The Killing
Page 17
Mrs. Kolsky screamed and the sound of the scream suddenly blended with the sirens from the street below.
Chapter Eleven
The wail of the siren reached Johnny Clay's ears at exactly the moment he caught sight of the flashing red light in the rear vision mirror over the windshield.
It took iron nerves, but he careful y slowed down and pul ed over to the right curb of Third Avenue. He sat there then, hardly daring to breathe, as the speeding police car came up to him and a second later passed in a wailing scream of sound.
The car swung to the left a block beyond and turned into East Thirty-first Street.
Johnny knew.
He knew just as wel as he knew he was driving that blue sedan on Saturday evening in the last week of July.
He didn't hesitate, but fol owed the car around the corner.
The police had stopped in front of the apartment house.
Johnny didn't hesitate, nor did he speed up. He drove past the parked car and kept on going. Halfway down the block he passed the dimly silhouetted figure of a man staggering in the shadows of a tal building. He glanced at him only casual y.
Ten minutes later he found the secondhand store on the Bowery. He pul ed up at the curb and went in. When he came out he was carrying two light weight suitcases.
It took time, but he final y found the dark deserted street out near Flushing. It was difficult in the dark, but stil it didn't take more than ten minutes to transfer the money from the duffel bag to the two suitcases. When he was finished, he tossed the bag into a clump of bushes and put the suitcases on the floor at his feet. He backed away and headed back toward the Parkway.
He tried the radio but was unable to get a news program. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was just eleven o'clock.
A mile from the airport, he again turned off the boulevard. He found an al night restaurant not far away. He knew that he would have to kil another twenty minutes. He pul ed up in front of the place, shut off the ignition and went in and ordered a cup of coffee.
Leaving the restaurant ten minutes later, he saw a newsstand across the street. He went over and bought an early edition of the next morning's tabloid newspaper. He didn't bother to look at it, but folded it once and put it into his side coat pocket. And then he started for the airport.
* * *
The driver had looked worried when he had climbed into the back of the cab.
“You sure you're al right, Buddy?” he asked.
“Yeah—al right,” George Peatty mumbled. “Just a nose bleed. Bad nose bleed,” he said. He sounded drunk.
“Where to then, Mister?”
It was then that the thought hit him. He knew that he was badly hurt, he knew that he wasn't quite clear in his head. But also, at that exact moment he remembered. He remembered the airline brochure which had fal en out of Johnny Clay's pocket three nights before, the last time they had al met at Marvin Unger's. He remembered now. It had been bothering him al along, and now he remembered.
“La Guardia,” he said in a barely audible voice, “La Guardia Field.”
He reached into his trouser pocket and took out several bil s which he had neatly folded twice. Careful y, moving almost like a man in a slow motion picture, he peeled off the top bil and handed it through the window to the driver. It was a tenspot.
“Stop somewhere and get me a box of kleenex,” he said.
Somewhere near the tunnel he must have lost consciousness because he couldn't remember getting over to the Island. By the time the lights of the field were visible, he knew that he couldn't last much longer. He was having a hard time seeing and it took al of his wil power to focus his eyes, even for a minute.
But he had to get away.
He couldn't go home. They'd be looking for him at home.
* * *
Fay Christie looked at the clock over the information booth and then checked it with her watch. Her watch was right. It was just ten minutes before midnight.
God, she didn't think it would be like this.
Why didn't he come? Where was he? What could have happened?
And then, again, she struggled to control herself. The plane left at half past twelve. He'd said midnight. He'd said that without fail he'd be there at midnight exactly.
Nervously she stood up and started toward the restaurant. But then, once more, she hesitated. She doubted if it would be physical y possible for her to swal ow another cup of coffee.
Five minutes later she again got up. Slowly she started walking toward the doors leading out to the taxi platform.
She had to move aside as the man staggered through the doors and past her. He looked drunk and he was holding a handful of kleenex to his face.
His clothes were badly stained and it looked as though his face had been bleeding.
The man almost staggered into her as she moved out of his way. His eyes were wide open and they had an odd, blind look about them.
And then she saw Johnny.
A smal , half sob escaped from her throat and she ran toward him.
He dropped the suitcases and he was holding his arms out to her.
“Johnny—oh, Johnny!”
She was half crying.
She buried her face in the col ar of his coat.
Johnny's hand reached up and he caressed her head. He started to say something to her, looking down at her as she began to lift her face.
Neither of them saw George Peatty. Neither of them saw the gun in his hand.
George's voice sounded as though he were drunk as he mumbled the words. The blood was pouring from his mouth as he spoke and it was almost impossible to understand him.
“God damn you, Sherry,” he said. “So you're running away with him, are you.”
He pushed Fay away from Johnny as he spoke.
“You can't,” he said. “You can't.”
And then the revolver began to leap in his hand.
The bul ets made a peculiar dul , plopping sound as they fol owed one after the other into Johnny Clay's stomach.
* * *
The matron held the smel ing salts under her nose and turned her own head away. She looked up at the airline hostess who was hovering over the two of them.
“Poor darling,” she said. “I guess the sight of blood was too much for her. It's certainly taking her some time to snap out of it.”
The airline hostess nodded.
“You don't suppose she could have known him, do you?” she asked.
Fay Christie opened her eyes and looked around her blankly for a second. And then, without having made a sound, the tears began to wel up and rol down her cheeks.
Out in the lobby the uniformed policeman leaned over and pul ed the blood soaked newspaper from under Johnny Clay's elbow.
“Keep those god damned people back,” he said.
His eyes fel on the headline and unconsciously it registered on his brain.
RACE TRACK BANDIT
MAKES CLEAN BREAK
WITH TWO MILLION.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven