Marilyn K - The House Next Door

by Lionel White

  I made it all the way into the room.

  “Phone call,” I said. “You were sleeping.”

  The words were automatic; my mind was on other things. My mind was on the staggering pile of greenbacks. My mind was on the small, slender, beautifully formed body of the girl who sat there with her tiny hands still leafing them. The money lost out to the girl, which merely goes to prove that whereas money may be the root of all evil, it sure as hell isn’t the root of all desire.

  “Give me the suitcase, Sam,” she said, “and I'll put it back. While I am doing it, you can make me a drink. A small one. ”

  I had a little trouble taking my eyes away from her long enough to pick up the bag from where she had dropped it on the floor.

  “I’ll make us both a drink,” I stuttered. “And get that stuff put away. We have to get out of here. ”

  I found it hard to be convincing. If there was one thing in the world I didn’t want to do at that moment, it was to leave that particular room. But some lingering fragment of common sense remained and my words were making more sense than my intentions.

  ‘We have to get as far away from here as soon as we can.” I said. “The police have found Marcus,” I added. “The story will be on the wires any minute now, if it already isn’t. So put that money away and get into your clothes. We’re moving.”

  She didn’t say anything and I turned away to pour the drinks. There was still a little ice left in the bucket and I made them straight, on the rocks. I needed a strong drink. My hand was shaking a little and it could have been from the blow which Battle had struck on my wrist or it could have been something else, but in any case I spilled the first drink and had to spend a few extra moments wiping up the mess and repouring. By the time I had turned back, ready to hand her the drink, I expected she would be dressing.

  But she hadn’t moved.

  “I told you I called Suzy,” she said, her mouth petulant. “We can’t leave until Suzy comes. Suzy said she couldn’t start before noon.”

  For a second I forgot she was a hundred and ten pounds of sheer, unadulterated sex, that she was sitting cross-legged on a double bed almost naked and that she wanted to stay on that bed.

  "Listen, kid,” I said, walking over and handing her the drink. “Idon’tthink you understand. Marcus has been found. The police will identify him and the second they do, you can bet the story will get out. It will probably make the radio newscasts. It will be heard in New York. There will be people coming down here. I don’t have to draw a diagram, do I, baby?”

  She looked at me with a hurt expression.

  “They won’t know where I am, ” she said. “Anyway they won’t even be sure I was with him.”

  “They’ll guess, ” I said. "They’ll guess about you and they’ll damn soon find out about the money. So forget about Suzy. Suzy can’t help you. No one is going to help you—so long as you have that suitcase.”

  “ButSuzy will help,” she said, frowning. “Anyway, I promised her I would wait here.”

  “So leave her a message.”

  But even as I said it, I realized that would be impossible. Any message which reached Suzy could be traced. Mentally I damned this Suzy. I didn’t want any sisters butting in, in any case. And I didn’t want to hang around waiting for sure trouble. I looked at my watch. It was just half past eleven.

  “Listen,” I said, “I don’t know why you feel you have to have your sister, butifyousayyoudoit’sO.K. with me. But we can't wait around here for her and we can’t leave any messages for her. You said she was leaving at noon. Call her back then and get her before she does leave. Tell her—well, tell her to go to Baltimore. Check into a hotel under a phony name and we will contact her. ”

  For a moment she looked doubtful and then once more she looked up at me and smiled, nodding. She started to reach for the telephone.

  Not from here,” I said quickly. “That goes through a switchboard in the office. There s a phone booth at a little tourist place called Cutter’s Cabins, about three or four miles down the road, toward the bridge. We’ll leave and you can make the call from there.”

  She could move when she wanted to. Even before I was through speaking, she was off the bed and had grabbed her clothes from the chair where she had tossed them.

  "I’ll go and you stay here and get washed up. It will make you feel better,” she said. “I can take your car—”

  “But we both might just as well—” I began.

  “No,” she said. “You stay and wait. After all, if I can’t get Suzy, we will both have to wait here. If I do reach her in time, well, I’ll come right back. You get washed up and be ready to leave.”

  She had a quick mind and she saw the sudden look I gave to the suitcase which held the money. She made a face and laughed.

  “I’ll leave the money with you while I am gone, Sam,” she said. “You can trust me.”

  I was ashamed of what I had been thinking. That's probably why I wasn’t thinking quite straight.

  She had got into her clothes quicker than a strip-teaser could get out of them and she stepped over in front of me and looked up into my face and then stood on her toes and quickly kissed me on the lips.

  “Let me have the keys to the car, Sam,” shesaid. “I won’t be more than fifteen minutes. You said about four miles down the road?”

  I nodded and handed her the keys.

  “Makeitfast, kid,” Isaid. “I’ll be ready by the time you get back.”

  She kissed me again and my arms started to go around her slender waist, but she dodged away with the dexterity of a ballet dancer and a second later she was closing the door behind her. She had my keys in her hand and her heavy leather pocketbook slung from a strap over her shoulder.

  I am normally not a sneaky type and I don’t usually read other people’s mail or poke through their private possessions, but within two minutes from the time she had left the room, I wasn’t in the bathroom washing up. I was looking into an open suitcase and making a rapid mental calculation.

