He caught himself. Was that the answer? What would he have done to Marina then—pretended to give himself to her when he was still tied to someone else—on a leash that Lucy seemed to be able to jerk any time she wanted? What kind of love was that to offer?
It was better to hurt her now. She’d get over him soon enough, even though she might not think so. She could go back to Hollywood and be a model. But as quickly as he voiced this thought in his mind, he knew that he didn’t want that either. You want it both ways, he told himself. You want Lucy and you want Marina, too. And you’re going to end up alone.
He thought of Harry Smith in Unit 2, playing around with one of the girls from the office while his wife stayed home with the kids and wondered where he was and what he was doing. You and Harry, he thought. And you thought you had a right to judge him.
He went back behind the counter. The desk drawer was still open, the one with the Alka-Seltzer. When Lucy had come up behind him he had forgotten everything else. With an angry gesture he slammed it shut.
Art heard footsteps outside. Glancing up, he saw Horace Stockwell coming through the door. Stockwell stared at Art through the little eyes almost lost above the puffy cheeks. He walked across to the counter with a measured, deliberate step.
“Yes, sir,” Art said, and was immediately disgusted with the false heartiness in his tone.
Horace Stockwell glared at him. “Is there a drugstore open around here?” he asked curtly.
“There’s one in town,” Art said. “The kids hang out there after the movie, so it’s open late.”
“My wife’s nervous,” Stockwell said. “She needs some of these tranquilizers, and she’s all out.”
Somehow he made the statement a challenge, but Art ignored it.
“Where is this place?” Stockwell asked.
“It’s just four miles up the road,” Art said. “The store is at the main intersection, where the traffic light is. There’s only one, so you can’t miss it.”
Stockwell nodded, still staring at Art belligerently. “Maybe my wife gave you the wrong impression,” he said finally. “I just wanted to tell you. Don’t get ideas.”
Art tried to control the anger that welled up in him. He waited, half hoping that Stockwell would say too much.
“Leave her alone,” Stockwell said. His tone made the words a threat. “Try fooling around and you’ll regret it.”
“Will I?” Art said levelly.
“You’re goddamned right you will,” Stockwell snapped. “I’ll break you or anyone else who lays a hand on her.”
“You’ve said your piece,” Art said. “Now get out of here.”
“Sometimes my wife makes eyes at punks like you,” Stockwell said. “She don’t mean anything by it, but—”
Art’s anger erupted, and he lifted the section of counter, starting through it, his hands tightening into fists. Stockwell stepped back, waiting for him.
There was a cough. A girl stood in the doorway, staring at them. Art stopped. The girl looked from him to Stockwell, puzzled. It was the young Herman girl. Art’s anger evaporated as quickly as it had come. He turned on his heel and went back behind the counter.
“Get out,” he said flatly to Stockwell over his shoulder.
“Sure,” Stockwell said. “Just remember what I said.”
He went out, leaving the door open, and Art watched him walk across toward the big Cadillac. He was glad the girl had come in when she did, because he felt sick with the knowledge that Horace Stockwell had been in the right. Art didn’t have any business going near Lucy. She belonged to Stockwell now.
“I wanted to ask you something.” The Herman girl stood by the counter, watching him.
“What is it?”
“About that man, the one you said was Mr. Harrison.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think he is.”
“Well,” Art said, half smiling, “he says he is.”
The girl started to protest. She stopped as Marina came through the door. Looking past Marina, Art saw the shape of Stockwell’s Cadillac pulling out toward the highway. He felt a stirring of excitement in his body, knowing what was coming, and mixed with the excitement the shame and the guilt.
Marina put the paper bag on the counter. “This is Harrison’s order,” she said coldly.
“Is that for Mr. Harrison?” the Herman girl asked eagerly.
Art smiled at her. “Yes,” he said.
“Can I take it to him—please?”
“Well, I don’t-”
“I just want to see … if he’s the one I think he is.”
