The flaw was simply that the danger was so great that you couldn't live with it. If your wife and children had by the remotest chance been threatened by a gang of hoodlums, you had to remove that threat. Beside the possibility of harm to them, the possibility of your wife having made up the whole thing to get herself out of a situation she didn't have guts enough to face was relatively unimportant.
What I had to do about it, of course, was the same thing I had wanted to do all along. Catch the boys.
But I couldn't go blundering around any longer acting on impulse, embarrassing Koleski who was doing his best to help me, getting myself in jams and making the possible danger to Tracey and the kids even greater.
I had to start on some new plan of attack, something with a modicum of brains behind it.
I sat there for a while, thinking. It was hot, not quite as bad as yesterday but bad enough. Bets laughed and scrambled around, but otherwise it was quiet.
Then all of a sudden a car came screaming up the street.
6
OUR house is set well back on a graded lot and a thick planting of shrubbery screens the suburban drive. I couldn't see the car. I could only hear it, but the sweat broke out on me and I yelled, "Bets! Bets!", getting up out of my chair and going toward her as fast as I could.
She looked at me, startled. I heard Tracey come out of the house behind me, and then the car roared up around where the drive bends into the beginning of a series of sweeping curves that wind all through the subdivision. Now I could see it.
It was a black car. The driver was a young fellow who lived somewhere up the road. I knew him well by sight. He was going too damned fast, but that was all.
I waited until I got my breath back, calming Bets with a story about a big bee which had now gone away. Then I went back to the terrace. Tracey was still standing there, with an expression of fright on her white face that could not possibly have been faked.
"What is it?" she asked. "What happened?"
She could be telling the truth, I thought. Mae says she lied, and her parents think she did, and I—don't know. But she could be telling the truth.
"Sit down," I said. "I want to talk to you."
She wouldn't sit down until I had explained about the speeding car and how I had been mistaken and everything was all right. Then she perched on the edge of a chair, her head poised in such a way that she could watch both Bets and me. Her hands moved nervously in her lap.
"What is it, Walt?"
"I want you to take the kids and go away for a week or two. Now, I mean. This afternoon."
She stared at me. "But——"
"You've had a hard couple of months and you could use a rest. Go up the lake. The kids would love it."
She shook her head stubbornly. "Come right out and say it. Say what you mean."
"Well, you've already said it. If these boys do decide to drop around, I don't want any of you here."
She sat perfectly still, not saying anything, not looking at me, her mind running fast behind her eyes. Suddenly I felt sorry for her. She looked so little and so tired, caught in a web that kept catching her and tripping her when she least expected it. Suddenly I didn't care if she had lied and been frightened and run away. She was Tracey and I loved her. I wanted her safe.
"Go on, honey," I said. "Pack your things. I'll call your folks and make the arrangements." They owned a cottage at the lake, and would be only too glad to have Tracey and the kids come up.
She must have sensed some new tone in my voice. Tears came into her eyes, and for a moment I thought she was going to throw herself in my arms and tell me the whole story. But she didn't.
She only said, "And what are you planning to do?"
"I have an idea or two. They may not come to much, but I don't want to have to be worried every minute about what's happening here."
"You won't let it drop, will you?" she said with an angry fierceness. "You're going to hang to it until you get yourself killed."
"When they threatened you," I said, "they didn't leave me much choice."
"Oh no," she said. "No, Walt. Don't try to tell me you're doing this to protect me or the children. You're doing it just out of sheer vengefulness."
She turned and went into the house. And there was so much truth in what she said that I couldn't argue with her.
I drove them the fifty miles to the lake, and Tracey said not a word the whole way, except to the children. She looked awful, as though she hadn't slept for a month. I thought it was time she had a rest and yet I wondered if that was what she really needed. She seemed to be fighting some inner battle with herself, drawn off small and remote in the far corner of the seat.
When we came in sight of the lake, vast and blue as the ocean, complete with boats and even a few gulls, and only lacking the sea-salt smell, Tracey said,
"Can't you forget it, Walt? Aren't these four horrible months enough to lose out of our lives?"
She turned to me with such an air of weary pleading that I almost gave in.
"Please," she said. "Stay here at the lake for a while. Get your mind on other things. You're getting so—so grim and twisted I hardly know you any more. Please, Walt. Before anything more dreadful happens."
And then I'd never know, I thought. I'd have to wonder, until the next time the going got rough, whether I have a wife or only a fair-weather friend. Somebody's got to tell me the truth. If you won't, it'll have to be Chuck.
I said aloud, "There's nothing to worry about, Tracey. I'm not going to make any more boo-boos like yesterday."
She let her head drop forward, and I thought she was going to cry. Her voice held a note of desperation.
"You're a fool. Revenge isn't worth it."
"It doesn't seem so crazy," I said, getting angry myself now, "to want a little revenge for a piece of senseless brutality like this. They'd love me to forget about it, but I'm not going to give them the satisfaction."
"All right," she said. "All right."
"Furthermore," I said, "they're still at it. They've beaten at least four other men just for the fun of it. Someday it'll be a killing."
"That's up to the police. You're no public defender."
