by Peter Rabe
“Of me, Tapkow?” Her laugh was like a rattle. She had started to pluck at the fur of her wrap. “I can do without you, Tapkow.”
He watched the road. “Sure,” he said.
“I’m through, Tapkow. You can start looking for another-”
He wished she were right He wished she would stop talking, digging.
“I want an answer, do you hear me?”
“Pat, you’re just wrought up. In a short while-”
“In a short while you’ll regret ever having laid eyes on me, Tapkow.”
She was building up to something.
“You don’t mean that. Really, Pat, you’ll be all right.”
“With you around?” That irritating ring had come into her voice. “With you around much longer I think I’ll die, Tapkow.”
It gave him a start and he almost missed calling the mileage. “You don’t want to talk like that, Pat.”
She laughed.
“You’ll make things worse, Pat.”
“Impossible!”
“You’ll be fine soon. I promise you, Pat” He had meant it.
“The sight of you makes me sick,” she said in a low voice, and then her hand shot out, knocking his hat off. “Sick, Tapkow, sick!”
“Sit in your corner.” He sounded hoarse.
“Sick, Tapkow, sick!”
It was the drug she didn’t have. It was hard to remember sometimes, but it was the drug.
“You’ll see, Pat. I’ll help you.”
“Sick, Tapkow, sick!”
“Stop that, damnit.” He took a deep breath and tried again. “We’ll go away together. And after a little while, Pat-”
“Why try?” It sounded casual at first, but then her tone became strong and sober. “Don’t you know how I hate you, Tapkow?”
It must be the drug.
“I mean this. Such hate, Tapkow!”
For once it was almost more than he could take.
“I hate you, Tapkow. Like this!” and with her scream her fist flung out, jarring his head.
He struck out like a hurt animal. “Sit there and shut up! Shut up!”
Mileage. An empty road.
“That’s all you can do, isn’t it? Hit and run.”
“I never have!” It was almost a scream. “I mean it, Pat, I’ll try all I can to make good what-I’ll help you, I mean it!” He had never felt quite so deeply before, so when she leaned forward and grinned, it hit hard.
“Saint Benny,” she said.
It hit. His eyes seemed to slant with the grimace that tore his face and he came back with a harsh yell. “You crazy fool, can’t you tell when it’s real? Can’t you tell when you need me, you crazy hopped-up fool? You’re hooked and don’t know it, a hophead, a poor crazy junkhead who never knew what it was, when it caught, when it ends. And I’m trying to tell you, for real, Pat, I’m trying to tell you there is a way out.”
She was still grinning; only her eyes had changed. “Hophead,” she said.
He hadn’t been watching then, but when it suddenly happened it was almost a relief. The black shape roared up from the side, veered hard, and for a moment the two cars were edging each other. Benny pushed the accelerator and shot ahead. But that wasn’t on the program, and besides, it wouldn’t have done any good. The other car came out ahead, making a spray of the bushes by the road, and Benny called his mileage. “Five even, it’s now!” and he slowed the car. He wasn’t sure if Pat had noticed. She was sitting still and even the grin was there yet Then he jammed on the brakes just in time not to hit the car in front It was angled across the road, looking shiny and new in the headlights. Just in case, Benny thought, and flipped into reverse. Then he crashed behind. They were all around now, coming through the beams and moving like shadows once they had passed. They tapped on the windows with their guns and motioned to him to come out. One had jumped on the hood. The gun he was holding was big and black and pointed straight at Benny. He raised his hands. The taps on the windows got sharper. Nothing rough yet, just sharper. And no Alverato.
Pat made it easy for them. Her window was down suddenly and she leaned out of the way. “Kill him!” She pointed a finger at him as if she were shooting him. “Kill him!” She called loud and clear without hysteria, just “Kill him!”
Benny lunged over and grabbed her waist. She was safe. He felt her strong movement and saw the door go. They were pulling her to get her into the open. And Pendleton had probably not insisted on bringing him back alive. Benny held on, listening to her voice. “Kill him, kill him!” There was nothing else to do. Alverato had planned it that way, his show, his dumb and useless show of brawn.
