And the Girl Screamed (Prologue Crime)

by Gil Brewer

  “Well,” I said.

  “Cliff. You think he might—might try something?”

  We drove on for a while. There was suddenly no more happiness.

  “If he saw you, he might,” I told her. “But ten to one he’s banking on the fact that you didn’t really see him—and sure as hell didn’t know him. He might be in Georgia by now.”

  “You don’t believe that, though, do you?”

  “Eve, don’t worry about anything. Don’t let yourself worry. I know you can’t help thinking about it, but don’t let it ride you.”

  “I wish you hadn’t said that part about him being in Georgia. It makes me know how you really think.”

  “Eve—please!”

  “I’m all right. I’ll try not to worry.”

  “Is there anything else you can remember about him?”

  “No.”

  “Try.”

  “Just that he was young. That’s all. And quick, he moved quickly, as I told you. His face wasn’t twisted, or anything like that. I know, because I saw him clearly. He might have just turned and looked back there—just a guy passing on the road. Just looked, that’s all—there was nothing excited about his face.”

  “He was excited, don’t worry.”

  “When I think of her, Cliff. She was so pretty!”

  “They often are.”

  “What could have made him do it?”

  “Hate.”

  She was silent. We came down the tree-lined street and turned the corner onto her street. The wind from the Gulf was in town now, and branches flayed the air, the street lights flickering through the leaves. Palms waved in the night.

  I swung the car past her home, and came to a stop down the block. Out on a broad, terraced lawn, a sprinkler ticked and whirred, showering water in misting streams. Then she was in my arms. She shivered a little and I held her as tight as I could, wanting more than this. Her mouth was soft, but all the nervousness was there. An almost undetectable fine trembling coursed through her, and her hands were cold against my throat.

  “You get in the house and stay there,” I said. “I’ll call you.”

  “You’re going to report it?”

  “Yes.”

  “If we could only have caught him. That close and we didn’t—we had the chance, really.”

  “No, we didn’t.”

  “I hate to see Edward.”

  “You’ve got to, though.”

  “I wish you could be with me.”

  “I am with you.”

  “You know what I mean. But, Cliff—I really meant what I said about us, tonight. It’s got to be—”

  “Shhhhh. Go on in the house.”

  She looked at me, wanting to say a lot of things, all of it shining in her eyes. “All right.”

  We kissed again, and then-she started down the walk. I sat there, waiting, watching her move, but thinking back to those dunes out there and what lay among the grass.

  Then, still watching her hurry along, the porch light went on over there and I saw her husband come running down across the lawn.

  Thayer was a big man, and heavy. The way he ran, you could see his heels sink into the turf. He had on a robe of some kind, and he kept waving his arms.

  “You! Reddick!”

  I watched Eve stride up the walk, past him. He kept running along beside her, waving his arms. I couldn’t hear him then. I heard the front door slam, as loud as a shot.

  He turned again and came running down the lawn. He hit the sidewalk, his shoes flapping on the cement.

  “Reddick!”

  The engine was still running. I reached down and shut off the ignition and it was suddenly quiet save for his running feet and the sound of the ticking lawn sprinkler. I reached across and opened the opposite door and waited for him.

  Chapter Five

  THAYER ran across the stretch of lawn between sidewalk and curb. He saw the open door of the car, and stopped. He looked at me. I was sitting on the edge of the seat with my feet out on the curb.

  “Reddick,” he said again.

  I didn’t speak. He looked all fouled up. His black horn-rimmed glasses were crooked, and he was pale. He looked as big as hell in the damned robe. He had on shoes and trousers under it, and the sash had been looped once, one end dangling down by his right foot. His hair was very neatly combed—and he was fuming.

  I patted my pockets, then opened the glove compartment and brought out a pack of Camels. I held the pack toward him.

  He reached out with a gasp and cracked the pack from my hand. It whipped up and bounced on the lawn, skidded onto the sidewalk.

  “Damn you!” he said.

  I opened the glove compartment, and took the last pack out and closed the compartment again.

  “We can talk this over,” I said.

  “We can talk nothing over.”

  “Yes, we can. It’s better that way. I’m sorry we didn’t talk it over before now.”

  He tried to say something, but it was hopeless. I got the second package of cigarettes open and looked at him.

  “Sure you won’t have one now?” I said.

  I thought he was going to leap at me. I felt as bad as he did about this. I didn’t know how to talk to him; maybe I felt worse than he did. I fumbled around, trying to think, and got a cigarette out, leaned back and pushed the car lighter and waited. He kept breathing hard.

  “This is the last of it,” he said. “You hear? Reddick? The very last of this—the very last.”

  There was something sad about it all—him, especially. I knew I shouldn’t feel that way, because he didn’t love her. He didn’t give a damn about her, only himself, and that angered me, just thinking of it. I should have told him off, but I sat there waiting for the lighter to pop out.

  It popped. I took it and lighted the cigarette, put it back, jammed the package in my shirt pocket, and looked at him again.

  “I’m sorry it’s this way,” I said. “I know you won’t believe it. I know how you think. But I did want to talk with you. I should have. It’s my fault, all my fault.”

