The Killer Inside Me

by Jim Thompson

He opened the door a few inches, and I slid inside, and he slammed it behind me. I stood with my back to it a moment, blinking, and there was a squeak and a scrape, and a shadow rose up and faltered toward me.

  He fell into my arms, and I held him there, patting him on the back, comforting him.

  “It’s all right, Johnnie boy. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  “J-jesus, Lou. Jesus Jesus Ca-Christ. I knew—I kn-new you’d come, they’d send for you. But it was so long, so long and I began to think maybe—maybe—you’d—”

  “You know me better’n that, Johnnie. You know how much I think of you.”

  “S-sure.” He drew a long breath, and let it out slowly; like a man that’s made land after a hard swim. “You got a cigarette, Lou? These dirty bastards took all my—”

  “Now, now,” I said. “They were just doing their duty, Johnnie. Have a cigar and I’ll smoke one with you.”

  We sat down side by side on the bolted-down bunk, and I held a match for our cigars. I shook the match out, and he puffed and I puffed, and the glow came and went from our faces.

  “This is going to burn the old man up.” He laughed jerkily. “I guess—He’ll have to know, won’t he?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m afraid he’ll have to know, Johnnie.”

  “How soon can I leave?”

  “Very soon. It won’t be long now,” I said. “Where were you Sunday night?”

  “To a picture show.” He drew hard on his cigar, and I could see his jaw beginning to set. “What’s the difference?”

  “You know what I mean, Johnnie. Where’d you go after the show—between the time you left it and started to work?”

  “Well”—puff, puff—“I don’t see what that’s got to do with this. I don’t ask you”—puff—“where you—”

  “You can,” I said. “I intend to tell you. I guess maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought you did, Johnnie. Haven’t I always shot square with you?”

  “Aw, hell, Lou,” he said, shamed. “You know how I feel about you, but—All right, I’d probably tell you sooner or later anyway. It was”—puff—“here’s the way it was, Lou. I told the old man I had this hot date Wednesday, see, but I was afraid of my tires, and I could pick up a couple good ones cheap an’ hand him back something each week until I got ’em paid for. And—”

  “Let me sort that out,” I said. “You needed tires for your hot rod and you tried to borrow the money from your father?”

  “Sure! Just like I said. And you know what he says, Lou? He tells me I don’t need tires, that I gad around too much. He says I should bring this babe to the house and Mom’ll make some ice cream, an’ we’ll all play cards or somethin’! For Christ’s sake!” He shook his head bewilderedly. “How stupid can a person get?”

  I laughed gently. “You got your two tires anyway, then?” I said. “You stripped a couple off a parked car?”

  “Well—uh—to tell the truth, Lou, I took four. I wasn’t meaning to but I knew where I could turn a couple real quick, an’—well—”

  “Sure,” I said. “This gal was kind of hard to get, and you wanted to be sure of getting over with her. A really hot babe, huh?”

  “Mmmmph-umph! Wow! You know what I mean, Lou. One of those gals that makes you want to take your shoes off and wade around in her.”

  I laughed again, and he laughed. Then it was somehow awfully silent, and he shifted uneasily.

  “I know who owned the car, Lou. Soon as I get squared away a little I’ll send him the money for those tires.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Are we—uh—can I—?”

  “In just a little,” I said. “You’ll be leaving in a few minutes, Johnnie. Just a few formalities to take care of first.”

  “Boy, will I be glad to be out of here! Gosh, Lou, I don’t know how people stand it! It’d drive me crazy.”

  “It’d drive anyone crazy,” I said. “It does drive them crazy…Maybe you’d better lie down a while, Johnnie. Stretch out on the bunk, I’ve got a little more talking to do.”

  “But”—he turned slowly and tried to look at me, to see my face.

  “You’d better do that,” I said. “The air gets kind of bad with both of us sitting up.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Yeah.” And he lay down. He sighed deeply. “Say, this feels pretty good. Ain’t it funny, Lou, what a difference it makes? Having someone to talk to, I mean. Someone that likes you and understands you. If you’ve got that, you can put up with almost anything.”

