The Red Scarf

by Gil Brewer

  Everything was sour inside me. He knew he would have got the money back, if he made the loan. I never welched yet. Knowing Albert, I should never have tried going clear to Chicago to ask him, figuring a personal talk might be better than a long-distance call.

  “Roy,” he says. “You must learn to hoe your own row. I’d gladly help you if I thought it would really be helping you. But you seem to have forgotten that I warned you not to attempt this foolish motel business.”

  And Bess down home, maybe even praying. Because if the highway didn’t come through by our place, as planned, we were sunk.

  And that guy, Potter, at the bank. Hovering behind his desk in a kind of fat gray security. And the way his glasses glinted when he looked at me. “We’re sorry, Mr. Nichols, but there’s nothing we can do. We’ve given you one extension, and you’re behind again. Another extension would only make matters worse for you in the long run. And as far as another loan of any kind is concerned, you must see the impossibility of that. You’ve got to make the effort to clear up your debt and meet future payments. The government stands behind you only so far, Nichols. You must do your share.”

  “You don’t understand, Mr. Potter. Everything we own is in that motel!”

  “We understand perfectly. We handled your government loan. But remember, when you went into this motel business, we all were assured the new highway would come past your place of business. It seemed a safe risk. Now it’s all changed. They’ve suspended construction, pending the settlement on a new route. And that,” he shook his head, glasses glinting, “put us all in a bad spot, indeed.”

  “But you—”

  “We have no choice, Nichols. Place yourself in our position. You’re extended far beyond your means now. Either you settle to the date, or we’ll be forced to—well, foreclose, to put in plainly. If I were you, I’d make every effort, Mr. Nichols—every effort.”

  “But the highway may still come through.”

  “But when? When? And we can’t take that risk, don’t you see? Suppose you’re granted a year’s extension? And suppose it doesn’t come through? What then?” The gentle pause, the clasped hands, the dull gleam of a fat gold ring. “Surely, you must comprehend. See, here—if we make a loan to you, and you can’t pay it—and there’s every indication you won’t be able to—what then? You’d be worse off than you are now. You’d lose your business, your investment—not only that, you’d have our personal loan to pay. And no way to pay. Of course, we could never make that loan. Never. I’m sorry, Mr. Nichols. Very sorry, indeed.”

  “My name’s Vivian. Vivian Rose. This is Noel—”

  “Enough, Viv. Snow’s letting up. Just rain, now.”

  “Teece. That’s his last name. Isn’t that a sparkler?”

  I told her my name. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “We’re going South.”

  “A good time for it. How far are you going?”

  I glanced down and he had his hand gripped on her thigh, giving her a hell of a horse bite. She tried to stand it. But he kept right on till you could see tears in her eyes, and she was panting with the pain…

  “Have some more,” he said sarcastically. “There’s another bottle back there.”

  “Sure.”

  I was floating. I sat there, riding up and down with the bumps, with my eyes half-closed. Trying not to remember Bess, waiting there, running up to me when I got home, her eyes all bright, saying, “Did you get it? Did you get it?”

  I held the bottle up and let it trickle down, warm.

  “It’s hard drinking it like that. We should have some chasers. Noel, why not stop and get some chasers?”

  “Crazy? We’ve wasted time already.”

  Chapter 2

  Water splashed and gurgled somewhere. There was an odor of fresh earth and grass and wet leaves.

  “Noel?” I heard her say that. Then it was still again. I knew I was on the ground and half of me was in running water. I couldn’t move.

  “Noel?”

  Then a long silence. I went away for a time, then slowly came back again.

  “No-o-eeeel!”

  Somebody was thrashing around. It sounded like a giant with boots on, wading in a crisp brush pile. The rain had stopped. There was a moon now, shedding white on pale trees and hillside as I opened my eyes. I tried to see the road. It was hidden. I didn’t dare move. We were in some sort of a gully. I lifted an arm. I turned my head. It hurt.

