Tom expelled his breath. After a few moments, he said, “When you told me about him, about his being murdered — When you talked about that, this noon, there were tears in your eyes. And now you tell me this.”
“I loved him,” Jean said. “Even though I saw he could be bought, I loved him. But loving him didn’t cut off my reasoning powers.”
He turned off the car lights and opened the door on his side. “I don’t know what to believe, any more. Joe Hubbard — why, hell, we used to kid him about being the modern Galahad. I’m no lily, you know, and the men I worked with are in a hazardous trade. But Joe — ”
“I’ve talked enough about that,” she said, and got out.
They walked together up to the porch running the length of the building and he held the door open for her.
The lights were dim. There were steer heads on the walls and Indian blankets and copies of Remington drawings. The ceilings were beamed; the floor pegged planking. TLR was branded into the tables and chairs.
There were two waitresses standing near the cash register. In charge of the cash register was a stocky, dark woman.
“Evenin’, folks,” she called, as though Chicago were forgotten. “Set right down to the best meal you’ve et on the road.”
They took a table in one of the dimmer corners, and Tom held Jean’s chair for her.
“You don’t seem like a bookie, at all,” she said. “You — ”
“I’m not, any more,” he interrupted. “Know many bookies?”
She smiled. “None, until that day in Joe’s office.”
The waitress brought their menus and Tom asked Jean, “Would you like a drink before dinner?”
Her smile was wan. “Whiskey and water. Bourbon.”
“A pair,” he told the waitress. “We’ll order after that.”
The waitress went away. From behind the register, the short, dark woman called, “Come far today, folks?”
“From Newark, New Jersey,” Tom told her. “We made good time until we hit the mountains.”
The woman frowned and glanced wonderingly at the waitress.
Jean said softly, “It was a poor joke, but a joke. I’m surprised you can make any kind of joke.”
“I surprised myself,” Tom admitted. “Maybe Mexico looks closer, or maybe you’ve given me some hope. You’re a fighter, all right, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “I had to fight in my neighborhood. They’re after a girl, there, from the time she’s twelve.”
“And you’ve undoubtedly always been a beautiful girl.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Spears.” She made a face. “You’re coming back to normal.”
Behind them, the door slammed. Jean was facing the door and Tom didn’t turn to see who’d entered. He kept his gaze on her face, awaiting a reaction.
“Tourists,” she said.
From behind the register, the woman called, “Howdy, folks. If you got the money, we got the grub.”
Jean said. “The Texas Guinan of Route 60. Maybe she doesn’t expect repeat business.”
A short, fat man and a tall, thin woman walked past them and chose a table nearby. A girl of about twelve trailed them.
They were a harmless enough trio but Tom found himself watching them. Then Jean made a face and shook her head. He nodded.
They finished their drinks and ordered steaks. Over their coffee, Tom said, “I’ll drive the rest of the way, if you want. Try to get some rest.”
“I’ll try. I’m — bushed.”
The night air was clear and cold; the stars seemed to be just out of reach. They were about ten miles from the state line; they would cross the Colorado at Blythe.
As they crossed the parking lot to the car, he noticed how slowly and tiredly Jean moved. It must have been some hunt for her, this trip.
He held the door open for her and went around to climb behind the wheel. The car would be inspected at Blythe; he’d have to get out and unlock the luggage compartment under the lights of the station.
Well, they weren’t cops….
The motor hummed in the quiet night. Next to him in the seat, Jean’s head was back and her eyes partially closed. Headlights showed miles up the road, wavering like illuminated butterflies.
He thought of Joe Hubbard and what Jean had told him about Joe. There’d be no reason for her to lie. And if there were these defects in Joe, who could be flawless? In his business, a certain amount of faith was necessary. It was a growing business and attracting all sorts of trash, but the men Tom had dealt with played the cold percentage, scorning the angles.
Granted they were outside the law, they answered what seemed to be a universal desire, the urge to gamble. And it was a strange law that set the state up in a business considered otherwise illegal and socially undesirable.