  “Shut up!”

  “Just relax,” I said. “I understand how you feel. We can work this out.”

  “Work it out? I’ll work it out, Reddick.”

  He took a step toward the car. I sat there with the cigarette. I had bent the damned cigarette in two, broken the paper. Tobacco spilled out. The cigarette smouldered. I dropped it to the curb and stepped on it.

  “Eve and I love each other,” I said. “You can understand that, can’t you? That’s the way it is, Thayer. We want you to give her a divorce. You don’t want her. Right? You’ve never shown you want her.”

  He came at me. I stood up on the curb and gave him a shove backwards, and sat down on the car seat again. He went back toward the sidewalk, off balance. He stopped, and came at the car again.

  “I don’t want to fight,” I said. “It’s been a rough night, believe me.”

  That damned near shot the bolt. But he did get hold of himself, somehow.

  “Reddick, I knew about this this morning. I stood there looking at you and you made me sick.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “She’s not going to see you again.”

  I still said nothing.

  “It’s done with—finished.”

  I watched him, wishing there were some way to tell him he was all wrong.

  “You won’t come around here waiting for her again,” he said softly now. “Just get that straight, Reddick. If you do, I’ll really bust you in this town. You won’t have a chance for anything, not even your dirty boats.”

  “Dirty?”

  “I’ve fixed you right with the police. And I’ll really fix you right if you come around here again.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “What?”

  “You’re beginning to make me mad, Thayer. You won’t fix me, so why try to scare me?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I won’t see a damned thing. I w
as willing to talk this over with you. I know it looks like I’m wrong, and maybe I am. But listen, this happens. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “I’ll damned well see to it—”

  “Let it lay, Thayer. You won’t go to the law, because you’re scared about that yourself.”

  “I knew it was somebody,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “A dirty, rotten, despicable—I knew. And now I know who. Christ, I was glad to see you get it this morning, you dirty son of a bitch!”

  I sighed and looked down at the ground. Let him get it out of his system, I thought. Maybe it will do him good—maybe he won’t curse her now.

  “She’s not getting any divorce, you hear?”

  “I hear you—God, yes.” I stretched my neck a little and looked past him. “There’s some people up on that porch, there—they hear you, too. Are they understanding neighbors?”

  He stepped closer. He began to make sounds like laughing. He stepped in still closer and leaned down toward me, making those sounds. He suddenly got himself all primed and reached out and slapped my face.

  “All right,” I said.

  It went to his head. He got excited, reached down and slapped me again. It stung and I stood up slowly, watching him. He took two steps backward, staring at me.

  “Every night,” he whispered harshly. “Take her out in the bushes, you two—”

  I took one step and hit him smack on the button. He sat down heavily on the lawn, propped up with his hands. He shook his head, then looked up at me.

  “When you hit,” I said. “Double your fingers up. It’s called a fist. Want to try it again?”

  He said nothing, sitting there.

  “I’m damned sorry for you,” I said. “And that’s the truth, too.”

  I turned and got into the car and slammed the door, slid over under the wheel and sat there a moment. I was shaking all over, my hands trembling like crazy. I took hold of the wheel and the trembling went right on up my arms. I wanted to take him apart and I knew I had no right. He had every right to say all he had said.

  I was in the wrong and it made me sick. Now she would get it from him and there was nothing I could do about it. I was stalled, stopped—treed, as Eve had said.

  I started the car. He got up and glanced once at the car and shook his fist. I almost laughed.

  “That’s right,” I said. I wished I hadn’t said it.

  He turned and walked across the lawn and up to his porch. The porch light went out and the door whammed shut.

  Well, I wouldn’t win any contests. He was the belabored husband. I was the heel. He’d even been wearing his glasses when I hit him. It didn’t make me happy, only I had done it that way and it was over with.

  Then I remembered something, threw the car into gear and got out of there.

  Chapter Six

  I NEEDED GAS for the car, and I had to find a pay phone. I could have gone home and phoned, but I wanted to get it over with right away. The boys had to get on this. I wished I were one of them; able to be on this thing. I felt it all come back into me again, clear and harsh—that kid out there.

  I suddenly realized I was headed on out of town in the wrong direction. I turned over onto Fourth and stopped at an all-night drugstore and went inside.

  The place was nearly empty. A guy and a girl at the counter had milk-shakes in front of them and the soda jerk was pasting tomorrow’s gooey specials on the back mirror. He turned and looked at me as I walked along the counter, freckle-faced and tired in the eyes, with a thick smear of chocolate syrup along the right sleeve of his white jacket.

  “Phone?” I said.

  “Back there.”

  “Thanks.”

  The girl looked over at me and batted her eyes, rigid-faced, pale, her lips a vivid slash of crimson. She stared right through me. The guy on the stool beside her was feeling her leg, his hand up under her frilly yellow skirt.

  I went on back to the phone booth, inside, and shut the sliding door. It was plenty hot in there, and the little rubber-bladed fan didn’t work. I began to sweat. I called the police station, and stuck a knuckle into my mouth against my teeth, waiting.

