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Tears Are for Angels

Page 16

by Paul Connolly

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The circulation was almost gone from my arm now and I ached all over from the rough handling and the ropes and the bumpy ride on the hard floor. I could hear her short, quick breathing and I knew it was bad for her too.

  He knelt by us and checked the knot at her back again. Quickly he stood away from us and I caught the gleam of starlight on the barrel of the gun.

  "Get up," he said. "On your feet."

  Again the struggle, the fight to get four feet under us at one time and to push two bodies erect as one. We tell back three times before we made it. I felt the pull of her against me as she swayed on her feet and I quickly leaned against the car, so we would not fall again. We were pulled together like Siamese twins, our backs rigid and our heads forced back.

  He went to the door of the car again and got the bottle. Beyond us I could see the bulk of the Chevrolet, where I had parked it that afternoon. And I had thought I hadn't forgotten anything then. A million years ago.

  To my right, the pond lay waiting in the starlight. She'll go down in there and never come up, I thought. She will go down under the malignant waters and the weeds will cling to her body and the fish will pass over her in incurious motion and there will never be again the joy of her for anyone. And especially not for me, because I will be with her.

  The water was very still, the stumps blacker than ever in the night and the sound of it spilling over the dam clear and unbroken. There's not much time, I thought, there's not much time left.

  He backed away from us, about ten feet, and calmly sat down on the sand. He lifted the bottle and took another drink. Let him keep on, I thought. Let him get stone blind and see if I care.

  "Now let's talk," he said, his voice a little excited, a little keyed up, but the gun still rocklike in his hand. "Let's talk about you two."

  The whisky. It's making his tongue loose. He wants to brag a little, hold it over us a little. And I'm glad. Because that gives us another minute or two to live.

  I could feel her body hard against me and I looked down at her and her eyes were already on my face and I was very proud of her. She didn't show the fear that must have been in her and I remembered again the night I had torn her clothes from her and she had disdained to run, but had fought back.

  This is a woman. I thought, this is all a woman can be.

  His voice-sneered at us again:

  "That car you brought out here-I could drive it away. But it would be found and that would get them to wondering what had happened to you two."

  "Damn right," I said. "You'll never get away with it."

  "Maybe not. But I think so. Even if I did it like that, just drove it away, I don't think they could hang it on me. But I have a better idea now. The car being out here gave it to me."

  "Look," I said, "for the last time. Just let us go and you'll never have to worry about us again. You don't have to do this."

  "Shut up. I'm not going to worry over this thing any more. One hour in bed with a woman isn't worth it. That's all I got-less than that-and it's been keeping me awake nights for two years, worrying about you. I'm through with all that. Especially now I know you were planning to kill me."

  "All right. Be a fool, then."

  He chuckled.

  "Suppose," he said, "I just let them find the car right there where it is now. But they don't find hide or hair of you two. What are they going to think?"

  "You tell me. You're doing the talking."

  "They'll think you went swimming out here. They'll think maybe this way: Here the two of 'em are. having a swim, only the girl hits her head on something and sinks. Harry dives in to get her out. He gets tangled in the weeds. And they both drown. It's happened before."

  I said nothing. I could feel cold fingers around my heart. I heard Jean's breath catch.

  "That's better," he said. "Much better than what I had in mind. No gunshots. And then, if they ever do find your bodies, no trying to find out who did it. They'll figure it was an accident."

  I still didn't say anything. The cold horror of it was beginning to be almost a tangible thing in me, a hard lump in my belly.

  "But I'll need a little co-operation. From both of you."

  "I'll be damned if you'll get it. If you think-"

  "Shut up," he said. "I can still do it the other way, just shoot you and toss you in with a couple of rocks tied on your feet and drive the car off and ditch it. They won't connect me with it."

  "Then do it that way."

  "All right. The girl gets it first. In the belly. I'll let you watch her for a little while after I do that, and then maybe I'll work on her face a little bit. With this."

  There was a sharp click and the smooth gleam of a switch-blade knife appeared in his hand.

  I was sweating freely now. His last words had almost made me sick. I looked at Jean again. She still showed no fear, but even in the night her face was pasty white.

  He's crazy, I thought, he's gone right off his rocker. He'd do it. He'd do what he said with that knife.

  We had pushed him too far.

  "All right," I said. "What do you want us to do?"

  He laughed.

  "Now that's better. Now you're using your head." He took another pull at the bottle.

  "First I'll get her to tie you up, good and tight."

  Then he'll have to untie us first, I thought. Maybe we'll have a chance to…

  "Then I'll hit her over the head. That'll get her out of the way while I hold your head underwater until you drown. Then I hold her head under too and toss you both in."

  "My God!" I said. "You're crazy, man!"

  He came to his feet in one smooth, even motion and I saw his lips pull back in a snarl.

  "Just be quiet," he said. "Just keep your goddamn mouth shut or you'll get it right now, right where you said you'd give it to me that time."

  I knew he meant it, and I remembered he was going to untie us if he went through with the drowning scheme, and I shut up. I didn't even move until I saw him begin to relax.

  "All right," he said. "It's either that way or a slug in her belly. Which way?"