“Sleepy Summers?”
The girl looked startled. “How did you—?”
“Maybe he is,” Art said. “You want his autograph?”
“I just wanted to … to see if it really is him.”
“Well,” Art said, “he probably won’t like it, but I can’t see that it would do any harm.” He gave the girl the bag with the sandwiches and drinks. “He’s in Unit 8.”
‘I know,” the girl said.
She grabbed the sandwiches and hurried out.
“Do you think that was a good idea?” Marina asked.
Art shrugged. “She was going to find out anyway, one way or another.
“Was that Lucy’s husband who was in here?”
“Yes. He was going to town—to the drugstore.”
The phone rang, and they both looked at it. Art didn’t move. His eyes met Marina’s again. After another ring he picked up the phone, knowing who it was. He kept looking at Marina while he listened to the husky voice.
He hung up. “That was Mrs. Stockwell,” he said. “In number three. She wants some ice water.”
“I could take it,” Marina said carefully.
“No,” Art said. “I have to take it.”
He went through the office to the small kitchenette in back where he kept cold water in bottles in the refrigerator. When he came back out Marina was still standing by the counter.
“I have to settle this,” Art said quietly.
“You want me to come along?” Marina asked bitterly. “As a referee?”
For a long moment Art stared at her. “Wait,” he said finally. “Wait until I come back.”
He went out. Walking across the courtyard toward Lucy’s door, he wondered why he had asked Marina to wait. He knew what he was walking into.
Lucy opened the door before he had time to knock. She wore a light robe held loosely by a belt around the waist, and obviously there was nothing under the robe but Lucy. Smiling, she took the bottle of water from him and quickly closed the door.
“We don’t have much time,” she said, her voice low and intimate. Her arms went around Art’s neck. “Oh, Art, honey, don’t make me wait!”
17
Lois Herman forced herself to walk slowly across the open courtyard. Her heart was thumping painfully, and she felt a strange exhilaration that made her head swim. Instinctively, as she walked, her hips began to sway in a more exaggerated rhythm than normal. She sucked in her stomach and pushed out her chest, and she held her head high. Her eyes were shining.
In Unit 8 Lew Cutter watched the girl approach, carrying a paper bag. He had seen her go to the office, and until the last moment he thought she was returning to her own place. But she marched right up to his door and knocked.
For several seconds Cutter didn’t move. Then he made the connection between the brown bag and his order. He started for the door, remembered his gun and went back to pick it up and slip it into the drawer of the small desk by the window. At least now he would find out why the girl had been staring at his window. She was up to something, and he ought to know what it was.
When he opened the door he saw the girl’s eyes widen. Her mouth fell open and she swallowed. She was younger than he had thought. The ripe body was deceptive.
The girl tried to speak. “You … you….”
“Yes?” Cutter asked softly.
“Oh, it’s true, it’s true
!” the girl cried. “It is you!”
Cutter was startled. “Look, what is this?” he asked sharply. He kept back in the shadows, and his eyes darted quickly over the empty courtyard.
“Oh, you don’t have to worry,” the girl said. “Nobody else believes it’s you. But I knew.”
Jesus Christ, Cutter thought. A nut. “I think you made a mistake,” he said. He started to close the door.
The girl slipped inside before the door closed. Then she closed it herself and leaned back against it.
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Sleepy,” she said. Her voice was lower, more husky, and it startled him.
He walked over to the window and drew the blinds completely shut. He flicked on the small desk lamp. The girl moved away from the door, coming toward him, a smile touching her soft young lips. Her eyes had a peculiar glint. Damn it, she was nuts!
“I brought your lunch,” she said.
She held out the paper bag, but Cutter didn’t move. The smile wavered on her face. She put the bag down on a corner of the desk.
“You aren’t mad, are you, Sleepy? I had to see you.”
“I don’t know you,” Cutter said coldly.
