A Killer is Loose

by Gil Brewer

  “Ralph,” Lillian said, “don’t you like me any more?”

  “Go back and sit down, Lil.”

  She stopped moving and eyed him. He looked up at her. She smiled and again came toward him.

  He spoke quietly. “Go back to your chair.”

  She turned and went back to the chair.

  Betty was standing there and he still held her hand, and then he reached out and put his arm up around her hips. She was like a board and then she looked at me and I saw something in her eyes. Abruptly she turned toward Angers and moved in close.

  “If you like me,” she said, “why don’t you do something about it? You’re a big boy now.”

  She was standing in close to him. He took his arm down and she swayed her hips, just a little. “Or maybe you’re just kidding me. Maybe it’s all talk. Maybe you’re just passing the time.” The look she gave him would have melted butter.

  “You’re just right,” Angers said. “You interest me.”

  She moved her hips just a little again, then nodded toward the hall. “My bedroom’s right over there, honey.” She leaned away from him, pulling at his hand, staring at him with all the lecherous longing she could summon. “Come on, honey. Maybe I could show you something, at that.”

  My heart yammered right on up into my throat. If she could get him into that bedroom … What a chance! But you couldn’t tell a thing from his eyes, his face. You didn’t know what he was thinking.

  “We could be nice and private,” Betty said to him. “I—I like you, too. Come on, honey. Let’s go into the bedroom. I can’t do what I want to with all these people watching.”

  I glanced at Lillian. Her hands were gripped on the seat of her chair, the knuckles white with straining. Every muscle in my body was tense.

  Betty put her right leg out and rubbed it against Angers’ leg. “Don’t make me wait,” she said softly.

  He laughed. He threw his head back and erupted with wild, crazy, high laughter. It was insane. It was the same laughter I’d heard in the alley earlier that day.

  “Whore,” he said flatly. He released her hand, gave her a brutal shove. She backed across the room, lost balance, and sat down, hard.

  The door chimes began clanging insistently and a man called, “Betty! Hey, Betty! For gosh sakes, open up!” The chimes clanged and clanged up on the wall beside the couch.

  Betty sat on the floor, staring between her legs. Her shoulders were shaking. She had tried hard, mighty hard, but it hadn’t worked. Angers was almost like a child sometimes. Almost …

  “Betty, where are you? Open the door!”

  “Go open the door, Mrs. Graham,” Angers said. “It’s your husband, isn’t it?”

  She rose to her knees and looked at him.

  “Isn’t that your husband?”

  She nodded, looking at him. Angers came out of the chair, took her arm, and helped her up. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll both go and let your husband in, Mrs. Graham.” He went over to the television set and picked up the Luger, turned and grinned at me. “Come on, pal. Lillian. We’ll all go let Mrs. Graham’s husband in, all right?”

  Sam Graham stood in the open door and looked at us. He frowned, then saw me, and smiled. “Hi, Steve. How’s Ruby?” “All right.”

  He walked inside and Angers closed the door and locked it and Sam saw the gun hanging at the end of Angers’ arm.

  “What’s this?” he said. Nobody spoke, nobody moved.

  Sam was round-faced, stocky, with curly brown hair and tiny twinkling beadlike eyes. He kept right on smiling, because that was his way. His face was red and peeling from sunburn and he carried the coat to his light blue suit. His shirt collar was undone and he looked tired and hot.

  “You can call me Ralph,” Angers said. “My name’s Ralph Angers. This is Lillian, Mr. Graham, and that’s Steve Logan, my pal. This girl here in the shorts is your wife, Mr. Graham. Now, if you’ll just come in and sit down?”

  Sam’s smile tipped up on one side and slipped off his chin. “Holy God!” he said. “You’re the—”

  “Oh, God, Sam—Sam!” Betty flung herself into her husband’s arm, hiding her face against his shoulder. She was slightly taller than Sam. He put his arm around her, holding his coat in his hand, and looked over her shoulder at Angers. “You’re the guy who killed Jake Halloran, right?”

  “Please,” Angers said. “Let’s all go in and sit down.”

