’ll be right there. Don’t talk to anybody.”
While they waited, Joe sat down with the gun in his lap, not looking directly at her. He fiddled with the gun, taking out shells. Then he jangled the loose shells in his hand like dice.
She tried to keep the sound from getting on her nerves. She thought about a path through the woods back home, about the cold well water, the dogwoods flowering in the spring, the smell of the white clover.
Joe began to twist the carriage of the revolver.
“Ever hear of Russian roulette, Lois?”
“What?... What, Joe?” She tried to bring her senses back into the room.
“Russian roulette. You play it with a gun like this one. Quite a game! There’s one live bullet, see? The other chambers are empty. You spin the wheel, then put the gun to your temple and pull the trigger. If you’re lucky, you hit a blank. If you’re not lucky, you kill yourself.”
“Please, Joe. Don’t be dramatic.” She slipped back into the woods at home.
“I’m not going to suggest playing. But I’m a sort of a gambler. When Henry comes, I’m going to give you a chance, just for fun. I’ve left one bullet in here. You don’t have to spin the wheel. The bullet is right where it belongs. I’ll give you the gun and you’ll have one shot. Two men, and one shot. That’s fair enough, isn’t it?”