The Neon Jungle

by John D. MacDonald

  “What did you want to ask me about?”

  Bonny had thought of the dozens of ways she could say it. But none of them seemed any good.

  “The cigarettes are beside you there.”

  “Thanks, not right now.”

  “Jana, are you …”

  “Am I what? What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

  “Are you sleeping with Vern Lockter?”

  The question made a great stillness in the air of the small room. Jana’s eyes went wide and she put one hand to her throat. Then she turned and reached for the cigarettes, jiggled one out of the package, and lit it tremblingly.

  “What gave you that kind of a crazy idea?”

  “The way you looked at each other at breakfast. The way you kept blushing. The way he touched you when he thought nobody could see him. The way you spilled the coffee. The way you look. The way you’re acting right now. You can’t kid me, Jana. I know too damn much about it and you know too damn little. If you knew anything, Lockter is the last one you’d pick.”

  Jana’s eyes turned bright and angry. “What is it to you?”

  “I live here. I’m Gus’s daughter-in-law.”

  “It isn’t anything to you. It isn’t anything at all to you. What do you think it’s like, an old man like that, beside you and never touching you, worn out, no good? What do you think it’s like? My God!”

  Bonny leaned forward. “You’re being a damn fool.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t care. He’s young and I love the way he walks and looks … so strong and slim.”

  “He’s a poisonous type, Jana. And it’s dangerous. Right here, under your husband’s roof, with a man he took in when that man was in trouble.”

  “It’s my business what I do.”

  “It’s mine too.”

  “I can’t see that. You’re sticking your nose in where it isn’t wanted. What do you know about it?”

  “Right from wrong. And so do you.”

  “A hell of a lot you know about right and wrong. We all know about you. Who are you to tell me what I ought to do? I like your damn nerve. Maybe you want him for yourself.”

  “I wouldn’t touch that particular young man with eleven-foot poles, Jana.”

  “Maybe you think you’re too good for him.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “A tramp like you! Who’s kidding who?”

  Bonny looked down at her own fisted hand, resting on the wool of the skirt. She did not speak. She heard Jana make a choked sound and she looked over and saw that Jana had bent forward from the waist, forehead against her close-pressed knees, rolling her head helplessly from side to side. Bonny went over and knelt beside the chair and put her arm across Jana’s shoulders.

  Jana said, “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “It’s all right. That isn’t the important thing right now. The important thing is this business with Vern. Has it been going on long?”

  “No.”

  “How long?”

  “Just … since yesterday. After supper. Out in the storeroom. Just that once.”

  “His idea?”

  “I can’t look at you and tell you. He just … took hold of me. I didn’t know he was going to. And I … couldn’t fight or anything. I wanted him to, as soon as he grabbed me. I know it’s terrible, but I can’t do anything. Any time he wants to do it again, it will be the same way. I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like by doing it that way, he sort of owns me. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, my dear. I know what you mean.”

  Jana lifted her stained face. “I can’t stop him. So I got to make out like it’s all right, haven’t I? It happened once. What difference does it make if it keeps on happening?”

  “Did he say that?”

  “Yes. He said that to me, afterward.”

  “You mustn’t let it happen again.”

  “I know I shouldn’t. But I want it to happen again. He … isn’t kind. It’s like he hates me. But even that’s better than nothing.”

  “Do you want help?”

  “I guess I do, Bonny.”

  “We’ve got to get him away from here, Jana. I think I know how it can be done. I think I know who can handle it.”

  “I … don’t want him to go away.”

  “But you know that’s best, don’t you?”

  “I guess so.”

  “If your husband found out, Jana, something very terrible might happen.”

  “He’d kill both of us.”

  “And Vern can certainly understand that. He knows Gus well enough to understand that. I can’t understand why Vern is willing to take such a crazy chance. He isn’t a hot-blooded type. This is part of some plan, Jana. See if you can be strong enough not to let him have you again if he tries before I can … make arrangements.”

  “I’ll try, but—”

  “I know. I know how sometimes you’re … vulnerable. Does Paul Darmond live far from here?”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “Don’t be worried.”

  “I didn’t want anybody to know. It makes me feel so ashamed.”

  “When it’s right, Jana, you never feel ashamed. You want the world to know. The things you want to hide are always bad.”

  “I guess I can’t stop you.”

  “No. You can’t.”

  “You act so different, Bonny. So … different.”

  “I feel different. That’s a long story. I’ll tell you someday.”

  Jana told her how to find Paul’s apartment. It was only six blocks away. She walked Jana slowly to the door of the room and, on impulse, kissed her cheek quickly.

  “Feel better, Jana?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Try not to go near him. That will make it easier.”

  Jana didn’t answer. She hurried toward the stairs, her shoulders a bit hunched, her head down, moving heavily, as though a lot of the warm life had gone out of the sturdy peasant body.