  Something stabbed cruelly into my back. I turned, rolling away from the icy water. I was soaked. I was lying on a car door. There was no sign of the car, the girl, or the man.

  Only her voice, some distance away. “Noel.”

  Shivering, I closed my eyes tight, remembering Bess like a kind of sob. Remembering all of it. And then this crazy ride with these two crazy people. Fear washed through me, and I lay there, listening, scared to stand up and look.

  Finally, I got to my knees. I seemed to be all right. My neck hurt, and my right arm. I glanced at my hand and saw the blood. I flexed my fingers. They worked.

  I moved my shoulders. They hurt, too. When I put weight on my right knee, something stabbed me in the ankle. In the moonlight, I saw the big sliver of glass sticking into my ankle, through the sock. It was like a knife blade, only much broader.

  I yanked it out. It hurt and the blood was warm, running into my shoe. I moved my foot and it was all right. It hadn’t cut anything that counted. It would have to stop bleeding by itself. My teeth were all there and I could see and hear and move everything.

  Except the little finger on my left hand. That was broken and if I touched it, it was bad.

  “Mr. Nichols?”

  I didn’t say anything. I got on my knees again, looking around, trying to find the car. Her voice had come from some distance away. Somebody kept trashing in the brush.

  A suitcase and what looked like my topcoat were lying near the door. I looked at the door and it had been torn neatly from the body. Then I saw the other suitcase and I started to get up and saw the briefcase.

  I kept on looking at that. The clasp was torn open and some kind of wispy scarf was tied to the handle. Only that wasn’t what made me look.

  It was the neatly bound packets of unmistakable money.

  I touched them, picked one up and saw the thousand-dollar bill, and put it down.

  It was like being hit over the head. “Mr. Nichols?”

  I started laughing. Maybe it was the whiskey. I needed money; not a whole lot, compared to this. But plenty for me. And right here was all the money in the world.

  “Are you hurt bad?” I asked.

  “No. Only my knee. See?”

  “Where’d all the blood come from?”

  “I don’t know. My hand’s cut—look at my dress. It’s ripped to pieces.” She began to look kind of funny.

  “Are you all right?”

  “What’ll we do?” She started away. I caught her and held her. She fought for a minute, then stopped.

  “Now, for gosh sakes. You’re all right.”

  She turned and ran in the other direction. Her dress sure was a mess. She stumbled in circles all around between the trees. I got it then. She was looking for that briefcase. She ran into the open by the stream where I had been. She splashed into the water and out and jumped over the car door.

  I went on over there and held her again. “You’re all right. Now, where is he?”

  “Down there. Over the edge. He’s dead. I saw him… No. Don’t go down there.”

  She ripped away from me. She had seen the briefcase. She went to it, landing on her knees, kind of looking back at me over her shoulder, her hair flopping around.

  She shoveled that money back in. The clasp wouldn’t work. She got the scarf off the handle and wrapped the scarf around the case and tied it tight.

  I went over and dragged her up. She held the briefcase, puling away from me.

  “Where is he?”

  She pointed in the direction of a bent pine sapling. I tu
rned and walked over there, the blood squashing in my shoe. I came past the pine tree and saw skid marks.

  I stopped at the abrupt edge just in time. The car was down there. Not too far, about fifteen feet, lying crumpled on its side, smashed to junk, in a rocky glen with the water splashing and sparkling in the moonlight.

  The guy was spread out on the rocks, his feet jammed in the car by the steering wheel. The bright moonlight showed blood all over his face and his suitcoat was gone and his left arm had two elbows. He was more than just dead. He was a mess.

  “We’d better get an ambulance.”

  She hurried over by me and I got a good look at her face. I never saw anybody so scared in all my life. “He’s dead. What good would an ambulance do? Come on—we’ve got to get out of here.”

  I looked at her and I thought about money and I knew she was working something; trying to. She turned and walked away from me toward the wooded hill and the road.

