She didn’t seem to be listening.
“Look, Lois! This is the only gun I have. I stole it last night out of a salesman’s car. I’ll wait in the bedroom when Hank comes, and leave the gun with you. You’ve got one bullet. You can give it to Hank, or you can let me have it! Don’t you understand?”
“I understand, Joe.”
But her voice was flat and lifeless.
When the knock came, he put the gun into her hands, turned his back and walked toward the bedroom — slowly — deliberately giving her time.
Dramatic. Poor dramatic Joe.
She laid the gun on the coffee table and went to the door. She unfastened the bolt and admitted Hank.
“You look tired,” she said.
There were circles under his eyes, halfway down his cheeks, but his pupils glittered like ice.
“Yeah, yeah. Skip it. What’s new with Joe? Have you seen him again?”
“I’m sure he’s near.” There wasn’t a trace of panic in her voice.
“That’s what I figured. But you were wrong about the cops, baby. They’re not out in front, but they will be. I tipped them off. I’ve got this planned so it will fit around Joe’s neck, pretty as a necklace!”
She wasn’t listening, really. Hank always talked too much. She was listening to voices of people she had known before Hank, people who had been good to her, people from a long time ago.
He didn’t hesitate or drag it out. His shot caught her right through the heart and she pitched forward, no shock or surprise on her face. None at all. Just an expression of tranquillity that he had never seen before.
He stood there staring, watching with fascination as the green silk skirt fluttered gracefully and fell into artful folds about her lovely limbs. Lord, she was beautiful! Even dead, she was beautiful!
Joe caught Hank from behind. Fingers ground into his windpipe, strangling him. A knee ground into his back. He dropped his gun and clawed the air.
“Thank you for everything, Mr. Irby! I knew you’d do my killing for me if I could get you over here. You’re good at doing my killing, aren’t you, pal? You’re good at a lot of things, but not good for much right now. You called the cops, didn’t you? You thought you’d let her have it and frame me again. Darling! You call a dame darling, and then plug her in the ticker!”
Joe increased the pressure of his hands and Hank’s face turned an ugly blue. Joe dropped his hold and reached for the gun on the coffee table. He kicked Hank’s gun under a chair and watched the man writhing on the floor.
Then the cops started banging. Joe gave Hank a tap behind the ear and sat there waiting, thinking about triangles.
But it hadn’t been a triangle, not really. It had been sucker fun. Joe had been too proud to try to hold Lois after she fell for Hank. But being pushed around was different.
He’d be able to rest now if they sent him back, which they probably would.
The cops were in, and they were mad.
“All right, Hilton, drop that gun!”
Joe did and raised his hands.
“All right, Louie, I’ve dropped the gun. Just be sure that you don’t blast until I speak my piece.”
“Blast, hell! You’ll get the chair for this. You really mowed ’em down!”
“No,” said Joe. “No, I didn’t. But Mr. Irby, the sleepy-head there, can pick them off like clay pigeons.”
“Irby? Not Henry Irby, the banker?”
“No less. You’ll have to pardon his blue face. He’s all right, but he choked a little on something.”
“Hilton, you’re on your way out this time. They’ll pack you fuller of juice than a Florida orange! They’ll—”
“Can it, copper! Do you think I’d shoot off my mouth if I couldn’t prove it? I just ask one thing — a simple test. The bullet from Lois Baum will fit that gun under the chair. If you’ll stick the barrel under your nose, you’ll still smell something. Cordite. All I want is a paraffin test. You’ll find out that my hands are as clean as a baby’s kiss. But the pinkies of that prominent citizen lying there ought to be loaded. Get it?”
The cops handcuffed him and dragged him to his feet.
“Thank you Mr. Hilton. So nice of you to tell us our business!”
Joe looked back over his shoulder, just once. They were picking up Hank Irby’s gun with care, so as not to smudge prints. They were picking up Hank Irby. You didn’t have to tell them their job.
Lois looked like a little doll, all dressed up in green for some big occasion. She looked peaceful in death, somehow. Almost as if she had known and didn’t mind.
Joe shrugged and walked out.