  Nobody moved.

  “We’d better,” I said. “It would be better that way.” I found myself trying to warn Sam with my eyes, the way Lillian had done with Betty. Sam patted Betty’s shoulder and started walking toward the living room.

  “Did he hurt you, baby?” Sam asked.

  “No, Sam, no, no, no.”

  Lillian was beside me, with Angers behind us. I would have liked to talk with her. I kept thinking that, but what good would talk do?

  “There’s too many people, Steve,” Angers said. “I didn’t count on all this.”

  “It’s all right,” I said.

  “I just don’t like it, pal. We’ve got to get to work on those blueprints. I’ve got to send a wire regarding the hospital fund. We should get hold of a contractor.”

  “Won’t be able to do anything now, anyway,” I said. “Not until tomorrow.”

  “That’s true. That’s true, Steve. We’ll spend the night running over the plans. You’ll go wild about those plans, pal. It’s new, it’s something that’s never been done. They won’t laugh when they see it, pal.”

  Lillian shivered against me and I caught the look in her eyes. I suddenly wanted to hold her close. Of all these people, I felt closest to Lillian. Somehow, I felt, if anything was going to be done, it would be up to us. I had no idea how Sam Graham was going to act. He’d obviously heard of Angers and what he’d done, even heard his name. So news was getting around town. If we stayed put long enough, it would only be a matter of time before the law turned up. I didn’t like to think about that. It could be bad.

  Everybody sat down again, except Sam Graham. He dropped his coat on the couch and motioned to Betty to sit down and stood there looking at Angers.

  Angers went over and laid the Luger on the TV set again. Then he flopped into his chair. His eyes were glassy as he looked over at Sam.

  “You’ve got a nice wife,” Angers said. “We’re all glad you’re home now, Sam. Maybe we can have dinner now.”

  “Who do you think you are?” Sam said.

  Lillian turned her gaze on him. Then she looked at me and I knew what was in her mind.

  “Sam,” I said. “Relax. Sit down. Take a load off your feet.”

  “Were you with this guy when he killed Halloran?” Sam asked. “And Lyttle, the cop?”

  I nodded. Sam frowned. “That’s what I thought. They think so downtown, too. A guy in the bar heard him say his name. It’s all over town. Somebody thought they recognized you with him. I never gave it a second thought, Steve. Cops will be over to your place.”

  I wished he hadn’t said that. Angers just looked over at me, then away.

  “What’s your game, mister?” he said to Angers.

  “Drop it, Sam,” I said.

  “How come you’re with him?” Sam asked me.

  I just shook my head.

  “He’s not with him, Sam,” Betty said. “Please, just do as he says, Sam.”

  “I don’t know what all this is about,” Sam said. “But you’ve killed two people and I don’t want you in my house.”

  Angers just looked at him.

  I didn’t know how to shut Sam up. He was turning belligerent and that was bad. Angers wouldn’t stand for it; it was the one thing he didn’t like.

  “You’ve got to do something!” Betty said. “Steve, do something!”

  Lillian got up and walked across to the far side of the room and stood by the window.

  “If you don’t leave right now,” Sam said, “I’m going to call the cops. You don’t scare me, you know.”

  �
�Sit down, Mr. Graham,” Angers said.

  “You think you scare us? Is that what you think?”

  “Please, Sam,” Betty said. Her voice was almost as toneless as Angers’, though for a different reason. She had begun to lose hope now.

  “This is my home,” Sam said. “Now, get out of here.” He started across the room toward Angers. Angers reached out and picked the Luger off the TV set. Sam stopped and looked at him, standing there in the middle of the room. His face was very red and he was sweating and he wasn’t exactly sure of himself. He was being a fool, but I didn’t know what to do.

  “Did you hear me?” he said to Angers. “This is my home.”

  All along, since Sam had come in, I had supposed he understood the fact that Ralph Angers was mad. Now I knew he didn’t know that. He had no idea what he was facing. And although we had talked in front of Angers about many things, I wasn’t sure how he’d take it if someone said he was crazy. That was the one word everybody had avoided.

