Agreement to Kill

by Peter Rabe

“All right — ” Loma heard, and then he heard movement.

  Loma did not open his eyes.

  And then, “Here,” said the girl, but Loma opened his eyes abruptly to stare at the ceiling as if that could shut out all sound.

  It didn’t spin, not yet, but a bulge was moving from one end of the surface across to the other. Now! It was spinning, slow and ponderous, but Loma already knew it would soon get faster.

  Why didn’t they make a sound? The silence was like no air and nothing to breathe. A sound, any sound, even the traveling bulge on the ceiling might make a sound. There would be a dry, inhuman sound to distract from Loma’s listening. Loma tensed, hearing Spinner. It was a deep-throated breath from Spinner.

  The drug spinning his blood, and the room —

  Then Loma screamed. “No!”

  They turned at the sound and saw Loma staring up with neck rearing back and his hands in the chair like two clamps.

  Spinner had been drinking water and was going to hand the glass back to the girl when Loma screamed.

  “Loma, you all right?” Spinner was by the chair, anxious. “You got pain? Didn’t the pills work?” and Spinner touched Loma’s arm.

  Loma relaxed at the touch and when he turned his face toward Spinner it was hard to believe that he had screamed. He said, “It doesn’t hurt. I’m fine now.”

  He sat very still now, the way he usually sat, except that his eyes moved a lot He looked at everything in the room, at Spinner, at the girl by the sink.

  “Bring me some scissors,” said Spinner.

  She brought them and stayed close to Spinner, watching him cut off the sock.

  “Little girl,” said Loma. “Do you have any milk?”

  They both looked at him, startled. There had almost been banter in Loma’s voice.

  “The pills,” he said. “My stomach. Some milk would calm my stomach,” he said.

  The girl looked at Spinner and Spinner was watching Loma’s face. Then he said, “Go get him some milk.”

  The girl went to the icebox and got a bottle of milk. Spinner was frowning.

  “Little girl,” said Loma. He took the bottle from her. “Are you going to ask me whether I’ve had enough?”

  There was an obscene taunt in his voice. Loma had made no move except to reach for the bottle, but the girl drew back. She stood close to Spinner and was afraid to look at the man in the chair.

  “Gee — ” The word didn’t sound right even to her. “Is he — is he safe?”

  Loma suddenly laughed — like a goat, thought Spinner, only louder.

  “Safe? You say safe?” Loma leaned forward then and when he turned his ankle too much his face gave a start. He changed it into a grin. “You couldn’t be safer, little girl,” and there was no laugh in his voice any more. His eyes started to wander, but they kept coming back to the girl and the look was vicious.

  “All right,” said Spinner. “Just hold still now.”

  He started to cut strips of tape and put them up along Loma’s ankle to make a Gibson boot. He did it fast. He was nervous. Loma was holding still but he kept blinking his eyes. They had a fever glitter. And Loma was still smiling.

  “Little girl,” he said, “would you give me that milk again?” It was next to his chair, where he had put it. “You couldn’t be safer, little girl. All I want is some milk.”

  Spinner was almost finished. One more strip. He was rushing.

  “Loma,” he said, “you’re losing your grip.” He stood up, ready to take Loma out of the chair.

  Loma turned his face toward Spinner and there was a soft smile on the face. The whole movement was soft.

  “My grip,” said Loma, “is the last thing that goes. Show me your hand.” He held out his own, and his smile gentle as ever. “You see?” he went on, and suddenly Spinner’s wrist was caught in a surprising vise which shot excruciating pain up Spinner’s arm. And all the while Loma was smiling.

  Spinner tried to yank free, but it made no difference, and then Loma was talking again, “Little girl, I want you to ask me — ”

  “You crazy dog!” Spinner started and hauled out to slam Loma’s face when he saw the face change and for an instant it held him as if charmed by the eye of a snake.

  Then everything broke.

  The clubfoot jammed hard into Spinner’s middle, everything gagged, everything froze, and the last thing Spinner knew was a sense of bursting with pain and of having no breath. Even his rage didn’t help him move. It just kept him awake so that he could hear.

