Bicycle Built for Two

by Duncan, Alice

  Alex took two quick steps forward, but she shouted at him. “No! Don’t come any closer! Darn it, I love you, Alex. I didn’t want to, God knows. I tried not to. I tried to hate you, but it didn’t work. When we first me, you thought I was an immoral strumpet. Well, guess what? I’m almost what you thought I was. But I have enough character left to know I’d be ruining you if I allowed you to marry me, and I won’t do it. I won’t.” She swallowed another sob and took a huge breath. “I won’t.”

  He glared at her for almost a minute. Kate was grateful for the space of silence, because she was having a good deal of trouble keeping the boulder of pain out of her throat and her tears contained. She’d learned early that tears served no good purpose to someone like her; she could kick herself for having forgotten this important lesson during the time she’d known Alex.

  When she saw that he was drawing in air in order to speak, she braced herself. Her crossed arms were about all that seemed to be keeping her inner turmoil from bursting out and humiliating her, so she kept them tight around her and leaned against the back of the chair to give them added support in their monumental effort. His words took her completely aback, not having been those she’d expected.

  “You love me?”

  Since he was still frowning and looking as if he’d as soon shoot her as talk to her, Kate only nodded. She’s spoken her piece. If she said any more, she’d only confuse the matter. She needed to be firm on this issue, since it was the most important of her life, except for that of her mother’s health, and God had taken that one away from her. Sometimes, even though she knew it was blasphemous to do so, Kate hated God.

  Alex had tossed his hat on the chair next to the door as soon as he’d dragged Kate into his room. He snatched it up again now and slammed it on his head. “Wait here. Don’t move. Don’t even think about escaping.” And with that, he wheeled around, jerked the door open, and marched out as if he were going off to slay a dragon.

  # # #

  Damn the woman. She was the most exasperating, irritating, aggravating, annoying female Alex had ever met in his entire life. He hurtled down the stairs of the Congress Hotel, ignoring the fancy new brass-cage elevator gleaming at him from across the way. He even ignored Frank, his coachman, who was walking across the lobby floor after having stabled the horses and parked the carriage.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Frank stop and make a move as if to waylay him and ask him if he needed his services, but Alex forged onward. He pushed the huge double doors open as if they’d done him a personal affront, and barreled down the steps of the fancy hotel, charging past the liveried footmen, and bellowing for a cab himself. Damnation, a body would think a gentleman was totally unable to fend for himself in the world, with all these servants hovering around, getting in the way.

  Well, Alex English could fend for himself. He’d done so all his life and he intended to continue doing so. And if he wanted to marry Kate Finny, admittedly a girl from the slums, he’d dashed well do so, whatever she said. Damn her. How dare she think he was unable to make such a momentous decision by himself? How dare she say she’d ruin his life? Nobody was going to ruin his life unless he said they could, and he wasn’t going to.

  When he gave the cabbie Kate’s address, he barked it, daring the man to make a comment on the unsavoriness of Kate’s neighborhood or Alex’s ability to take care of himself there. Damned fool. They were all damned fools.

  “Wait here,” he snapped when the cabbie drew up in front of Schneiders Meats.

  “Say, Mister, this ain’t a good neighborhood to be waiting in,” the cabbie said. He, too, was evidently in a mood to ignore others, since Alex’s bad mood didn’t seem to faze him.

  “Wait anyhow,” Alex commanded. When he turned to look where the cabbie had his attention fixed, he realized a crowd was gathered outside Schneiders. Dash it, what now? Reaching into his pocket and thrusting several dollars at the cabbie, he barked, “Wait.”

  The cabbie scratched his chin. “Well, hell, Mister, I reckon I can wait for five bucks. But I’m pulling down the street a ways. I don’t want no trouble.”

  “Fine.” Dismissing the cabbie, Alex forged through the crowd. Spying a woman who looked faintly familiar, he said, “What’s going on?” He had a sinking notion that he already knew.

  The woman confirmed his suspicion. “Herbert Finney.” She spat into the gutter, giving Alex a fair notion what her opinion of Herbert Finney was. “He’s looking for his wife and daughter.”

  “Aw, hell.”

  Shoving his way through the crowd of onlookers gathered around the door opening onto the stairway to Kate’s apartment, Alex took the steps three at a time. He found the man charging around Kate’s flat, giving Alex a good idea where the expression bull in a china shop came from. A few men were attempting to dissuade Finney from smashing Kate’s furniture and flinging her belongings around, but Mr. Finney was a powerful man. In his present fury, he reminded Alex of what an enraged grizzly bear might do, although he admittedly had no experience of bears, grizzly or otherwise. He wondered if Finney was drunk and decided it didn’t matter.

  “Get the hell out of there,” Alex roared, causing the good-intentioned men to jump and Herbert Finney to shake his head, this time reminding Alex of an enraged bull. He’d seen enraged bulls a time or two.

  “Who the hell are you?” Finney bellowed.

  “Never mind who I am. Get out of Miss Finney’s apartment now.”

  “I’m her father!” Finney shouted, beating his chest, as if he thought siring a child gave him unspecified but unlimited rights to do whatever he chose to do to said child and his or her possessions.

  “I don’t give a damn who you are.” Because he was almost as big as Herbert Finney, and because he was every bit as angry, and because he’d had lots of practice in leveling maddened cattle of various sorts, Alex didn’t hesitate, as had Kate’s other defenders, to approach her father.

  Striding straight up to Finney, he grabbed him by the shirt front, startling the man into staggering sideways. “Get out of here,” Alex commanded once more, lowering his voice into a threatening rumble.

  “Lemme go.”

  Finney attempted to jerk away from Alex, but Alex wouldn’t let him. Instead, he hauled him around and shoved him at the door. The other men, who had been watching with varying degrees of approval and amusement, although what they could find amusing in this situation, Alex couldn’t fathom, scattered aside so as not to be bumped into by Herbert Finney. Finney rolled toward the door, unable to get his feet to operate properly.

  Rage seemed to bring him to attention before he sailed through the door, however, because he grabbed the jamb and stopped his forward momentum. His body, taut with fury, swayed in the doorway until he drew a bead on Alex with his light-blue, bleary-looking eyes.

  Alex couldn’t recall ever having such hatred directed at him. That was fine with him. He’d never truly hated anyone in his life. Until now. Now, as he gazed upon the man who had ruined Hazel Finney’s life and done his best to ruin the lives of his children, Alex hated Herbert Finney absolutely. Because this was so, and because Finney had once again violated Kate’s life, he actually found himself gesturing the man to come forward and fight him. He wanted to feel his fists crunching against that ugly jaw.

  “Damn you,” Finney muttered in a low, threatening voice. “Damn you.”

  “Come on,” Alex challenged. “Face me like a man. I’m bigger than your daughter. I suppose you only beat up on women, don’t you?” Alex then did something he’d never done in his entire adult life. He spat on the floor of Kate’s apartment. “You don’t like to fight people who can fight back, do you? You’re a coward and a bastard, aren’t you?”

  Finney’s eyes opened so wide in shock and wrath that Alex could see the individual red veins standing out against the yellowed whites. “What are you saying to me?” Finney’s eyes thinned to mean-tempered slits. “Who the hell are you, you son of a bitch?”

  And with t
hat, he heaved himself away from the door frame and lumbered at Alex. The man was huge. Alex suspected that when Finney did work, he worked at hard manual labor, because his hugeness didn’t look as if it were composed of excess fat. That being the case, he braced himself on wide-apart feet, knees loose, thigh muscles tight, and prepared to do battle. He was more than ready.

  Finney’s arms didn’t windmill violently. He approached Alex like a trained boxer, his bulging arms supporting fists the size of a side of mutton. But he was older than Alex and, Alex expected, not completely sober.

  Alex dodged Finney’s first blow with agility, and landed a quick jab to the man’s stomach, which was almost as hard as Alex’s own. That surprised him, but didn’t make him lose his concentration.

