“Now here’s the deal, Sambo,” he said, frowning at the message. “The Unionville Pike is northwest of here. I’ll tell you every turn to make. You catch the ten-o’clock bus. You’ll be in Philly by ten twenty or twenty-five. I wrote the address of the store down, and the address of our apartment. Go to the store first.” He paused to underline a word in the note. “She’s got black hair and she wears it long. You’ll recognize her, don’t worry. She runs the joint. You give her this note. Understand? She’ll carry the ball from there.”
Ingram was watching him with a faint smile. “You got it all figured out, eh?”
“It’s our only chance, Sambo.”
“Then we’re in sad shape,” Ingram said. “I’m not leaving here.” He knew what it would be like outside; his imagination had been working as Earl made his plans. The rain and the wind, with maybe lightning searing the darkness and bringing the whole night world into a fearful brightness... And people staring at him, cops eying him while they swung their nightsticks in slow, speculative arcs.
“You don’t trust me, is that it?” Earl said.
“You watch out for yourself. I’ll watch out for me.”
“Listen to me, Sambo. Use your head. Why should I send you out to get caught?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know! You don’t know!” Earl mocked him bitterly. “Well, I’ll tell you something since you’re so goddam dumb. Without that car you’re going to die. Get that into your woolly head. Burke is dead. We’re facing a murder rap. Maybe you didn’t know that, either?”
“I didn’t have nothing to do with it. I got forced into this job.”
“Do you want to die? Is that it, Sambo?”
“I didn’t shoot Burke,” Ingram said shrilly. “They can’t blame me for that.”
Earl said “Judas priest!” in a weary, disgusted voice. Then he sighed and shook his head. “Will you do me a favor, Sambo? Will you just be serious? Forget about the car. Sit here and wait for the cops. But be serious!” Earl’s voice rose in sudden fury. “You’re a murderer. So am I. The law says we’re responsible for Burke’s death. Don’t talk like a fool. Is that asking too much?”
“I didn’t know anything was going to happen to him,” Ingram said. “I didn’t even have a gun.”
Earl settled himself carefully against the back of the sofa, and lighted a cigarette, his manner seemingly careless and negligent. He watched Ingram in silence for a few seconds, judging the texture of his fear with shrewd, instinctive accuracy. Then he said casually, “You ever been in jail?”
“No.” Ingram shook his head quickly.
“I was in jail the night they burned a man. That’s something you should know about. You’ll be ready for it then.”
Ingram looked away from Earl’s bright, searching eyes. “I don’t need any lecture about it. I can guess what it’s like.”
Earl laughed. “That’s what people outside always say. But they’re wrong. They get funny ideas from movies, I guess. You know the kind of stuff. Prisoners banging tin cups on the bars, colored guys singing spirituals, everybody solemn and scared.” Earl shook his head. “It ain’t like that, Sambo. You know what it’s like? It’s like the night they show movies. It’s an event. Everybody gets all gagged-up and excited. There’s a pool on the minute it’s going to happen. You bet a half dollar and you can win a hatful. My cellmate won eighteen bucks. He was a lifer, a real lucky guy.”
Earl straightened slowly and shifted to the edge of the sofa, studying the nervous fear in Ingram’s eyes with clinical speculation. “But it’s different for the guy they’re burning,” he said gently. “He’s sure it won’t happen. Right till the last. When the guards shave his head, he asks them if they’ve heard any gossip from the warden’s office. Then the chaplain comes in. That makes everything just fine.” Earl smiled at Ingram’s trembling lips. “The chaplain tells you all your troubles will be over after they throw the switch. God’s waiting for you, he says, waiting with a big smile on His face. You’re heading for the big leagues and God’s the manager who’ll show you all the tricks and make you feel at home. You believe that, of course. You don’t even mind what’s coming you’re so anxious to get up to the big leagues and be God’s buddy. That chaplain’s your best friend, Sambo. He walks right up to the chair with you, telling you how great it’s going to be up in the majors. He almost climbs into the chair to show you how easy it is — almost, but not quite.”
Earl flipped his cigarette into the fireplace, and the flash of the glowing tip made Ingram start nervously. “They strap you in and put a metal cap on your head,” Earl said quietly. “You jump because your skull is bare as an egg. Then they all stare at you, the guards, the chaplain, the warden, the newspaper guys, wondering how you’ll take it. They make bets on it sometimes. One guy will fight the straps, trying to break loose. Others just start whimpering.”
“Shut up,” Ingram cried; Earl’s words rang on his old, old hideous fears of being beaten and hurt, laughed at by merciless men.
“Then you just wait,” Earl said softly. “Strapped into the chair, you wait. You don’t know when it’s coming. You stare at the guards and the chaplain, watching their eyes, ready to scream if anybody gives a signal. But you can’t see the signal. They don’t ask you if you’re ready, if it’s okay to throw the switch. If the warden doesn’t like you he can let you sweat a while — make you start sobbing and screaming, waiting for the bolt of lightning to split your head in two.” Earl settled back in the couch. “That’s how it’s going to be, Sambo. That’s the straight dope.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” Ingram muttered at last. “About the radio, I mean.”
“I told you before: Why should I lie to you? What good will it do me to send you out to get caught?” When Ingram didn’t answer Earl heaved himself to his feet and took the gun from his pocket. He checked the safety, then limped to the fireplace and extended the gun butt-first to Ingram. “Go on, take it,” he said quietly. “I trust you, Sambo. I’ve got to. If we stick together, we’ve got a chance. So what do you say? You want to take it? Or do you want to fry?”
Ingram hesitated, staring into Earl’s eyes. Finally he moistened his trembling lips and put out a hand for the gun.
Chapter Fourteen
Ingram arrived at the bus depot in central Philadelphia shortly after ten thirty. He went quickly through the crowded terminal, the brim of Earl’s hat pulled down over his eyes, and within minutes had merged his thin body with the shadows of the city’s side streets. His reactions were as instinctive as a fleeing animal’s: fear had left him with nothing but the mindless tenacity to exist. He had walked to the highway in a protective cocoon of shock, mercifully oblivious to the rain and. wind, and the dark trees swaying grotesquely above his head. The bus had been a dimly lighted refuge, a haven of darkness and warmth; he had found a seat in the rear, and pulled the collar of Earl’s big overcoat high around his face. The motor throbbed like a powerful heart in the drowsy silence, and the soft lights fell like a blessing on the innocently sprawled bodies of the other passengers.
Ingram watched the level waves of water rolling down his window, staring through them at the pinpoints of yellow lights that gleamed from farmhouses set far off the highway. They had stopped once at a roadblock, and he pulled back in terror from the sweep of a flashlight across the window. Some of the other passengers had stirred and waked; questions were murmured while the driver talked to the police, and then the gears whined and they rolled slowly past a knot of troopers wearing long black rain slickers. There were no other stops. They roared swiftly into the city, the big tires whirring with a liquid power against the wet highway...