  She made a scream, very short and cut off, and then nothing. A strong buzzing in Spinner’s ears kept him apart and far away and the rest of the room was far away because Spinner saw only gray and white shapes that kept coming apart.

  He heard the girl gasp, and then she started to whimper. She did this forever, while no other sound mattered. Perhaps Loma was talking, whispering — Spinner heard, “… you couldn’t be safer, little girl. The scissors — ”

  Then Spinner felt sick.

  He was without any strength, but the room was much clearer now, and very static. Loma was in his chair with his legs out on the footstool. The girl was standing next to the chair, and she wasn’t moving, but she was rigid. Spinner could not make out clearly how it was done but Loma had her in some kind of grip and it kept her still. She was whimpering.

  The static look of the scene was an illusion. It had to do with the rigid cramp which lay like a giant knot inside Spinner and with the pain that kept him from moving. It made a nightmare out of the thing he saw, a nightmare that trembled with force.

  Loma was talking all the time, a fast and monotonous sound which gained its intensity from the low key he forced into his voice. And the fast and monotonous sound seemed even more charged when Loma moved. His leg with the black chunk of his deformed foot came around slowly, coiled slowly around the girl so that she couldn’t move.

  He let go of her with his hands; he had the scissors in one hand and with the other hand he wasn’t doing anything yet.

  “Little girl,” said Loma, fast and monotonous, “look, you couldn’t be safer. Look, you’re standing up and I’m sitting here. Look, you couldn’t be safer — ”

  Her hands were over her mouth and she was too afraid to make any sound. Her sweater had been moved up at the waist, showing white nylon. Loma watched it It was slippery and breathing. “I won’t touch it,” Loma said, “I won’t touch it — ” and his free hand waved around aimlessly, ready to settle somewhere but still without aim.

  Loma mumbled to himself and every so often gave her a smile. And he said, “Little girl,” over and over. “Little girl. For a little girl your shape is all wrong, like a bad joke — ” Then he hesitated and looked at her sideways. “Is it real?” he said and his hand stopped waving around. His hand came down on the little cone of her breast and sat there like a bug with five legs.

  Then Loma started to laugh. It was a high, anxious sound and only the rhythm reminded Spinner of laughter. His hand twisted, he had the scissors, and when the girl screamed it sounded like Loma’s laughter.

  There was now a round hole in the sweater, open over the tip of the cone, and the nylon showed shiny and white.

  “Shut up,” said Loma. His hand slapped the girl hard over the mouth. “White,” he said. “I don’t remember it white — ” And when the girl gagged on his slap Loma did it again. He cut a hole and then dropped the scissors.

  Spinner had started to crawl with an effort that made him faint. Loma is out of his mind, he was thinking, Loma is out — Spinner, on hands and knees, fell on his face and fought to keep the black out of his eyes.

  “White,” said Loma, “I remember it darker — ” He sounded more urgent now, but Spinner didn’t hear the words. Spinner thought he himself might go insane, straining and fighting to see.

  The girl was pressed down on her knees and nearly unconscious with fright Her head hung back and Loma’s grip on her waist made her arch. It looked as if Loma were clinging to her and Spinne
r could hear him again, his voice like a terrible wail. “Please, please, little girl — please ask me. Please — ”

  By the time Spinner was up and close enough to them Loma had dropped the girl to the floor. She looked boneless there, and when Spinner pulled her up and hoisted her on the couch she still was like that Then she opened her eyes and saw Spinner. Her face screwed up and she started to cry. A little girl now Spinner thought he should give her a blanket. But there wasn’t any. He turned away to find Loma, because now he had to decide about him. Kill him, maybe, for the weird and threatening thing he had done, for what he might want to do next.

  Loma was in his chair. He was not even looking at Spinner. He wasn’t looking at anything, but had the bottle of milk in both hands, drinking from it with long, even pulls. Milk ran over his face.