  A car went by up there and for an instant she was silhouetted against the headlights’ glare through the trees. She looked back at me, then slipped and sat down.

  I went over to her. She’d lost her shoes and her stockinged feet were muddy. She looked bad. “Don’t you see?” she said. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  She tried to get up. I put my hand on top of her head and held her down.

  “Whose money?”

  “Mine. It’s my money.”

  “Awful lot of money for one woman to have. What about him?”

  “Never mind about him. It’s my money, and we’ve got to get out of here before they find us.”

  “Thought you said that money was yours.”

  “It is.”

  I held her down with my hand on top of her head. She was so mad, and scared too, you could feel it busting right out of the top of her skull.

  These crazy people. All that money. And Bess and me only needing a little. I wanted to crunch her head like a melon.

  I was still bleary from the whiskey and my head was beginning to ache bad. But there was something else in my head besides the ache. I kept trying to ignore it.

  “It’s taken two and a half years to get that money. We’ve got to get away from here. Nichols, whatever your name is, you’ve got to help me.”

  “We’ll have to get the police.”

  She tugged her head away from my hand and stood up. She was still hanging onto that briefcase. She grabbed my arm with her other hand. There was a streak of blood down the side of her cheek.

  “It’s stolen money, isn’t it?”

  “No. And we can’t go to the police.” She began to rock back and forth, trying to rock me with her, trying to make me understand something. Only she didn’t want to tell me about it. “We’re up the creek, Nichols.”

  I kept trying to figure her. It looked like she was in a real mess.

  I tried not to want any part of this. I started away from her. She came after me.

  “Please—listen!”

  “You’re not telling me a damned thing. Look, you two picked me up and fed me whiskey. I shouldn’t have taken it. But I got my troubles, too. They’re big troubles to me. So now look what’s happened. I’m still drunk and I don’t even know you. And back there. Your boyfriend’s dead. How about that? I’m getting out of here.”

  “Don’t you see? If you hadn’t seen the money—then you’d have helped me.”

  “We’d go to the police. Like anybody else. You got to report an accident like this. There’s a dead man down there. Don’t you realize that?”

  “He doesn’t matter.”

  “Somebody was following you, weren’t they? We saw somebody in Valdosta and you’d just turned off the main southern route, too. Only you turned back, and we were followed. That’s why this happened.”

  She looked as if she might cry. Well, why didn’t I call the police then? Why didn’t I do what I should have done?

  “They’ll be back.”

  “You stole that money.”

  “You’re wrong, Nichols. You’ve got to believe me.” She stood perfectly still and got her voice very calm and steady. “It won’t hurt you to help me. If you knew who Noel was, you’d understand that it doesn’t matter about him being dead.”

  There was one thing: Her fear was real.

  “We’ll take the suitcases and get out of here. Down the road somewhere. Change clothes. His clothes’ll fit you.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “But you can’t go any place the way you are. Look at you. Mud—blood. Neither can I. We’ll clean up and get dressed. Then we’ll find the nearest town and you can help me get a hotel room.”

  “Lady, you’re nuts.”

  She dropped the briefcase then and faced me. She put both hands on my arms and looked me in the eye. Straight.

  “Nichols,” she said, “there’s absolutely no other way. He’s dead down there and I’m all alone. I’ll bet you can use some money. I’ve got plenty and I’ll pay you well. If you don’t help me, they’ll find me.”

  “Let them. This is too much for me.”

  And I wanted it to be too much. But the sight of that money was like catching cold and knowing it would turn into pneumonia. If only that guy had lived, then I’d have an excuse.

  We stood there and the moonlight was bright on her face. Her dress was all torn, her hair mussed up, and there was this streak of blood on her cheek. There was something about it. It got me a little. She looked so damned alone and afraid, her eyes big and pleading. And there she stood, hanging onto that briefcase, like that.