  She would have made a darned good bank teller. My estimate was that three hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars would just about hit it on the head.

  For a moment I was just slightly bewildered that she would have taken off as she did, even for fifteen minutes, and trust me with that much money. And then, of course, it occurred to me that although I might have the money, she had my car.

  And anyway, she was no fool. She knew that I would be a damned sight more interested in the money with her, than I would be without her.

  I just prayed that she would get hold of her Suzy quickly and return.

  The Whispering Willows was beginning to whisper things I didn’t want to hear.

  Chapter Four

  I began to worry the moment she left the room. It occurred to me, after what seemed like an endless wait, that she might have decided to get in my car and just keep on going. Perhaps she had come to her senses, had realized the danger of attempting to keep Marcus’ money.

  But I didn’t entertain that thought for very long. I had only known her a very short time, but I felt that I knew her well enough to realize she had no intention of abandoning more than a quarter of a million dollars. She would be back all right.

  The next thought I had was that perhaps it wasn’t Sister Suzy she had gone out to telephone to. There was a sister Suzy all right; of that I had made sure when I had called Mel in New York. But this obsession about getting her down to Maryland? There was something very odd about it. Very odd indeed.

  Speculation was futile. I had no way of figuring what was in her mind, no way of knowing what she planned. I was having enough difficulty straightening out what was in my own mind. But at least, without her disturbing personal presence, I was beginning to think a little more clearly. I knew exactly what I would say and what I would do the moment she returned. No more uncertainty for me.

  If she wanted me to play along with her, she was going to have to do it my way. She was going to listen to reason. I
’d risk my neck for her but I wasn't going to stack the deck against myself.

  The wind had tossed her chestnut hair and her azure eyes had apparently absorbed the cerulean blue of the spring skies and when she opened the door and again entered the room, she looked more than ever like a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl. She was smiling that secret smile—she always seemed to be smiling when she wasn’t pouting—and the moment she came in she crossed over and again stood on her toes and lifted her face and kissed me.

  I should have known by this time what it meant.

  Suzy wasn’t there,” she said. “I couldn’t reach her. We’ll just have to wait.”

  I took her by the arms, careful not to bruise her soft flesh, and picked her up and carried her over and sat her on the edge of the bed. She started to say something, but I put my hand over her soft lips.

  You are going to sit right there and listen,” I began.

  The lips puckered and she kissed the palm of my hand, and then the lips opened and her tongue, hot as a flame, licked me like a cat would lick me. I almost stopped talking, but I didn’t.

  I said, “Listen. We are not going to wait for Suzy. We are not going to wait for anyone at all. Understand? We are leaving. Right now.”

  “But, Sam,” she said, moving her mouth away from my hand.

  “No buts, baby,” I said. “You listen. We don’t have any more time to play games. Understand? No games. Marcus is dead. This money here belonged to him, or rather, it belonged to the boys higher up. You want the money and maybe you are entitled to it and maybe you are not. I don’t care. If you want it, and you think it should go to you, I’ll help you take it. Although I’ll tell you this, sweetheart, I think you are crazy to try to get away with it.”

  “You think I am stealing it,” she said. It wasn't a question.

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  She shook her head and the pout was back.

  “You listen to me, Sam,” she said. “I have a right to the money. You seem to know about Marcus, so you probably have heard about me. You probably have ideas about me—me and Marcus. Well, I don’t care what you think. That money is mine. I gave a lot to Marcus. Gave him everything. And that money isn’t half of what he promised me in return. But now he’s dead. Once that is known, I’m through. Understand? Through.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “You still have your voice. Still have your rep. Why you and your sister can go on now and—”

  “You are naive,” she said, her voice suddenly angry. “I guess you just don’t understand. It was Marcus—Marcus and his connections—which put Suzy and me across. He owned the record company which made our platters. He owned the distributors which released them. He had the connections with the juke box boys who played them. Sure, we were going places and if he hadn’t killed himself, we would have made it. But now he’s dead. His connections don’t care about me and Suzy. And his wife, who will get his record business, hates us. Once the newspapers get hold of the story about his death, I’m washed up. Do you think any legitimate outfit wants to take on the ex-mistress of a racketeer? Do you think—”

  She stopped suddenly and for the first time since I had met her, I realized she had spoken in complete sincerity. Sincerity and bitterness.

  “Marcus owes me that money,” she said, “and I mean to keep it. If you want to help me, I’ll share it with you. That is, of course,” she added, hesitating, “I’ll share it with you and Suzy. Suzy has to have her share.”

  “And what makes you think that sister Suzy will go along?” I began, but again she interrupted me.

  “Suzy always handles things,” she said. "And Suzy will do what I ask her to do. Suzy loves me.”

  “And so we just wait here for Suzy?”

  “We wait.”

  I stepped back. It was an effort, but I stepped back and I leaned down and picked up the suitcase.

  "And you insist on keeping this money?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “And waiting for Suzy right here?”

  “Yes.”

