I couldn’t even breathe. My lungs were all up in my throat. I tried to jab at him with my free elbow, and he jerked my other arm up so hard the pain almost took the top of my head off.
“You know what I’m going to do?” he said. “I’m going to fix you so you can’t ever put your hands on her again. I’m going to give you the same treatment that small-town cops give pickpockets. You ever hear about that? They break the pickpocket’s fingers, so he can’t ever get his hooks on somebody else’s property again. They mash his hands real good so that when they heal up they aren’t anything but stiff claws.”
He got down behind me on the sofa, and now I felt his hand clench around mine like a vise. I struggled, I struggled like hell, but I couldn’t break his hold.
“You loved to get your hands on her, didn’t you, you bastard?” he said. He was excited now, almost giggling. “She was warm and soft, and she liked it too, didn’t she? But no more. I’m going to crush your hands one at a time. You’ll never put them on Gloria again.
“And nobody will ever laugh at you because you’re such a big man to be playing a piano, either. You won’t be able to use your filthy hands for anything.”
The pain in my shoulder had been bad, but it was nothing compared with the pain in my hand as Al tightened his grip. He could crush it, and that was for sure.
My eyes were blurring again, but I saw the glare of a passing auto’s headlights against the French windows — and I got the only good flash I’d ever had when I really needed it.
I bent my leg and carefully put my foot against the edge of the heavy cocktail table and sent it streaking for the French windows. It hit with an unholy crash, like an explosion in a fruit jar factory.
They could hear me outside now, I knew, and I let out a yell to wake the dead. Prince shoved me so hard that I went headlong to the floor, and then he was on his feet and diving toward an open door that I knew led to his bedroom.
I started to scrabble up and started after him. And then it struck me that my shoulder and arm were damn near paralyzed, and in the same instant I realized that he was going for a gun.
I didn’t wait to find out. In ten seconds flat I was out of the apartment and down the stairs and sprinting along the street to where I’d left the Caddy. My shoulder might be numb but there was nothing wrong with my legs which they proved by some fancy running.
Al had flipped, and that was for sure. But he hadn’t known about Gloria’s murder. No matter how wacky he was now, he couldn’t have reacted the way he had if he’d known she was dead. His acting wasn’t that good.
Which made things worse, because I was still the patsy, there was still a murdered girl in my back seat — and time was running out. Whoever had made me a patsy had almost certainly tipped the cops by this time.
And there would be a few cops at Al’s apartment, to see what the fracas was about. Al was bitter, and vindictive — he’d cook up something to put them on my tail, and the cops would believe him because he was a contender, everybody’s hero.
It was hard to figure Ed Farr for a murderer — but the choice had narrowed down. I still couldn’t buy the idea of Gloria’s killer being some passing thug who’d taken advantage of an easy mark.
By the time I reached the Caddy, I was drenched with sweat and breathing heavily. But my arm and shoulder were better now, and I knew I’d be able to drive in spite of the aches.
But drive where? I didn’t know where Ed Farr lived. From what I’d heard, he didn’t live anywhere in particular. A couple of times he’d even been picked up as a vag and brought to the station.
So Ed Farr was out — unless I wanted to cruise the Village streets looking for him. Which I didn’t. Not in a place where I knew so many people, and not with a naked corpse in the back seat. It might look a little peculiar.
I eased the car out onto the street and cut over to Broadway and headed back downtown. I felt the urge to keep moving, even if I didn’t have any place to go.
For some reason I started thinking about Julie Cole and the date I was supposed to have had with her. I glanced at my wristwatch. It didn’t seem possible, but it still lacked a few minutes of being five o’clock.
I tried to think in a straight line, but it was no good. My mind was spinning, and it wouldn’t stop. I was a cooked goose, and I knew it — but I couldn’t help trying to figure out a way to save my skin.
There wasn’t any way I could hide Gloria’s body, but there was still the blood on the seat, and I couldn’t get rid of it. The cops would have me cold. Sooner or later, no matter what I did, no matter how far I ran, they were going to get me. They would find out, follow me, and get me.
I became possessed with an almost frantic need to know if the cops were after me yet. Sooner or later, sure — but were they right now? If they were, they would have been to the Cavern Club. It was supposed to close at four o’clock — almost an hour ago — but this was opening night, and it was customary for other night spot owners to drop by a new place after they’d closed their own doors and wish the new guy luck. The chances were better than good that there’d still be someone there. Someone would answer.
I stopped at the next all-night drug store and dialed the number. The phone range twice.
When Julie Cole’s voice answered, I was so surprised I almost dropped the receiver. I started to hang up — until I realized I didn’t have anything to lose.
If the cops had already been there, she’d probably say so. And if she didn’t, I could probably tell what I wanted to know from the sound of her voice. A musician develops an incredible ear for tone and inflection.
“Marty, Julie,” I said, and waited anxiously.
There was a long pause. Then, “I thought we had a date.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, as levelly as I could. “I couldn’t help it, believe me.”
“Where are you? Why didn’t you come back?” A little of the ice was melting from her voice now.
She sounded distant, but I was sure now that the cops hadn’t been there. She was miffed because I’d stood her up, but there was nothing about her young girl’s voice that sounded suspicious, only jealous.
“Anybody ask for me, Julie?”
“No. The boss said he was going to can you, but that’s all.” Her voice was in its natural pitch.
“Have we still got a date?” It popped out; I hadn’t meant to say that at all. But maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. I needed dough, and I needed it right away. No matter what I did from here on in, it was going to be expensive. If Julie had a few bucks to loan me — fine. I wasn’t in any mood to weigh ethics or morals.
“Well...” she said. She was talking rather softly, so that I could scarcely understand her over the babble of voices and the whirring sound of the drink-mixer. And somebody was hammering away at the piano, which didn’t make it any easier. The piano was making noise but no music.
“Talk louder,” I said.
“All right, Marty — it’s still a date. I really shouldn’t, though...” I was relieved. I’d heard that cool script before. She just had a few seconds to go on her mad, and then she’d get around to being sweet again.