Except nothing happened. They were out now, in the headlights, and they didn’t even bother to frisk him because there was nothing but guns standing around, pointing at nothing but Benny.
“Kill him,” she said again, but they pushed her ahead of them.
“Get in the car, Miss Pendleton. You’ll be all right now. Here, we’ll help you.” When somebody said that, she started to break.
It was a thin laugh at first. “That’s what he said,” she laughed, and louder: “That’s what he said,” again, until the laughter got shrill and unhinged so that they didn’t know what to do.
He caught them at the right moment, the old slob with the big bravado in his voice: “Stand where you are!”
It came from somewhere. He had a loud-speaker along.
“This is Big Al, you punks, and I’m all around you.”
At least one of the punks didn’t believe it. His. 45 made a respectable crack in the middle of the night, but that was nothing compared to what came next The machine gun gave a sharp, roaring burst and four men fell on the pavement In the second of silence that followed, the hood of the car in front dipped up, dipping with a lonesome creak of the springs.
“I said this is Big Al! And just to show you-” The machine gun chattered again. This time only one man fell, close to Pat.
“And I don’t give a damn if I hit my own man or the dame. Is that clear?”
It was clear. Nobody moved. Until the motor of the car in back kicked over, raced, and careened backward with a painful whine. That’s when they moved. All at once the wild movement broke in every direction, in heedless panic, and the machine gun spoke again.
Benny made only one leap. He grabbed Pat and stood with her in the strong light from his car. There was nothing to do but stand. This was Alverato’s show and perhaps in the light he wouldn’t just shoot them down, being busy with his chase on the dark road and among the bushes.
It took a while, with the car in the back catching fire, the yelling and stomping, the loud cackle of the machine gun.
“O.K., this way, kids.” Alverato stood in the light, big and sweaty. They ran across the road, through the woods, and stopped on a dirt road.
“Stay here,” Big Al said. “The car will be along in a second. How’s the girl?”
Nobody answered. The two-way speaker that hung by a strap around Alverato’s neck started to rasp, and then, “A.A., this is Zimmer. A.A., this is Zimmer. Over.”
“Yes, damnit, what’s what?” Alverato had snatched the instrument up and was roaring into the microphone.
“A.A., this is Zimmer, this is Zimmer. Who are you? Over.”
“This is Alverato, you jerk. Cut out that bomber-patrol crap and talk!”
“Big Al? I can’t start the car. I thought you’d want to know because-”
“Can it, can it, you sonofabitch! I’m coming over and it better be fixed when I get there. Uh-over!” he yelled, and started to crash off into the black undergrowth. “Benny?” Alverato had stopped. “Stand still and wait, and better take this.” Alverato was back, handing Benny a gun. “And stay put.”
They listened to him get farther away. Pat was shivering. Benny could hear her mumbling and she was plucking the fur of the wrap.
“Soon, now, Patty, soon.” He put his arm over her shoulder, pressing her close, and she let him. “Soon, Patty.” But
she didn’t answer. He could hear the mumbling getting clearer, and it was “Kill him! Kill him!”
He tried to pay no attention. Once he let go of her because the gun was between them, in his pocket. He took it out and kept it in one hand.
Then he heard the sound of a car. It came without lights, a long humming shape. It stopped.
First the lights went on, like a white explosion, and then the doors opened. They went thunk, thunk when they closed, and Benny started to push Pat forward.
“Al, cut those beams.”
There was no answer. There was no sound till the lights made a face materialize with hard lines from the nose to the mouth and close-set eyes that had a maniacal glint in the light. “Baby!” said the mouth, and Pendleton raised his arms. “My dearest-”
What stopped him was a scream that arched Pat’s body until she trembled like a spring that had suddenly been released.
She had seen the man she hated. Pendleton knew. There was a gun in his hand now. He came steadily toward his daughter.