  “Yes,” I said. “It makes a lot of difference, and—That’s that. You didn’t tell ’em you got that twenty from me, Johnnie?”

  “Hell, no! What do you think I am, anyway? Piss on those guys.”

  “Why not?” I said. “Why didn’t you tell them?”

  “Well, uh”—the hard boards of the bunk squeaked—“well, I figured—oh, you know, Lou. Elmer got around in some kind of funny places, an’ I thought maybe—well, I know you don’t make a hell of a lot of dough, and you’re always tossing it around on other people—and if someone should slip you a little tip—”

  “I see,” I said. “I don’t take bribes, Johnnie.”

  “Who said anything about bribes?” I could feel him shrug. “Who said anything? I just wasn’t going to let ’em hit you cold with it until you figured out a—until you remembered where you found it.”

  I didn’t say anything for a minute. I just sat there thinking about him, this kid that everyone said was no good, and a few other people I knew. Finally I said, “I wish you hadn’t done it, Johnnie. It was the wrong thing to do.”

  “You mean they’ll be sore?” He grunted. “To hell with ’em. They don’t mean anything to me, but you’re a square joe.”

  “Am I?” I said. “How do you know I am, Johnnie? How can a man ever really know anything? We’re living in a funny world, kid, a peculiar civilization. The police are playing crooks in it, and the crooks are doing police duty. The politicians are preachers, and the preachers are politicians. The tax collectors collect for themselves. The Bad People want us to have more dough, and the Good People are fighting to keep it from us. It’s not good for us, know what I mean? If we all had all we wanted to eat, we’d crap too much. We’d have inflation in the toilet paper industry. That’s the way I understand it. That’s about the size of some of the arguments I’ve heard.”

  He chuckled and dropped his cigar butt to the floor. “Gosh, Lou. I sure enjoy hearing you talk—I’ve never heard you talk that way before—but it’s getting kind of late and—”

  “Yeah, Johnnie,” I said, “it’s a screwed up, bitched up world, and I’m afraid it’s going to stay that way. And I’ll tell you why. Because no one, almost no one, sees anything wrong with it. They can’t see that things are screwed up, so they’re not worried about it. What they’re worried about is guys like you.

  “They’re worried about guys liking a drink and taking it. Guys getting a piece of tail without paying a preacher for it. Guys who know what makes ’em feel good, and aren’t going to be talked out of the motion…They don’t like you guys, and they crack down on you. And the way it looks to me they’re going to be cracking down harder and harder as time goes on. You ask me why I stick around, knowing the score, and it’s hard to explain. I guess I kind of got a foot on both fences, Johnnie. I planted ’em there early and now they’ve taken root, and I can’t move either way and I can’t jump. All I can do is wait until I split. Right down the middle. That’s all I can do and…But, you, Johnnie. Well, maybe you did the right thing. Maybe it’s best this way. Because it would get harder all the time, kid, and I know how hard it’s been in the past.”

  “I…I don’t—”

  “I killed her, Johnnie. I killed both of them. And don’t say I couldn’t have, that I’m not that kind of a guy, because you don’t know.”

  “I—” He started to rise up on his elbow, then lay back again. “I’ll bet you had a good reason,
Lou. I bet they had it coming.”

  “No one has it coming to them,” I said. “But I had a reason, yes.”

  Dimly in the distance, like a ghost hooting, I heard the refinery whistles blowing for the swing shifts. And I could picture the workmen plodding in to their jobs, and the other shifts plodding out. Tossing their lunch buckets into their cars. Driving home and playing with their kids and drinking beer and watching their television sets and diddling their wives and…Just as if nothing was happening. Just as if a kid wasn’t dying and a man, part of a man, dying with him.

  “Lou…”

  “Yes, Johnnie.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Y-you m-mean I—I should take the rap for you? I—”

  “No,” I said. “Yes.”

  “I d-d-don’t think—I can’t, Lou! Oh, Jesus, I can’t! I c-couldn’t go through—”

  I eased him back on the bunk. I ruffled his hair, chucked him gently under the chin, tilting it back.

