The Tiger Among Us

by Leigh Brackett

  "I guess you're right," she said. "You'll only fret more if I don't tell you. Tracey got a threatening letter, that's all. These boys must have known something about you."

  Two-oh-two Laurel Terrace Drive, and cut the lawn every Sunday. Yes. And the tall skinny shadow that ran and hid in the car when it heard my name. Yes. My head was fuzzy and dim. It was hard to think.

  "She got a letter?"

  "Oh, it probably didn't mean anything, but Tracey thought it would be the wisest idea to take the children away for a while. It was for them, Walt. If it was just for herself wild horses wouldn't have dragged her, but you know how it is when you've got youngsters to think of."

  "Where'd she go?"

  "To Boston. To her uncle and aunt. She simply had to, Walt. For the children. She waited until she was sure——"

  "Sure of what? Don't keep me hanging in mid-air, I feel lousy."

  "Sorry, hon. Until she was sure you were out of danger. She telephones me every day. She'll be so happy——"

  "Sure," I said. "Give her my love."

  There was one of those awkward moments. Mae fidgeted, scrabbling in her handbag but not taking anything out, patting her hair. Beyond the window the buildings were dark with soot under a bright spring sky. The mill sheds were long and rusty black, and suddenly down the line one of the town's few remaining Bessemers began to spurt up a shaking pillar of flame.

  "What did the letter say?"

  "The usual things. It wasn't signed, of course. Tracey wasn't frightened for herself, it was just that she couldn't take a chance with Bets and Pudgy. I knew exactly how she felt, with three of my own."

  "Sure," I said. "Tell her she was right to go. Tell her I'm fine."

  "Of course. She's been so terribly worried. Well, I guess I'd better go now. Doctor said five minutes was the limit. But I'll be back."

  She kissed me again. There were tears welling up in her brown eyes. I loved her. But I wanted Tracey.

  "When'll she be back?"

  "Oh, soon. In a few days, when this is cleared up. The police will take care of it." She bent quickly and tried to hug me without touching anything. "I'm so happy I'm going to bawl. So long. See you tomorrow."

  She left, dragging for a handkerchief. I thought I must really have been in a bad way.

  And Tracey was in Boston.

  Two-oh-two Laurel Terrace Drive. I could hear Chuck's voice reading the address.

  Of course she had had to go. It was for the children. The bad boys—no, that was part of the dream. But it was true. They mustn't touch Bets and Pudge. They mustn't touch Tracey either.

  Of course she had had to go.

  The Bessemer flared, throwing off beautiful flakes of fire.

  I got nurses, rustling in and out, and I got the doctor. His name was Obermeyer, and he was Tracey's family doctor, one of the best in Mall's Ford and correspondingly expensive. He wouldn't tell me much except that I was fine and I mustn't worry.

  I asked him about my leg.

  "Fracture. Don't let all that traction stuff frighten you, it's mostly for show. Now I think we'll sleep again for a while."

  We slept.

  Next day I got Detective Koleski. He was a young fellow, neatly dressed in a dark blue suit. He was polite, businesslike, and thorough. We filled in some blanks for each other. Old Schmitz had got worried when I didn't come back. He called the truck stop, and when they told him I hadn't been there he came looking for me. By the time he found me I was all alone. He hadn't even seen the car.

  "Could you identify the boys?" Koleski asked me.

  I explained that I couldn't see their faces. "But I'd know the big one anywhere. I'd know his voice. His name was Chuck."

  Koleski wrote it all down.

  "Could you say how they were dressed?"

  "Slacks. Jackets. It was dark, but I'd say they were well-dressed."

  "Did they have any characteristics that might identify them as belonging to any particular population group?"

  "No. They were all red-blooded American boys. And they weren't slum kids, either."

  He glanced at me sharply. "What makes you so sure of that?"

  "Driving a convertible?"

  ."They could have borrowed it."

  "Or stolen it," I said, considering this new thought.

  He shook his head. "No convertibles in the stolen-car complaints."

