She'd just started to turn back to the phone when she wrinkled up her nose and glanced at the coffee table with an exasperated smile. "But let me get that horrible cigarette out of here before it smells up my curtains. Talk about ground-up cigar b.u.t.ts."

She picked up the ashtray and went past me. There were two cigarette stubs in it, and one of them was an oval type with very black tobacco. My nerves relaxed.

When she returned, I asked, "Could you make any sense at all out of what Montoya wanted?"

She hesitated. "Well, it probably sounds much worse than it actually is, the way he garbles things. But I gathered he drove in there to see her about buying her husband's old outboard motor, and she was getting in her car with two men. They were holding her up as if she were drunk, and she didn't speak to him. But let me try the cafe, and if Kelly isn't there we'll call the Highway Patrol."

She turned back to the phone and dialed. I waited, jumpy with impatience. She swung around facing me, the base of the instrument dangling from her right hand as she waited for someone to answer., Then she cried out, "Kelly . . . Kelly!" in a strangled voice, and casually tossed the instrument, receiver and all, onto the floor.

There was nothing I could do about it now, except watch. In some far-off corner of my mind I wondered how her tan would look under artificial light. She reached behind her to tip over the stand and the bridge lamp beside it. Before the crash had time to die, she picked up one of the sofa pillows and dropped it over the phone where it lay on the rug. Catching the yoke of her dress with both hands, she pulled down sharply, and the seams gave way down the front all the way to her waist. She wore no slip or bra, of course. I could see nothing wrong with the tan.

"It'll take him about two minutes to run it with the siren," she said, critically appraising the effect.

"I could kill you in less," I said. "Had you thought of that?"

"Of course," she said. She loosed the pony tail and let her hair fall about her face. "But why should you? You're not the type. And you might get away if you start running."

"Sure," I said. I had a wonderful chance of getting away.

She unb.u.t.toned my jacket and looked at the wreckage of my shirt. "You don't really need any touching up, do you? Well, aren't you going to start?"

"No," I said. I could hear the siren now. I'd be shot down before I could get to the highway. "I'm going to call you. Your husband's not nearly as stupid as you think he is."

"Oh, you are are an optimist, aren't you?" She reached briefly up under her skirt, and stepped out of the pants. Placing one slipper on them, she pulled upward, snapping the elastic. an optimist, aren't you?" She reached briefly up under her skirt, and stepped out of the pants. Placing one slipper on them, she pulled upward, snapping the elastic.

"Why did you think it was necessary?" I asked. "You had it made. n.o.body'd ever prove it."

She made no reply. I could hear the siren quite plainly now.

"You don't trust the others?" I asked. "Or don't they trust you?"

"Aren't you even going to try to get away?" she asked, frowning.

"No," I said. "I told you."

From the sound, he was within three or four blocks and still doing seventy. If he stopped it without turning over or going into the orchard he was a good driver, I thought. The siren cut and began to growl its way down.

She licked her lips. "You're a fool-"

It didn't seem likely she was doubtful about having enough stomach to watch it, so maybe she was thinking about the rug.

"All right, Mrs. Redfield," I said, and grabbed her. She put up a struggle, but it was pretty useless because I didn't care whether I hurt her arms or not. I got her in front of me, both her wrists clamped in my right hand while I held the left over her mouth, hard, and backed up against the wall beside the door from the hallway. When we were in position, I leaned back against it and locked her legs with one of mine so she couldn't kick. The long scream of his tires died outside and feet pounded on the porch and down the hall.

I tossed her aside as he hurtled through the door, and got him with a high tackle around both arms. He rode down under my weight and slid along the rug, and I chopped a right just under his ear. It had no effect on him at all except to make him explode. I thought he was going to climb to his feet with me on his shoulders and neck.