“But I know you. Oh, you don’t know how many times I’ve listened to you, alone at night in my room.’
She moved very close, and Cutter was suddenly aware of the young soft skin and the burgeoning fullness of her body. He felt a prickling on his scalp. He had to get rid of her. But what was she up to?
“I just played one of your records on the juke box,” she said. Over at the cafe. It’s that new one, ‘Baby Doll.’ It makes me feel … funny, all over.”
Cutter began to get a flickering of understanding. She thought he was some damned singer!
“Who do you think I am?” he asked.
She smiled gently, understandingly. “Sleepy Summers,” she said. “I knew the minute I saw you. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anybody else … now.”
Suddenly she pressed herself against him, her face cuddling against his chest. She held him tightly, and Cutter didn’t move. Sleepy Summers. Yeah, he’d heard about the guy. The kids were all nuts about him. And this kid thought that he—hell, they couldn’t look that much alike!
The girl wriggled ecstatically against him, and Cutter felt an unwelcome response in his own body. She raised her face toward his, reaching up, her eyes closed.
“Oh, Sleepy … Sleepy!”
Cutter pushed her away roughly. “Okay,” he snapped. “Okay, so you recognized me. What do you want, an autograph?”
She looked stricken, and she shook her head. “Oh, no. I just wanted to … to touch you.”
“You better get out of here,” Cutter said quickly. “I got to think of my reputation. You know what people’d say, don’t you, if I got caught with a young kid in a motel room? You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you gotta leave, kid. I can’t take any chances.”
She hurled herself against him. Her fingers clawed at his arms, and her face was contorted with an adolescent imitation of desire, as real as it was grotesque.
“Don’t make me go,” she pleaded. “Sleepy, please! Just let me—”
“No!” he said violently. “No! Can’t you get it through your head?”
Cutter was getting tired of the pretense, and nervous. She could mean trouble. For Christ’s sake, her old man might be looking for her. He pushed her away again, and, when she tried to come back to him, in a sudden flaring of anger he slapped her. She stopped dead. The blood drained from her face.
“Sleepy!” she whimpered.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Cutter said, wishing he hadn’t hit her. “Look, you don’t know how much it means to me, the way you feel. It means a lot to me. But, Jesus, kid, you put me on a spot. What about your old man? Won’t he be wondering where you are?”
He saw the flicker of fear in her eyes and knew he had made a point.
“I don’t want to get in a fight with your old man,” he said. “Look, you go back now, and … and you can write me. Sure, I can keep in touch with you, and maybe sometime when I’m near where you live, you can come and see me.”
She hesitated, and he saw an eagerness come into her face. “Would you write?” she asked. “Where could I write you?”
Cutter thought quickly, feeling trapped. “You can write me … in care of the record company,” he said with sudden inspiration. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the letter. I’ll be looking for it.”
He was leading her toward the door now as he talked, and she went docilely. But at the door she turned.
“You’re not just….”
“No, kid,” Cutter said. “I’m not just trying to get rid of you. It’s only that I got to be careful.” She didn’t look completely convinced, but Cutter thought of a way to clinch it. “You understand, don’t you … Lois?”
Her eyes popped wide open. “How did you—?”
“I noticed you,” Cutter said, thankful that he had remembered the father calling the girl’s name. “And I’ll remember you … Lois. Believe me. If it wasn’t so damn dangerous….”
He left the promise unspoken. She stared at him, and her face dissolved into its pantomime of passion, and she leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth.
Then she fled.
Cutter closed the door quickly and locked it. He leaned back. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. His hands were trembling, and there was a dryness in his throat.
18
Pete Baer was looking out the window, and he saw the kid come out of Unit 8 and go next door. His gaze moved on across the driveway in front of Unit 8 to the two adjoining units which were behind the office. The one on the end, next to the driveway, was number two. And the next one, the one in the middle, was number one. It had remained dark. And the thing that bothered Pete was the absence of a car.
