Then suddenly he felt a cold wave of fear wash over him. It was just as if a bodiless voice had whispered a warning in his ear. He became transfixed, more frightened than he had ever been before in his life.
O’Brien had reached the door.
“Wait…” Pete managed to stammer. “I — I don’t think…”
A crash of thunder drowned what he was trying to say, but O’Brien saw the livid fear on his face. He realized Pete was about to say he had changed his mind and he wasn’t going to take a bath.
“Get on with it!” he barked as he stepped into the passage. “I’m not going to stay up all night for you!”
He slammed the door as Pete started to speak again.
“These goddamn punks think they own the earth as soon as you treat them like humans,” O’Brien went on to Conrad, keeping his voice raised. “A bath every night! Who the hell thought up that gag?” While he spoke he leaned his back against the door; his hand holding the door knob. He felt the door knob turn, and by the sudden pressure of the door he knew Pete was trying to open it.
“Hadn’t you better go along and see if the girl’s all right?” he said to Conrad. “The storm may be upsetting her.”
He managed to keep the door closed by exerting his great strength. Pete was pulling at the door handle violently.
“Madge’s there,” Conrad said, busy lighting a cigarette. He didn’t notice O’Brien’s strained, white face. “I’ll go along in a little while.”
Another crash of thunder rolled over the house, and faintly O’Brien heard Pete yell through the door panel.
“What was that?” Conrad asked, looking up.
“Thunder,” O’Brien said. “What did you think it was?”
As he spoke he felt the pressure on the door suddenly cease; then the door handle twisted sharply.
“I thought I heard someone call out,” Conrad said, and moved along the passage. He paused outside Frances’s door and listened.
O’Brien stood still, his heart beating unevenly.
Thunder crashed and rolled overhead. The hiss of rain against the windows and the gurgling of water in the gutters blotted out all other sounds.
Then he heard a faint groan come from behind the bathroom door. It was a sound that made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up stiffly.
He stepped away from the door, took out his handkerchief and wiped his face.
III
Conrad came back along the passage.
“They’re all right: talking like a couple of magpies,” he said, then catching sight of O’Brien’s white, strained face, he went on, “You’re looking pretty sick, Tom. Why don’t you get off to bed? I’ll wait here for Weiner.”
“There’s nothing the matter with me,” O’Brien snapped. “For the love of mike, lay off, will you? I’m going to bed, anyway, as soon as this punk’s finished.”
Conrad offered his pack of cigarettes, but O’Brien shook his head.
For a long moment the two men stood listening to the violence of the storm, then Conrad asked, “How’s your boy, Tom?”
“He’s all right,” O’Brien returned, giving Conrad a quick, startled look.
“Ever thought how damned lucky you are?”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that.” I’ve always wanted a son, but Janey won’t hear of it. She says it’d spoil her figure.”
“It could at that,” O’Brien said, scarcely knowing what he was saying. “A girl
like your wife doesn’t want to mess around with kids.”
Conrad shrugged his shoulders.
“Oh, well, what’s the good of talking? All the same I would like to have a son, and a daughter, too, for that matter.”
O’Brien wiped his face with his handkerchief.
“Why don’t you turn in?” he asked, wondering how much longer Conrad was going to stay outside the bathroom door. “If you’re going out again at three you’ll need some sleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep in this storm. How long is he going to be in there?”
“Twenty minutes or so. Hark at that thunder.”
“I wish that Coleman girl would make up her mind to talk,” Conrad said after the rolling crash of thunder had died away. “I’m positive she saw Maurer.”
“Doesn’t look as if she’ll talk now. What are you going to do with her?”
“The D.A. will have to decide that.”
The sound of water splashing behind the bathroom door made O’Brien’s heart skip a beat.
“You know Weiner puzzles me,” Conrad said. Tm inclined to think his birthmark drove him off the rails. There’s no real vice in him: not like the rest of them. What’s his record amount to? We have no evidence he ever committed violence. As far as I know he specializes in stealing cars for the gang. I’ve talked to him, and I think he could be put back on to the rails again.”
“The hell with him!” O’Brien said savagely. “I’ve got no time for these hoods: and that’s what he is. Just because a guy happens to have a birth-mark doesn’t give him the right to steal cars.”
“Isn’t it time he came out?” Conrad said, looking at his strap watch. “He’s been over twenty minutes.”
“Aw, he doesn’t hurry himself.”
Conrad rapped on the door.
“Snap it up, Weiner!” he called.
O’Brien inwardly cursed Conrad. He wondered if Ferrari had gone. With an unsteady hand he lit a cigarette.
The noise of the storm was slowly receding. Every now and then thunder crashed, but it was now more distant. The rain continued to hammer down on the roof and hiss in the gutters.
O’Brien saw Conrad turn the bathroom door handle, then frown.
“He’s locked himself in! There shouldn’t be a lock on this door, Tom.”
“So what?” O’Brien growled.
Conrad rapped again.
“Are you ready, Weiner?”
The silence that greeted him alarmed him.
“Hey, Weiner!”
“What are you getting so heated about?” O’Brien asked.
“Why doesn’t he answer?”
“Maybe he’s sulking. I’ll kick his tail off for him when he comes out.”
“Hey, Weiner!”
Conrad banged on the door with his fist. When there was no answer, he stepped back, his face hardening.
“Come on, Tom! Let’s get this door open!”
“Take it easy,” O’Brien said. “Let me have a go at the punk.”
“We’re wasting time.”
Conrad set himself and drove the flat of his foot against the door lock. The
door creaked but held.
“Let me get at it,” O’Brien said, sure now Ferrari must have gone.
He stepped back, then charged the door, turning his shoulder as he crashed against the door panel.
The door burst open and O’Brien staggered into the bathroom.
“Hell!” Conrad exploded, crowding in behind O’Brien. “Quick, Tom! Help me get him out!”
Pete lay stretched out in the bath. The small room was full of steam. Pete’s head was under the water, and around his head and shoulders the water was a pinkish colour.
O’Brien reached forward and pulled the waste plug out. He caught hold of Pete’s hair and lifted his face clear of the water.
“He must have been crazy to have got into a bath this hot,” he muttered, his hand going down on Pete’s chest. He felt for a heartbeat, then shook his head. “He’s gone, Paul.”
“Move over!” Conrad snapped. “Let me get hold of his legs. Come on! Get him out and let’s work on him.”
Together they lifted Pete out of the bath.
“Bring him into the passage. There’s no room to work in here,”
Conrad said.