I chopped at him again and tried to get at the gun. I'd hoped he would have it out when he came through the door, because it was a shoulder holster, but he hadn't, so the only way was to work for it. He was like a maniac. I outweighed him by at least thirty pounds, but he heaved upwards and rolled the two of us against the coffee table, upsetting it and scattering ashtrays. I managed to pin him again, hooked my left arm around his throat and pulled back, and shoved my right hand under his chest He fought without uttering a sound. He was trying to reach the gun, but I beat him to it, worked the holster around a little to get his weight off it, and pulled it free at last.

I dropped it into the pocket of my jacket having no illusions at all about threatening him with it. On television shows you ordered people around with a gun as if they were some kind of magic wand, but this was Redfield, and his wife had been beaten up and raped. The minute he saw her, the only way you'd stop him with a gun would be to empty it into him and try to stay out of his way till he died.

The thing I could use, however, should be in the right hip pocket of his trousers or the pocket of his jacket. But before I could try cither of them he heaved upwards and we rolled again, across the fallen bridge lamp, crushing it and scattering light bulbs. The only one that was turned on, fortunately, was that at the other end of the room. But in this new battle area we were facing towards where she had fallen when I'd shoved her, and he saw her at last, saw her sitting up with her hair in wild disarray and her clothes torn half off. He went silently berserk. If I'd weighed four hundred pounds I couldn't have held him down. He broke the stranglehold around my throat, heaved me off, and scrambled to his knees. I hit him on the jaw hard enough to drop him, and it had no more effect than hitting a wall. He battered at my face, pushed to his feet, and kicked at my head. I caught his legs and up-ended him again, and this time as we threshed across the floor I found the sap.

It was ugly and vicious and I hated to do it, but it was the only thing that could stop him. Knocking him out was no good, even if I could do it. I had to try to talk to him. I cut his arms down with it as he was trying to get to his feet, and then worked over the muscles at the backs of his legs. She ran past me to the fireplace and came back with the poker, and managed to hit me with it once before I could take it away from her. I shoved her again. She fell.

Redfield lay against the wreckage of the coffee table. I pinned him with a hand against his chest as he struggled to get at me with arms and legs that would no longer answer his commands. Wind roared in my throat and I could taste blood in my mouth; I'd taken a lot of punishment to get that sap.

"Listen." I said. I had to stop for breath. "I didn't do that. Do you think I'm insane? She framed me. She wanted me killed or run out of here so I could never come back. Don't you know yet she killed Langston, you fool? How much longer are you going to try to close your eyes to it?" I said. I had to stop for breath. "I didn't do that. Do you think I'm insane? She framed me. She wanted me killed or run out of here so I could never come back. Don't you know yet she killed Langston, you fool? How much longer are you going to try to close your eyes to it?"

I ran out of breath. I looked at his face as I gasped, and realized he was hearing nothing at all of what I said. He was conscious, and immobile, as I'd wanted him, and the whole thing was utterly useless. There was no way it could penetrate; there simply wasn't room in his mind for anything beside that implacable yearning to get to me and kill me. His eyes moved once, towards her, and then back to my face. They were terrible. If I lived a hundred years, I thought, I'd never completely forget them. Then I remembered that if I lived until tomorrow morning it would be a miracle.

I stood up on shaky legs. There was no sound in the room except that of our breathing. I went over and yanked the phone out of the wall. I'd never find the keys to his station wagon, but he would have left those in the cruiser. It would make a wonderful, inconspicuous thing to try to get away in. But there was no point in even trying to think more than a minute ahead now. I turned at the doorway. She was lying on her side, sobbing. It was a good act. He had pushed himself out of the wreckage of the coffee table and was trying to crawl towards me like a dog with a broken back, still staring at me. And not once had he ever uttered a word. So I was going to talk to him, I thought.

Well, anyway, I'd gained a few minutes' time and a car.

I ran outside and got in the cruiser. The keys were in it. I slid around the corner back at the other end of the block and headed for the highway. By this time I was beginning to think a little and I realized I had no chance of getting out of the State, even if I had another car. And that I couldn't go anywhere until I'd found Georgia Langston. There was no telling what they'd do now.