"No, but I'm the only one with any sort of a lead to them—— Oh, the devil with it! I have to do this, Tracey. Let me alone."
She let me alone. She didn't even say good-by when I left her at the cottage. I think she knew the real reason I was being so stubborn.
Poor Tracey.
My father-in-law came out to the car with me. He fiddled around getting the last light bag out of the back, and I said, "Thanks, Dad. I'll be back in a couple of days."
"I hope so. She's terribly worried about you. I mean really worried."
"I know it," I said.
"I think," said Dad slowly, "perhaps the fault was ours. She was an only child and she grew up in a fortunate house. I think we gave her everything but maturity."
"Nobody can give you that," I said. "You've got to work for it. I'm still working. How about you?"
He shook his head and smiled briefly. He was a good guy. I was only beginning to realize how good. He said, "Take care of yourself."
"Like a rare gem. Do me a favor?"
"Of course."
"Tell her I love her. Tell her I always will."
He nodded, and I drove away.
It was after eight when I got back to Mall's Ford. I parked on Beekman Street and went into Noddy's. There was a little mob hanging around outside in the warm evening, sitting on the brick ledges under the windows or leaning against the wall, the lamp-post, the trash box, the parked cars at the curb. They weren't doing anything, but talking and laughing. Four of them were wearing pink shirts.
I went in and found an empty booth at the back. The place was pretty busy already, the jukebox going full stretch at one end and television at the other. Noddy spotted me and came over. He did not look exactly hostile, but neither were his arms wide in welcome. I thought probably he had not made his mind yet what
he wanted to do about those names and resented being pushed.
I hadn't come to push him and I said so. "All I want is a drink and some dinner, I'm hungry."
He said, "You didn't come to a joint like this just to eat."
"Well," I said, "I did think of something I wanted to ask you. Would you happen to know who it was the boys had the row with outside? Fellow wearing a pink shirt."
"Cops asked me that," he said. "I told 'em no."
"Look," I said, "I realize everybody's got their problems. I realize a lot of times there are good reasons why a perfectly innocent person would rather not get involved. But all I care about this fellow is whether he saw or heard anything that might help me."
"I'll get your drink," said Noddy. He reached over between the salt and pepper and the sugar holder and extracted a greasy card. He shoved it in my hand. "My kitchen," he said, "is cleaner than the menu. See what you want."
I took the hint and studied the menu while he went away. Somebody else brought my drink. I drank it and waited. After a while Noddy came back.
"You got prejudices?" he asked. "Jim Crow stuff?"
"Hell, no."
"Fourth booth down," he said. "I'll order for you. Guaranteed safe, I eat it myself."
I grinned. "I'm not worried," I said, lying. "Whatever he, or they, are drinking, all around, and a beer for me."
I went down to the fourth booth.
There were three men sitting in it. They were all perhaps my age or a little younger, all clean and prosperous-looking, hard-working citizens relaxing over an evening beer. One of them said, "Mr. Sherris?"
I said I was, and he motioned me to sit down. "My name's Miller. I guess I'm the one you want to talk to." He introduced me to the others, a Mr. Orris and a Mr. Page. "They were both with me that night, and they can back up what I say."
"We didn't do anything," said Orris. "They started it, right out of whole cloth. Mad because Noddy threw 'em out, I guess."
"Believe me," I said, "I'm on your side."
Miller said, "They were white boys. This isn't the South, but even so you'd just as soon not stick your neck out too far." He shook his head. "White and bad. No telling what they might say. I don't want any trouble."
"I don't think you have to worry," I said. "They're in no position to accuse anybody of anything. What did happen?"
The drinks came, and my dinner. When things were quiet again Miller said, "We were standing around outside. The three of us, some other guys, maybe eight, ten. Just standing around talking. Well, these kids came out. One of 'em a real big boy, he called me a name, with a couple of words in front of it. I guess I was in his way or something."
"That's right," said Orris, and Page nodded his head vigorously. "We weren't doing a thing."
"Now, I'll tell you, mister," said Miller. "I'm peaceable. I work hard and pay my taxes and mind my own business. But there's some certain names I just don't like to be called, especially when I'm standing on my own corner, talking to my own friends, and making no trouble for anybody. I got mad."
"We all got mad," said Page. "Wasn't just him. The whole bunch of us, and they weren't all colored, either. Couple of Spanish fellows, couple of Syrian fellows—like that. All kinds."
"Yes," said Miller. "We all got mad. They started laying their tongues on us, real dirty. I told 'em they'd better get the hell out before they got hurt, and I guess maybe I lifted my hand a little——"
Orris gave a deep throaty giggle. We all ignored it.
"Well, they ganged together like they were going to fight, but somebody behind me pulled a knife or something—I didn't see—and I guess they got the idea we were really mad. They ran like hell."
"We chased 'em some," said Page. "'Bout a block. Boy, were they making time ! "
"Did they happen to say anything about where they came from or call each other by name?"
Miller shook his head. "I was so blind mad, mister, I couldn't tell you. I don't even remember what they looked like, except the big one, the one that started it. Big as a bull calf, and a real good-looking boy, too, but poison clear through."