  He dropped the bottle when Spinner came up, and lay back. Loma’s face was exhausted: He barely looked at Spinner and gave a faint smile.

  “Don’t,” he said. “I’m only pretending.” Then he fainted.

  CHAPTER 10

  When Spinner carried Loma back to the car it had started to rain.

  Spinner walked quickly, in spite of the ache in his middle, walking bent, as a man does in the rain. Loma was limp and light in his arms. He put him into the back of the car, bending him so he fit on the seat and his injured leg would lie steady. He had an impulse to loosen the collar around Loma’s neck, but when he touched the skin there he changed his mind. He got into the front seat and drove away. He watched the windshield wipers wave back and forth, a smear and a click and a smear and a click. The rain made no sound; he heard only the wipers clicking and the car making a whine. Spinner rubbed the side of his face and then his shoulder. The air was damp and his shoulder ached.

  Spinner took out a cigarette and smoked. He kept moving it from one part of his mouth to the other. It didn’t seem to fit anywhere. He held the cigarette in his hand but it interfered with his driving. He threw it out and tried to feel as he had before, pretending it was a commonplace trip, from here to there.

  How long would Loma sleep? Spinner slowed down a little, because of the rain, and wondered. Then he slowed even more.

  Without Loma, Spinner did not know where to go.

  The gray morning came. Spinner’s throat was raw from smoking, and no matter how he had turned himself under the wheel he had felt stiff and uncomfortable. He had pulled off the road under some bushes which made wet sounds on the side of the car. Sometimes, with a gust of wind, a thick splatter hit the top of the hood. The drops scurried and then flattened out into broad puddles. Spinner turned to the back seat, but nothing had changed there. Loma slept in a small heap, his small hands folded and the face very quiet. There was sweat on the forehead, a moist sheen which Spinner kept looking for as if it were the only sign of life in the man. Spinner no longer knew how he felt about Loma, a small man with small limbs and the clubfoot like a gross thickening which didn’t belong. What belonged was the tired mouth and the moisture on Loma’s forehead.

  Spinner fingered the limp pack in his hand and wondered whether to smoke his last cigarette.

  “Why did you stop?”

  There was no change in the voice and Spinner was startled.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “A few hours,” said Spinner.

  He turned around and saw Loma sit up. Loma took a white handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped his face and his forehead, and then his hands. There was nothing left of what Spinner had seen a short while ago.

  “You want to sit in front?”

  Loma nodded and Spinner helped him out of the car and into the front seat. Loma seemed less concerned with his ankle but he breathed deeply for a few moments. It had hurt when he had moved to the front. They both sat and looked out. There were no hills now and the fields spread wide in the misty light, a gray, loveless sight. Spinner took out the cigarette he had left.

  “What road is this?” Loma asked.

  “I went to the cutoff before Fort Timber. This lane goes back to it that way.” Spinner dragged on his cigarette, exhaled slowly. He looked out the window and added, “This is east. The white streak on the sky.”

  Loma nodded and said nothing.

  “How’s your foot?” Spinner asked.

  They both looked down at the bandaged ankle. The skin bulged where the tape ended.

  “It’s too tight,” said Spinner. “I’ll have to change it”

  He lifted the foot up on the seat and loosened one side of the Gibson boot He stopped when Loma gasped.

  “Bad?”

  “Yes, it hurts,” said Loma.

  “We can wait Take another pill and we wait for fifteen minutes.”

  “No,” said Loma.

  No comment, no gesture that went beyond the simple remark.

  “Look,” said Spinner. “You take it here in the car and you can pass out all you want.”

  “No,” said Loma.

  The lack of contact was between them again and Spinner felt irritated.

  “No little girls here.” He sounded vicious. “Take the pill, and …”

  “I can’t,” said Loma.

  “You’ve said that”

  “You think it makes a difference whether I’m alone or in company?”

  It must be very bad, Spinner thought. Loma never put any feeling into his words, nor did the restraint seem an effort But this time his voice had been uneven and he had tried to cover it by grating his throat.