  Seventeen

  IT WAS NEARLY NINE O’CLOCK as Bonny walked through the dark street to Paul Darmond’s apartment. She was glad she was able to walk away from the neoned sections. Here the sidewalks were narrow, the slabs tilted by the elm roots, the footing in the dark places uncertain. She walked through a neighborhood of two-family houses, catching glimpses through the lighted windows of feet up, newspapers spread wide, kids doing homework at the cleared dining-room tables.

  Two more blocks to go. Ahead she saw the white glare of a corner drugstore, the answering brightness of a gas station. She passed the bright area and as she moved into darkness again, a car cruised beside her. The beam of the spotlight pinned her as she walked, so that she seemed to walk on in one spot, as though on a treadmill.

  “I thought I said something about staying off my streets, Bonny,” Rowell said, with that mocking friendliness more deadly than rage.

  She walked on for two steps and stopped and turned to face the car, hand shielding her eyes from the glare. The car was stopped. The light was changed a bit to shine against her body, leaving her face in relative darkness.

  “Come here, Bonny.”

  She hesitated. She felt cold and careful, as though she were being forced to walk across a narrow steel beam forty stories above the street. She walked toward the round glowing eye of the spot and stopped three feet from it, able to make out the dark glints of the car body, a vague face to the right of the spotlight.

  “Have you been knocking off a few drinks, kid?”

  “No.”

  “Out looking for a little fun, maybe?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you’re out looking for a little business.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Bonny, you’re quite a kid. What’s the new act?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The lady act. Where’d you pick that up?”

  It was an effort to keep from saying the words he was trying to goad her into. “I was on my way to
see Paul Darmond, Lieutenant.”

  “Now, isn’t that cute? Seeing the Preach, hey? Hand me your purse, honey.”

  “Why?”

  “Give it to me quick. I want to keep this friendly, don’t you?”

  She handed her purse toward the half-seen face. It was snatched roughly out of her hand. She saw it vaguely under the dash lights, heard the click of the fastener. After a moment the fastener clicked again. The car door opened.

  “Come here.”

  She knew he had turned sideways in the car seat. She took another rigid step, stopped when his knee touched her. She stood, instinctively closing her eyes. His hard hands patted her quickly, efficiently, from throat to knees.

  “They ever take a knife off you on the Coast?”

  “Why don’t you ask them?”

  “I’m asking you, baby.”

  “No.”

  The purse was thrust against her and she took it and took a quick step back away from him.

  “Did I tell you you could leave?”

  “No.”

  “Come here.”

  She moved forward again. She listened for ten long seconds to the muted sound of the motor, the faint rasp of his breathing.

  “Now you can take off, kid.”

  She did not trust herself to say anything. She turned and walked on legs that had turned wobbly and uncertain. She walked and she said softly, “Aaaaaah, God! God!” Her teeth chattered and she shut her jaw hard, achingly hard. She remembered what Paul had warned her about. She stopped under a street light and opened her purse with cold awkward fingers. Nothing had been added or removed.

  She had walked the high narrow beam and had managed not to look down at the beetle cars and the slow ants that were people. It meant, somehow, that next time she could stand a beam that was a bit narrower, a bit longer.

  Here the heavy houses grew close to the sidewalk and she knew it was his block, but it was too dark to see the numbers. She saw an old-fashioned bay window with yellowed lace curtains and saw him standing in the room in shirtsleeves, unknotted necktie dangling. She went up the steps quickly and the front door was unlocked and his had to be the first door on the left. She rapped, a nervous staccato, and he opened the door, the light behind him.

  “Bonny!”

  “Paul, I … I …” And her teeth started chattering again. He pulled her gently into the room and closed the door by reaching over her shoulder to push against it, and turned that gesture into an enfolding one, holding her against his chest. She felt the hard angle of his jaw against her temple, and she stood against him, her locked fists under her chin, trembling.

  He held her and the shaking slowly went away. At last she looked up at him and managed to smile and made a small face and he released her. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “What happened?”

  “Rowell stopped me, just down the street.”

  “Why on earth did you walk over here? You should have phoned, or taken a cab or something.”

  “I didn’t want any of them to know I was coming over. I left sort of quietly.”

  “For Rowell to … Damn it, Bonny, it just isn’t fair.”

  “It’s a way of paying, I guess.”

  “What’s the matter with me? Sit down. Do you want a drink?”

  “No, thanks, Paul.” She sat on the couch and looked at the room for the first time. It was a characterless, transient place. His books were there, and a picture, and that was all.

  The picture was a studio portrait of a girl with something very alive in her face.

  “Is that your wife, Paul?”

  He glanced over at the picture. “She never liked that picture of her. I guess she never liked any picture of herself. She hated to have them taken. I had to bully her to get that one.”

  “She was very lovely.”

  She dug her cigarettes out of her purse, and he came over and held a light for her. “Why did you come to see me?”

  “The other day you … taught me something. It took a while for it to take effect, I guess. It’s hard to take a long look at yourself and understand that what motivates you is self-pity and guilt. I’ve been … more outgoing since then. Terrible expression. I mean it’s been like waking up and looking around and seeing where you are. You see things you didn’t see when you were being a zombie.”