  Angers had settled down in the chair, holding the Luger in his lap. He was looking intently at Sam Graham’s feet.

  “Steve,” Lillian said.

  I glanced over at her. She was still standing by the window. She beckoned to me and Angers did not look up as I walked across the room.

  “Look,” she whispered.

  A police car had drawn up before my house, across the yard. Two cops climbed from the car and stood on the curb. They talked a minute, then stared at the house. It was nearing dusk outside and the light was very dim.

  “I’m asking you to get out of this house,” Sam said, behind us. “I mean that. You may have killed two men, but I’m not afraid of you.”

  “Why doesn’t the fool shut up!” Lillian whispered.

  The two cops started up the walk toward my front porch. They stood on the porch and one of them pressed the bell.

  Sam was still talking behind us about how he wanted Angers to leave the house. Angers hadn’t said a word. I didn’t want to look at him.

  “They’ll come here,” Lillian whispered. “They’ve got to come here. Steve, Steve, what’ll we do?”

  “What’re you two doing?” Angers said. “Lillian?”

  One of the cops pressed the doorbell again. The other got out a package of cigarettes and offered one to his companion, who refused. The cop lit his cigarette and they stood there, staring out at the walk now. Then one of them walked to the edge of the porch, and, leaning on the railing, looked over at this house. He was looking straight at the window where I stood, but he didn’t see anything.

  “What is it, Steve?” Angers said.

  Lillian hadn’t said anything, so neither did I. She stood very close to me, holding my hand with her cold hard fingers. It was growing noticeably darker.

  “I don’t think you’ll even use that popgun,” Sam said to Angers.

  Lillian and I watched the cops talk a minute on the porch over there. Then the one with the cigarette shrugged and they went down off the porch and along the walk toward the car.

  Lillian swore a string of sad, whispered obscenities.

  “What did you say, Lil?” Angers said.

  “Never mind her,” Sam said.

  The two cops got in the car and it started and began drawing away. Lillian and I watched it go and another chunk of me went with it.

  The gun behind us roared three times. The shots came slowly, evenly spaced, and Betty Graham began to scream. I whirled in time to see Sam fall to his knees, a foot from Angers’ chair. Sam was holding to his left side and blood pulsed between his fingers. Blood was coming from his throat, too, and his left ear was gone.

  Betty ceased screaming sharply and Angers said, “Steve, turn on a light, will you? It’s getting dark in here.”

  Lillian hadn’t moved from the window. The Venetian blinds began rattling and jiggling as she trembled. Her lips were drawn back across her teeth and it looked almost like a smile.

  I went dazedly over to a lamp by the fireplace and turned it on. Amber light spread warmly around the room, changing the position of things, changing colors and attitudes. I looked down and Sam Graham’s left ear was on the rug there by my foot.

  Betty was making funny noises in her throat. It was a kind of moaning. She crawled across the floor from the couch on her hands and knees, over to her husband. Sam Graham was kneeling in front of Angers, with his head bowed over till it touched the floor. He looked as if he were praying.

  “He’s dead,” Betty said. Her voice was stilled, remote. “He’s dead, Sam’s dead, I tell you.”

  “Pal,” Angers said, “I didn’t realize it was getting so dark. Did you?”

  “Dear God,” Betty said. She sat on the floor beside her dead husband and rested one hand on his shoulder. He tipped over and sprawled out full length on his back.

  Angers looked at Betty, then stood. Both the body and Betty were in his way. He stepped over the body and turned to look at her again and she began to get wild with the realization of what had happened. Her heart was broken and she screamed wildly at Angers.

  “Stop it,” he told her. “Shut up!”

  I went over to the window where Lillian was and looked outside. There was no sign of the police car.

  Betty’s voice was an unending babble of anguish.

  “You’re mad!” she said. “You didn’t have to do it!”

  “No, Ralph! No! Ralph!” Lillian’s voice was shrill.

  The gun exploded.

  Lillian broke, began slipping down against the Venetian blinds, sobbing, until she slumped on the floor against the wall.

  “He’s killed her too,” she said.

