“One moment, sir,” the deskman said with no change of expression. Then he turned and went through a door behind the counter.
I looked around nervously. Did the police have the lobby under surveillance? We probably didn’t rate that much attention. They had more important things to do than wait around for some woman who might have been involved in a death years earlier that might have been a murder. It was just my guilty conscience. But I felt exposed and I worried that I was making a mistake even if I didn’t know what it was. At least checking my messages gave me a legitimate reason to be at the hotel.
The deskman came back, and said simply, “No messages, sir.”
“No telegrams even?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said.
No phone calls. No telegrams. I wouldn’t need the money now that I had come into the Hadley estate, but still, the idea that my people in New York had forgotten me... All the work we’d done together over the years, all the books we’d published—and I had made them some money, my books had sold pretty well for a few years in there—the idea that a desperate telegram no longer elicited even a response, even a no. I had expected a no, but nothing...
I nodded, and forced a grin, though it didn’t feel like it fit my face just then. “Well, thanks,” I said.
“Of, course, sir.”
I turned back to the lobby, and as I did, Browne went by with two other men in suits. They were intent on the door and didn’t see me, but my heart rate jumped so fast I felt lightheaded. Browne scared me back into childhood. I was a killer now too, I reminded myself; so what if it had been an accident, with the police and my “motive,” it had almost gotten to the point where that didn’t matter, the whole thing confused in my mind the way it was. But with all that, I certainly didn’t feel like any killer watching the gangster and his bodyguards stroll out of the hotel.
I swallowed and forced myself to move. I didn’t want to give the deskman an extra reason to remember me, and standing around like a halfwit was exactly the kind of thing that might get remembered if someone made a point of asking. I started for the luncheonette, but after only a handful of steps it struck me, if Browne had gone out, that meant Vee would be alone on the twelfth floor. We could meet in Browne’s suite, and that would be much better than meeting downstairs where anyone could see us and remember the two of us together. I hurried to the elevator, praying that we wouldn’t miss each other as I went up to twelve and she went down to the lobby. I pushed the call button, and waited, watching the dial run down the numbers until it reached one, and a bell rang, then rang two more times in quick succession, and then the elevator door slid open.
A slender young mother ushered two children—a boy with Air Force insignia pins on his shirt and a girl in a dress with a bow—out into the lobby. Why had Clotilde and I never had any kids? She would have been such a beautiful mother. And now my only son...
I got in the elevator, and tried once again to organize my thoughts, how the police were onto her and she needed to get out of town. I jiggled with nervous energy, and when the elevator door opened on twelve, I practically ran to Suite 12-2. I knocked at the door, looking along the hallway, hoping to get inside before anyone else went by. When I heard no movement inside, I pounded with a closed fist, painfully aware of the sound traveling.
At last the door jerked open, Vee already saying, “What’s the idea—” She was dressed in what was a modest dress for Vee. The bruise on her face had faded to a piebald mess of greens, yellows, purples, and blues. She registered that it was me and said “Jesus H. Christmas, Shem, what the hell’s the matter with you? I said downstairs.”
“I saw Browne leave and thought it would be better if we met up here out of sight.” I pushed her back into the room and closed the door behind me. “We’ve got trouble.”
“ ‘We’ve’ got trouble? Ha!” She turned her back on me and stalked across the room. “I’m the one living like a prisoner.” And she disappeared into the master bedroom. From there, she called, “What’s this trouble, you bastard?”
I took a step towards the bedroom, and stopped. The sight of the place hit me hard, almost as if I had only just seen Browne beating on Vee, and my mouth went dry.
“Hello? Idiot! Back here!”
I followed her voice back to the bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching down to sling a pair of black and white heels over her stockinged feet.
“This is the last time I let you pimp me out to a gangster. You nearly got me killed the other night, you know that?”
“Will you lay off of me on that. I’m not a pimp.”
She ignored that. “Did you talk to the lawyer yet? You find out when you’ll be getting that money? Then I can get out of here.”
How had this conversation gotten away from me? I was there for a reason. “You need to go now,” I said, but it came out weak.
“And wait for you like a fool, just hoping you show up with the money? Right.” She stood up and went over to the bureau, where she picked up a silver pendant earring and cocked her head to put it on.
“Vee, the police...”
She paused, her head still turned to the side. “What about the police?” Her features grew pinched, and if I didn’t know before, I knew right then that I could not let Vee hang around and get caught under any circumstances. Because even if right now the police genuinely thought that Vee had acted alone, once they had her in custody she’d be quick to set them straight about that. Hell, she’d probably have a way of putting me in the hot seat without her in it at all. She’d show that broken face of hers and say that I had done that to her if she didn’t go and clean up Joe’s body. That’s exactly what she’d say, and then I’d be right back in it, on my way to death row. If she left, I could sit easy waiting for the money while they chased Vee around the country.
“Shem, you tell me what the hell about the police right this instant.”
“You need to get out of here. You need to leave right away.”
“Shem—”
“Were you married?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“The police came to Joe’s funeral yesterday. They wanted to know where you were. They say you killed and burned your husband.”
“My husband?” Her arms had turned to gooseflesh. With just the one earring hanging, her head looked lopsided.
