by James Ellroy
But he heard it. The scream was an animal sound and yet he recognized the voice. It came from near the desk, and he turned his head very slowly, telling himself he didn't want to look but knowing he had to look.
He saw Pearl kneeling on the floor. Herman stood behind her. With one hand he was twisting her arm up high between her shoulder blades. His other hand was on her head and he was pulling her hair so that her face was drawn back, her throat stretched.
Herman spoke very softly. "You make me very unhappy, Pearl. I don't like to be unhappy."
Then Herman gave her arm another upward twist and pulled tighter on her hair and she screamed again.
The girl in Shikey's lap gave Pearl a scornful look and said, "You're a damn fool."
"In spades." It came from the stripper who nestled against Riley. "All he wants her to do is kiss him like she means it."
Freddy told himself to get up and walk out of the room. He lifted himself from the couch and took a few steps toward the door and heard Herman saying, "Not yet, Freddy. I'll tell you when to go."
He went back to the couch and sat down.
Herman said, "Be sensible, Pearl. Why can't you be sensible?"
Pearl opened her mouth to scream again. But no sound came out. There was too much pain and it was choking her.
The brunette who stood with Dino was saying, "It's a waste of time, Herman, she can't give you what she hasn't got. She just don't have it for you, Herman."
"She'll have it for him," Dino said. "Before he's finished, he'll have her crawling on her belly."
Herman looked at Dino. "No," he said. "She won't do that. I wouldn't let her do that." He cast a downward glance at Pearl. His lips shaped a soft smile. There was something tender in the smile and in his voice. "Pearl, tell me something, why don't you want me?"
He gave her a chance to reply, his fingers slackening the grip on her wrist and her hair. She groaned a few times and then she said, "You got my body, Herman. You can have my body anytime you want it."
"That isn't enough," Herman said. "I want you all the way, a hundred percent. It's got to be like that, Pearl. You're in me so deep it just can't take any other route. It's got to be you and me from here on in, you gotta need me just as much as I need you."
"But Herman—" She gave a dry sob. "I can't lie to you. I just don't feel that way."
"You're gonna feel that way," Herman said.
"No." Pearl sobbed again. "No. No."
"Why not?" He was pulling her hair again, twisting her arm. But it seemed he was suffering more than Pearl. The pain racked his pleading voice. "Why can't you feel something for me?"
Her reply was made without sound. She managed to turn her head just a little, toward the couch. And everyone in the room saw her looking at Freddy.
Herman's face became very pale. His features tightened and twisted and it seemed he was about to burst into tears. He stared up at the ceiling.
Herman shivered. His body shook spasmodically, as though he stood on a vibrating platform. Then all at once the tormented look faded from his eyes, the iron came into his eyes, and the soft smile came onto his lips. He released Pearl, turned away from her, went to the desk, and opened the cigarette box. It was very quiet in the room while Herman stood there lighting the cigarette. He took a slow, easy drag and then he said quietly, "All right, Pearl, you can go home now."
She started to get up from the floor. The brunette came over and helped her up.
"I'll call a cab for you," Herman said. He reached for the telephone and put in the call. As he lowered the phone, he was looking at Pearl and saying, "You want to go home alone?"
Pearl didn't say anything. Her head was lowered and she was leaning against the shoulder of the brunette.
Herman said, "You want Freddy to take you home?"
Pearl raised her head just a little and looked at the face of Freddy Lamb.
Herman laughed softly. "All right," he said. "Freddy'll take you home."
Freddy winced. He sat there staring at the carpet.
Herman told the brunette to fix a drink for Pearl. He said, "Take her to the bar and give her anything she wants." He motioned to the other girls and they got up from the laps of Shikey and Riley. Then all the girls walked out of the room. Herman was quiet for some moments, taking slow drags at the cigarette and looking at the door. Then gradually his head turned and he looked at Freddy. He said, "You're slated, Freddy."
Freddy went on staring at the carpet.
"You're gonna bump her," Herman said.
Freddy closed his eyes.
"Take her somewhere and bump her and bury her," Herman said.
Shikey and Riley looked at each other. Dino had his mouth open and he was staring at Herman. Standing next to the door, Ziggy had his eyes glued to Freddy's face.
"She goes," Herman said. And then, speaking aloud to himself, "She goes because she gives me grief." He hit his hand against his chest. "She hits me here, where I live. Hits me too hard. Hurts me. I don't appreciate getting hurt. Especially here." Again his hand thumped his chest. He said, "You'll do it, Freddy. You'll see to it that I get rid of the hurt."
"Let me do it," Ziggy said. Herman shook his head. He pointed a finger at Freddy. His finger jabbed empty air, and he said, "Freddy does it. Freddy."
Ziggy opened his mouth, tried to close it, couldn't close it, and blurted, "Why take it out on him?"
"That's a stupid question," Herman said mildly. "I'm not taking it out on anybody. I'm giving the job to Freddy because I know he's dependable. I can always depend on Freddy."
Ziggy made a final, frantic try. "Please, Herman," he said. "Please don't make him do it."
Herman didn't bother to reply. All he did was give Ziggy a slow appraising look up and down. It was like a soundless warning to Ziggy, letting him know he was walking on thin ice and the ice would crack if he opened his mouth again.
Then Herman turned to Freddy and said, "Where's your blade?"
"Stashed," Freddy said. He was still staring at the carpet.
Herman opened a desk drawer. He took out a black-handled switchblade. "Use this," he said, coming toward the couch. He handed the knife to Freddy. "Give it a try," he said.
Freddy pressed the button. The blade flicked out. It glimmered blue-white. He pushed the blade into the handle and tried the button again. He went on trying the button and watching the flash of the blade. It was quiet in the room as the blade went in and out, in and out. Then from the street there was the sound of a horn. Herman said, "That's the taxi." Freddy nodded and got up from the sofa and walked out of the room. As he moved toward the girls who stood at the cocktail bar, he could feel the weight of the knife in the inner pocket of his jacket. He was looking at Pearl and saying, "Come on, let's go," and as he said it, the blade seemed to come out of the knife and slice into his own flesh.
The taxi was cruising north on Sixteenth Street. On Freddy's wrist the white-gold watch said five-twenty. He was watching the parade of unlit windows along the dark street. Pearl was saying something but he didn't hear her. She spoke just a bit louder and he turned and looked at her. He smiled and murmured, "Sorry, I wasn't listening."
"Can't you sit closer?"
He moved closer to her. A mixture of moonlight and streetlamp glow came pouring into the back seat of the taxi and illuminated her face. He saw something in her eyes that caused him to blink several times.
She noticed the way he was blinking and said, "What's the matter?"
He didn't answer. He tried to stop blinking and he couldn't stop.
"Hangover?" Pearl asked.
"No," he said. "I feel all right now, I feel fine."
For some moments she didn't say anything. She was rubbing her sore arm. She tried to stretch it, winced and gasped with pain, and said, "Oh Jesus, it hurts. It really hurts. Maybe it's broken."
"Let me feel it," he said. He put his hand on her arm. He ran his fingers down from above her elbow to her wrist. "It isn't broken," he murmured. "Just a little swollen
, that's all. Sprained some ligaments."
She smiled at him. "The hurt goes away when you touch it."
He tried not to look at her, but something fastened his eyes to her face. He kept his hand on her arm. He heard himself saying, "I feel sorry for Herman. If he could see you now, I mean if you'd look at him like you're looking at me —"
"Freddy" she said. "Freddy" Then she leaned toward him. She rested her head on his shoulder.
Then somehow everything was quiet and still and he didn't hear the noise of the taxi's engine, he didn't feel the bumps as the wheels hit the ruts in the cobblestone surface of Sixteenth Street. But suddenly there was a deep rut and the taxi gave a lurch. He looked up and heard the driver cursing the city engineers. "Goddamn it," the driver said. "They got a deal with the tire companies."
Freddy stared past the driver's head, his eyes aimed through the windshield to see the wide intersection where Sixteenth Street met the Parkway. The Parkway was a six-laned drive slanting to the left of the downtown area, going away from the concrete of Philadelphia skyscrapers and pointing toward the green of Fair mount Park.
"Turn left," Freddy said.