  Chapter 3

  Well, near the edge of the town, there was this big billboard beside the concrete. It was at the bottom of a shallow slope, across a small creek. We were walking tenderly, me with the blood drying in my sock. And Vivian in her stocking feet, on tiptoe. A car passed us, but by that time we were behind the billboard out of sight.

  She took off her dress. “Turn your back, Nichols,” she said, “and get some clothes out of his suitcase. We’ve got to get away from here. Hurry!”

  I was afraid if I sat down I’d never get up. I staggered around, having trouble with the one sock. Finally, when I yanked at it, it peeled like adhesive, but was stiff as cardboard. There was quite a hole where the glass had stuck in, and it was bleeding again. The hell with it. Only that was the whiskey still talking.

  After she got through, I scrubbed off the blood and mud.

  My ankle kept bleeding. I fumbled in the suitcase and found a handkerchief and tied it around my ankle.

  I kept glancing over there at that briefcase. “I’ll help you find a room. That much.”

  Still trying to convince myself. I got dressed in his clothes, transferred my wallet and stuff, and put my coat and hat on again.

  She bundled the old clothes together and walked away into the trees. When she came back, she didn’t have them. Her movements were still jerky. You could tell by the way she moved and looked that she was living in a pool of fright.

  “No kidding, where’d you get that money?”

  “It’s mine.”

  We closed the suitcases. She picked up the briefcase and started out around the billboard. Then she glanced back. The moonlight was on her—fur jacket, long black hair, high heels… and scared.

  “All right.” I grabbed the two suitcases, forgetting about my pinky. It hurt like hell. I went on after her, dressed in a dead man’s clothes.

  I kept trying hard not to think of what Bess would think of this business. It wasn’t much good. Then I looked at that briefcase in Vivian’s hand again. “You’ll have to take one of these suitcases.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my finger’s busted, that’s why. I can’t handle the both of them.”

  She took hers and went on. I didn’t want all that money. Just a part of it. Her heels rapped real loud on the asphalt. She had a long stride and she walked with her chin up.

  On the road we kind of half-ran, half-walked. She kept looking behind us and trying to see a
head. She had me as nervous as herself.

  She was taking some kind of big chance.

  So was I. But she knew what it was, what the odds were. I was playing it blind.

  There was more to the town than I’d figured, but it still wasn’t much. All the houses were asleep and her heels made terrific echoes in the still cold.

  A car came down the main drag and she gave me a shove into a store front. I listened to her breathe, with her face pressed right up to mine. It was kids in the car, with the radio blaring.

  “Off the main street, Nichols.”

  We turned away from the car tracks. There was a hotel down there with a rusty-looking marquee and white bulbs saying: Hotel Ambassador. Three bulbs in the ‘D’ were smashed. She stopped under the marquee and faced me. “You can’t just leave me.”

  “Why can’t I?”

  “You’ve come this far. It’s not going to hurt you.”

  I looked at her, saying nothing.

  “Is it, Nichols? How could it?”

  The wind blew down the street, dusting along the curb, blowing newspapers and small trash past the hotel.

  “Look, Nichols. You can’t imagine the jam I’m in.”

  “That’s any reason why I should be in it with you?”

  “I’m not asking that.”

  I looked down at the briefcase, then remembered what she’d said about paying me. “I was just on my way home,” I said.

  “I know that. St. Pete, wasn’t it? Well, you can’t start home now, anyway, Nichols. You’re tired. I’m not asking a whole lot. I can’t do it myself. You’ll have to help me. I’ve got to get out of the country.”

  “Honest to God, you sound crazy.”

  “That’s the way it is. I’ll pay for it. I’m not asking you to do it for nothing.”

  “I’ve already—”

  “That’s what I mean. Listen, I’m so scared that it’s all I can do to walk. If I told you, you’d understand.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “But I’ve got to tell you.”

  We stood there, and the accident and the dead guy sat there in the back of my mind. I’d already come this far, and it was a long way.