I went past Alice’s place, walking on the opposite side of the street and on to my car. Once I looked over my shoulder up at the second floor and it looked like some more lights had come on in the houses on either side.
No one was near my car when I got in and I didn’t waste any time getting away. I turned right at the first corner so I wouldn’t have to pass her place and then got over onto Sheridan Road and headed for the Loop.
By the time I had gone a block the car was doing fifty. I knew that was wrong. I eased down to twenty-five and held it there. The night had gotten colder and I could feel little chills going over me. I ran the windows up but that didn’t help. I was still cold.
I didn’t think about what I’d done. I just kept my eyes on the road and my mind on driving the car. The dashboard clock said eight-forty. When I got downtown it was almost nine o’clock.
I parked the car on a side street and went into the hotel. The lobby was full of people and there were half a dozen people waiting for elevators.
On my way into the elevator I stuck behind a couple of guys so the operator wouldn’t notice me. Even if he had he was pretty busy and it wasn’t likely he’d remember the time.
The time was important. I had to have an alibi for eight-thirty. That was when I’d shot Lesser and I had to be able to prove I was somewhere else at that time, if anything went wrong. The way I figured, they’d grab Frank for it and he wouldn’t have a chance. But if there was some angle I had missed I had to be in the clear.
When I opened the door of my room the blonde looked up from the chair where she was reading a magazine. She looked sleepy and sullen.
“Well, it’s about time,” she said. “I thought you said an hour.”
I could feel the tightness coming back. I closed the door, trying to keep anything from showing. “That’s right,” I said. “Was I longer than that?”
“It seems like I been waiting a year,” she said. “I woke up right after you left, I guess.”
“I’m sorry. I was a little longer than I thought. It must be eight-thirty by now.”
“Eight-thirty? It’s closer to nine-thirty if you ask me.”
I felt my fingers starting to shake. This had to be fixed or it was going to mean trouble. “You’re way off,” I said. I smiled and tried to sound like it didn’t mean anything. “Matter of fact I saw a clock in the lobby. I think it was about eight-thirty-five.”
“The clock is crazy.”
“Well, let’s don’t argue about it,” I said. I went over and started mixing a couple of drinks. I made mine stiff and all the while my mind was twisting around and doubling back on itself, trying to figure some way to fix it so she’d alibi me for the time.
I gave her the drink and bent over and kissed her. “Don’t be mad, baby,” I said. An idea was in my head. It was chancey, but I had to use it. “Go put a new face on and you’ll feel better.”
“I’m not mad, Johnny. But gosh, it seemed a long time waiting for you.”
“All right. We won’t talk about it any more.”
She got up unsteadily and went into the bathroom and closed the door.
I went over and picked up the phone. When the hotel operator answered I kept my voice low and said. “Look will you find out for me what time the play at the Selwyn opens? I got tickets for tomorrow night and I want to be on time. It’s either eight-thirty or twenty of nine, but I want to be sure.”
She said, “All right, Mr. Ford. I’ll let you know right away.”
I put the phone back and sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. A minute or two passed. I tried to keep cool. This wouldn’t work unless the blonde were there with me when the operator called back. I wondered what was keeping her.
“Hey,” I called, “what’s the delay?”
“Just a minute.”
The phone rang then and I swore under my breath. I let it ring a second time while I kept watching the bathroom door. It started the third ring when the blonde opened the door and came out.
“The phone’s ringing,” she said.
“Come here,” I said. I picked up the receiver, then put my arm around Marie’s waist and pulled her down beside me.
“What time is it?” I said into the phone.
“It’s eight-thirty, Mr. Ford.”
“What?”
I shoved the receiver against the blonde’s ear and I could hear the operator say again, in a clear voice, “It’s eight-thirty, Mr. Ford.”
I took the phone back, said thanks, and hung up. I turned and smiled at the blonde. “Did you hear that? Now aren’t you ashamed of yourself for raising hell with me?”
“She said it was eight-thirty, didn’t she?”
“That’s right.”
She gave me a funny look, then snuggled herself closer to me. “What difference does it make? You’re here now.”
Everything else faded away. I knew I’d let myself in for trouble. I knew there was a lot to fix before everything was the way I wanted. But right now I wanted the blonde. For some reason the worse mess a guy is in the more he needs a woman.
I stretched out and pulled her down beside me and kissed her a few times. She had her eyes closed and the tight little blonde curls made her like a baby. I wanted her and it wasn’t because of anything she did to me but just because of the way I felt.
Chapter IX
I gave her cab fare about one o’clock and sent her home. After that I couldn’t sleep until I’d taken three stiff drinks. They must have numbed me because I didn’t even dream...
The next morning I woke up with the feeling that something heavy was hanging over me. When I started thinking I knew what it was. I sent down for some coffee and the morning papers.
It was about eleven-thirty then. Everything would be in the papers. I put on a bathrobe and walked up and down the room. A lot had happened since I left Alice’s. Maybe it all happened the way I had it figured; but it might have gone wrong.
The bellboy who brought up the coffee was Junior, the sharpie with slick blonde hair and eyes like marbles.
“Gee, Mr. Ford,” he said, “that horse you gave me came in. Blue Angel, I mean.”
He pushed the tray over to the window. The two morning papers were folded neatly along side the silver coffee urn.
“Good for him,” I said. “What’d he pay?”
“Ten to one. I made ten bucks. That’s easier money than hopping bells.”
I sat down and poured myself a cup of coffee. My left hand moved over and touched the papers but I didn’t pick them up.
He was standing behind me and he said, “You haven’t got anything else for me, have you?”
ion>
“No,” I said. “I don’t know what’s good today.”
“Couldn’t you kind of make a guess?”
“Get out,” I said. I stood up and turned around. “Will you get out of here?”
He backed toward the door, looking white and scared.
“Sure, Mr. Ford. I’m sorry I bothered you.”
He closed the door behind him and I sat down again. I was shaking all over. I picked the papers up and spread them out.
He was on the front page all right. There was a picture of him and one of Alice and a shot of Lesser in her apartment with blood on his face.
I read the stories in both papers, then put them down and poured myself another cup of coffee. A little of the tight feeling was gone and my hands were steadier.
Everything looked all right. The stories had it that Frank Olsen, a recently discharged veteran, had come home unexpectedly and found a man with his wife. There had been a fight and the husband walked out, leaving the other man with two bullet holes in his head. Some neighbors had heard the shot and phoned the police. When they arrived they found Lesser dead and the wife just regaining consciousness.