In that seamy world, he had done business and prospered. Joe Hubbard had been one friend outside that world. So had Lois, Tom’s wife. Both of them outside his workaday world and high above it in the social scale.
Yet, Joe …? Tom shook his head. Maybe Joe, but nobody could poison his memory of Lois.
The girl in the seat was sleeping now, her face softer in repose, lovelier. Why had she been so vehement about Lois?
The Colorado was beneath them, now; ahead were the lights of Blythe. Like a mirage it was, from the desert to the unexpected greenness of Blythe, and then back to the gray desert, once they would leave the town. Like a theatrical city, set up by the Chamber of Commerce.
The lights of the checking station were brilliant; the attendants were uniformed. Tom’s capacity for fright was dulled, but there was a dryness in his mouth and his breathing was work.
The attendant smiled. “Local car. Won’t take a minute, sir. It’s these Florida crackers we worry about.”
Tom said evenly, “No fruit, no bugs. Nothing but a sleeping beauty.” He forced himself to face the man squarely.
When he got back into the car, Jean was still sleeping and he started gently, accelerating gradually.
She slept and he drove. He thought of Lois, the three years of their marriage, fine, full years.
He remembered her saying, one time, “If I should ever feel a serious urge for infidelity, I won’t embarrass you, dear. I’ll get out of town, where you won’t know about it.”
She had a penchant for meaningless words and he hadn’t given this statement of hers any serious consideration.
“That,” she had continued, “is what my faithless female friends tell me they do. So if I should ever take a trip — ”
Tom closed his eyes for a moment as a chill moved through him.
As they came into Indio, Jean stirred and sat erectly. “Welcome home,” she said. “No trouble?”
“None.”
She yawned and peered at the instrument board. “You were about to have some. We need gas. What have you been thinking of?”
“My wife.”
Nothing from Jean.
He pulled into an all-night station and told the attendant, “Fill her up. And you’d better check the oil.”
Jean stared bleakly through the windshield at nothing.
Tom said, “It hurt — when you called her a tramp. I realize, now, that you wouldn’t be fly-brained enough to say a thing like that unless you had reason to.”
She didn’t look at him. “Thank you.”
He watched the attendant lift the hood, his mind back in St. Louis, remembering that first shocking glimpse of Lois’ dead face and open, staring eyes.
Jean asked, “Have you a cigarette?”
He gave her one and held a light for her. Her eyes were dull, her face slightly puffed from sleep.
The attendant came around to his side of the car. “Oil’s okay, sir. That’ll be four-twenty.”
Jean fumbled for her purse, but Tom paid it, and said, “If you want to tell me about — about Lois, more about her, I’d — ” He was pulling out onto the highway again.
Her voice was dull. “There’s nothing to tell, really. A girl
gets a remark here and there from reliable sources and I suppose I reasoned that where there was smoke there had to be fire. Anyway, it could have been all lies and what’s to be gained by discussing it now?”
“Probably nothing. But for a girl who stuck her neck way, way out, chasing around the country after me, you must have had a change of mind.”
She nodded. “I’ve been thinking about you.” She opened the window on her side and threw her cigarette out. “I’ve been remembering what a patsy you were. And now you tell me you’re going to run to Mexico. That doesn’t coincide with my picture of the man I thought I’d be helping.”
He said quietly, “I changed my mind about Mexico. While you were sleeping.”
Her voice came to life. “Tom — ! That’s wonderful, Tom. We’ll work out something — ”
He turned to see her beaming at him. “We won’t do anything. I’ll do what I can, but I won’t have you involved any further.”
“All right.” She paused to chuckle. “All right, master. But where are you going in Los Angeles? Is there someone you can trust?”
“There’s one man, at least. I hope he’s home. Whatever happens, though, Jean, I’m not going back. I’m never going back to jail.”
She didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the black road, unwinding under the probe of the headlights, his thoughts back at that place of bars and stone walls and defeated men. By the time he got to Riverside, she was sleeping again.
In Culver City, he pulled to the curb about a block from his destination. Her eyes flickered open and then she sat erectly in the seat.
“There’s a lot I’d like to say,” he told her quietly, “but I’m no Shakespeare. What you’ve done for me isn’t anything I’ll ever forget. If things break right, I’ll look you up.”
“Look me up either way, Tom.” She paused. “This friend you’re going to now — is he a gambler?”
He nodded.
“Well, won’t they be watching those kind of friends? I mean the police would naturally have them under observation.”
“I’ll be careful. Gamblers are the only friends I have, Jean. Except for you. And if the police should bother you, admit nothing. They’ll never implicate you from my end.”
She put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Be very careful, won’t you? And phone me?”
He opened the door and got out. “I’ll be careful. And you be careful. And thank you, again.” His hand trembled as he closed the door, and waved. Then he turned, and walked off.
He heard the Plymouth move away and he didn’t turn around. The tension was back, the desire to run, to seek the shadows.
Chapter 2
THE HAVEN he was approaching through the dark night was a triplex of dark gray stucco, and Jud had the rear unit. Tom moved quietly along the walk, listening, watching; all the fears he had left in Arizona had again come to life.
He pressed the button and heard the single chime from within. It was a lot to ask a friend, to harbor a fugitive from justice, an escaped convict who’d been jailed for murder.
He heard footsteps and then Jud’s careful voice. “Who’s there?” The light overhead didn’t go on.
“It’s Tom Spears, Jud.”
The door opened quickly and quietly and the tall, thin body of Jud Shallock was framed in the doorway. He was wearing pajama bottoms and nothing else. “Come in, boy. Quick. Don’t stand in the light.”
Tom stepped into the dim living room and Jud quickly closed the door. Then the lanky man turned to put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. “I’ve been worried about you. How the hell did you make it?”
“I’m here. How’re things going with the boys?”
“Things are very rocky. The heat’s on. I hope to hell nobody was watching this place.” He went around the room, closing the Venetian blinds. Then he flopped into a big chair near the entrance to the kitchen, and regarded Tom gravely.
Tom was sitting on the davenport, leaning forward, the tension still with him. “Is the heat temporary or permanent? Just for the newspapers, maybe?”
Jud shrugged wearily. “Who knows? It catches the small fry, anyway.” His voice showed more emotion. “The small fry — that’s us, Tom.”
“Not me,” Tom said. “Not any more. No cop would consider me small fry. Nannie in town?”
Nannie Koronas was Mr. Big to them, though they didn’t deal with him directly. Nannie was the boss, they knew, though they would have a hard time proving it in court.
Jud nodded. “He bought a new house. In Westwood. Going to hit him for getaway money, Tom?”
Tom shook his head. “Not yet.” A pause. “Heard anything around, Jud?”
The tall man frowned. “Like what — ?”
“Like who killed Lois.”
Jud stared at him for seconds, saying nothing.
Tom said, “My God, you don’t think I — ?”
“I didn’t think anything, Tom. I didn’t think about it either way, or mean to judge you. I figured you might have caught her with — ” He broke off, coloring.
Tom stared at him, his heart hammering. “With who, Jud?”
Jud’s face was tight. “How do I know with who? With any good-looking, fast talking — Oh, what the hell difference does it make, now?”
Tom said nothing. He was breathing heavily and there was a faintness in his chest.
Jud said, “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. The boys figured you might have bumped her, but that you had reason and — Tom, if you feel like hitting me, go ahead. I thought you knew.”
Tom asked, “Hearsay, Jud? Or do you know she was unfaithful?”
Jud shrugged. “I never peeped, if that’s what you mean. I’d make book on it, though. Let’s get off the subject, Tom.”
“Why? Maybe, if I knew who her last lover had been, I’d learn what happened in St. Louis.”