  The swelling was shiny and dark, with pressure lines where the tape had ended, and while Spinner was retaping the support Loma sat very still and did not breathe.

  When it was done Spinner opened the window, because it felt very hot in the car.

  Loma sat back and closed his eyes. He said, “I’d like one of your cigarettes.”

  Spinner turned his head to look at Loma, but the man’s face was immediately closed.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” said Spinner.

  “Do you have one?”

  “None left,” said Spinner. “But the next …”

  Loma looked at Spinner with a quick turn of the head. “The next town, you mean? Stop and buy cigarettes?” Spinner didn’t have time to say anything because Loma went on, unusually sharp. “You didn’t have enough? Last night was par for the course?”

  “You blaming me for that? Those pills knock you out so hard you don’t remember?”

  “I don’t care about blame. But I want you to keep in mind …”

  “And the whole point of that thing last night? To get you some help for that busted foot, that you don’t remember?”

  “It feels much better. What I want you to keep in mind …”

  “That’s all? That’s all you can say about it?” Spinner asked.

  Loma didn’t answer immediately. He looked at Spinner as if he were trying to decide what Spinner might want Then he said, “Are you thinking that last night, whatever you had in mind, was all right and worth it because of this?” He nodded at his foot on the floorboard. “That’s not good enough. You did it for no good reason.”

  “No good reason — ”

  “You don’t think that girl’s going to keep still?”

  Spinner recovered himself and said, “Listen, you bastard. I knock myself out …”

  “I didn’t ask you. And from now on remember they’re not just looking for us; they also know where to look!”

  “That kid was no trouble until you lost your head.”

  “It won’t happen again, but she’s trouble now.”

  Maybe she wasn’t, thought Spinner, but he didn’t say any more about it, and followed Loma’s directions.

  They stayed on country roads most of the time and they no longer headed for St. Louis. They were still going north, but toward one side of the city where no towns showed on the map. Loma didn’t explain the place but said it was a hide-out Spinner didn’t ask any questions, because as long as it meant sticking with Loma he would go along. He never questioned that
part of his moves, because by now, and without quite knowing it, that part was the only thing in which he still had a choice.

  CHAPTER 11

  They drove, they ate, and then Spinner needed to sleep. He drove by Loma’s directions, he bought food in a town and then walked back to the car which he had parked near the outskirts, and at noon his head swam so much he pulled the car into the parking lot of a busy restaurant on the highway. Loma gave no argument and Spinner slept sitting behind the wheel.

  Then Spinner drove again, feeling as dull as the day. “Stop the car,” said Loma. “We’d better change plates.”

  “What?”

  “We have to take the main drag for a while, so we’ll change plates.”

  Spinner slowed the car. Loma told him where to find the set of plates, under the mat in the trunk. After Spinner had exchanged them Loma told him to throw the old ones away.

  They drove again and nothing changed. The light was the same gray as in the morning, rain threatened, and they didn’t talk. A car overtook them and Spinner, almost automatically, pressed down the gas not to fall behind.

  “Stay at sixty,” said Loma.

  Spinner said nothing, because it would have meant an argument He did not want to talk, so he slowed back to sixty and watched the car disappear into a dip in the distance. He felt as dull as the day….

  A little while later they passed the car where a highway cop had stopped it to the side of the pavement Loma said nothing about it and that too made Spinner feel irritated. He started to whistle and drove.

  “Slow down more,” said Loma.

  Then Spinner saw Loma sit up.

  “You see it?” said Loma.

  Spinner had seen it, but it hadn’t meant anything. He had sat wrapped securely in the dull task of driving, forgetting why he was driving and who he was, too tried to act his new role.

  “Easy now,” said Loma. His hands were on the dashboard. “A roadblock.”

  It was far away, but one of the cruisers had the red light on top revolving, and of the two cars stopped for inspection one had the trunk lid open.

  Spinner cursed. It had nothing to do with having sat at the wheel half asleep, because now he was thinking of nothing except what to do now. He wanted to do something violent, something to keep him from racing the car or cross the ditch or jolt the car into the fields.