I stared at her face a moment. I released her, heeled around. I snapped on the small radio, waiting for it to warm.
The announcer’s voice crackled at us in the silent room. “We repeat two local bulletins. First, the district attorney announced this morning that new evidence has been uncovered which completely exonerates Earl Walker in the murder of Ruby Venuto. Walker is in the state penitentiary awaiting execution. The D.A. promises that Walker will eat Christmas dinner at home with his wife.”
I glanced at Peggy. “Is that it?” I said. “Is that what got you?”
She didn’t speak. She was waiting, listening. The voice crackled again. “The second bulletin concerns the manhunt for the ex-Lieutenant Michael Ballard. A fugitive from the police, Ballard, who escaped when local police attempted to arrest him, is wanted for questioning in the murder of Alex Luxtro and two of his business associates. The city-wide hunt has gone state-wide, as an alert has been sounded throughout the state for Michael Ballard. Road blocks have been set up on all main arteries and secondary maintenance roads. It is not anticipated that Ballard will be able to get out of this state.”
She said, her voice dead, “Now you know what’s the matter, Mike.”
I snapped off the radio, feeling good. I laughed. “So it was me you were worried about?”
She frowned. “I didn’t know it was supposed to be anything else.”
I looked at her. I knew that at last I had what I always wanted, the secure, the lasting kind of love I’d never had, the kind I could count on.
“We can’t get away,” she said. “We’ve got the car and the money, and we can’t get away.”
“Come here, Peggy.”
She looked up, smiling, tears still standing in her eyes.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “We’ve got each other and they haven’t got us yet.”
She came into my arms, and there was no world outside that room. There was nothing beyond that door. We had waited, and it was right, and we knew it was right. We had dreamed about it. It was all we had dreamed. There was nothing wrong except that what we had was forever—and maybe we didn’t have forever. But we had this moment, and we had each other, and everything we’d prayed it would be.
And that was what it was. And more.
Chapter Twenty-four
The sun blazed against the window, making a long shadow on the floor. The shadow shortened, pulled back to the window.
It grew gray in the room, and dark. Once Peggy said, “I’m a pig. But you made me wait so long.” She pressed closer and told me to love her some more. I laughed at her and told her she was crazy. She said she would make me love her some more, she would do everything to make me want her some more. She moved down close against me. I lay there, staring at the ceiling. I heard her breathing grow long and regular. I looked down at her. She was fast asleep, the deep sleep of the completely exhausted.
I looked at her, smiling, loving her. I moved away from her, gently. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t have wakened.
I walked to the window, my legs trembling. I stood naked at the window and stared down at the silent street. Kids had gone in to supper, street lights came on suddenly, glowing in small round balls as far as I could see. A TV set was playing somewhere in the apartment building.
I lighted a cigarette, looked at Peggy lying on the couch. Somewhere for every man there is the one exact and right woman. I had found mine.
I could get us out of this state, and out of the country. If you’re a bad boy you meet other bad boys, and they know ways of getting around the law.
I drew deeply on the cigarette, watching the way Peggy slept with her arm over her eyes, her full breasts pulled up taut, her mouth parted over her teeth.
I really love you, Peggy, I thought. For whatever it’s worth, I really love you, and wish that maybe it had been different. If I’d met you, and loved you, and took a job somewhere else.
I shook my head. I didn’t know. I didn’t stand there feeling regret for what I’d done. I was afraid that if the same cards were dealt out the same way, I’d probably play my hand the same way, even knowing what I knew now.
All I wished was it had been different, because of Peggy.
I crushed the cigarette out in the ash tray. I didn’t have time to stand there and worry about the past that could not be changed.
I stared down into the street again. All the streets out there, and the roads and the land that lay between us and freedom. A hell of a test for her love. Love either makes you better, or you kill it.
I clenched my fists. How could love make me better now? It was too late. I was a killer cop, a fugitive from the law. I had to run, and there was only one way to run—downhill. You got tired, and you got scared and you hid.
What was that going to do to love?
I stared into the streets again, thinking of how it would be to run without her. I thought of the cold, and the longing and the loneliness, and the roads stretching emptily ahead of me as far as I could see.
I shivered, chilled in the warm room. It was getting dark outside that window. I wondered how much longer before the D.A. sent men to check on her apartment. Mike Ballard was somewhere. He had to be somewhere. I didn’t want them coming here, finding me here, showing their guns, showing their hate.
I dressed slowly, watching Peggy all the time. I thought about all the things I had done.
Peggy turned in her sleep. Her lips formed a smile. She pressed her head against the warmth of the pillow.
I went to the telephone. I dialed each number slowly, following the dial face back, keeping it silent. A voice answered. I asked for Ernie Gault.
After a moment, Ernie said, “Yes.”
“Ernie. This is Mike. Don’t trace this call. Don’t bother. I won’t be here. I’ll meet you, Ernie. On the corner of Brevard and Halsey Street. How soon can you be there, Ernie?”
His voice sounded odd. “Why, any time you say—sir.”
“Ought to take you about fifteen minutes,” I said. “I’ll be at the corner there, waiting for you.”
I replaced the receiver. I thought about how funny it was. They always win, the honest cops. They plod along, and they can’t live on what they’re paid, and they hurt with their honesty. But there they are. They’re still there—and you’re gone.
I glanced at Peggy again, and I stopped envying the Ernie Gaults. I didn’t envy any man. I knew what I had. I had just what I wanted. I’d vowed I’d go to hell just to have Peggy for a little while. I’d had her. It didn’t seem fair. It hadn’t lasted long enough—and yet it was more than some men know in all their lives.
I walked to the door. I was walking out of here into hell. I knew it. But I wasn’t sorry for what I’d done. I kept my hand on that doorknob for a long time. Finally I closed it, softly, so Peggy wouldn’t waken.
I went across the porch then and started down the steps, walking slowly, favoring my painful side. All the doctor’s shot must have worn off by now. The pain was something fierce. I walked tall, with my head up, but damned if I could keep the tears from stinging into my eyes.
About the Author
Harry “King of the Paperbacks” Whittington (1915-1989) — who was born in the north Florida town of Ocala — is today best known for the noir novels he wrote between 1950 and 1960, including classics such as A Night for Screaming, Fires That Destroy, You’ll Die Next! and Web of Murder. He served with the U.S. Navy during World War II, and worked as an editor and freelance writer before he continued to write full-time.
After selling his first short story to United Features in 1943, Whittington went on to write more than 170 noir, suspense, western and romance novels, using nearly 20 different names, over the next thirty years.
About the Publisher
280 Steps is a publisher of crime, noir and hardboiled fiction. Discover new writers and crime classics.
For more information about 280 Steps and our titles, please visit 280steps.com
Copyright
; Copyright © 1956 by Fawcett Publications, Inc.; Copyright renewed 1984 by Harry Whittington
Harry Whittington Retrospective copyright © 2013 by Woody Haut
First eBook edition: March 2014
Published by 280 Steps by arrangement with the Estate of Harry Whittington. Visit us at 280steps.com
Cover design by Risa Rodil
eISBN: 978-82-93326-20-5
Publishers note:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
If you would like to use material from the eBook (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher:
[email protected].
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