“Kill him,” she kept saying. “Kill him.”
“Pendleton. Stop!”
Pendleton didn’t stop. He took another step and reached for his daughter. Only when Benny had jerked the girl back did Pendleton seem to wake up. He raised his gun. Benny had never seen Pendleton with a gun before.
“You’ll kill her, Pendleton.”
It stopped him.
They weren’t listening to Pat any more. Their eyes met and the question was who could hold on longer.
“Pendleton,” Benny said, “you’re through.”
Benny had never seen the man stand that still before. Not even his shoulder moved.
“Pendleton, you’ve lost. You lost Pat.”
“Kill him,” she said.
Then Pendleton opened his mouth. “Tapkow, don’t try. I’m going to keep you alive-forever, Tapkow.”
“Kill him,” she said.
There was nothing to answer, no more to say, but first Benny laughed. He laughed straight in the old man’s face and it sounded as hellish as Pat’s scream. Benny could see it hit the man, saw him stir, while Benny tightened his grip on the girl to shift for the kill.
That’s when Pendleton broke. He flung himself forward, with arms flailing, so crazed he never thought of his gun. It came down like a stone, missing everything it was meant to kill, but then it did part of a job. The barrel caught Pat on the skull, glanced sideways, and the only thing that could stop Pendleton happened. Pat slid to the ground. There was blood on her hair.
Benny waited till they were both together, the unconscious girl breathing raggedly and Pendleton sobbing.
The hate made Benny hold it just a little longer, the hate that knew it had found its way. Then it moved Benny’s foot. The foot pushed at the man, pushed him till he was free of his daughter, and looking up with crooked eyes that didn’t see the gun. It spat in his face.
It spat and bucked and then it was empty.
Benny stood in the white light. He bent over Pendleton and found the small paper and saw the numbers on it and the names of the Italian cities. Then he just stood again. He didn’t notice when the gun dropped from his hand. He stood, feeling empty.
When he lifted Pat and carried her, holding her close and tight, the feeling came to him that with her so close the emptiness might not last much longer.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Doc Welch put the blanket back over Pat, keeping her arms outside and making it all look neat. “Nothing to worry about, Benny. She’ll wake up with a headache. Just give her another of these,” and he gave Benny a pill. Doc Welch closed his bag. “Now the other matter. The way you described it, she’s definitely moving on. Let’s have that syringe.” Benny pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. “You see these graduations? Increase the dose from here to here. Same time interval. You have enough solution left?”
“That doesn’t matter. When it’s gone, it’s gone. She’s through with that stuff.”
Doc Welch just raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. Benny put the syringe back in his pocket. “She’s off it. I’m seeing to that. Things are different now.”
“I gather this is all your idea?”
“And hers.”
“If you say so.” Doc Welch reached for his hat. “You know anything about the cure?”
“It’s rough, I know.”
Doc Welch laughed. “It’s useless. No amateur can swing it.” He went to the door.
“Doc. You got a better way?”
“I don’t know, but it’s more scientific.” He laughed again.
“Doc, listen. Can you do it for us? Help her get off the horse?”
“Sure, Benny. The fee’s the same.” Doc Welch closed the door.
Benny went to the kitchen and had a cup of coffee. The house was very quiet, as if exhausted. Benny finished his coffee and went up to bed.
He woke late. The house was quiet again, big and empty, but it wasn’t the quiet of the night before. It was more like a wait, like holding the breath for the next big effort. Only there wasn’t a thing for Benny to do, not a thing but wait.
Alverato was gone, and so was Birdie. The rest of the guys had their stations in town and at points down the coast. This was the day for the pickup.
There was a radio man on Alverato’s yacht who was going to talk to a man on shore, and that man had a phone open to the place in Westchester, where Benny was going to listen to the pickup. That way nothing was out of hand, everything was tied up and prepared for the shipment.
Benny walked through the empty house, from the room with Alverato’s desk and the phones down the hall to the paneled bar. There was a boar’s head hanging on the wall, and two dumb eyes, made of glass, looked across the room to the door.