  "Anything you say. You hold all the cards."

  "Damn right. Once I sink the two of you in that lake I won't have anything else to worry about."

  "How about the weeds? You'll have to take us down there"-I shuddered-"and tangle us up, so we'll stay. Maybe they'll get you too."

  "Not with this." Again the swift gleam of the knife. "Not me. I can't lose tonight."

  You lost a long time ago, I thought. And so did I. And so did she. We all lost. None of us ever had a chance after the night you went to Lucy.

  "All right," he said. "I'm going to untie you. But remember. I've got the gun and I won't mind shooting it. Not a bit."

  "We'll remember."

  He came up behind her and I saw the gleam of the knife and felt the rope give as he cut it. In a minute, we were out of it. She slumped wearily away from me, and I let my shoulders relax and stood there flexing my fingers, trying to get the circulation back into them. Needles of fire flared up my arm.

  "Now," he said. "I'm sorry I can't furnish bathing suits. I guess you'll have to take your clothes off to make it look right. Both of you."

  We looked at each other dumbly.

  "Don't worry," he sneered. "You got a lot more to worry about than your modesty."

  No, I thought, modesty doesn't mean anything now. Nothing does, but staying alive, even just for one minute.

  I started taking my clothes off. He stood over ten feet away, the gun steady, the knife in his other hand, sneering a little. His eyes kept flicking greedily toward Jean.

  It's funny. I thought, I ought to hate him. I used to hate him. But it's different now. I have known what it is to feel that you have to kill, that there isn't anything else to do. I have known that and I cannot hate even him for feeling the same way. Not even him.

  But I kept watching him for the slip, for the moment of hesitation, for the time when the gun would drop, when he
would take his eyes off me long enough.

  I was undressed now, standing there stark naked, and I turned my head and so was she. The starlight spilled over her slim, pale body, and the moon, peeping now over the trees on the far side of the lake, cast a golden glow over the high, small breasts and the line, slender legs and the rounded hips.

  I looked back at Stewart. He was licking his lips and I saw that his eyes were not on me at all now, but were gorging themselves on her.

  I took a slow step to the left, away from her. Instantly the gun swiveled at me and the flushed face swung toward me, anger lighting it all over.

  "Look at me, Dick. Look at me."

  Her voice was husky and low and I felt a chill go down my spine. He didn't look away from my face. But I turned my head and looked at her.

  She was holding her arms out to him, swaying a little, moving her hips ever so slightly. Her voice beckoned him again:

  "Look at all of me," she said.

  His gun was still very steady on me, but his eyes now switched back and forth quickly between us.

  She took a step forward.

  "You stand still," he said.

  She stopped. He licked his lips again and shook his head. She ran her hands sensuously over her breasts and down her flanks. The hips moved again.

  It almost made me sick to watch, to see her having to do this to herself in front of him. But I loved her for it. because I knew it was for me. For us.

  I took another step to the side. The gun did not follow me.

  "You could have me," she said. "You don't have to kill me."

  "You stop that. Don't you come any closer."

  She took another step forward. His eyes were all for her now, but I was still too far away to rush him. I moved a little more, angling for his side, away from her. Just keep your eyes on her, I thought, just don't notice me moving at all. Just forget I'm here and keep looking at her.

  "Kill him," she said. "I'll help you. I'll help you hold his head under. But don't kill me."

  "You bitch," he almost whispered. The gun pointed between us now, at nothing. I saw it tremble slightly and his eyes were glued to her body. I moved a little more. One more step was all I needed, and she was buying it.

  A breeze was moving across the dark water and I fell it chill my bare skin where sweat had bathed it.

  She had swayed very close to him now, still moving her hands over her breasts and stomach and hips.

  "Look at me. You can have all of me… all of me…"

  And then I had taken that last step I needed. The gun still aimed at space and his face, oblivious now of all but her pale, gleaming body, swaying slowly before him, offered up to him, was avid with desire and lust.

  "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I could have you…"

  I dug my toes into the sand and leaped at his legs and felt myself driven through space, propelled, it seemed, for an eternity of waiting, of listening for the roar, of almost feeling the bullet smack into me, the hard smash of it, and then there was the good, clean shock of my I shoulder driving into his thigh, of the giving of it, the collapse of it, and the sand gritting against my face, and the shape of him under me, and the strength coming up out of my belly to fight.

  I grabbed blindly for his arm and felt my fingers close down on his wrist. Whisky breath fumed in my face. His body convulsed violently and he twisted from under me.

  I was on my side, holding desperately to the arm that held the gun and trying to get my knee between his legs. He got a leg under him and half rose and I saw the long blade of the knife sweeping at me.

  I rolled into him, hard, and felt something sear across the top of my left shoulder. For a moment we were almost face to face, and I saw the other arm go back again, the switch blade shining in his hand, and I thought, Here it comes now, here comes the end of it.

  And then he grunted sharply in my ear, and I felt his weight jerked back from me, and I turned my head and saw her standing there, her legs wide and braced, both hands clutched around his wrist.

  I was holding his left arm to the ground, pinned with my arm and body, and she was pulling now on his right, ripping it back from the socket, her whole face clenched in the strain of it, the knife poised in his fingers, and then he screamed once from the pain of it and his hand opened and the knife fell from it.