  “‘There is a time of peace,’” I said, “‘and a time of war. A time to sow and a time to reap. A time to live and a time to die…’”

  “L-Lou…”

  “This hurts me,” I said, “worse than it does you.”

  And I knifed my hand across his windpipe. Then I reached down for his belt.

  …I pounded on the door, and after a minute the turnkey came. He cracked the door open a little and I slid out, and he slammed it again.

  “Give you any trouble, Lou?”

  “No,” I said, “he was real peaceful. I think we’ve broken the case.”

  “He’s gonna talk, huh?”

  “They’ve talked before,” I shrugged.

  I went back upstairs and told Howard Hendricks I’d had a long talk with Johnnie, and that I thought he’d come through all right. “Just leave him alone for an hour or so,” I said. “I’ve done everything I can. If I haven’t made him see the light, then he just ain’t going to see it.”

  “Certainly, Lou, certainly. I know your reputation. You want me to call you after I see him?”

  “I wish you would,” I said. “I’m kind of curious to know if he talks.”

  13

  I’ve loafed around the streets sometimes, leaned against a store front with my hat pushed back and one boot hooked back around the other—hell, you’ve probably seen me if you’ve ever been out this way—I’ve stood like that, looking nice and friendly and stupid, like I wouldn’t piss if my pants were on fire. And all the time I’m laughing myself sick inside. Just watching the people.

  You know what I mean—the couples, the men and wives you see walking along together. The tall fat women, and the short scrawny men. The teensy little women, and the big fat guys. The dames with lantern jaws, and the men with no chins. The bowlegged wonders, and the knock-kneed miracles. The…I’ve laughed—inside, that is—until my guts ached. It’s almost as good as dropping in on a Chamber of Commerce luncheon where some guy gets up and clears his throat a few times and says, “Gentlemen, we can’t expect to get any more out of life than what we put into it…” (Where’s the percentage in that?) And I guess it—they—the people—those mismatched people—aren’t something to laugh about. They’re really tragical.

  They’re not stupid, no more than average anyway. They’ve not tied up together just to give jokers like me a bang. The truth is, I reckon, that life has played a hell of a trick on ’em. There was a time, just for a few minutes maybe, when all their differences seemed to vanish and they were just what each other wanted; when they looked at each other at exactly the right time in the right place and under the right circumstances. And everything was perfect. They had that time—those few minutes—and they never had any other. But while it lasted…

  …Everything seemed the same as usual. The shades were drawn, and the bathroom door was open a little, just to let in a little light; and she was sprawled out on her stomach asleep. Everything was the same…but it wasn’t. It was one of those times.

  She woke up while I was undressing; some change dropped out of my pocket and rolled against the baseboard. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes, starting to say something sharp. But somehow she smiled, instead, and I smiled back at her. I scooped her up in my arms and sat down on the bed and held her. I kissed her, and her mouth opened a little, and her arms locked around my neck.

  That’s the way it started. That’s the way it went.

  Until, finally, we were stretched out close, side by side, her arm around my hips and mine around hers; limp, drained dry, almost breathless. And still we wanted each other—wanted something. It was like the beginning instead of the end.

  She burrowed her head against my shoulder, and it was nice. I didn’t feel like shoving her away. She whispered into my ear, kind of baby-talking.

  “Mad at you. You hurt me.”

  “I did?” I said. “Gosh, I’m sorry, honey.”

  “Hurt real bad. ’Iss one. Punch elbow in it.”

  “Well, gosh—”

  She kissed me, let her mouth slide off mine. “Not mad,” she whispered.

  She was silent then, waiting, it seemed, for me to say something. Do something. She pushed closer, squirming, still keeping her face hidden.

  “Bet I know something…”

  “Yeah, honey?”

  “About that vas—that operation.”

  “What,” I said, “do you think you know?”

  “It was after that—after Mike—”

  “What about Mike?”