  Finney roared like a lion and turned around. In his ire, his face had turned a deep mahogany red. He reminded Alex of street boxers he’d seen once or twice, and it flashed through his head that Mr. Finney might even have been one of those men, who earned drinking money by daring other men to bouts of fisticuffs. The notion didn’t frighten Alex.

  “Come on,” he taunted. “Come and try to take on a man for a change, instead of a woman. I know you’re used to beating up on women, but give it a try. Come one, Mister Finney.”

  Another roar propelled Finney away from Kate’s window at Alex. Alex had been hoping for this opportunity. The older man was clumsy in his fury, and Alex had plenty of time to draw his right arm back and deliver a punch that crunched like ice breaking up on Lake Michigan. Finney’s arms windmilled this time, as he staggered backwards.

  It was only when Alex realized the other man was unable to stop himself that he lurched after him, reaching out to grab some piece of Finney’s clothing or an arm or a leg. He felt the other men, who’d clumped up to watch the excitement, rushing forward, but didn’t see them.

  What he saw seemed almost as if it had been choreographed. Finney staggered across Kate’s floor, his heels bumping against things he’d previously tossed about in his anger. But there wasn’t anything to stop him. When he hit the window, his weight didn’t stop him, either.

  Alex couldn’t shut his eyes. He saw and heard everything. He saw the expression of terror cross Finney’s face when he realized he’d hit the window. He heard the loud smash and crunch of glass as the pane shattered. He saw blood spurt out onto the floor and walls as shards of splintered glass speared Finney’s flesh. He saw Finney’s mouth open in horror, and he heard the shriek of terror. And then he saw Herbert Finney disappear out the window.

  A tinkle and smash of glass hitting the street below preceded the muffled crunch of Finney’s body landing on top of it. The cry they’d all heard as he fell ended abruptly. Alex stood in a void of darkness and silence and stared at the empty space where once a window had been. It seemed like eons that he stood there, but it couldn’t have been.

  All at once, someone bumped him from behind. He felt hands on his shoulder and his arms. People were clapping him on the back. He blinked and understood through some automatic process over which he had no control that he had responsibilities to fulfill regarding this—this—

  God, there was a lot of blood. Where had it all come from? Surely, Herbert Finney couldn’t have bled that much. Unless the broken glass had severed an artery. Alex shook himself.

  Good God, he’d killed Kate’s father. Alex shook his head hard and began to make sense of the words tumbling out of people’s mouths and assaulting his eardrums.

  “That’s the best right—”

  “Damn, I think—”

  “Good job!”

  “Congratulations! That’s the best—”

  “Thank God somebody finally—”

  He shook his whole body then, knowing he had to suppress his emotions and take charge. “Uh . . . Somebody’d better run and get a policeman.” His head felt fuzzy. He knew there must be something else that needed to be done. Reaching deep within himself, he added, “And a doctor. Somebody’d better fetch a doctor.”

  “A doctor ain’t going to help him this time,” said a grinning man.

  “I sure as hell hope not,” said another.

  Alex glanced at his companions, puzzled. Why were they all so damned happy? Again, he shook his head, wishing the fog inside it would clear. “Um, he doesn’t need a doctor?” That meant he was dead.

  But the man who’d rebuffed the doctor idea only grinned harder. “I don’t know. Let’s go see.”

  And Alex felt himself being tugged along, out through Kate’s door, and down the miserable, skinny, dirty, smelly staircase from Kate’s apartment to the street below. An even larger crowd had accumulated since he’d gone up those stairs. How long ago had it been? Not long. Not more than ten minutes. Good Gad, but it didn’t take long to kill a man, did it?

  He commanded himself not to think like that. Finney was probably still breathing. Certainly, a fall out of a— He looked up. Kate’s apartment was on the second floor. How far a fall would that have been? Sixty feet? A hundred? And there had been all that blood. Oh, Lord.

  The crowd seemed to melt before him. Alex heard buzzing in his ears, as the people whispered to each other. He imagined some of them pointing him out as the perpetrator of the villainy.