  "All right, baby,” I said. “I have told you what I think. Now I will tell you what I am going to do. I am going to take this suitcase and go out and get into the car. If you want to come with me, come right now and get out of this trap. I’ll go along with you and I’ll do everything I can to see that you make a clean getaway—with the money. If you don’t—”

  “If I don’t?”

  “I’ll still take the money. And I’ll turn it over to the nearest cop I can find.”

  For a moment she stared at me, neither anger nor fear nor surprise on her lovely, childlike face.

  “You wouldn’t, Sam,” she said.

  “I would, baby.”

  I didn’t think she was going to go along with it. I didn’t think she really believed me. I don’t even know myself if I was telling the truth. But she didn't give me the chance to find out.

  The smile was suddenly back—a little pathetic and making her look like a slightly recalcitrant and slightly hurt child. She shrugged, started to get to her feet.

  "All right, Sam,” she said. “All right, honey. You’re the boss.”

  I couldn’t help the surge of masculine pride.

  “Then let’s get with it.” I lifted the suitcase from the floor and moved over to pick up my own bag.

  “Just let me pour one more drink,” she said.

  “Sure, baby,” Isaid. I could afford to be generous. I’d just proven who was the stronger.

  I had to drop the suitcase with the money to the floor while I leaned over to latch my own Gladstone. I had my back to her and I could hear the gurgle of the liquor as she poured from the bottle of Scotch.

  We’ll each have a drink,” she said.

  “Sure,” I said.

  I could hear her step toward me.

  Here s yours, Sam,” she said.

  And then it hit me.

  I guess I must have known, at the last split second, what she was going to o, because I remember thinking I hope to God the bottle breaks, otherwise 1

  won t have a head left

  I didn’t have time for any more idle thoughts. I was too busy observing a galaxy of northern lights and discovering a whole new private world of constellations. First the lights and the stars and then the sense of my head leaving my shoulders and then just nothing.

  I was either loaded with luck or else she was an expert, because the bottle didn’t break and it didn’t fracture my skull. It just knocked me out cold as a neglected mackerel.

  I don’t know exactly at what moment the realization came to me that I was still alive. I only know that when it did, for the next several minutes, I was sorry. It seemed that someone was slowly beating my brains out with a baseball bat while an evil confederate was tearing my eyeballs from their sockets. I have had headaches before, but never one which could quite equal that one in vicious intensity.

  But gradually I knew that I was living and breathing and gradually I came to understand that no one was batting my brains out—that I just had a headache to end all headaches.

  I forced one eye open and then the other one and I started to move my head, but I quickly saw the silliness of that. So I just lay there, trying not to move and increase what was obviously a pain which had already reached the limits of my endurance. It took a moment to even realize where I was or what had happened.

  I remembered what had happened first. But where I was came a little harder.

  I thought at first that the blow had probably blinded me and that that was why everything seemed dark. But then I understood that the Venetian blinds had been drawn and the heavy drapes pulled over the windows and the lights turned out. I could, however, make out the outlines of the motel bedroom.

  What confused me was that I wasn’t lying on the floor. There was a mattress under me and a sheet over me. I lifted a hand, reaching for my throbbing forehead, but the hand didn’t make it. It stopped somewhere on my chest and it was then I realized that I was stark naked. Lyi
ng on the bed, between white cotton sheets, without a stitch of clothes on my body.

  I didn’t know how I had gotten there and I didn’t really care. I was too busy at the moment trying to figure out if there was anything left of my skull.

  It may have been five minutes or it may have been an hour, but gradually the horrible shooting pains began to recede. Gradually I had a little room for considering something besides the agony of my aching head.

  So she had conked me with the whiskey bottle. I hadn’t wanted to play it her way and she’d taken the matter in her own hands. And I had naively thought that I was going to be the one to take care of her.

  If the effort hadn’t been so great I would have laughed.

  Well, she was gone now and so was the money. The money I didn’t regret.

  It wasn’t mine and I had never had it. But I had almost had her and in spite of the king-sized headache, I was able to regret that.

  It was about then that I became aware of a movement in the room.

  Someone was quietly crossing the floor, approaching the bed. Someone was probably going to finish the job she had started.

  I told myself I should get up and do something about it, although for the life of me, in my present condition I couldn’t imagine what. I did the one thing which at the time seemed to make the most sense. I closed my eyes and tried to comfort myself with the thought that nothing which could happen could be more painful than that which already had.

  I felt the sheet over me move.

  The bedsprings sagged gently.

  And then a small, soft hand lingered for a moment on my cheek and in another moment she had slid in under the sheet beside me and I could feel her soft flesh as her lithe, slender body pressed close to me.

  I lay for a moment breathless, afraid to move. It was a dream I didn’t care to disturb.

  I was lying sprawled on my back and she snuggled close with her head over my outstretched right arm. She moved and her lips suddenly touched my head just behind my ear. I could feel her fine gossamer hair as it caressed my cheek like a wanton spider web. She pressed a little closer and her lips moved, slowly traveling down from my ear to my neck. Her hand was across my chest and it moved slowly down my side. I could feel the hard acorn of her erect nipples as they pressed against my side.