“In Denver. No. Cleveland.”
“What else did they say?”
“They know Joe’s skull was fractured. They said they aren’t sure it was murder, but...”
“But they brought up Cleveland. Paul. That was years ago.” She started forward, but stopped, not sure where she was going.
“Did you kill your husband?” I said.
That woke her back up. She grabbed the other earring. “You don’t know what he was like, so don’t you even start. And what does it matter to you anyway?”
She wasn’t saying no, and even though I knew the answer was yes, I began to feel uneasy with the idea of her running, where I wouldn’t know where she was, and I’d worry each minute we were apart.
“Paul had no vision,” Vee said. She went to the armoire and pulled out a handful of clothes on their hangers and threw them onto the bed. “He was keeping me trapped in that little town, and a girl can only take that for so long, you know? But he just wouldn’t listen.”
“What are you doing?”
“What am I doing? I’m leaving. I’m getting the hell out of this city. I’m not stupid. If they’re talking about Paul, it’s because they want to hang your kid on me too, and I’m not getting sent up for something I didn’t have anything to do with.”
Hearing her say it, that she was going to leave, that she was doing what I wanted her to do, suddenly filled me with an even greater sense of dread.
She dumped more clothing onto the bed and pulled out a suitcase. “You better get out of here. Carlton’s supposed to be out all day, but you never know with him.”
That threat didn’t even stir me.
My mind was trying to catch on something. Something I hadn’t thought through in the whole night of thinking. “Where will you go?” I said.
“Who cares? Not here.”
Yes, ‘who cares?’ That was Vee. I knew then what I had probably already known. Even if she ran, they would catch her.
She had her bag half packed, and was forcing stuff into it with no regard.
Yeah, they would catch her, because if she ran it would look guilty as anything, and they’d put everything into catching her. “You can’t run,” I said.
She looked at me and put her hands on her hips. “You’re the one who said I should leave.”
“I was wrong. I hadn’t thought it through. They’ll think for sure you did it then, if you run.”
“So I’m supposed to wait right where they probably know where I am. That’s your brilliant idea.”
I was desperate suddenly for a way to keep her from walking out the door. “You can’t leave me,” I said.
“Oh, Mr. Sentimental. You got my face beat in and then got me tangled up in a murder. I should have left you the day I met you. You’d have thought I’d never been around the block before, starstruck for a has-been writer. All because one of your books made me cry as a girl.”
“I got the money.”
That stopped her. She did want that money. “What do you mean you got the money?”
“I got the money. I’m getting it. The whole two million, it’s mine. Now that Joe’s dead.” I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the money, just like I knew they’d catch her when she ran, and she’d pull me into it.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
She blinked rapidly, and shook her head. “How long till you get it?” She spoke deliberately, as though she was afraid I might skitter away if she talked too suddenly.
“I don’t know. I’m meeting with the lawyer soon. Today maybe. These things take time. Maybe a week or two. Certainly by the end of the month.”
“The end of the month!”
“It’ll be sooner than that.” I had no idea how long it would be, but as badly as I needed her to run before, I needed to keep her there with me now.
Her face was dead serious as she looked at me across the clothing-strewn bed. “I want us to get married,” she said.
I almost laughed at that one. Married! I couldn’t even believe she’d been married before I knew her. And she killed that guy. “I can’t. I’m still married to Clotilde.”
“You can get a divorce. She’s in the loony bin.”
I shook my head. “I’m not getting a divorce.”
“Well, something. I need to know that I’ll get my cut of what’s coming.”
“You’ll get your cut,” I said. I saw in her eyes that I had her hooked. I’d be able to keep her where I could watch her. Having killed Joe was already nearly killing me, my whole chest on fire from reflux, but I wasn’t going to sit in any electric chair.
“Fifty-fifty.”
“We’ll see.”
“Fifty-fifty,” she said again. “It’s my neck hanging out there.”
I saw then what you probably saw at the start. They’d get her if she stayed or if she left.
“Sure. Of course,” I said. “That’s fair.”
She searched my face, still wary. “You know what I’d do to you if you cross me.”
“I’d never cross you.”
She was reluctant, but she must have decided that was the best she was going to get right then. She started putting clothing back into the armoire. I watched her do it, and I was suddenly more exhausted than I’d ever been in my life. Exhausted because there was only one way I would know she wouldn’t talk, and being in the room with her after thinking that, well, it just got real hard. Carrying my body around seemed like a horrible inconvenience. My head was falling off my neck and my eyelids were like quarters over my eyes. I wanted to lie down and never get up again. Because I had to kill her, and that was worse even than thinking about how I’d already killed Joe.
“I’m so tired,” I said.
She went around the bed and sat down at the vanity. “So get out. Go home, sleep.”
I could tell by the way she said it that she was still awfully unsettled by the fact that the police were asking about her and bringing up what she thought was ancient history. If her nerves could be rattled so easily... Killing her really was my only choice.
“It’s going to be all right,” I said.
“I know that,” she said. “I’m probably safer with Carlton than anywhere else anyway. The cops wouldn’t touch one of Carlton’s girls.” She folded a tissue, put it between her lips, and closed her mouth quickly and opened it, blotting her lipstick.