  "Well, anyway, they weren't. They didn't talk like it nor act like it. They weren't interested in my money, and I had about forty bucks on me. The big one, Chuck, he was pretty bitter about suburbanites, but it was more a personal thing and not like class jealousy."

  Every time I tried to think or remember, it started my head aching again, but I plugged on with it.

  "He told the others to look at me, that was what their mammas wanted them to be. And the tall skinny one, Bill—he knew me, or knew who I was."

  Koleski looked alert at that. He asked questions, writing fast. I couldn't think of any boy, offhand, that would fit Bill's description.

  "I think they'd had trouble," I said. "With a bartender, and somebody in a pink shirt. Sounded as though they'd butted up against some real genuine toughies and had to turn tail and were taking out their spite on the first handy victim. They thought I was just a prowling tramp when they stopped."

  "We'll check it out."

  He got up to leave, and I said, "Wait a minute, what about that letter? Can't you tell anything from that?"

  He gave me a blank look. "What letter?"

  "The one they wrote to my wife."

  "Oh," he said. "That letter. Well, to tell you the truth, Mr. Sherris, we haven't seen it."

  "What do you mean, you haven't seen it? My wife——"

  "She mentioned it. I questioned her, of course, regarding possible enemies you might have had, and she mentioned it. She said the letter had instructed her to burn it and she had burned it. So that doesn't give us very much to go on there."

  "No," I said. "She was afraid for the children."

  "I understand."

  "Do you have any children?"

  "No. I'm not married."

  "Then you don't understand."

  He nodded. "I guess I don't."

  He could have meant a couple of things. I didn't ask him.

  At the door he paused and said, "Try and think who the skinny boy might be. It would help a lot."

  I said I would. He said he would keep me posted. He left. I lay there trying to think about Bill, but I couldn't keep my mind on it. All I could think of was Tracey.

  She didn't come, but her parents did. They were conventional people, a little stuffy for my taste, but nice. I liked them. But I wished they hadn't come. They looked as guilty and ill at ease as though they had been stealing my money, and it disturbed me. I couldn't see any reason for it. They certainly had not done me any harm.

  3

  KOLESKI came back again three days later.

  "It doesn't come to much in the long run, Mr. Sherris, but I think I found out where your boys were when they had that beef you mentioned. Do you know the corner of Beekman and Front?"

  "I've been through there." It lies just by the end of the East bridge, and it's the toughest corner in Mall's Ford, the heart of our slum district. Our slums are not very large, because Mall's Ford is not a very big city, but in their small compass they're as good as you can find anywhere.

  "Well, there's a bar and grill called Noddy's. It's not exactly an elegant place, but Noddy's no fool. He makes good money and he wants to hang onto his license. We never have any trouble with him. So that night five boys came in shortly after ten o'clock. Noddy described them as smart alecks from uptown, a type he has met before and does not love. They go slumming, you know what I mean? And nobody likes to be slummed."

  Koleski consulted his notebook. He was a methodical young man, more like a schoolteacher than a cop.

  "There doesn't seem to be any doubt that it was the same five boys. The descriptions fit—the tall skinny boy, the short one
with the loud laugh, the big one who seemed to be the leader. They were celebrating the big one's birthday."

  He looked at me.

  "His eighteenth birthday, Mr. Sherris. That puts him out of the juvenile class."

  "About time," I said. "He's bigger and brighter than a lot of men I know. What about the others?"

  "Noddy figured them in the sixteen-seventeen-year-old group. Old enough to know better. Well, anyway, they swaggered in and demanded drinks. Noddy told them he doesn't serve minors. The big one laughed and said a joint like Noddy's would serve anybody. Noddy told them to leave. The big one became very insolent and abusive, the others backing him up. Noddy threatened to call the cops, and the boys finally did go out. That's when the real trouble nearly started."

  I waited. I was feeling a little better, a little more alive. I could hate with some real coherence.