  I should have phoned in on our way back from the beaches; this wasn’t my night for doing things the right way. Waiting as the phone buzzed, I looked back along the counter. The girl’s little round behind wiggled on the stool, her smooth brown hair folded across one shoulder in a long swath of curl. He was still feeling her leg.

  “Police headquarters.”

  I asked for the desk, and asking for anything but the police was a mistake, but it went unnoticed. I told it briefly when they answered.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s right,” talking around the knuckle and sounding like a drunk with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Six hundred yards past the Sunny Shores Hotel. Turn right on the sand by a row of Australian pines. Drive straight back toward the beach, you’ll see car tracks. Stop by some cabbage palms, five or six of them. Then go to your left about twenty paces, then head straight for the beach again.”

  “If you’ll just give us your name and—”

  I hung up, grabbed the doors of the booth and pulled them open. Pale, air hung in my face. I was dripping wet. I stepped outside and mopped my forehead and the back of my neck with a handkerchief.

  Al Calvin had taken the call from the desk. For my own good—Al Calvin. Calvin always did it for everybody’s own good. You have to be fit to be a cop. Only he’d stuck his pale snout in. Calvin. Mama’s little helper.

  I was sure in a sweet mood tonight.

  I walked along the counter, nodded at the soda jerk, and the guy was arguing with the girl now. She sat straight as a bird on that stool, her back arched tightly, knees together, trying to pull her skirt down to her ankles. Her face was red, but her eyes were wide and shining.

  I went on outside to the car, lit a cigarette, and climbed behind the wheel.

  I drove back across town on Fourth, across Central, and on across the railroad tracks, thinking about it. There was so much to think about. And all of it was nice troublesome stuff, too. If I’d been a masochist, I could have enjoyed it.

  So now I could go fill up the car’s tank, and drive on home and sit there, waiting for the morning papers. And I could phone the guy who wanted to buy my boats and tell him nix.

  It began to trouble me again that the guy might have seen Eve out there on the beaches. Sometimes the young move entirely on intuition, instinct, which is a good way sometimes for them—a bad way for other folks.

  I drew in at the Sinclair station where I always bought my gas and oil. Howard shuffled out of the office, dangling a rag from his hand. He was yawning. Moths and mosquitoes and insects of all kinds warred around the tanks in a kind of insane effort to commit mass suicide with soft, head-on, wing-blurred plaps.

  “Fill ‘er up. You’d better check the oil and water, too.”

  “Okay, Cliff. How’s it going?”

  I told him it was going fine, sat there a moment, then got out and went over by the office and had a drink of ice water from the fountain attached to the soft drink cooler. I opened the cooler, looked inside at the array of gleaming bottle caps.

  “Coke, Howard?”

  “Just had one.”

  I decided on Ginger, uncapped a bottle and drank it off without stopping. I dropped the bottle in the crate rack and went on inside the office, looked around at the new gadgets for cars. Howard had quite a display to nick the motorist. I remembered I needed lighter fluid and found a can, then went back outside. The night was hot. Cars flicked by on the street, hissing. Cars often hiss at night, seldom in the daytime.

  “That’ll be five, even,” Howard said, finishing with the windshield. He came up to me, mopping his face with the oil rag. “You took a quart. Twenty-weight right?”

  I nodded, reaching for my wallet, and it wasn’t in my hip pocket.

  “Really hot, tonight,” Howard said.

  “Isn’t it, though?”

  I ke
pt feeling around in my empty hip pocket. There was some sand and lint in there, nothing else. The feeling crept up along the backs of my arms into my neck. I changed hands with the can of lighter fluid and felt in the other hip pocket, held the can between my knees and went through each pocket carefully.

  Howard took his cap off and scratched into his thatch of black hair and watched me as I remembered.

  “Forget your wallet?”

  “Bill me,” I said. “Include the lighter fluid.”

  “Sure.”

  I headed for the car, tossed the can of lighter fluid in on the seat and got under the wheel. The night felt suddenly cold. I drove out of there fast, heading for the beaches.

  • • •

  I could remember taking that spill over the body of the girl, and landing in the sand. I could see the wallet slide from my pocket, drop on the sand with the moonlight on it. It contained ID papers: three snapshots of Eve, one in a neat little twist of a bathing suit on the blanket on the beach in front of my car with the license plate hanging out like an overheated dog’s tongue. There was also a letter from her.

  I hit the boulevard doing seventy and praying quietly. It would make it just right to be picked up for speeding. And it would happen to me if it happened to anybody—this was an evil night.

  I turned off on a side street, tires shrieking, and then took the next street parallel with the boulevard and set the gas pedal on the floor. It was residential section for a time, people out on lawns occasionally, gaping at me. Passing parked cars left explosions inside the coupe. I held the gas pedal down flat and you could see the stars up there in the sky, not moving, trees cutting past.

  When I reached the last street, I cut back again to the boulevard and hit the causeway. I’d forgotten about the hump in the road where the county hadn’t done a smooth job, and the car had all four wheels off the ground at the same time.

  Always do the right thing, Reddick. You see a murder, run to the nearest telephone and call the law. Always.