As she talked I felt heavier and heavier. Could Browne really protect her from a murder charge? And what about protecting her from him? He’d attacked her at the sight of me. I had a feeling he wouldn’t take it too kindly if he knew where she had gone afterwards, what she had done with me. Men like Carlton Browne don’t let any of the dirty work get anywhere near them, so they always have deniability, and this was right up next to him.
Vee finished her makeup, stood, and turned to me. “Well, how do I look?” The bruise was still visible, but it wasn’t as pronounced. Even with the puffiness on that side of her face, she looked like a million bucks. She knew what she had, and she knew how to use it.
“Like a killer,” I said.
She laughed, a big open-mouthed laugh, throwing her head back to really get it out there. “Come here. Let me give you a present.” I didn’t move, and she pouted a little, but then she came over to me. She gave me a kiss on the cheek. It made me think that there was no way I’d ever be able to go through with it.
Then, with her mouth right near my ear. “Who was that girl you were with the other day?”
I looked at her, incredulous, and I knew I’d be able to kill her after all. “You’re all dolled up for some other man, and you’re going to be jealous?”
Her face turned mean again. “That’s work, and you know it. Carlton expects me to be on call.”
“That was Joe’s fiancée,” I said.
Her expression softened. “Is that why her face was all runny? Oh little girl, you’ve got a lot to learn.” And she laughed her ugly laugh again, and I could have killed her right then if I knew how to do it without putting me in it.
“I better go,” I said.
“We ought to celebrate,” she said.
“Celebrate?”
“The money,” she said. “We can have a lunch in the dining room. I think that’s safe enough, don’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, it is. Just give me a couple of hours to get myself together. I need to, I don’t know, untwist my mind. Two million dollars! Sweet Mary! I always knew I deserved this.” And she kissed me again and then that horrible laugh. It made my stomach turn over. “Ha! Two million dollars. My luck’s really changing now.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, thinking, if only she knew. “Noon, we’ll say. Downstairs. I’m going now.”
“Wait,” she said, and she stepped forward, and wiped some lipstick from my cheek. It was such a gentle gesture, and it made me sick. Because sure I’d killed Joe, but that was an accident. And this... This wouldn’t be.
She stepped back. “Okay,” she said.
But nothing was okay. Nothing.
19.
The thing about killing is... You see, when you’ve decided to kill someone... What am I trying to say? I think I mentioned that Joe wasn’t the first person I’d seen who’d met a violent end. I had a girlfriend, a girl I knew, back when I could get a little work in Hollywood, even if it was only because Clotilde pulled some strings. This girl, she was a waitress at a nightclub with aspirations to Hollywood stardom. What I’m saying is that she was one of thousands of girls out in S.A. who all are waiting for their moment to come, convinced they’ll be discovered, that someone on the street will stop them, and say, ‘You oughta be in pic
tures.’ Yeah, this girl was just a dime a dozen, but I’d met her, and I started seeing her, and I even got her cast in one of Clotilde’s pictures. I’ve always been a real upstanding guy, huh?
Clotilde was starting to have more and more trouble with her nerves, jumping at shadows, playing the wronged woman, convinced that a slew of people were out to get her, including me. It didn’t matter that I actually was stepping out with this other girl, the point is, I’d never have done anything to hurt Clotilde. I mean it. She was always the joy of my life, the one thing that mattered, and if I was going out with this other girl, it was only because I couldn’t help it, I just needed something Clotilde couldn’t give me, suffering the way she was.
Now that I think of it, that was about the time I started borrowing money from Hub Gilplaine. He owned the nightclub where I met this girl, and we were friends... Gee, it’s funny how the pattern of your life gets stitched from all these different threads, none of which seem important at the time, just day-to-day living, and then someone starts worrying one of those threads, just gives it a little pull, and your whole life starts to unravel. But maybe it was before that even, back when Quinn and I were still married...
Anyway, I went over to this waitress’ house in San Angelo, late one night, and I let myself in with my key, and I went into her bedroom, and there she was, all cut up and blood everywhere. It was a thousand times worse than what happened to Joe. I shriveled up then. Anyone would have, even the toughest cold-blooded murderer on death row. And I was just an effete writer who told himself he was hardboiled but really wasn’t anything but a husk of a man, if that.
So I’ve seen the worst, and the only thing that made Joe as bad as all that was that I did it myself. Now I was planning to do it for real, on purpose, and it just about was all I could do to make myself think about it. Because if you thought too much about it, how a person was a body, just a biological machine that was, honestly, quite easy to break, but a person was also so much more, the stuff that all of the world’s religions and artists and writers had spent all of human existence trying to understand... Well, you see where your mind starts to go. It had been that way for a long time after my girlfriend got cut up with me trying to understand what and why. And now it was like that in thinking about Vee, and what I needed to do. I had to kill her. It was the only way I’d be safe. But my mind kept slipping back to that cut-up girl in S.A., and I couldn’t think straight, even if I knew I had to think it out or I’d end up in a jam over Vee’s death too.
The Twenty-Year Death Page 48