  He sat on a straight chair, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, smoke rising up through the lean fingers of his right hand.

  “And you’ve seen something you think I should know?” he asked quietly.

  “Two things, Paul. I found one out because I’ve started watching people. I found the other out by accident. They’re both bad.”

  “Is Lockter involved in one?”

  “I thought you’d ask that. Yes. Of course. He’s seduced Jana.”

  “Dear Lord!” Paul said. “Is that a hunch?”

  “I made her admit it. She’s too young for Gus, of course. And lonely and vulnerable, and very earthy. I gather that she didn’t exactly put up any struggle. Now she’s rebellious and trying to justify herself because, in her heart, she knows that any amount of regret or determination isn’t going to do her any good. If he wants her again, it will be just as easy for him as turning on a light. She’s the only one who knows I’ve come to talk to you. She agrees that the best thing would be to get him out of there. I hope you can do it.”

  “He’s no longer on parole. It doesn’t give me much leverage.”

  “Gus has tremendous pride, Paul. And decency. I think he’s capable of murderous anger.”

  “I know he is. It’s a very bad situation. I can’t somehow see Vern Lockter taking that sort of risk. I thought he was too clever for that.” He stood up and paced over to the scarred ornate mantel, tapping a cigarette absently on his thumbnail. “I can think of only one way to handle it. And I don’t think much of the method. Talk to him. I’ve never had a hell of a lot of success talking to him. He agrees with everything I say, and I get the feeling he’s thinking all the time that I’m somebody to humor and ignore. But maybe letting him know that I know what he’s up to … that might put the fear of God in him.”

  “Suppose he just denies it?”

  “He might do that. If I don’t get anywhere, I can see what Andy Rowell can do with him.”

  “You wouldn’t tell Rowell about it?”

  “I wouldn’t dare without getting his word first that he’d never use it except to move Lockter along, move him out of the neighborhood.”

  “You’d take his word?”

  “Yes.” Paul took a kitchen match off the mantel and struck it on the underside of the mantel and lit his cigarette. “Could that Dover boy take over the deliveries?”

  “I think so. He seems very nice, Paul. And intelligent.”

  “I’ll see Lockter tomorrow.”

  “I told Jana to try to stay away from him. The other thing is very odd, Paul.” He listened intently as she told him the story of the altered receipt.

  “But if Walter needs money, all he has to do is ask Gus.”

  “If he needs it for something he can explain, don’t you mean?”

  “What could he need it for that he couldn’t explain? I know how Walter lives, Bonny. He never goes out alone. He couldn’t get into gambling trouble or woman trouble because Doris wouldn’t give him the chance. Doris keeps an armlock on him twenty-five hours a day.”

  “She’s insecure, Paul. She’s just one of those people who need reassurance so badly that they go around guaranteeing, by the way they act, that they’ll never get it. And that makes them nastier. She makes his life hell.”

  “Which,” he said slowly, “is probably the reason for taking the money. When he has enough …”

  “Of course!” Bonny said. “I can hardly blame the guy. But it will be terrible for Gus. All the luck has gone, Paul. All the luck has gone out of that house. And it’s still running away like water, the little bit that’s left.”

  “Even if Gus should find out, he wouldn’t go to the
law. You know, he realizes somebody has been tapping the till. He told me. He thought it was Teena. I guess he didn’t make any real effort to check because he was brooding about Henry.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Tell you to talk to Walter.”

  “Me! No, Paul.”

  “Yes, you. You understand Doris better than he does, I think. Do you think there’s any way to handle her? Any way he could make his life more endurable?”

  “I don’t know. She’ll be vicious and making trouble, and yet when you show interest in her, she’ll suddenly melt for a few moments. If she weren’t so pregnant, I know what I’d do. I mean, if I were a man. If I were Walter I’d shake her until her teeth rattled. I’d cuff her until she was too dazed to cry, and then I’d make love to her and comfort her, and let her know that the next time she turned mean, the very same thing would happen. She doesn’t respect him. And I think force is something she would respect. Walter is too gentle and meek. Almost frightened of her. It wouldn’t astonish me much, Paul, if treatment like that might turn her into a sweet and adoring wife. There’s something very nice under all her waspishness. But it couldn’t be done halfway. That would just make her worse. But of course, with Doris so pregnant, it can’t be done. She uses that like a weapon, anyway. She wears her baby like an insult to Walter. And he takes it.”

  “Talk to Walter, Bonny.”

  “It may not help.”

  “What will help?”

  She thought for a moment, smiled reluctantly. “Nothing else, I guess.” She stood up. “I should be getting back.”

  “Not the way you came. I’ll drive you.”

  He knotted his tie quickly and put on a jacket. Outside they got into the car. The motor whispered and caught and settled into a sputtering roar. He drove down the alley and out onto the dark street.

  He parked by the curb in front of the Varaki house. There was a light in a second-floor window, and a fainter one in one of the small windows on the third floor under the eaves.