The Brick Foxhole

by Richard Brooks

  Serviceman Believed Killer

  Jeff’s eyes leaped through the first paragraph, devoured the details about the murder of Edwards, and read his own name. He turned to Max and then back to the paper. Max watched him closely. He knew then that Jeff had not killed Edwards, that he had not even been aware the man was dead. He sighed, his fears allayed for the moment. Then as Jeff read on, Max glanced at the counterman. He had finished peeling the potatoes and was leaning over the counter reading the Sunday paper. Jeff folded the paper and turned to Max.

  “Max, I.…”

  Max gripped his arm to silence him.

  “Finished your sandwich?” he said loudly.

  The sandwich had been bitten into only once.

  “Yes”, said Jeff, too loudly. “I’ve had enough.”

  “Let’s get going,” said Max.

  They both rose, and Jeff dropped a half dollar on the counter. They started out. The counterman’s voice stopped them.

  “Hey soldier.”

  Jeff remained rooted. Max turned. “Yeah?”

  “Your change,” said the counterman. He dropped it on the counter.

  Jeff came back and got it. “Thanks,” he said.

  They left the hamburger joint and walked swiftly for two blocks before either of them ventured to say anything. Then they stopped and Jeff leaned against the wall of the building breathlessly.

  “You didn’t do it, did you?” asked Max.

  “I didn’t even know about it,” said Jeff, trembling.

  Edwards murdered? his mind kept saying. Edwards murdered! Why only this afternoon.… Murdered. Who? Me? How could they say I did it? How? Holy God. Jesus. Me? Me kill Edwards? But I left the apartment and he was still there and so was Monty. Yes. And Floyd. And.… I was drunk. Yes. Maybe.… Oh, no. Jesus, no. Not me. Kill or be killed. Maybe I did? Maybe I.… But why would I kill him? I would have remembered it. Got to think this out. How did they even know I was there? Why only.… My bag! My furlough bag. They got it. Had my name on it. They think I did it. Crazy. All crazy.

  “The thing to do is find someplace for you to stay,” Max said.

  All I have to do is to find Monty, thought Jeff. Yes. Monty’ll tell them. He knows. He knows that when I left the apartment Edwards was still alive. And Floyd. I loaned him a couple of bucks. Floyd knows.

  “Where’s Monty Crawford?” said Jeff. “He knows I didn’t do it.”

  “Monty Crawford?” echoed Max. “It’s a funny thing—he’s been looking all over D.C. for you.”

  “You see?” laughed Jeff. “Everything’s going to be all right. What did I tell you? Where’d you see Monty last?”

  “At the U.S.O.,” said Max. “About an hour ago.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  Max hailed a cab and they got in. They told the cabby to drive to the U.S.O., the big one near the bus station.

  So he was looking for me, mused Jeff. Monty’s not so bad after all. Heard all about the story and wants to straighten everything out. Ah, that’s one thing about the service. We stick together. You’re damn right. Yes sir. Won’t Keeley be surprised, though?

  The cab stopped a few doors from the U.S.O. Max told Jeff to wait in the cab. Then he went into the U.S.O. to look for Keeley. In a few minutes he was back. He was trembling. He quickly got into the cab and told the driver to go around to the back of the bus station.

  “What’s the matter?” whispered Jeff.

  “Police. The place was full of police. They were going through the crowd looking for you.”

  “Jesus God.”

  “I told you,” said Max, shaking his head. “We’ve got to be careful.”

  “What’ll we do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The cab stopped behind the bus station. Bus-loads of soldiers were still pouring into D.C. The station was overflowing, packed with servicemen and their wives and suitcases and furlough bags. Max paid the cab fare and they got out. They stood in a dark alleyway watching the buses pull into the station and park diagonally between the painted white lines.

  “Maybe we could get you on a bus,” said Max.

  “Where would I go?” asked Jeff. A feeling of helplessness was beginning to seize him. “I’ve only got a few dollars.”

  “I’ve got four,” said Max. “That ought to get you to New York or Philadelphia or someplace. But you can’t stay here. It isn’t safe.”

  “Why can’t we go up and see Keeley?” moaned Jeff. “Right now! He’ll know what to do. Keeley knows about things like this.”

  “Are you crazy? Keeley’s at the Stewart.”

  “Nobody’ll think of looking for me there,” said Jeff.

  “No? The place is crawling with police. They’re watching Keeley every minute. They think he knows where you are.”

  They’re watching Keeley! That thought drove numbness into Jeff’s heart. They’re watching Keeley. Keeley can’t help me. Then they’ll be sure to find me. What’ll they do? Shoot me. Yes. That’s what they’ll do.

  A bus began to back out and they could see into the station. At once Max knew that he could never get Jeff on a bus. Several pairs of M.P.’s were systematically going through the crowd and asking every soldier to show his identification card.

  “The idea is to find someplace where there are no soldiers,” decided Max. “You wouldn’t have a chance in a place like this. They’ve got the M.P.’s out looking for you. Got to find someplace—Someplace they wouldn’t think of.”

  But they had already stayed too long where they were. The bus had swung back and out, and the glare of the headlights caught them standing there against the brick wall. Then as the lights moved on and left them blinded, the shriek of a whistle curdled the night. Jeff had started to move. He didn’t know where. But he had had to move somewhere. He had leaped back into the alley. A second later the piercing eye of a flashlight stabbed Max, standing at the wall. The whistle blew again and Jeff froze into immobility. He couldn’t move. He was ten feet from Max in a niche in the alley. He pressed his face against the wall and tried to stop breathing. They had caught him.

  Max waited where he was. No use running. They had seen him. To run would only bring them after him. He sidled a few steps out of the alley as the two M.P.’s crossed the yard where the buses were parked. He was trying to think. To answer their questions before they asked them. He could think of nothing. Nothing except that he had failed. How stupid he was. Why hadn’t he walked across the yard to the M.P.’s instead of waiting for them to come to him? In that way he would have taken them away from Jeff. Now it was too late. They were almost upon him.

  The M.P.’s were big boys. They had to be big for duty in Washington. Especially on a Saturday night. The heavy stick they held in their hands had whacked many a soldier’s skull. The forty-five automatics in the holsters were not unused to firing bullets in brawls.

  “H’ya soldier,” said the first M.P. “Let’s see your I.D. card.”

  “Sure,” said Max. “He fished out his wallet and turned clumsily to one of the celluloid folders inside. He nervously offered it to the M.P. The M.P. flashed his light on the card. He read the name and looked at the picture. Then he raised the beam of the light to Max’s face and looked at him long. “What do you think?” asked the first M.P. of his companion.

  The second M.P. looked at the card and compared the picture with Max’s face.

  “What’s the matter, Mac?” asked Max. “Something up?” He thought his voice was pitched a little too high and sounded too concerned.

  “Take your hat off,” said the second M.P. gruffly.

  Max took off his hat. He hoped he would look enough like his photo on the card to get by. It wasn’t that he was afraid to go to the police station. He knew he had nothing to be afraid of. He was afraid for Jeff. Jeff wouldn’t last ten minutes alone.

  “I guess it’s him okay,” said the second M.P.

  “Sure, it’s me,” said Max. “You know how those lousy pictures are. Everybody look
s like a criminal on those I.D. cards.”

  “Tell us about it,” scoffed the first M.P. He handed the wallet back to Max.

  “Who was just with you?” demanded the second M.P.

  Back in his dark niche, Jeff heard, and his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. He felt that the moment had come. They’ve got me. They’ve got me, his mind kept saying. This is what I get for getting drunk. Edwards can’t do this to me. I don’t even know him. I thought he was a nice guy. Why did he have to go and get killed? Why should anybody want to kill him? Why should they think I did it? I’ll never take a drink again. Never. Oh, God, I’ll never take another drink as long as I live. I’ll never take a hitch again. Never. If I get out of this.… Ah, if I ever get out of this. I’ll go away. I’ll go over the hill. Yes. Keeley and me. Go away with Keeley. Maybe Mexico. He said Mexico was good. Anyplace will be good. Anyplace away from this. Go away somewhere and never come back. Write to Mary and.… Mary? Oh, Jesus. Mary! She did this. It’s her goddam fault. She did this.