"Yeah," said Orris. "He was the boss."
"That long skinny boy," said Page. "Him that was the first one to run. He did try to make the others shut up."
"They all looked bad to me," said Miller. "If I'd caught 'em I'd of skinned the lot."
"Almost caught one," said Orris, and chuckled again. "His foot slipped, but he kept humping on all fours like a jack rabbit. Couldn't quite snag him, and then he got going again."
"Wait a minute," said Page. "You just put me to mind of something."
"What's that?"
"Well, when the one boy was dogging it on all fours, didn't one of the others turn around and yell at him?"
"Why," said Orris, "sure he did."
They all looked at me. I didn't dare say anything. I didn't dare even hope. I had a forkful of pretty good spaghetti halfway in the air and I just froze and left it there.
"Bush," said Page triumphantly. "That's what he said. Come on, Bush ! "
"Bush," I said. I put down the forkful of spaghetti. I was not hungry now. "You're sure of that. Bush."
Page said he was sure, and Orris backed him up.
"Would you know the boy again if you saw him?"
"I'd know the big boy," said Orris. "The others——" He shrugged. "Nighttime, not very good lights, things happening fast—and you know how a lot of fellows look pretty much alike. And that was four months ago."
Miller and Page said the same thing. I asked if that was all they remembered, and they said it was.
"You've been a big help," I said. "I'm grateful." I shook hands all around and got up. Noddy was at the bar. I told him what they had said. "If we do catch up with the Bush kid, could you identify him?"
He thought about it for a long minute. Then he said, "I'd like to help you. The big boy, yes. Maybe the short one with a laugh. The others—they were just—you know, boys. Nothing special to remember. After four months, I don't think I could, not to swear to it."
"But you would know the other two."
"Sure."
"Well, if we get one we'll know who the others are. Thanks a million." I put a bill on the bar for my dinner and all the beer they could handle over in the booth. Then I hiked for the car and drove to Headquarters, and all the way there that name was singing in my head.
Bush. Busch. Buesch. Bushe. Any way you spelled it, it was a lead, the first real ray of light. First names, nicknames, don't do you much good. It's a family name you need, the kind that appears in records, the kind that can be traced.
Koleski wasn't there, of course. He was on the day shift, and I suppose even a good conscientious cop has to have time out, to wash off the grime and the tears, to get a breath of air that doesn't stink of waste—the waste of lives, of youth and hope and all bright promise. I hoped he was out somewhere with a nice girl, having a good time.
I left my name and phone number with the desk sergeant, and asked to have Koleski call me as soon as he could in the morning because I had something for him. I would have liked to get things moving right that minute, but it wasn't possible, and anyway, it was only a few hours until morning. I had waited four months. I could wait a little longer.
Still up in the clouds with excitement, I found a bar and had another drink. By that time, though, I was beginning to cool off a bit, to realize what a frail little lead that name really was, and how very tough it might be to track down. I pushed that thought aside, and went out on the street again.
It was now nearly ten, but I was restless, and there was nothing to hurry home for. I thought about going to a movie. The night was pleasantly cool, and the air felt good after the stale heat in Noddy's. I went slowly up the main street, looking at the theater marquees.
After a while I realized that I didn't want to go to a movie. I wanted to go home and fall into bed. And then I realized something else.
I was afraid to go home.
I kept thin
king how dark it would be there with nobody in the house to turn the yard lights on, how dark it would be under the trees and among the shrubbery, how easy for people to hide there and lie in wait.
I kept thinking about the piece in the paper telling how I had chased the wrong car, and about what Tracey had said. They'll know you're after them and they might do anything.
And they might. Whether they had made any formal threat to Tracey or not, they might decide to work me over again just to discourage me from looking for any more cars.
I was scared.
I could go to a hotel, I thought. But I haven't any luggage. They'd think I was drunk or crazy if I told them, Look, somebody's after me and I'm afraid to go home. They'd call the cops, and I'd be all over the papers again.
I could spend the night with Mae and Vince. They'd take me in and be glad to. Or I could drive back to the lake——
No.
Sure, they'd take you in and they'd understand why you were afraid and they wouldn't hold it against you. They might even approve your common sense. But how long does that go on? When would it be safe to go home again, to stay under your own roof, the roof you've worked hard for so you can live under it and shelter your family there? It's all right to send away the small and the weak for a time, but how long can you run yourself? How long can you let a bunch of wet-nosed hoodlums frighten you out of your own home?
I went back to my car and got in and drove toward home, wiping my hands every so often on my trouser legs because they slipped in their own sweat on the wheel. I was still scared.
The house was pitch dark. Naturally. So was the driveway, the garage, the clotted shadows under the trees, under the hedges and the shrubs. I wished I had a spotlight on the car. I wished I had a gun.
I had neither. The bright beams of the headlights swept around as I came up the curving drive, but I could not see anything but the trunk of a tree or a mass of glossy leaves briefly lighted up and then lost again. The garage seemed to be empty too. I shut off the motor and sat listening, holding my stick like a club, but I couldn't hear anything.
I got out and walked to the house.
The Tiger Among Us Page 5