  "You know that part of town," said Koleski. "It's a regular League of Nations, and Noddy caters to them all. On a warm night there's always a pretty well-mixed bunch hanging around the corner. The big boy made a crack, and somebody—probably your guy in the pink shirt-decided not to let it pass. In two seconds there was the beginning of a race riot, and the boys got scared. They ran."

  "Fine," I said. "So they worked it off on me. Did you get their names?"

  He shook his head. "Fuller descriptions, that's all. And I'm afraid that isn't much. There are thousands of boys in Mall's Ford and the suburbs. Eliminate half of them and the descriptions would still fit the other half. The worst of it is, Mr. Sherris, that you yourself can't give us a positive identification."

  "I'll bet I could."

  Koleski looked doubtful. I knew he was thinking of courtroom and attorneys.

  "All right," I said. "But this Noddy—he saw their faces."

  "He's not the complaining witness. And he didn't see them beating you."

  "So," I said, "they're just going to get away with it."

  "I didn't say that. I was only pointing out the difficulties."

  "Difficulties," I said. I tried to sit up. It hurt like the devil, and that made me madder than ever. "Difficulties! Listen, I found out something this morning. I found out I was unconscious for nine days. They didn't know if I'd ever come out of it. They didn't know if I'd be normal, mentally or physically, if I did come out of it. They——"

  "I know, Mr. Sherris," said Koleski. He was trying to soothe me down. "We'll do everything possible——"

  I drowned him out. I was thinking of the darkness and the wet green weeds, the fear and the pain, the utter injustice. He could be calm about it. He could be sensible. He hadn't been there.

  "They nearly killed me," I said. "For no reason, no reason at all. Look at me. Look at my leg. I'm going to be lame for a long while, perhaps the rest of my life, and you talk about difficulties. My wife and children have had to leave town, and you——"

  A nurse came hurrying in. I must have been yelling louder than I realized. Koleski picked up his hat and started to slide toward the door.

  "You listen to me," I said, fighting off the nurse. "If you don't find them, I will. I will if it takes me from now on. And when I do I'll make 'em wish they'd never been born."

  Koleski said, "Yes, sir." He got out. The nurse pushed me down and I lay there and shook and sweated with fury. Koleski was right and I knew it, and it did not make things any easier.

  And Tracey was in Boston. Everybody came to see me, Mae and my brother-in-law Vince, my parents-in-law—my own were dead—fellows from the office, secretaries from the office, friends, neighbors. They brought me stuff and told me the house was all right, and Vince kept the lawn cut, and the boss himself stopped by and told me not to worry about my job. But Tracey was in Boston and she stayed there.

  The first day they let me have a phone in the room I called her. It wasn't until I heard her voice that I really understood how much I wanted her with me. She was laughing and crying and talking a blue streak all at once on the other end of the line, telling Bets over and over, "It's Daddy, it's Daddy and he's all better." Then Bets said hello and told me there was a big storm coming outside, and Tracey said, "Here's Pudge, too. Pudge, say hello to Daddy." Pudge squealed and made breathy gurgling sounds.

  "Tracey," I said. "Tracey——"

  "Oh, Walt, you don't know how dreadful it's been. Getting that call and going down to the hospital in the middle of the night, seeing you like that, not knowing whether you were going to live or die—— And then that letter. It's been like a terrible nightmare."

  "I know. But, Tracey——"

  "The last thing on earth I wanted to do was go away, I felt as though I was deserting you, and yet there didn't seem to be anything else to do. They threatened to hurt the children, and I just couldn't take any chances, Walt. I just couldn't."

  "Of course not. What did it say, exactly? The letter."

  "Oh, horrible things. Nobody was to try and find out who they were or they would get the children. I was to burn the letter, not show it to anybody. I think that detective was angry with me, but I was afraid, without you there to help me."

  "Sure. Listen, Tracey, can you remember the postmark, what kind of paper it was written on, anything about it that——"

  "No. I was absolutely terrified, Walt, there all alone with the children, not knowing what was going to happen. Perhaps I wasn't thinking very straight, but I don't see how anybody could have expected me to."