  Jeff heard Max say: “With me? I wish there was somebody with me.”

  “You know a guy called Mitchell?” asked the first M.P. “Jeff Mitchell?”

  “Is he got nice legs?” grinned Max.

  “What’s your business here?”

  “Week-end liberty. What’s the matter? Can’t a guy have a little fun any more? What the hell kind of war is this, anyway?” complained Max.

  “Smart guy,” said the second M.P. to the first M.P.

  “What’re you doing here? How come you’re hangin’ around here?”

  “Just looking around,” said Max humbly.

  “What for?”

  “Same thing as everybody else. A girl.”

  The M.P. pressed the button of his flashlight and lit up Max’s face again. “Well goddam if he don’t mean it!”

  The other M.P. began to laugh. They both laughed. They told Max to keep moving and walked off laughing.

  A great relief trickled through Max. He let a deep breath wheeze through his nose and leaned back against the wall. He started to walk into the alley and stopped. That would be just the wrong thing to do. They might be watching him. He leaned against the wall again, close to the opening of the alley. He lit a cigarette.

  “You there, Jeff?” he whispered, as he exhaled.

  Jeff found his voice after the first try. “Yes.”

  “Did you hear them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t come out yet.”

  “All right.”

  “They’ll go back into the bus station in a minute. I’ll let you know. Then you come out and hurry around the corner.”

  “All right,” said Jeff.

  Where’ll we go? thought Max. The railroad station will be the same way. They’ll be watching everywhere. All the hotels. All the U.S.O.’s. All the places where soldiers congregate. Still, there has to be someplace.

  The two M.P.’s went into the bus station. Max waited for a moment to make sure they wouldn’t come out again. Then he called to Jeff. At the same time he started around the corner. Jeff came close behind him. A cab was standing at the curb. A man and woman in evening clothes beat them to the cab. It pulled away. Max and Jeff started up the street.

  Most of the stores had closed. Only an occasional restaurant remained open. The street was filled with late stragglers. Most of them were men in uniform. Jeff and Max hurried along expecting to be stopped at any moment. They were searching frantically for an empty cab. None was to be had.

  “You mentioned you were somewhere tonight,” said Max. “What kind of a place was it?”

  “It’s a nice place,” said Jeff. He thought of the strange man who was sleeping there. He thought of Ginny coming back to her apartment and not finding him there. Perhaps she wouldn’t let him in again.

  “Why can’t we go there?” asked Max.

  “The girl who lives there, maybe she’ll read the paper. Maybe she’ll call the police. We can’t go there. Besides there’s somebody else there now.”

  “There’s got to be someplace,” insisted Max.

  “For God’s sake, call Keeley. Maybe he’ll know.”

  “It’s no good calling him,” Max shook his head. “He said the police would be downstairs in the lobby listening to the telephone. Besides I don’t know if Keeley’s going to be much help.”

  “No? Why?”

  “He’s getting drunk fast. He started in drinking right after he came back from the police station. He said he might as well get started before his wife got there. He said he had to prove something to himself. I think his wife is a heavy drinker or something. I don’t know. Everything always seems so mixed up. I’m mixed up myself. Why does there always have to be so many reasons for doing a thing? Anything. Whoever thought I’d be standing in the street with a man who’s wanted for murder?”

  “Whoever thought I’d be the man who is wanted for murder?”

  “That’s what I mean,” said Max. “It feels like two different people. It surprises me, and yet it doesn’t surprise me. I guess nothing surprises me any more.”

  “Look, Max, you’ll only get into trouble hanging around with me. Why don’t you beat it? I’ll be okay. Honest I will.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” said Max.

  “I appreciate what you’ve done. Really, Max. Now be a good guy and let me alone.”

  Max didn’t want to leave. He knew that Jeff didn’t want him to leave. He felt that he must not permit himself to become insulted. No matter what Jeff said he must stay with him. Keeley would expect it. He told himself he was doing it as much for Keeley as for Jeff.

  A cab stood at the corner of Fourteenth Street and H. The cabby dozed at the wheel. Max quickly yanked open the door and got in. He pulled Jeff in after him. The door slammed and the cabby turned around to ask “where to?”

