Marilyn K - The House Next Door

by Lionel White

  “They have you.”

  “They do? Well, that’s news,” I said. “Just who gave me to them?”

  He looked very knowing.

  “I guess we won’t mention names,” he said, smiling. “The kind of connections you have, Mr. Russell, well—”

  “Well, nuts,” I said. “I don’t have connections. And right at this moment I don’t need a lawyer.”

  He shook his head sadly.

  “You need a lawyer, all right,” hesaid. “You need one bad if what they tell me is true. That’s why I am here. To try and get you out on bail. ”

  “Look,” Isaid. “You are wasting your time. Nobody is going to get me out on anything.”

  “Mr. Russell,” he said, “I have been instructed to go as high as fifty thousand dollars if I have to. Down here that is all the money in the world. And I know this part of the world. I’m here to protect your interests and to get you out on bail until you can have a fair and unprejudiced—”

  “Who did you say sent you?” I cut in.

  Again he shook his head, looking at me as though I wasn't quite bright. Why, Moore and Moore—as I explained.”

  And Moore and Moore were hired by?”

  Hired by your friends, Mr. Russell. You see, your friends feel that you have something they want and they have something you want.”

  “What do I want?”

  "You want to get out of this cell.”

  "And they want?”

  "They will discuss that with you when we get your release,” he said. “Now—”

  “Tell me, Mr. Hardie,” I interrupted. “These people who want to get me out. They sort ofhave interests around. Like say gambling casinos, slots, juke boxes?”

  He nodded sagaciously.

  “Many interests,” he said.

  “All right, Mr. Hardie,” I said. “I’ll tell you whattodo. You get in touch with your principals, Moore and Moore in New York. Tell them to tell their clients that I don’t want to get out. I have no intention of getting out. That I would much rather stay alive inside than be dead outside. Understand?”

  “Oh, now see here—”

  “And Mr. Hardie,” I went on, “one other thing. You seem like a nice, simple, honest country boy. Sort of a modern Abe Lincoln, I might even say. I advise you to seek new associates in New York. Give up Moore and Moore. Otherwise, one of these days, you may find yourself facing a charge of conspiracy to commit murder.”

  Well, it was my day for misjudging character. Mr. Hardie wasn’t quite the dull-witted oaf he had made himself out to be.

  He stepped back and called for the turnkey. While he was waiting he spoke again and they were the last words he bothered to waste on me.

  “The boys are going to get that money, brother,” he said. “Understand? They are going to get it. And what these local clowns will do to you will be a day in the country compared to what the boys will do if you don’t cough up. ”

  Mr. Hardie left and I thought my day was complete. But it wasn’t. I had one more little surprise in store.

  The light went out over my head and I fell back on the bunk. I tried to make my mind a blank. I was so dead tired that I ached all over. I was completely beat.

  But I didn’t sleep. I couldn’t sleep.

  In spite of myself, I laughed. I had to laugh. There was something screamingly funny about it.

  Within the last twelve hours I had been in bed with what was probably the most luscious and the most expert bit of female flesh in the Western Hemisphere. I had experienced thrills that most men don't even have the knowledge to dream about. I had better than three hundred thousand dollars in cash money waiting for me not sixty miles away. I should close my eyes and smile with delight at my memories and my expectancies.

  I laughed—and then I damned near cried.

  All I was facing was three murder charges and a nice friendly lawyer was even trying to get me free of them—so that a man named Socks Leopold could do to me what he had done to Marilyn K.

  I didn’t want to think about it, but I couldn’t seem to close my eyes. It wouldn't have mattered if I had. The light came back on.

  The heavy footsteps coming down the stairs followed the turning on of the lights and I sighed and again pulled myself up so that I was sitting on the edge of the cot.

  George Battle was wearing his hat, but he had taken off his coat and his shirt and pulled his suspenders back up over his woolen underwear. He was carrying a pad of paper and a fountain pen and he had a dead cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

  I changed my mind; he was fully as repulsive as his brother had been. Just in a different way.