  Outside the street was silent now. Then suddenly the street lights came on and it was night.

  Chapter Nine

  LILLIAN,” Ralph Angers said. “I don’t like to see you this way. Stop it, will you?”

  She was on the floor, seated up against the wall, dry-eyed and sobbing. She kept casting her eyes up toward me all full of that terrible gone despair.

  “Stop it, Lil,” Angers said.

  “Ralph,” I said, “why did you ever do that?”

  “What?” He stood in the center of the room and looked over at me, with the gun dangling in his hand. “You mean that?” He motioned with the gun toward the two bodies on the floor. He shrugged. “Lil, get on your feet. We’re leaving this place.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not going anyplace,” she said.

  I got one look at that rebellious despair in her eyes and went over and grabbed her arm and hoisted her to her feet. She swayed against me, the whites of her eyes showing.

  “Lillian!” I said. I shook her hard and her head rolled around on her shoulders. I held her against the wall, slapped her face good and hard.

  “All right.” She looked straight at me.

  “That’s better,” Angers said.

  I held to her arm and walked her across the room and out into the shadowed hall. The house was dead quiet, and whenever one of us moved, the footsteps echoed.

  “My ears are ringing,” Angers said. “This is some gun, Steve. Heard you tell that fellow you’d had it worked over by some gunsmith.”

  I didn’t answer. I rubbed Lillian’s arms, standing there in the hall. She kept looking at me, staring in the darkness. “Snap out of it,” I whispered. I glanced into the living room. Angers was over by the fireplace mantel, reaching for the big roll of blueprints with one hand and looking at the gun in his other hand.

  “Listen,” I whispered. “The first chance we get, you’ve got to make a run for it. Try to get help. Tell them all about him. You’ve got to—” I stopped.

  Angers was coming. As he entered the hall, Lillian began nodding to me. She’d heard what I said and she kept on nodding.

  “What’s the matter with her?” Angers said, watching her.

  “Nothing. She’ll be all right.”

  “She’d better.”

  She looked over at him and the nodding slowly ceased. Her face was as expr
essionless as his. Her lips were pale and her eyes were wide and dull and her fine breasts rose and fell erratically beneath the white dress.

  Angers went and glanced into the bedroom on the other side of the hall.

  “We’ll leave the back way,” he said. “Come on.”

  “Where will we go?” Lillian said. Her voice was numb with shock and she clung to my arm.

  Angers said nothing. He just motioned us ahead of him through the house. In the kitchen he paused by the refrigerator, opened the door. In the darkness, the bright interior gleamed on his white marble face.

  Lillian was between Angers and me. I pulled her gently back and eased her aside. He was bent over, looking over the food inside the refrigerator.

  As I moved toward him, he straightened, turned, and looked at me. Then he put the roll of blueprints and the gun on top of the refrigerator and reached in, still looking at me.

  “Here, pal,” he said. He handed me a chicken leg. “Lil,” he said. “Have some chicken.” He gave her two wings. “Just a minute.” He reached in again, came up with another leg, bit a hunk out of it, and began chewing. “All right, let’s go.”

  He slammed the door shut. Light from a street lamp filtered into the dark kitchen and I watched him take the gun and the roll of paper.

  “Open the door, Steve.”

  I dropped my chicken leg in a flower bed beside the back porch. Lillian had left hers inside on the kitchen table. Angers was chewing steadily.

  “Better cut right on through,” Angers said.

  “Ralph,” Lillian said, “you don’t even know where we’re going.”

  “Maybe not.”

  They stood there on the back lawn, facing each other.

  “We—we can’t just—just go, Ralph.”

  I noticed then that she wasn’t carrying her purse. She’d left it back in the house. But whether or not there was anything in it that could help the police to trace us, I didn’t know. Probably not. It seemed even the neighbors had heard nothing of Angers’ shooting. The cement-block house had muffled the shots. Angers had left the valise in the house, too, but that was empty. And he had donned his coat again. It was a very warm night and I wondered at his wearing that coat. The suit itself was all wool, and in this muggy heat, he must have been swimming in perspiration. Yet, even so, he looked cold.