  “You know the Hot Shoppe across the Fourteenth Street Bridge?” asked Max.

  “Yeah.”

  “Take us there.”

  “That place is closed,” yawned the cabby. “Too late.”

  “What’s the difference to you?” said Max. “Take us.”

  “Okay,” drawled the cabby. “You’re the boss, soldier.”

  He started the cab and they headed for the bridge.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Max said, his lips close to Jeff’s ear.

  “But he said the place was closed,” whispered Jeff.

  “I just didn’t want him to know where we’re really going.”

  “Some soldier strangled a dame down there near the Fourteenth Street Bridge,” the cabby called back over his shoulder.

  “Yeah?” said Max.

  “Yeah. He strangled her with her own snood. Christ, I never know what in hell a snood is up to that time.”

  “Well, we aren’t going there to meet any girls,” said Max.

  “That’s good,” said the cabby. Then he added, “Hey, what makes you guys so tough? You don’t hafta murder them girls, you know. They’ll give. Just take it easy.” He laughed.

  Max whispered his plan to Jeff. “We’ll get out on the other side of the bridge. Then we’ll go down to the highway and get a ride into Alexandria. They won’t be looking for you there. Maybe we can even find a hotel.”

  Jeff thought it a good plan. He felt a little more secure now. He was glad Max hadn’t left him. He wanted to cry, he felt so good. The feel of the cab seat was good; it was safe.

  They were approaching the bridge. The cab stopped behind a long line of cabs and cars. They couldn’t see very far up ahead. They continued to move slowly toward the bridge entrance. Finally they stopped moving altogether. The cabby got out and walked up ahead to the next cab. He talked for a few moments with the driver and came back. He got in behind the wheel again.

  “What’s the trouble?” asked Jeff.

  “I don’t know,” said the cabby. “Cops. They’re stopping all the cars before they cross over. Looking for somebody, I guess. Prob’ly some soldier
.”

  Jeff sank back into the leather seat. It was no use. They were trapped. There was no way out. He might as well give himself up. Sooner or later they would find him. It might just as well be now. He would tell them the truth and take his chances.

  “They’re always looking for some soldier,” said Max.

  “Yeah,” said the cabby. “You know cops.”

  Max knew they must get out of there quickly. In a few minutes it would be too late. His first thought was to open the door and make a run for it. He decided against that. They wouldn’t get far. If they only had a car of their own! They could keep driving all night. Maybe find a road that wasn’t being watched. Maybe they could hire a car. No. All those places would be closed. Maybe if Jeff could get into civilian clothes.… He discarded that idea. Where would they get a suit at that hour? They were now less than a hundred feet from the entrance to the bridge. He would have to think fast.

  “Hey, cabby,” he called.

  “Yeah?”

  “I guess you were right. Looks like the Hot Shoppe is closed all right.”

  “Nah. I was wrong. They’re still open.”

  Ahead Jeff could see the large neon sign. It was open.

  “Well, never mind it. We changed our mind,” said Max.

  The cabby looked back at them.

  “Take us back,” said Max authoritatively.

  “But you said the Hot Shoppe,” grumbled the cabby.

  “Never mind it. Go back!”

  “What’s the matter? Afraid of the cops?” grinned the driver.

  “You guessed it. We’re away without our papers,” explained Max. “Now, will you do us a favor and go back?”

  “Sure, sure,” smiled the cabby. He let the cab in front of him pull up and then he swung around. Jeff was certain that he would hear the police whistle. He sat waiting for it. But it didn’t come. They went three blocks before he relaxed again.

  “It’s no use, Max. It’s just no use.”

  “If we were in New York,” said Max, “I’d know what to do. But here I don’t know my way around. Still there must be someplace,” he muttered. “There must be.”

  Jeff was tired. He didn’t want to think any more. He wanted to lie down somewhere and close his eyes. It was hopeless. There was no way out. There was no one to turn to. Max had done everything he could. There would have to be an end to it sooner or later. Better now. Yes. He could almost feel the relief of giving himself up and getting it all over with.