  He stood in front of the cell and took out the old-fashioned gold watch from his watch pocket and looked at it and then at me.

  “Five-thirty,”hesaid. “Wegotjustonehour. One hour to get that confession.”

  “There isn’t going to be any confession, ” I said. “Go away and let me sleep. I’ve already talked with your boss.”

  He went on talking, ignoring my words.

  “You murdered my brother, fella,” he said. “I know just what happened and I’ll tell you, to refresh your memory. Herm told me about the fight at Cutters. He might have been in the wrong, but it wasn’t none of your business. Later on, I was with him and he told me he saw your car at the Whispering Willows and was going back to take you. So I know what happened. He went there and you killed him.

  ‘ ‘ I don’t know how you did it because Herm was strong. Guess you tricked him. Anyway, you killed him. Then you took his body out and planted that stolen money on him. Ain’t no use lying about it. None at all. I know Herm. Herm had his good points and he had his bad. If Herm had come across that money Marcus was supposed to have, he wouldn’t have taken just a little bit of it; he’d have taken it all. So you killed him and planted the money and made him out a thief.”

  He spoke calmly and without passion and I was surprised at how close he was to the truth. He was smarter than I had figured. And I didn’t like that calmness of his at all.

  “I’d like to kill you for that,” he said. “I loved Herm and I always took care of him. But I ain’t going to kill you, Mr. Russell. I'm going to let the state do that. If they do it, then Herm’s reputation will be cleared and you’ll still pay for your crime. So we got just an hour.”

  He was taking off the heavy leather belt which circled his waist and assisted the suspenders in holding up his trousers.

  "You want to sign this confession here now, or do you want to do it the hard way?” he said.

  "Listen, mister,” I said. ‘'I've told you. I didn’t kill your brother. I didn't kill anyone. Now get out of here. Get out of here before I start yelling. You heard what Fleming said.”

  “Martin Fleming’s gone home,” he said. “Go ahead and yell. Ain’t no one here to hear you but me, and it is going to do me good to hear you yell. I want to hear you yell.”

  The leather belt supported his holster and his billy was hung to it on a hook and he carefully laid them on the floor, well away from the door. He took the key to the cell out of his pocket.

  “You aren’t going to hit me with that belt,” I said. “If you come in here, bring your gun or bring your blackjack. You aren’t going to get any confession and you aren’t going to beat me. If you do anything, you are going to have to kill me. You aren’t going to use that belt.”

  I might just as well have been talking to a blank wall. He opened the door and I got set. He was a big man and he was fat and although I was dead on my feet, I figured I had speed on him.

  But I was wrong.

  I guess he’d done it so often before that he had the technique down pat. Before he had even finished opening the cell door, the belt lashed out like a bull-whip. The first blow was a strike and the cruel end of it caught me across the nose and almost blinded me. It stopped me cold.

  I don’t like to even think about those next few minutes. I never had a chance; couldn’t even get close to him. His technique was
perfect. He knew just how to inflict the punishment so that it hurt the worst and still didn’t knock me out. The leather strap snapped and curled and flayed and he used it like a lion trainer handling a cage full of cats.

  I didn’t think I’d scream but I did. I didn’t go down, but I screamed. Time stopped, but the screams went on.

  I knew I couldn’t last. I had to do something. He was sweating like a pig when he finally stepped back, puffing, to catch his breath.

  “Ready to sign?” he said.

  I couldn’t speak, there was too much blood in my mouth. But I nodded my head up and down.

  He stepped outside and picked up the pad of paper and the pen he had carried in with him. It took the last ounce of strength I had, but I made my play. I dove out of the door after him, hitting him in the kidneys with my head.

  He turned like a cat, off balance but still on his feet. The belt again lashed

  t out and this time he really scored. But it was his one mistake. He had forgotten

  that he was holding the belt by the wrong end and the heavy brass buckle got me across the side of the head. I went to the floor, out cold, and there was nothing he could do during the few minutes which were left of his hour. There was nothing that anyone could have done, including the Mayo brothers. I was unconscious and I was going to stay that way for some time.