  Or was it villainy? For all Alex knew, there wasn’t a soul alive who’d mourn the passing of Herbert Finney, if he was dead.

  And if that wasn’t a sad commentary on a man’s life, he didn’t know what was. By this time he’d made it to the body. He glanced down and instantly averted his gaze. Herbert Finney was dead. Nobody could lie like that, with his head twisted at that crazy angle, and not be dead.

  A shudder passed through him, and it was all Alex could do not to rub his hands over his face. Considering that such a gesture would denote weakness, he kept his arms at his sides, stepped away from the body, and waited.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there, not quite sure what to do and hoping other people were doing it without him. At last, somebody came up with a uniformed policeman in tow. The officer took in the situation as if such things happened every day of his week, asked a few questions, received a few answers, then walked up to Alex, his expression sober.

  “I guess you’d best come with me, sir,” the policeman said.

  Alex could only be glad his elegantly tailored suit and gentlemanly air led the policeman to refrain from clasping manacles around his wrists.

  Still and all, this was it. He, Alex English, was going to be arrested and tried for murder. Good Gad. He could hardly believe such a thing could happen to him. And it had all come about because he’d taken pity on Kate Finney.

  # # #

  Kate didn’t know what to do. Alex had been gone for what seemed like hours, and she was not merely frustrated and sad, but was getting angrier by the second.

  Mary Jo, naturally, hadn’t waited demurely in her room as her brother had told her to do. It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes after Alex had run out on her that Kate heard his sister’s discreet tap on the door. Feeling abandoned and mistreated, she stamped to the door and flung it open. “Yes?” The word came out more tartly than she’d intended it to, but she didn’t regret it. As far as Kate was concerned, it was past time Mary Jo learned a few hard lessons about life.

  Alex’s sister blinked at Kate and stammered, “Um, where’s Alex?”

  Throwing the door wide, Kate walked back into the room, leaving Mary Jo to follow or not, as she wished. “Beats me. He tore out of here a few minutes ago. I guess he’s headed to my flat to get my things.”

  “Oh.” Stepping uncertainly into her brother’s room, Mary Jo asked, “Um, are you coming back to my room, Kate?”

  Kate flopped into the chair she’d recently vacated. She didn’t feel like being badgered by Alex English’s kid sister. Still, she didn’t suppose Mary Jo deserved out-and-out rudeness just because she was an annoyingly young and gullible young lady. If the world were a just place, Kate Finney herself probably would have been gullible. “Alex told me to wait here fo
r him. I guess I will.”

  “Oh.” Still looking uncertain, Mary Jo eyed her brother’s room.

  Kate was pleased that she and Alex had not been indiscreet and that his room remained as the hotel maids had left it earlier in the day. It would have been embarrassing had Mary Jo seen any dropped items of clothing scattered about. She waved a hand. “Want to sit down?” She didn’t want her to. She wanted her to go away and leave her to fume and fuss on her own. Darn Alex anyhow.

  “Um, I guess I’ll go back to our room and change into my night things,” Mary Jo said after thinking about it.

  “All right.” Thank God, thank God. “I’ll wait here a little while. Until Alex brings my stuff to the hotel.” Unless, of course, he was so mad at her for declining to marry him that he stayed away all night. Kate didn’t know what she’d do then. Sleep in her clothes, she reckoned, and go to work wrinkled. With a sigh, she saw Mary Jo to the door, then went back to the chair and sat some more.

  Unaccustomed to having nothing with which to occupy her hands and her mind, Kate soon rose from the chair and scoured the room for something to read. She found a novel that Alex had stashed in the night-table drawer: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, by Mark Twain, and decided it would have to do.

  She’d read as far as the fifth chapter when a knock came on Alex’s door. Startled, Kate slammed the book shut and lost her place. “Nuts,” she muttered as she rose from the chair and went to the door. Because she couldn’t conceive of Alex knocking on his own hotel door, and because she’d learned caution in a hard school, she leaned toward the crack between the door and the wall and said, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Kate,” Mary Jo answered ungrammatically. “Your brothers are here.”

  “My brothers? Billy? Walter?”