They were approaching the intersection, and the driver gave a backward glance. "Left?" the driver asked. "That takes us outta the way. You gave me an address on Seventeenth near Lehigh. We gotta hit it from Sixteenth—"
"I know," Freddy said quietly. "But turn left anyway."
The driver shrugged. "You're the captain." He beat the yellow of a traffic light and the taxi made a left turn onto the Parkway.
Pearl said, "What's this, Freddy? Where're we going?"
"In the park." He wasn't looking at her. "We're gonna do what you said we should do. We're gonna take a walk in the park."
"For real?" Her eyes were lit up. She shook her head as though she could scarcely believe what he'd just said.
"We'll take a nice walk," he murmured. "Just the two of us. The way you wanted it."
"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, Freddy—"
The driver shrugged again. The taxi went past the big monuments and fountains of Logan Circle, past the Rodin Museum and the Art Museum and onto River Drive. For a mile or so they stayed on the highway, bordering the moonlit water of the river and then, without being told, the driver made a turn off the highway, made a series of turns that took them deep into the park. They came to a section where there were no lights, no movement, no sound except the autumn wind drifting through the trees and bushes and tall grass and flowers.
"Stop here," Freddy said.
The taxi came to a stop. They got out and he paid the driver. The driver gave him a queer look and said, "You sure picked a lonely spot."
Freddy looked at the cabman. He didn't say anything.
The driver said, "You're at least three miles off the highway. It's gonna be a problem getting a ride home."
"Is it your problem?" Freddy asked gently.
"Well, no —"
"Then don't worry about it," Freddy said. He smiled amiably. The driver threw a glance at the blonde, smiled, and told himself that the man might have the right idea, after all. With an item like that, any man would want complete privacy. He thought of the bony, bucktoothed woman who waited for him at home, crinkled his face in a distasteful grimace, put the car in gear, and drove away.
"Ain't it nice?" Pearl said. "Ain't it wonderful?"
They were walking through a glade where the moonlight showed the autumn colors of fallen leaves. The night air was fragrant with the blended aromas of wildflowers. He had his arm around her shoulder and was leading her toward a narrow lane sloping downward through the trees.
She laughed lightly, happily. "It's like as if you know the place. As if you've been here before."
"No," he said. "I've never been here before."
There was the tinkling sound of a nearby brook. A bird chirped in the bushes. Another bird sang a tender reply.
"Listen," Pearl murmured. "Listen to them."
He listened to the singing of the birds. Now he was guiding Pearl down along the slope and seeing the way it leveled at the bottom and then went up again on all sides. It was a tiny valley down there with the brook running along the edge. He told himself it would happen when they reached the bottom.
He heard Pearl saying, "Wouldn't it be nice if we could stay here?"
He looked at her. "Stay here?"
"Yes," she said. "If we could live here for the rest of our lives. Just be here, away from everything—"
"We'd get lonesome."
"No we wouldn't," she said. "We'd always have company. I'd have you and you'd have me."
They were nearing the bottom of the slope. It was sort of steep now and they had to move slowly. All at once she stumbled and pitched forward and he caught her before she could fall on her face. He steadied her, smiled at her, and said, "OK?"
She nodded. She stood very close to him and gazed into his eyes and said, "You wouldn't let me fall, would you?"
The smile faded. He stared past her. "Not if I could help it."
"I know," she said. "You don't have to tell me."
He went on staring past her. "Tell you what?"
"The situation." She spoke softly, almost in a whisper. "I got it figured, Freddy. It's so easy to figure."
He wanted to close his eyes; he didn't know why he wanted to close his eyes.
He heard her saying, "I know why you packed me in tonight. Orders from Herman."
"That's right." He said it automatically, as though the mention of the name was the shifting of a gear.
"And another thing," she said. "I know why you brought me here." There was a pause, and then, very softly, "Herman."
He nodded.
She started to cry. It was quiet weeping and contained no fear, no hysteria. It was the weeping of farewell. She was crying because she was sad. Then, very slowly, she took the few remaining steps going down to the bottom of the slope. He stood there and watched her face as she turned to look up at him.
He walked down to where she stood, smiling at her and trying to pretend his hand was not on the switchblade in his pocket. He tried to make himself believe he wasn't going to do it, but he knew that wasn't true. He'd been slated for this job. The combine had him listed as a top-rated operator, one of the best in the business. He'd expended a lot of effort to attain that reputation, to be known as the grade-A expert who'd never muffed an assignment.