Benny walked back again.
It was twelve-fifteen. Back to the bar and maybe have a drink. He didn’t. He turned to go upstairs. The glass eyes showed a glint now, because the sun had shifted.
Pat was at the piano, staring across the room without seeing. “Pat,” he said. “How is it?”
“O.K.”
Benny went across the room and touched her arm. “One more day, Pat, and we’re free.”
She turned her head to see him. “It’s time,” she said. “It’s past twelve.” She pulled the sleeve of her sweater up, exposing the fine skin on her arm.
“Later, Patty.” He smiled at her and slowly pulled the sleeve back down. “It isn’t bad now, is it?”
“It’s time.”
“You got that pill, Patty. You’re all right now, aren’t you?”
The light from the window seemed to hurt her eyes. She turned away.
“Lie down a little. I’ll be back later. You don’t need it now, Patty, you’re fine.”
“Fine,” she said.
For the moment he had forgotten about the day and the phones and the waiting, but he saw the clock on the mantel now and went to the door. “You’re fine now, Patty. Wait for me here.”
“Fine,” she said again.
When he closed the door she said something else, but he didn’t hear it.
Twelve-thirty.
With a switch of attention that was almost automatic, he was alone again. Time shrank, but not the waiting. The dead pig on the wall looked at him and then past his shoulder. He turned, walked back.
One o’clock.
He had left the door to the bar open, so the glass eyes were on him halfway down the hall. That goddamn pig was getting on his nerves, and he veered to walk close to the wall. That goddamn pig didn’t let go till he was halfway into the bar.
One-twenty.
Perhaps Pat should have a small one just for safety’s sake; he’d be busy for a while.
Then he saw her through the glass of the front door, on the steps to the driveway.
“Pat!”
She turned, watching him come.
“You all right, Pat?”
“I got a headache. Benny, it’s time. Over an hour now.”
“A little later, Pat Go upstairs now.”
“You said you’d help me.”
“Go upstairs. You’re all right now, aren’t you?”
“You won’t let me have it?”
“Pat, listen to me. Later. I’m busy now and you’re fine.”
“Fine,” she said.
One-thirty-five.
“Pat, I gotta run. I-”
“Fine, fine,” she said, and then he turned to go back inside. So he didn’t see her hand come up, plucking her ear lobe with an unconscious gesture.
One-forty. The phones now. No, too early. The bar. The glass eyes and the glass bottles looked dim again because the sun had shifted. Benny wanted a drink. He rarely did, but he wanted one now. Any old bottle, one of the bottles under the dry-looking head of the pig up there. The drink was sharp, feeling hot. He started to pour again but stopped.
One-forty-five.
The phone rang. He was out of breath, hoarse even, but the other end was talking already. “This is Mick. That you, Benny?”
“Sure, sure, let’s have it. Everything going?”
“Just heard from the radio man and it looks O.K. Hey, you should see the setup, Benny. One ear under the headset and the other one listening to you. I look like a-”
“Never mind that. Where are they?”
“Right on the button, same place like on the map. Christ, you should see the fog out here, Benny. I can’t even-”
“Fog! They got fog yet?”
“That’s right, he never said. Hold on, Benny, I’ll ask. Kip! Hey, Kip! This is Mickey How’s the weather out there?… Huh?”
“Mick, what’s he say?”
“Shut up a minute, Benny. I can’t listen with both ears, for-Huh?”
Benny waited. He shook a cigarette out of his pack and held it.
“Benny? They got beautiful sunshine, he says.”
“Did they find the spot, Mick? Ask him if they found the spot.”
“O.K., hold on… He don’t know, Benny. He just sees water from the radio room. Hold it… You’re what, Kip?… Coming about what?… Oh. Benny, they turned the ship around or something and took it out of gear. I guess they-”
“Don’t guess, you jerk! Ask him what’s going on!”
“Not so loud, Benny. Say that again, Kip… Oh…”