Jud’s face was blank and his voice dry. “I don’t know anything about that. I don’t like to talk about the dead, Tom.”
Tom studied him for seconds, first in anger and then in resignation. Jud could be the stubbornest man alive when he wanted to. Tom asked, “Do you want to talk about Joe Hubbard?”
“I don’t know anything about that, either. Do you want to talk about him?”
“I was wondering if he was one of Lois’ boy friends.”
“Not to my knowledge. He was your friend, Tom. The rest of the boys didn’t know him. He wasn’t in our world.” Jud put his legs over the arm of the chair, his bare feet dangling. “What made you think his death was connected to your wife’s?”
“He defended me.”
Jud smiled. “And how. A bull-pen lawyer would have done a better job. Some friend he was, Tom.” Tom said nothing, staring at the rug.
Jud stood up. “You must be bushed. You take the bed; I’ll sleep out here on the davenport.”
Tom started to protest, but Jud waved a hand. “I want you in the bedroom. I’m harboring a fugitive and I want you as well hidden as I can get you. That much, I demand.”
Tom rose wearily. “All right. You’re the boss. To-night.”
In the bedroom, Tom pulled off his shoes and trousers and socks and flopped into bed in his underwear. There was a pain behind his eyes and at the roots of his upper molars. Sinusitis?
He stretched on his back, staring at the dark ceiling. It seemed that everybody knew about Lois…. He’d thought she was special, a long trip up the social ladder from him, an aristocrat. His beautiful, witty, social register Lois, how he had loved her.
And loved her still.
He slept without dreams and wakened to a hot, bright room. Through the closed door, he could hear Jud talking on the phone. He rose and took his razor with him into the bathroom.
Jud was in the kitchen when Tom finished dressing. Jud asked, “How do you like your eggs?”
“Sunnyside up.” Tom sat down at the small, square table in an ell of the kitchen.
Jud took a quartet of eggs from the refrigerator. “I tried to get Nannie. Somebody at th
e house said he wasn’t in town.”
Tom smiled. “You’re supposed to go through channels to Nannie Koronas, Jud. Privates don’t speak directly to generals. Why did you want to talk to him?”
“You’ll need money, won’t you? You don’t expect to hang around this town, do you?”
“I’ll need money. But I’m not leaving town right away. I’m through running, Jud. For a while, anyway.”
Jud paused in the act of cracking an egg. “What can you do but run? This town’s too hot for you, Tom.”
“Maybe. But maybe there’s a line here to what happened to Lois. If there is, I want to get onto it. Nannie should know a few things. He’s got friends in St. Louis and Chicago and every place else where people gamble.”
Jud shook his head. “Nannie knows the gamblers. Was Lois killed by a gambler?”
“Who knows?” Tom said dully. “But after Lois, Joe Hubbard was killed. He was killed in this town and Nannie could very well have the word on that. He has a lot of ears in this town.”
Jud nodded. “Yeah, that’s true enough.” He brought over a pair of eggs for Tom, and pushed a basket of breakfast rolls closer. “Nannie could know, but he’s no stoolie. Why don’t you forget both of them, Tom?”
Tom stared at him. “Aren’t you forgetting I’ve been convicted of murder? I want to be a free man.”
“In Mexico, you’d be free. This town is full of cops and they’ll be looking for you. Nannie probably has connections in Mexico; you could change your name and live like a king on American money down there.”
Tom shook his head.
Jud went over to get his own eggs. He sat down across from Tom. “In our business, we play the percentage. The smart way is to get out, Tom, get out while you can.”
“I’m not running. Let’s not talk about that.”
They were silent for minutes. Tom thought of Jud’s words and appreciated the wisdom of them. The law was all around them and the big boys were on top. Jean had sold him a different bill of goods last night, but this was a bright morning and a time to face reality. He was no Hawkshaw, no crusader, no superman. He was just one of the small men in a big business, quietly making a living on the percentage.
Run, Killer, Run Page 2