He begged himself to stop. He couldn't stop. The knife was open in his hand and his arm flashed out and sideways with the blade sliding in neatly and precisely, cutting the flesh of her throat. She went down very slowly, tried to cough, made a few gurgling sounds, and then rolled over on her back and died looking up at him.
For a long time he stared at her face. There was no expression on her features now. At first he didn't feel anything, and then he realized she was dead, and he had killed her.
He tried to tell himself there was nothing else he could have done, but even though that was true it didn't do any good. He took his glance away from her face and looked down at the white-gold watch to check the hour and the minute, automatically. But somehow the dial was blurred, as though the hands were spinning like tiny propellers. He had the weird feeling that the watch was showing time traveling backward, so that he found himself checking it in terms of years and decades. He went all the way back to the day when he was eleven years old and they took him to reform school.
In reform school he was taught a lot of things. The thing he learned best was the way to use a knife. The knife became his profession. But somewhere along the line he caught onto the idea of holding a daytime job to cover his nighttime activities. He worked in stockrooms and he did some window cleaning and drove a truck for a fruit dealer. And finally he became an elevator operator and that was the job he liked best. He'd never realized why he liked it so much but he realized now. He knew that the elevator was nothing more than a moving cell, and that the only place for him was a cell. The passengers were just a lot of friendly
visitors walking in and out, saying "Good morning, Freddy" and "Good night, Freddy" and they were such nice people. Just the thought of them brought a tender smile to his lips.
Then he realized he was smiling down at her. He sensed a faint glow coming from somewhere, lighting her face. For an instant he had no idea what it was. Then he realized it came from the sky. It was the first signal of approaching sunrise.
The white-gold watch showed five fifty-three. Freddy Lamb told himself to get moving. For some reason he couldn't move. He was looking down at the dead girl. His hand was still clenched about the switchblade, and as he tried to relax it he almost dropped the knife. He looked down at it.
The combine was a cell, too, he told himself. The combine was an elevator from which he could never escape. It was going steadily downward and there were no stops until the end. There was no way to get out.
Herman had made him kill the girl. Herman would make him do other things. And there was no getting away from that. If he killed Herman there would be someone else.
The elevator was carrying Freddy steadily downward. Already, he had left Pearl somewhere far above him. He realized it all at once, and an unreasonable terror filled him.
Freddy looked at the white-gold watch again. A minute had passed and he knew suddenly that he was slated to do a job on someone in exactly three minutes now. The minutes passed and he stood there alone.
At precisely five fifty-seven he said goodbye to his profession and plunged the blade into his heart.
THE HUNGER
1955: Charles Beaumont
CHARLES BEAUMONT (1929–1967) was born Charles Leroy Nutt in Chicago; ridiculed because of his last name, he dropped out of high school and joined the Army. He found solace in science fiction and fantasy and began writing them himself, selling his first story, "The Devil, You Say?" at the age of twenty-one to Astounding Stories; it was later adapted as an episode of The Twilight Zone, as was his second story, "The Beautiful People," and six others. He also wrote more than twenty episodes for the series. His short career (essentially ending at the age of thirty-four when he was diagnosed with a "mysterious brain disease") was a prolific one, with scores of short stories, teleplays (in addition to The Twilight Zone, he wrote for Four Star Playhouse; Alfred Hitchcock Presents; Naked City; Route 66; Richard Diamond, Private Detective; Have Gun—Will Travel, and many other programs), and fourteen screenplays, most of which were low-budget fantasy and horror films, including Queen of Outer Space (1958), Premature Burial (1962), The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm (1962), 7 Faces of Dr. Lao (1964), The Masque of the Red Death (1964), and The Intruder (1962), which was based on his 1959 novel of the same name. He also coauthored a novel, Run from the Hunter, with John E. To merlin under the pseudonym Keith Grantland in 1957. Playboy published "Black Country" in its issue of September 1954—its first piece of fiction. Beaumont was given a posthumous Bram Stoker Award in 1988 by the Horror Writers Association for his Collected Stories.