  Chapter Ten

  I knew it was a dream because I didn’t feel any pain. I didn’t want to disturb the dream, so I didn’t open my eyes, but my hand moved and I could feel the sheet under me. Something small and soft and cool was on my forehead. I smelled a faint perfume. It had to be a dream.

  The voice said, “He’s coming out of it.’’

  The soft, cool hand left my forehead and someone leaned over me and the perfume was a little stronger. I moved my head. No pain. I opened my eyes and she emerged gradually out of the fog. A small, piquant face surrounded by dark, curly hair. I closed my eyes. It was a dream, after all.

  Sarah Cutter said, "Will he be all right, doctor?”

  “The morphine will wear off in about an hour,” a man’s voice said. “He’ll start feeling the pain, but he’ll be all right. He won’t look very well for some time and he won’t be comfortable, but he’s lucky. He must have the constitution of an ox. He’ll be all right. You better go on home yourself, Sarah, or you’ll be sick, too. You have been hanging around here all day now.”

  “I want to stay until I am sure,” she said.

  “I have to leave now, but I’ll look in later tonight,” the man’s voice said. “You can’t stay here alone with him, Sarah. He’ll be conscious in a few more minutes. Fleming says he’s a killer and although he won’t be able to do much, you shouldn’t stay here alone with him.”

  “I don’t think he killed anybody,” she said. "Anyway, I don’t care. All I know is that he helped me when I needed help and he didn’t have to. He needs help now. I pay my debts. Anyway, I don’t think he killed anybody. Ijust think he got in trouble because he goes around helping people. He picked up that girl who got killed and got in trouble. He helped me and got into trouble. After what these animals have done to him, he needs someone.”

  “As you like,” then the other voice said. “At least the guard is outside if you need him. But get some rest. You haven’t slept for twenty-four hours.”

  A moment later I heard a door close. I opened my eyes. She was still there. But it was another ten minutes before my mind was really clear and I could

  make sense or understand what was happening. Unfortunately, along with mental clarity came the pain.

  “Where am I and what has happened?” I finally managed. I could see that I was in a small, whitewashed room. Bare walls, but clean. A sink in the corner. No bars on the door. Bars on the window. Nighttime. Sarah Cutter beside the bed, on which I lay between clean sheets.

  “Martin Fleming says you killed three people and stole a whole lot of money that belonged to some gangster. Did you kill three people, Mr. Russell’”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” I said. “I have never killed anyone and I never will kill anyone.”

  That was a lie. I would kill someone. I would kill the person who beat a girl to death in a room at the Whispering Willows. But she didn’t question me. She just nodded her head and said, "Martin Fleming has never been right about anything in his whole life.”

  “Now tell me what has happened,” I said.

  “You were badly hurt,” she said. “That man, Battle, almost killed you. I came to visit you with Martin and we found you unconscious in your cell. Even Martin was frightened. Martin is stiff and stubborn, but he is fair. He doesn’t want his prisoners beaten, even if they are murderers. ’ ’

  She blushed, but I told her not to mind my feelings, just tell me.

  “Anyway, Martin had you brought up here. He doesn’t want any scandal because he hopes to be district attorney someday and the thought that a man could die while in his care, scared him so much he almost became human. So they brought you here. This is the room they reserve for women prisoners. He had a doctor come in and take care of you. You have been here for almost thirty hours.

  “It is,” she looked down at her watch, “it is six o’clock, Thursday evening.

  I started to move, to sit up, but the pain came and I found it easier to lie back.

  “The doctor gave you something so you would sleep. And everyone has been here to see you. The girl is still downstairs. She has been here for over two hours. The lawyer is still here. But Martin says I am the only one, outside of the doctor, who can see you. ”

  “I don’t have a lawyer and I don’t want a lawyer. And what girl is here to see me? I don’t know any girl. ’ ’

  “The girl whose sister they say you killed. Kelley. Suzy Kelley.”