15

Maybe Ollie had seen something. I still had a few minutes before Redfield could get to a telephone and spread the alarm. I slid in between two other cars in the parking area at the side of the Silver King and jumped out quickly. There was no one in sight. When I hurried through, the waitress and two customers turned to stare. I wondered what I looked like now.

The bar was crowded. A man I didn't know was behind the bar. Well, I thought wearily, he couldn't stay on duty all the time. Then I saw him down near the other end. He was checking the cash register. I went clown and found an open s.p.a.ce and called his name. Customers turned to stare. I caught sight of my face in the bar mirror. The cut place over my eye had been opened again, and the blood had dried on the side of my face. The other eye was developing a shiner, and I had a big puffy area on the left side of my jaw. I stuffed the torn pennants of my shirt down inside my belt and b.u.t.toned the jacket. It didn't help any that I could see.

Ollie turned, and hurried over. "Good G.o.d, Chatham, what happened?"

"It's a long story," I said.

"Have you seen anything of Mrs. Langston tonight? You didn't see her leave over there, by any chance?"

"No," he replied.

"But she called here a few minutes ago. Wanted to know if I'd seen you-"

"Where was she?" I interrupted. "How long ago?"

"I don't know where she was. But it wasn't over five minutes ago."

"Was she all right?"

He looked surprised. "I guess so. Seemed a little worried about you, that's all."

At that moment there occurred one of those unexpected lulls that happen now and then in bars. The jukebox quit abruptly and several people stopped talking at about the same time, with the result that one voice somewhere behind me took over the floor. It was familiar, and still it wasn't. I turned. It was Pearl Talley, sitting with his back towards me, telling one of his interminable stories.

". . . So the first man says, ""Look, Morris, we know by you it's a sickness already, it should happen to Hitler, but, Morris, we're only asking would you please-"

"Tobacco Road Yiddish," Ollie said. "He also does a good southern Swede."

"It's not bad," I said thoughtfully, still looking at Pearl.

"Oh, sometimes when he gets wound up he'll go on all night with those half-witted dialects."

"Maybe he even speaks English?" I said.

Ollie grinned and shook his head. "I've never heard him try."

"Well, I'll see you," I said, and started to turn away.

"Anything I can do for you?" he asked. "Run you in to a doc if you haven't got a car."

"I'm all right, thanks. I've just got to find Mrs. Langston." And get out of sight within the next five or ten minutes, I thought, if I wanted to see tomorrow's sunrise. I went out the door, and looked across the road. Her station wagon was parked in front of the office. Nothing surprised me any more. I broke into a run, and was almost hit by a car. The driver called me something unprintable and sped on. I ran into the lobby and could hear her moving around in the living-room. She turned as I shoved through the curtains. She was still dressed exactly as she had been at dinner, and as far as I could see she was unharmed. She looked at my face and gasped, and then, is if we'd been rehearsing it for a week, she was in my arms.

"I've been so worried," she said. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Bill, what happened?"

"No time now," I said. "We've got to get out of here. Fast."

She grasped the urgency in my voice and asked no questions. Running into the bedroom, she came out with her purse and a pair of flat shoes. We hurried out. She locked the front door. It occurred to me the back one was probably broken open, but it didn't seem very important.

"Where does Talley live?" I asked, as I hit the starter. "I mean, east of town, or west?"

"West," she said. "On the other side of the river, and then south four or five miles."

We'd risk it, I thought. I had no plan of any kind except to get off the highway and out of sight, but once we were committed we'd never get back through town or across that bridge. In a few minutes everything was going to be closed to us.

I whirled around and shot onto the highway, headed towards town. And almost at the same instant I heard the siren wailing up ahead of us. It was too late to turn now. I kept going straight ahead, holding my breath. The Sheriff's car shot past us, doing sixty. He hadn't seen us. They were still looking for me in their cruiser.

"Watch him," I said, opening up as much as I dared. "Is he turning in?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "What is it, Bill?"

They'd find their cruiser across the street, and then they'd be looking for this station wagon. "In a few minutes," I said. "If we get through town."