Lefty Cox moved nervously about the room, whistling tonelessly, occasionally banging one fist into an open palm.
“For Christ’s sake,” Lefty complained. “If you think the son of a bitch might be there, what in hell are we waiting for?”
“I don’t think he’s there now.”
“Where the hell is he if he isn’t there?”
“Probably in town eating,” Pete said absently. He wished Lefty would shut up so he could think.
“That don’t make any goddam sense,” Lefty said, banging his fist against his palm. “Not for a guy who’s on the run, it don’t.”
“He figures he’s safe,” Pete said. “That is, if it’s him at all. He’d figure we don’t know where he is.”
Lefty came over to stand beside Pete, peering out the window at Unit 1 across the way. “How we gonna get in there?” he asked impatiently. “You shoulda got the lousy key while you was alone in the goddam office.”
“I didn’t have time,” Pete said. “Maybe you want to go and get it? What are you here for, anyway?”
Lefty grinned. “Because I got a good throwin’ arm,” he said. “And control. Man, I got control.”
“A lot of good that’s doing us.”
“Just as much good as your so-called brains,” Lefty snarled. “Anyway, maybe I’ll get a chance.”
He went through a pantomime of squinting at the plate for a signal, nodding his head at the invisible catcher, winding up and throwing, being sure he followed through and was alert after the pitch, ready for a possible bunt.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Pete said wearily. “Can’t you forget baseball for five minutes?”
“Well, what the hell’s eating you?” Lefty yelled. “College man! You think you’re so good. You’ve been putting on a lotta goddam airs and graces. But I don’t see you comin’ up with any world-beating ideas.” He crowded close to Pete and thrust his red, angry face upward, looking like a small baseball player angrily disputing a strike call with the beefy umpire. “I’m gettin’ sick and tired of you lookin’ down your nose at me, as if I was a bug or something. What makes you think y
ou’re such a big shot?”
Pete looked at him with ill-concealed contempt. “Save it for Cutter,” he said shortly.
He peered again at the unit across the way.
“Okay, Mr. Brains,” Lefty sneered. “I’ll tell you how we can smoke the bastard out—if he’s there.”
“How?”
“Easy, for Christ’s sake,” Lefty said. “We close in on him from both sides, see? You go out, as if you’re going across the street to the café. But instead, you swing around behind and come up in the back of the bastard’s room. That’s so if he tries to go out the back window, he walks right into your lovin’ arms.”
“And what are you doing?” Pete asked, frowning.
Lefty grinned and did a little dance on his toes. “I’m walking right up to his goddam door.”
“Hmmm.” Pete thought it over. “If he’s in the room, it’s risky.”
“Screw the risk,” Lefty said. “He don’t know me. I don’t think the bastard’s ever seen me. He’ll just think it’s the guy from the office or somebody like that.”
Pete grunted. He didn’t think much of the plan, but he couldn’t think of anything better. The element of risk wasn’t too great, he thought, because he was pretty sure that Cutter, or Philip Nelson, was not in his room. And if he was, Lefty was the one who was sticking his neck out.
“Okay,” Pete said. “I’ll go first. Wait until you’re sure I’m around back before you move, understand?”
“Whatta ya think I am, stupid, for Christ’s sake?”
“Just wait,” Pete repeated. He checked the sawed-off Luger in his shoulder holster to make sure it was loose and ready. Then, with another glance at the empty courtyard, he went out.
Lefty watched Pete cross the open yard toward the highway, going out to the edge of the pool of light thrown by the floodlights and the blinking neon sign in front of the office. He saw Pete turn and start up the road, his thick dark bulk quickly lost behind the projection of the building.
Impatiently, Lefty waited a full three minutes before moving. One of these days, he thought angrily, that big son of a bitch was going to go too far. Lefty had cut plenty of these big guys down to size before. One of these days Pete Baer was going to learn a goddamned lesson.
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