  “What does she want?” I asked. “I should think I’d be the last person in the World she would want to see.”

  “I talked to her and she is very sweet. She doesn't think you killed her sister and that is one of the reasons I don’t think so either. She says her sister talked to her over the telephone about you. Before she was killed.

  I made the effort again and this time I managed to raise myself and twist around so that I was sitting on the edge of the bed. They had put an old-fashioned flannel nightgown on me and I felt like a fool, but at least I was covered. I was also beginning to ache in every muscle of my body.

  I sat there and I looked at Sarah Cutter; I looked into her open, sweet face, her serious eyes. And I made my decision. I had to gamble and I had to gamble on somebody. She was my only hope.

  “Sarah Cutter,” I said, “I want you to listen to me. I have to make this short because it would take too long to explain everything. But I was telling you the truth. Ikillednoone. I'm being framed. I am being framed for three murders.”

  She shook her head.

  “Martin Fleming has his faults,” she said, “but he wouldn’t frame anybody.”

  “Fleming isn’t framing me. Someone else is. You said you would help me if you could. Well, I need help. I need your help.”

  She stared back at me, a frank, almost disconcerting stare.

  “What can I do?”

  “Just how much would Martin Fleming do for you? How much influence do you have with him?”

  “Martin would do anything for me,” she replied simply. “Anything, unless it interfered with his job.”

  “Good,” Isaid. “Then this is what I want you to do. I want you to see that I get some clothes. I want a bucket of hot, black coffee. I want a package of cigarettes. And I want to see that girl downstairs. Suzy Kelley.”

  “I think I can arrange that,” she said. “But you shouldn’t have your clothes. You should stay in bed. You have been—”

  “I know,” I interrupted. “I have been sick. But unless I do what I have to do, I am going to be a lot sicker. I have to have the clothes. And there is one more thing I want you to do. After you leave here I want you to go back home and I want you to stay there. That
is very important. Go back to the cabins and stay there. Do you have a phone inside?”

  She looked at me curiously.

  “Why yes, I have a phone.”

  “Then do as I say. Just stay home. But first see that I get my clothes, that I get the coffee and cigarettes and that I am allowed to see Suzy Kelley. Will you do this for me?”

  But why should I go home and what has my phone to do with it?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Yes. I trust you.”

  Then, Sarah, do what I ask you to do.”

  It is fantastic what three cups of black coffee and a couple of cigarettes can do for a man. Twenty-five minutes after Sarah left the room, I was sitting in the chair she had vacated. I was sore all over and I ached in muscles I didn’t even know I had. My nose was probably broken and my head felt like a muskmelon, but I was whole and I was functioning in all departments.

  There was a rattle at the door and I looked up and the turnkey poked his head in.

  “Lady to see you, mister,” he said. “She's got exactly ten minutes.”

  He took his head away and Suzy Kelley walked into the room.

  I had prepared myself, but I had not prepared enough.

  You should never see someone whom you have loved laying stiff and cold on a marble slab, her chestnut hair a shade redder with dried blood, her beautiful face smashed almost beyond recognition, her body all torn and bruised— and then, a few hours later, have her walk into a room looking more lovely and desirable than ever.

  The turnkey had said Suzy Kelley and I had asked to see Suzy Kelley, but it was just as though Marilyn K. herself was standing there, looking at me through serious azure eyes. The same small, exquisite figure—although this girl had done everything she could to conceal it with the harsh outlines of a tweed skirt and jacket—the same lovely contours and the same heart-shaped face. The same eyes, although plain and clear and without make-up. Hair different, a soft, ash blond; manner different, subjected, almost mousy.

  Marilyn K. had been right, though. Sister Suzy was a dead ringer for her.

  “Mr. Russell?” she said.

  A different voice also. Not small and helpless. But a strong, determined, honest voice. With just those two words I knew what Marilyn had meant when she said that Suzy always knew what to do. Just the way she spoke, you understood at once that this girl might be a little provincial, a little subdued, but that she had superb confidence, complete control.