There should have been more time to be alone with him. More time to make him in some small way dependent on her. Now the closeness was fading. Her claim was losing its strength. He had no need of her, no real need. The money, yes. But not her. Ever since it had become clear to them that they were trapped here, he had been distracted from her, absent-minded with her. When they had seen the dreadful fall of the tree that had smashed the little man, she had cried out and drawn close to him and taken his hand. But there had been no answering pressure in his hand. And when he had looked at her, he had seemed a stranger to her. Later when they had stood by the window, she had drawn his arm around her waist, but it had merely rested there, weight without closeness or emotion.
She looked across the dim room at Virginia Sherrel. As the woman talked to the child called Jan, her face was tilted so that it caught the yellow-gray light, and her face was luminous and lovely. Betty looked at the woman without envy, with a feeling of hopelessness. Here was a woman who in body, face and poise was a far better match for Bunny. They were both of that alien race of the highly endowed. The other women Bunny had known had been like that, Betty imagined. And that was the sort of woman he would go back to, one day. The day after she inevitably lost him. And the long painful process of losing him seemed to have started on this day...
Flagan gathered himself and stood up slowly. He looked around dully, as though awakening from sleep. The three women and the children looked at him. He looked at the three women in turn and chose Virginia Sherrel to address himself to. “Where’d they go, honey?”
“The other men? They went to find a way back to the road.”
He pursed his lips, nodded judiciously. “Good idea. Sorry about your car, honey. What’s your name?”
“My name is Mrs. Sherrel. And being sorry isn’t going to be quite enough, Mr. Flagan.”
“Who told you my name?”
Virginia Sherrel stood up and took a step toward him. “Mr. Himbermark told us your name.”
Flagan looked at her appraisingly, approvingly. “Charlie zigged when he shoulda zagged. Don’t worry about your car, honey.”
“What do you plan to do about it? I lost my clothes, everything.”
He shrugged. “You got comprehensive, haven’t you? Let the insurance take care of the car. I’ll pay for the other stuff.”
Virginia Sherrel lifted her chin and spoke clearly above the wind whine. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Flagan. You assaulted me physically in front of witnesses. You dragged me out of my car, knocked me down and drove my car into the river.”
He grinned at her. “And Johnny Flagan has to pay for that, too? You got a lot of spirit. I like that. Honey, I did what I had to do. And I got set back a little. Johnny Flagan always gets these little setbacks, and he always comes out of it. Now I’m going to be on my way because I’ve got places to go and things to do.”
Betty Hollis watched the man curiously. There was too much bluster. And his eyes didn’t match the smile and the confident voice. His eyes were afraid.
Virginia Sherrel said, “I want your address. I’ll want to give it to my lawyers.”
Johnny Flagan checked again on the money in his pocket. “Lady, you just copy down the license number on my Cad. Give that to your lawyers. They can trace me. It’s my car. That way they earn their money.”
Betty Hollis watched Virginia’s face, and she saw that the woman was furiously angry. It was as though emotions had been constrained for a long time and were now breaking free.
“How do I know that’s your car? Who do you think you are?”
“Just simple old Johnny Flagan,” he said and turned toward the door. Virginia Sherrel took quick long strides and caught at his arm. He wrenched free, his red face almost purple. As the door opened behind him, he flicked the back of his hand across her face. She staggered back, her eyes wide with shock.
Hal Dorn came in just as Flagan struck the woman. He grabbed the heavy man’s shoulder and wrenched him around. “What’s going on here?” he yelled.
Flagan in his youth had been a brawler, a squat bull of a man. The softened muscles were still heavy, and as quick as they needed to be. Quick enough to club Dorn solidly in the ribs and follow it up with a heavy fist against the side of the neck. Dorn fell and both children began to scream with fear. As Dorn struggled to get up, Flagan moved quickly around him to get out the door, but met Malden coming in, Bunny Hollis right behind him. Flagan tried to shove by him. Malden saw Dorn trying to get up. He thrust Flagan violently back into the room. Flagan made the mistake of trying to hit him.
Dorn got to his feet just in time to see Flagan swing a ponderous fist at Steve Malden. Hal Dorn felt dazed, slightly ill and enormously angry. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been as angry. His lean muscles had been toughened by the warehouse labor. His hands were hard, and he wanted to feel the impact of his fists against the red face of Flagan.
It seemed to him the final indignity that he should be knocked down so readily in front of Jean and the kids by a man twenty years older, a man with a big belly. The incident seemed to underline and italicize the final months of defeat. He stumbled forward, ignoring the great ache in his left side, intent on helping Malden sudue the man.
But Malden needed no help. Malden didn’t fight the man. It was not at all like a fight. Malden merely walked Flagan back against the wall, punishing the man deftly, coldly, mercilessly, as he moved him back, hurting him with hands, elbows, knees, roughing him up in a quiet and highly professional manner that ended when Flagan stood against the wall whimpering with each exhalation, the thin sound nearly lost in an increased roar of wind.
Malden looked at the others. “What’s it about?” Mrs. Dorn stood by her husband, talking to him in a low tone. Bunny Hollis was standing by his bride, holding her hand.
Virginia Sherrel told him.
Malden turned back to Flagan, patted his pockets lightly, deftly lifted a thick manila envelope out of the inside jacket pocket. Flagan made a wild grab for the envelope. Malden put a hand against his chest and pushed him forcibly back against the wall.
“Hold it!”
“That’s mine. You can’t take that.”
“Shut up, Flagan.” He opened the envelope, looked at the thick pad of soaked bills. He did not change expression. He folded the packet once, compressed it between his hands, put it in his hip pocket.
“You got to give that back! I got to have it back. I’ve got to go now, and I got to take that along.”
“You’re not going anyplace.”
Flagan gathered himself with an effort. His manner changed. He was no longer frantic. There was something almost pleasant about his smile. He spoke loudly enough to include all of them in the conversation. “Okay. I know I’ve got some explanations to make. I’ve been a damn fool. I guess this storm is getting me down. Here. Here’s my wallet. Open it and take a look at some of the identification, friend. Among other things, I’m a banker. I’m on my way to Georgia. There’s a... a deadline in getting that cash up there. It’s important to me and a lot of other people. I got off on the wrong foot. I didn’t mean to be so rough on the lady, but I thought I could get across before that bridge sagged any more, and there just wasn’t time to explain to her. You can see that, can’t you? When she grabbed me, I lost my head, I guess. I’ve always had a bad temper. It’s a terrible burden to me. I do things I’m ashamed of. Now give it back like a good fella, and I’ll be on my way. You can look at those cards. They’ll tell you who I am.”