‘I don’t know,’ Eddie quavered. He looked ghastly with blood still trickling down his face and soaking into his collar and coat. ‘Look what she did to me. She’s crazy! She came at me like a wild animal. If I hadn’t hit her...’
But Gus wasn’t listening. The dollar bills scattered all over the room held his attention. He shot a quick, hard glance at Eddie, then knelt beside Carol, felt her pulse, lifted her head, grimaced as he got blood on his fingers. He lowered her head very gently to the floor, wiped his fingers on her torn dress and stood up with a little grunt.
‘Is she...?’ Eddie began, gulped, waited.
‘You’ve smashed her skull,’ Gus said brutally. ‘Why did you have to hit her so hard, you crazy bastard?’
‘Is she dead?’ Eddie jerked out, his knees buckling. He had to sit on the bed.
‘She won’t last long,’ Gus said grimly. ‘The back of her head’s caved in.’
Eddie shuddered.
‘She’d’ve killed me, Gus,’ he moaned. ‘I had to do it. I swear she’d have killed me... look what she did to me.’
‘Tell it to the cops,’ Gus said. ‘If you can’t cook up a better yarn than that they’ll fling you into the gas chamber so fast you’ll be dizzy in the head till the pellets drop.’
‘Don’t...’ Eddie cried, starting to his feet. ‘I tell you—’
‘Save it,’ Gus returned. ‘You don’t have to tell me a thing. I’m thinking of the hotel, not you. The cops would slam us shut if they heard about this. Can’t you stop that bleeding?’ he went on irritably. ‘You’re ruining the carpet.’
Eddie went into the bathroom, came back holding a towel to his face.
‘We’ve got to get her out of here before she croaks,’ he said desperately. ‘No one knows she’s in town. For the love of Mike, Gus, get her out of here and dump her somewhere.’
‘Me?’ Gus exclaimed. ‘And get an accessary rap tied to my tail? That’s a laugh. I ain’t as dumb as that.’
Eddie clutched his arm.
‘You can fix it, Gus. I’ll make it worth your while. Look, take that dough. There’s more than twenty grand there.’
Gus gave an exaggerated start and appeared to see for the first time the money that was scattered over the floor.
‘You two been robbing a bank?’ he asked.
‘It’s mine,’ Eddie said hysterically. ‘Get her out of here and you can have the lot. Come on, Gus, you know you can fix it.’
Gus ran his hand over his thinning hair.
‘Yeah, I guess I could,’ he said slowly. ‘You’ll give me this dough if I get rid of her?’
‘Yes... only get her out quick.’
‘I’ll chance it,’ Gus said, making up his mind, and he bent to pick up the money, pushing Carol aside with his foot to get at some of the notes.
‘Get her out first,’ Eddie said, wringing his hands.
‘Take it easy,’ Gus said. ‘I’ll take her down in the service elevator. She’s got a car in the garage; may as well use that. I’ll dump her outside the hospital if the coast’s clear. You’d better get out of town, Eddie,’ he went on, stuffing the last of the notes into the brief-case. ‘If the cops see your mug they’ll haul you in as a suspect.’
‘I’m going,’ Eddie gasped. ‘Thanks, Gus, you’re a pal.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ Gus returned, closed the brief-case. ‘I was always a sucker for a smart guy like you.’
Eddie went unsteadily across the room to where the other brief-case lay hidden behind the overturned armchair. As he picked it up Gus joined him with three quick, silent strides.
‘Wait a minute, pal,’ he said. ‘I’ll have that too.’
Eddie snarled at him.
‘It’s mine,’ he said, clutching on to the case. ‘She stole it.’
‘Too bad,’ Gus sneered. ‘Remind me to cry when I have a moment. Hand it over.’
‘It’s mine,’ Eddie repeated weakly. ‘You wouldn’t skin me, Gus? It’s all the dough I have in the world. I’ve gotta have dough if I’m to get away.’
‘You’re breaking my heart,’ Gus said. ‘Hand it over unless you want me to call the cops.’
Eddie flung the case on the floor.
‘You dirty rat!’ he cried. ‘Take it then, and I hope it poisons your fife.’
‘It won’t,’ Gus said, and winked. ‘So long, Eddie. Get out of town quick. I don’t want to see that scratched-up puss of yours for a long time. It makes me feel sad,’ and he laughed.
Not trusting himself to speak, Eddie half ran, half staggered from the room.
Ismi Geza sat in the waiting-room of the Montgomery Ward of the Santo Rio Memorial Hospital. It was a pleasant room; light, airy and comfortably furnished. The armchair in which he sat rested him, and he thought, rather to his surprise, how nice it would be to have an armchair as comfortable as this at home.
He thought about the armchair because he was afraid to think about Max. They had taken him away in an ambulance, and hadn’t allowed Ismi to travel with him. Ismi had been forced to follow behind in Max’s Packard. He hadn’t driven a car for years, and the journey had shaken his nerves.
Ismi guessed that Max had had a stroke. Apoplexy seemed to run in the family. Ismi had had a stroke when he had seen an old friend of his mauled by a lion. Max had had his stroke when he had found he had lost his money. The causes had been so different, Ismi thought sadly, but the results could be the same. He hoped not. He hoped that Max would recover. Ismi’s dragging leg bothered him: it would be an even greater trial to an energetic, impatient man like Max.
The door opened quietly and the Head Sister came in. Ismi liked her immediately. She had a grave, kind face. She was, he thought, a sensible-looking woman: a woman he could trust.
He was so frightened of what she was going to tell him that when she began to speak he went suddenly deaf, and only a few disjointed sentences got through to his bemused mind. She was saying something about haemorrhage from rupture of the cerebral artery... evidence of paralysis affecting the left side of the body... reflexes inactive.
‘I see,’ Ismi said when she paused. ‘But is he bad? Will he die?’
She saw at once that he hadn’t understood what she had said, and that he was frightened. She tried to make it as easy as she could for him.
No, he wouldn’t die, she told him quietly, but he might be paralysed; unable to walk again. It was too early to say-just vet; later they would know for certain.
‘He won’t like it,’ Ismi said miserably. ‘He is not a patient boy.’ He fidgeted with his battered felt hat. ‘You’ll do what you can for him? I don’t mind the expense. I’ve saved—’
‘You can see him for a few minutes,’ she said, feeling an unexpected sorrow for him. ‘Say nothing to worry him. He must be kept very quiet.’
Ismi found Max lying in bed in a small, neat room, his head and shoulders slightly raised. The old man scarcely recognized his son. The left side of Max’s face was pulled out of shape, giving him a grotesque, frightening appearance. The left corner of his lip was drawn down, and Ismi could see his white teeth set in a perpetual snarl.
Max’s eyes burned like two small embers. They fastened on Ismi as he came slowly up to the bed: terrible eyes, full of hatred, fury and viciousness.
By the window was Nurse Hennekey, a tall, dark girl with a curiously flat, expressionless face. She looked up with surprised interest when she saw Ismi come into the room, but she didn’t move nor speak.
‘They’ll do everything they can for you,’ Ismi said, touching the cold white bed-rail a little helplessly. ‘You’ll soon be better. I will come and see you every day.’
Max just stared at him, unable to speak, but the brooding look in his eyes did not change, nor did the hatred die out of them.