Then he was on the vacant lot and moving slowly and quietly toward the rear of the house. He worked his way to the sagging steps of the back porch, saw a light in the kitchen window, climbed two steps and three and four and then he was on the porch and peering through the window and seeing Hilda.
She was alone in the kitchen, sitting at a white-topped table and smoking a cigarette. There was a cup and saucer on the table, the saucer littered with coffee-stained cigarette butts. As he watched, she got up from the table and went to the stove to lift a percolator off the fire and pour another cup of coffee.
She moved with a slow weaving of her shoulders and a flow of her hips that was more drifting than walking. He thought, She still has it, that certain way of moving around, using that body like a long-stemmed lily in a quiet breeze. That’s what got you the first time you laid eyes on her. The way she moves. And one time very long ago you said to her, “To set me on fire, all you have to do is walk across a room.” You couldn’t believe you were actually married to that hothouse-prize, that platinum blonde hair like melted eighteen-karat, that face, she still has it, that body, she still has it. It’s been nine years, and she still has it.
She was wearing bottle-green velvet that set off the pale green of her eyes. The dress was cut low, went in tight around her very narrow waist and stayed tight going down all the way past her knees. She featured pearls around her throat and in her ears and on her wrists. He thought, You gave her pearls for her birthday and Christmas and you wanted to give her more for the first wedding anniversary. But they don’t sell pearls in San Quentin. All they sell is plans for getting out. Like lessons in how to crawl through a pipe, or how to conceal certain tools, or how to disguise the voice. The lessons never paid off, but maybe now’s the time to use what you learned. Let’s try Coley s voice.
His knuckles rapped the kitchen door, and his mouth opened to let out Coley’s thick, low-pitched voice saying, “It’s me and Oscar.”
He stood there counting off the seconds. It was four seconds and then the door opened. It opened wide and Hilda’s mouth opened wider. Then she had her hand to her mouth and she was stepping backward.
“Hello, Hilda.” He came into the kitchen and closed the door behind him.
She took another backward step. She shook her head and spoke through the trembling fingers that pressed against her lips. “It isn’t—”
“Yes,” he said. “It is.”
Her hand fell away from her mouth. The moment was too much for her and it seemed she was going to collapse. But somehow she managed to stay on her feet. Then her eyes were shut tightly and she went on shaking her head.
“Look at me,” he said. “Take a good look.”
She opened her eyes. She looked him up and down and up again. Then, very slowly, she summoned air into her lungs and he knew she was going to let out a scream. His hand moved fast to his coat pocket and he took out Oscar’s knife and said quietly, “No noise, Hilda.”
She stared at the knife. The air went out of her without sound. Her arms were limp at her sides. She spoke in a half-whisper, talking to herself. “I don’t believe it. Just can’t believe it—”
“Why not?” His tone was mild. “It figures, doesn’t it? You came to Philly to look for me. And here I am.”
For some moments she stayed limp. Then, gradually, her shoulders straightened. She seemed to be getting a grip on herself. Her eyes narrowed just a little, as she went on looking at the silver-handled switchblade in his hand. She said, “That’s Oscar’s knife—?”
He nodded.
“Where is Oscar?” she asked. “Where’s Coley?”
“They’re dead.” He pressed the button on the handle and the blade flicked out. It glimmered red with Oscar’s blood and Coley’s blood. He said, “It’s a damn shame. They wouldn’t be dead if they’d let me alone.”
Hilda didn’t say anything. She gave a little shrug, as though to indicate there was nothing she could say. He told himself it didn’t make sense to wait any longer and the thing to do was put the knife in her heart. He wondered if the knife was sharp enough to cut through ice.
He took a forward step, then stopped. He wondered what was holding him back. Maybe he was waiting for her to break, to fall on her knees and beg for mercy.
But she didn’t kneel and she didn’t plead. Her voice was matter-of-fact as she said, “I’m wondering if we can make a deal.”
It caught him off balance. He frowned slightly. “What kind of deal?”
“Fair trade,” she said. “You give me a break and I’ll give you Riker.”
He changed the frown to a dim smile. “I’ve got him anyway. It’s a cinch he’s upstairs sound asleep.”
“That’s fifty percent right,” she said. “He’s a very light sleeper. Especially lately, since he heard you were out of Quentin.”
He widened the smile. “In Quentin I learned to walk on tip-toe. There won’t be any noise.”
“There’s always noise when you break down a door.”
The frown came back. “You playing it shrewd?”
“I’m playing it straight,” she said. “He keeps the door locked. Another thing he keeps is a .38 under his pillow.”
He slanted his head just a little. “You expect me to buy that?”
“You don’t have to buy it. I’m giving it to you.”
He began to see what she was getting at. He said, “All right, thanks for the freebee. Now tell me what you’re selling.”
“A key,” she said. “The key to his room. He has one and I have one. I’ll sell you mine at bargain rates. All I want is your promise.”
He didn’t say anything.
She shrugged and said, “It’s a gamble on both sides. I’ll take a chance that you’ll keep your word and let me stay alive. You’ll be betting even-money that I’m telling the truth.”
He smiled again. He saw she was looking past him, at the kitchen door. He said, “So the deal is, you give me the key to his room and I let you walk out that door.”
“That’s it.” She was gazing hungrily at the door. Her lips scarcely moved as she murmured, “Fair enough?”
“No,” he said. “It needs a tighter contract.”
Her face was expressionless. She held her breath.
He let her hold it for awhile, and then he said, “Let’s do it so there’s no gamble. You get the key and I’ll follow you upstairs. I’ll be right in back of you when you walk into the room. I’ll have the blade touching your spine.”
She blinked a few times.
“Well?” he said.
She reached into a flap of the bottle-green velvet and took out a door-key. Then she turned slowly and started out of the kitchen. He moved in close behind her and followed the platinum blonde hair and elegant torso going through the small dining-room and the parlor and toward the dimly-lit stairway. He came up at her side as they climbed the stairs, the knife-blade scarcely an inch away from the shimmering velvet that covered her ribs.
They reached the top of the stairs and she pointed to the door of the front bedroom. He let the blade touch the velvet and his voice was a whisper saying, “Slow and quiet. Very quiet.”
Then again he moved behind her. They walked slowly toward the bedroom door. The blade kissed the velvet and it told her to use the key with a minimum of sound. She put the key in the lock and there was no sound as she turned the key. There was only a slight clicking sound as the lock opened. Then no sound while she opened the door.