  "But can't you remember——"

  "Walt, I've been all through this with the police, and I don't know any more than I did then. I'm so happy to hear your voice, darling, let's talk about that. How do you feel?"

  We talked about that. I was very cheerful. Then I said, "When are you coming home?"

  There was a short but perfectly apparent silence.

  "Why," she said, "just as soon as it's safe."

  "What do you mean, safe?"

  "When they've caught those people. Why, Walt, you don't mean that you want me to stay all alone out there with the children, and you in the hospital, and those men——"

  "Boys," I said. "Anyway, you don't have to bring the kids. Leave them there for a while. You can stay with your folks."

  "Auntie isn't well. She couldn't possibly take care of——"

  "Well, get a nursemaid, then."

  "Walt, I'm doing the best I know how, and it hasn't been easy at all, it's been terrible. Don't make it any harder for me." She began to cry. "Why did all this have to happen? What did we do to deserve it? And what kind of a town is it where the police let things like that go on?" She finished on a note of hysteria. "I don't think I ever want to go back to Mall's Ford!"

  "I'm afraid you're going to have to," I told her.

  Again there was a silence on the line.

  "Well," she said, after a minute, "of course. I didn't really mean that. As soon as it's safe——"

  "Sooner than that," I said. "They'll be sending me home one of these days. I've got to have a home to go to and somebody to look after me. I'm afraid that's your job, Tracey. You're my wife."

  "Yes, Walt," she whispered. "Yes. I know."

  She hung up. I shut my eyes and remembered, and there was a lot to remember, from the first time I met her. It had been good. We'd been happy. I could remember Tracey a hundred ways but somehow I could not picture this person I had just talked to in Boston. I tried and tried, but somehow it would not come out like Tracey.

  I opened my eyes again, and Mae was there.

  "I just talked to Tracey," I said.

  "Fine," said Mae, all smiles. "When is she coming back?"

  "She's still frightened. Mae, did she show you that letter?"

  "Why, no, Walt. No, she didn't."

  "Did she show it to anybody?"

  "She might have. I don't know." She went to the window. "My, it's a lovely day. I'd have brought you more lilacs for the room, but they're——"

  "Don't change the subject. What happened those nine days I was unconscious. What did Tracey do?"
/>   "Just what I told you. She waited until you were out of danger and then she took the children to Boston."

  "Out of danger," I said. "You mean by that they knew I was going to live, but they weren't sure how."

  "You were a pretty sick boy."

  My head still ached when I tried hard to think, but this was something I had to know.

  "I might have had some permanent damage to the brain, something that would have made me——"

  "Well, you didn't, Walt, thank the Lord. You're all right. Let's just be grateful for that."

  "But I might have. No, don't try to steer me off. You don't think there really was any letter, do you?"

  "You're getting upset," she said. "I'd better go."

  "Answer me, Mae."

  She looked at the floor, out the window, anywhere but at me. "I can't. I don't know. Don't ask me, Walt."

  "I'm asking you. You don't believe there ever was a letter, do you?"

  Now she did look at me, her eyes bright and blazing. "Let me ask you something. What did you marry Tracey for?"

  "Because I love her. Because she's pretty and gay and a lot of fun."

  "All right, then. Why blame her for being what she is?"

  It took a minute for that to sink in. Then I said, finding it hard to speak, "You women sure hang together."

  "It isn't my place to talk about your wife," said Mae furiously. "But if you insist on it, I will. She ran out on you. If you'd died she could have stood it, but when it looked as though you might be left helpless on her hands to take care of, she ran. That's what I think. That's what her parents think, too. No, I don't believe there ever was a letter. Now are you satisfied?"

  I didn't answer that. After a while I said, "She doesn't have that reason now. If she isn't frightened, what's holding her back?"

  "If it was me," said Mae, "I wouldn't be in any hurry to look you in the face again."

  There was another one of those painful pauses. I seemed to be experiencing a lot of them these days.

  "We're probably all wrong," she said impulsively. "Give her a chance, Walt. After all, it is the first time life ever reared up and kicked her. It must have been a dreadful shock."