  “Darling”—she kissed my shoulder—“I don’t care. I don’t mind. But it was then, wasn’t it? Your father got ex—worried and…?”

  I let my breath out slowly. Almost any other night I could have enjoyed wringing her neck, but this was one time when I hadn’t felt that way.

  “It was about that time, as I recollect,” I said. “But I don’t know as that had anything to do with it.”

  “Honey…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why do you suppose people…?”

  “It beats me,” I said. “I never have been able to figure it out.”

  “D-don’t some women…I’ll bet you would think it was awful if—”

  “If what?”

  She pushed against me, and it felt like she was on fire. She shivered and began to cry. “D-don’t, Lou. Don’t make me ask. J-just…”

  So I didn’t make her ask.

  Later on, when she was still crying but in a different way, the phone rang. It was Howard Hendricks.

  “Lou, kid, you really did it! You really softened him up!”

  “He signed a confession?” I said.

  “Better than that, boy! He hanged himself! Did it with his belt! That proves he was guilty without us having to screw around before a judge and put the taxpayers to a lot of expense, and all that crap! Goddammit, Lou, I wish I was there right now to shake your hand!”

  He stopped yelling and tried to get the gloat out of his voice. “Now, Lou, I want you to promise me that you won’t take this the wrong way. You mustn’t get down about it. A person like that don’t deserve to live. He’s a lot better off dead than he is alive.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess you’re right at that.”

  I got rid of him and hung up. And right away the phone rang again. This time it was Chester Conway calling from Fort Worth.

  “Great work, Lou. Fine job. Fine! Guess you know what this means to me. Guess I made a mistake about—”

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Nothing. Don’t matter now…See you, boy.”

  I hung up again, and the phone rang a third time. Bob Maples. His voice came over the wire thin and shaky.

  “I know how much you thought of that boy, Lou. I know you’d just about as soon it’d happened to yourself.”

  As soon? “Yeah, Bob,” I said. “I just about would have.”

  “You want to come over and set a spell, Lou? Play a game of checkers or somethin’? I ain’t supposed to be up or I’d offer to come over there.”


  “I—I reckon not, Bob,” I said. “But thanks, thanks a heap.”

  “That’s all right, son. You change your mind, come on over. No matter what time it is.”

  Amy’d been taking in everything; impatient, curious. I hung up and slumped down on the bed, and she sat up beside me.

  “For heaven’s sake! What was that all about, Lou?”

  I told her. Not the truth, of course, but what was supposed to be the truth. She clapped her hands together.

  “Oh, darling! That’s wonderful. My Lou solving the case!…Will you get a reward?”

  “Why should I?” I said. “Think of all the fun I had.”

  “Oh, well…” She drew away a little, and I thought she was going to pop off; and I reckon she wanted to. But she wanted something else worse. “I’m sorry, Lou. You have every right to be angry with me.”

  She lay back down again, turning on her stomach, spreading her arms and legs. She stretched out, waiting, and whispered:

  “Very, very angry…”

  Sure, I know. Tell me something else. Tell a hophead he shouldn’t take dope. Tell him it’ll kill him, and see if he stops.

  She got her money’s worth.

  It was going to cost her plenty, and I gave her value received. Honest Lou, that was me, Let Lou Titillate Your Tail.

  14

  I guess I must have got to sweating with all that exercise, and not having any clothes on I caught a hell of a cold. Oh, it wasn’t too bad; not enough to really lay me low; but I wasn’t fit to do any chasing around. I had to stay in bed for a week. And it was kind of a break for me, you might say.

  I didn’t have to talk to a lot of people, and have ’em asking damned fool questions and slapping me on the back. I didn’t have to go to Johnnie Pappas’ funeral. I didn’t have to call on his folks, like I’d have felt I had to do ordinarily.

  A couple of the boys from the office dropped by to say hello, and Bob Maples came in a time or two. He was still looking pretty peaked, seemed to have aged about ten years. We kept off the subject of Johnnie—just talked about things in general—and the visits went off pretty well. Only one thing came up that kind of worried me for a while. It was on the first—no, I guess the second time he came by.