I went through as if I were driving on eggs. The streets were quiet now, with not enough traffic to cover us. I felt naked. n.o.body paid any attention to us. We came onto the bridge at River Street and I was tied in knots expecting to hear the growl of a siren open up behind us. Nothing happened. Breath escaped from me in a long sigh. I eased in on the throttle and was doing fifty by the time we were across the river. "Where do we turn?" I asked.

"A little over a mile," she said. "There's a service station."

I prayed he'd be closed, but he wasn't. However, he was busy waiting on a customer as we made the turn and I didn't think he saw us. I straightened out and hit the throttle again. It was a gravel road running through timber and there were no other cars in sight. I slammed on the brakes.

"Look," I said, "you can still get out. If I'm not with you, they can't stop you. Go back to the highway and head east."

"Are you in trouble?" she asked quietly.

"Serious trouble. And you will be too, if you're caught with me."

"And leave you here in the dark, on foot?" she asked. "Bill, you're making me angry."

"I tell you-"

"If you're in trouble, it's because of me. I don't know what you're going to try, but I intend to help. Now, keep going, or I'll drive."

"It's a thousand-to-one shot-"

"Bill!"

I put the car in gear and hit the throttle. "Stubborn," I said, and grinned in the darkness. It made my face hurt.

"Have you ever been to his place?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Just by it. This is the road that goes down-river to the Cut where Kendall kept his boat."

"It figures," I said. I fought the car around a turn, throwing gravel, just inside the ragged edge of control. "Let me know when we're getting near."

"All right. I think about a half-mile before we get there we pa.s.s a fence and a cattle-guard."

"Good." We came around another turn and there was nothing but darkness and trees. We sped on, meeting no one. In another few minutes the fence flashed past and I heard the cattle-guard clatter beneath the tires. I slowed abruptly, watching the sides of the road. In less than a hundred yards I found a place I could get off. A faint pair of ruts went off to the left, winding through the trees. I followed them until they disappeared, and kept going, picking my way between the trunks and around clumps of underbrush. The ground was dry and firm. When we were at least a quarter mile from the road I stopped. I cut the ignition and headlights. It was immensely silent and black all around us, as if we were alone on a whole continent that hadn't even been discovered yet. When I turned, it was impossible to see her beside me. I put out a hand and my fingers brushed her cheek. She came towards me, and then I was holding her very tightly and whispering against her ear.

I was scared," I said. "I was scared stiff."

"So was I," she replied. "What happened, Bill?"

"I'm batting one-thousand," I said. "First I was b.o.o.by-trapped by a hillbilly who thinks intelligible English is a dialect. And now I've been clobbered by a small-town school teacher."

"What do they want you for?"

"Rape," I said simply.

She cried out. "How did she do it?"

I told her the whole thing. "I walked right into it. She even set it up so I'd get there in a cab, to have the driver's story to back her up. Then she stalled just long enough to make it look right. Was it a man or woman that called you?"

"A man. He said you'd been in a fight and were badly beaten up, and Calhoun had arrested you. I went to the jail and the hospital-"

I sighed. "He gets monotonous. But they had help on their telephone circuit this time. Let's try Frankie, that guy I b.u.mped into. Who's he?"

"Frankie Crossman. He runs Pearl Talley's junk yard, out in the west end of town."

"You're doing fine. Frankie's in. He's another one who's mouse-trapped me. He started the fight so that acid-thrower could get away."

"But how did they turn things over in the living-room that way?"

"One of them went over and broke in the rear as soon as they saw you drive away. You see, it had to look as if something terrible had happened to you, without anything's actually happening-anything, that is, that might start Redfield wondering afterwards if maybe I had had been tricked into coming there. Your being gone temporarily had nothing to do with it; I just got a few drinks under my belt, started thinking about the way she looked without her clothes on, and went charging over there like a rutting moose-" been tricked into coming there. Your being gone temporarily had nothing to do with it; I just got a few drinks under my belt, started thinking about the way she looked without her clothes on, and went charging over there like a rutting moose-"

"Incidentally, how does does she look without her clothes on? And how would you know?" she look without her clothes on? And how would you know?"