  She let go his arm and her hand went swiftly to the ground and I saw her straighten and step away, holding the knife in her hand. His whole weight came on top of me again, stale breath sighing out of him, and I felt his now free fist punch sharply at my kidneys.

  If I only had two arms, I thought, if I could only hold on to this wrist and still have an arm left to fight with instead of a goddamned useless stump hanging off a useless shoulder…

  I rolled again, gouging my head and shoulder and stump into his chest, and came up on top of him, still holding down the hand that held the gun. He's strong, I thought. I've got to get my arm free. He was exerting all his strength there now, trying to force the gun back up toward me, warding off my knee with his own, squeezing at my throat with his other hand.

  Suddenly I let my arm go limp and the fierce strength of his own arm, the one holding the gun, snapped our locked wrists up into mid-air.

  Then, with all the force I could gather, I shot my arm straight ahead, still gripping his wrist.

  I could almost feel the bones grind in his shoulder socket, and he groaned hoarsely and I snapped the arm against the earth and twisted his wrist steadily to the inside.

  He opened his mouth to scream, his body writhing under me, and I rammed my shoulder into his face and ground it against his nose.

  "Drop it," I said. "Drop the gun or I'll tear your arm right off your shoulder!"

  I felt the strength of him gather under me for a last effort, I felt all of him bunch into a hard knot, coiled, ready to unwind in one jolting, twisting smash. I hung on and then it came from under me. the animal thrash and fury of it, and I took it, grunting hard from the shock, and still hung on.

  Then he was spent, and f knew it and twisted harder on his wrist until, finally, with a despairing anguished shriek like that of a wounded beast, his fingers relaxed and the gun fell from them.

  Now, I thought. Now. It's just him and me. No guns, no nothing. Just his muscles and mine and nothing else, the way it should have been all the time.

  I let go of his arm and grabbed the gun. I felt my feet under me and sprang away from him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  She was beside me quickly and we stood there looking down at him, snarling and defiant on the earth, his hair wild and tangled, the eyes blazing and the lips pulled back, his shirt half torn from him, the calm water shining unruffled behind him.

  I remembered that Jean and I were naked. I turned my head slightly toward her. She stood quietly, her breasts heaving a little, her legs slightly bent, pale beauty standing unafraid beside me.

  "Put some clothes on," I said.

  She looked at me and her eyes went to my shoulder. I remembered the fiery sweep of the knife against it.

  "You're hurt. You're bleeding."

  "Not much. He just scratched me with the knife. Put something on, baby."

  She moved toward the car, where our clothes lay. I looked steadily at Stewart, holding the gun on him. He lay there and you could sec the tension crouching, coiled in him. Neither of us moved.

  Then she was beside me again and I saw from the corner of my eye that she was buttoning my shirt around her. It reached almost to her knees.

  "I ought to bandage that shoulder."

  "Later. It's all right."

  His voice flung up at us from the ground, high-pitched now, more evil than ever.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "In a little while," I said, "we're going to call the Sheriff. We're going to tell him the whole story."

  He laughed, the sound moist in his throat.

  "Even what you were going to do to me?"

  "Even that."'

  "And how are you goin
g to prove anything on me?"

  "Easy," I said. "Because I'll do the calling, not you. Because this is your gun, not mine. That's your knife, not mine. And there aren't any rope burns on you. Like on Jean and me, where you tied our arms."

  His malevolent eyes narrowed at each word.

  "They'll find out all about the other time," he said. "About Lucy."

  "That's right," I said.

  "You haven't got the guts!"

  "Guts are funny," I said. "It's easy to have guts when you hold the whip hand. Jean, hand me that knife."

  I heard her breath catch, then felt the knife pressed into my hand. She took the gun and held it steadily on Stewart. I flicked the long blade open. I held it carelessly and his eyes shifted quickly toward it.

  "What happened that night?" I said. "What really happened?"

  His laugh was a little uneasy, but still ugly.

  "I want to know, Stewart. And I want to know quick. You gave me some ideas about this knife."

  He eyed me narrowly and said nothing.

  Quickly I dropped to one knee beside him and the point of the knife touched his throat.

  "What happened that night?" I said.

  His eyes flicked from side to side and his tongue darted at his dry lips. I pushed the knife a little harder at his throat.

  "There was a letter," he burst out, the words high and weak, hurrying out of his throat. "The envelope had a return address for some adoption outfit up north. When it came through the post office I saw it… and opened it. It told about how her baby had been adopted."

  "And you blackmailed her. Threatened to tell me."

  "Well, I…"

  "And all you wanted was just to go to bed with her?"

  "Listen, Harry, don't…"

  "And you knew she'd do it, didn't you? To keep me from finding out."

  "I… Yes. But you got to…"

  I stood up and backed away.

  "I'm going to beat the living hell out of you," I said.

  I heard Jean gasp. His eyes narrowed and I saw his muscles gathering. I handed the knife to Jean.

  "Get up," I said. "It's just you and me now."

  The coiled tension in him jerked him to his feet in one explosive motion.

 

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