Dark Passage (20 page)

The taxi took him to Civic Center. He got
off on Market, went into an all-night diner and asked for a cup of
coffee. He stayed with the coffee for twenty minutes. Last night’s
newspaper was on the counter and he picked it up and glanced at the
front page. He began to turn the pages. He asked for another cup of
coffee. He was on page seven. They were still wondering where he
was. They gave him three inches and a single small headline that
simply said he was still on the loose. There were no further
developments. He looked at his wrist watch and it said six forty.
He turned and looked through the grimy window of the diner. It was
still raining very hard.

He felt uncomfortable. He told himself
there was no reason why he should feel uncomfortable. All he had to
do was wait around until nine o’clock, when the stores would open.
Then he could go buy himself some clothes and things, and a grip,
and he would be ready to check in at a hotel and make his
arrangements from that point. Maybe by tonight he would already be
on a train, or even a plane. He wondered why he was uncomfortable.
He took his glance away from the newspaper and noticed there was a
man sitting beside him. He remembered the man had been in the diner
when he had come in. The man had been there at the far end of the
counter. Now the man was sitting beside him.

The man was rolling a cigarette. He wore a
swagger raincoat and a low-crown hat with a fairly wide brim. The
cigarette wasn’t rolling very well and the man finally gave it up
and let the tobacco spill on the counter. Parry looked at the
tobacco.

The man turned his head and looked at
Parry.

It was time to go. Parry started to slide
away from the counter.

“Wait a minute,” the man said.

Parry looked at the man’s face. The face
was past thirty years old. It featured a long jaw and not much eyes
and not much nose. There was a trace of moustache.

“What’s the matter?” Parry said. He kept
going away from the counter.

“I saids wait a minute,” the man said. It
wasn’t much of a voice. There was a crack in it, there was alcohol
in it.

Parry came back to the seat. He looked at
the spilled tobacco. He said. ” What can I do for you?” He wondered
if his face was changed sufficiently.

“Answer a few questions.”

“Go ahead,” Parry said. He tried a smile.
It didn’t give. He said, “I've got plenty of time.” He wondered if
that was all right. The man's face didn't tell him whether or not
it was all right.

The man said, “What are you doing in this
weather without a raincoat?”

“I’m absent-minded.”

The man smiled. He had perfect teeth. He
said, “Nup. Let’s try it again.”

“All right,” Parry said. “I don’t have a
raincoat.”

“That’s better. We'll go on from there.
Why don't you have a raincoat?”

“I’m absent-minded.”

The man laughed. He played a forefinger
into the spilled tobacco. He said, “That’s okay. That's pretty
good. What are you doing up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not well. I have a bad
kidney.”

“That’s tough,” the man said.

“Yeah,” Parry said. “It’s no picnic.
Well-” He started to get up.

“Wait a minute,” the man said.

Parry settled himself on the seat. He
looked at the man and he said, “What hurts you, mister?”

“My job,” the man said. “It’s a rotten
job. But it's the only thing I know how to do. I've been at it for
years.”

“Are you on it now?”

“That’s right.”

“What do you want with me?”

“That depends. Let’s have a few
statements.”

“All right,” Parry said. ” My name is
Linnell. Allan Linnell. I’m an investment counselor.”

“In town?”

“No.” He grabbed at a town. He said,
“Portland.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Hiding,” Parry said.

“From what?”

“My wife. And her family. And her friends.
And everybody.”

“Come on, now. It can’t be that
bad.”

“I’ll tell you what you do,” Parry said. ”
You go up there and live with her for seven years. And then if
you're still in your right mind you come down here and tell me all
about it.”

The man shook his head slowly. He said,
“I’m sorry, bud. I don't want to bother you like this, but it's my
job. This town is very hot right now. All kinds of criminals all
over the place. We got orders to check every suspicious
personality. I'll have to see your cards.”

“I don’t have anything with
me.”

The man kept shaking his head. “You see?
I’ve already started with you. I can't let it pass now. I'll have
to take you in.”

“I’ve got my wallet at the hotel,” Parry
said. ” Couldn't we go over there? I'll give you all the
identification you need.”

“All right,” the man said. “That’ll make
it easier. Let's go to the hotel.”

Parry took some change out of his pocket,
laid it on the counter.

They walked out of the diner, stood
waiting under the sloping roof that kept the rain away from
them.

“Where you staying?” the man
said.

Parry tried to think of a place. He
couldn’t think of a place. He thought of something else. He looked
at the man and he said, “I just remembered. The wallet's not there.
I never keep my money in the wallet. The only thing l took with me
was money. All my available cash.”

“How much?”

“Close to two thousand.”

The man tapped a forefinger against his
thin moustache.

Parry said, “I don’t want to go back to
Portland. It’s bad enough the way it is now. I'm just about ready
to crack. I almost cracked a year ago and if I crack now I'll never
get over it. And here's another thing. My name's not really
Linnell. It's a new name because I'm trying to make a new start.
I'll never make it if you take me in.”

“You working now?”

“I only checked in last night,” Parry
said. “I’ll find work. I know investments backwards and
forwards.”

The man folded his arms and watched the
rain ripping down. He said, “What’s the offer?”

“A hundred.”

“Make it two.”

Parry took bills from his pocket and began
counting off fifties. He put four fifties in the man’s
hand.

The man studied the money and pocketed it
and walked away.

Parry waited there for ten minutes. He saw
an empty taxi, waved to it. The driver beckoned.

The taxi took him to Golden Gate Park,
took him around the park and back to Civic Center. He went into a
hotel lobby and bought a magazine and used up an hour. Then he went
through the revolving door and stood under an awning and watched
the rain weaken. When the rain had stopped altogether he walked
down the street, kept walking until he came to a department
store.

He bought a grip, a good-looking piece of
yellow calf. He paid for it and told the salesman to hold it for
him. Then he went over to the men’s furnishings department and
bought a suit and a thin raincoat. He bought shirts and shorts and
ties and socks. He bought another pair of shoes. He was enjoying
him- self. He went into the toilet goods department and bought a
toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste. He bought a razor and a tube
of brushless shaving cream.

When he came back to the luggage
department he told the salesman he wanted to put his purchases in
the grip. He said it would be easier to carry them that way. The
salesman said that was all right, as long as he had the
receipts.

As he was leaving the department store a
man came up to him and politely asked him if he had made any
purchases. He said yes, and he showed the receipts. The man thanked
him politely and told him to come again. He said he would, and he
walked out of the store.

He looked for a hotel. He selected the
Ruxton, a small place that wasn’t fancy but was clean and trim.
They gave him a room on the fourth floor. He was registered as
Allan Linnell, and his address was Portland.

The room was small and very clean and
neat. He gave the bellhop a quarter and when he was alone in the
room he opened the grip, took out the packages and began to unwrap
them.

The phone rang.

He looked at the phone.

The phone rang again.

He decided to let it ring.

It kept on ringing.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and
stared at the phone.

The phone kept ringing and
ringing.

He got up and walked across the room and
picked up the phone.

He said, “Yes?”

“Room 417?”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Linnell?”

“Yes?”

“There’s someone here to see you. May I
send him up?”

It was a him. Then it had to be the
detective. It had to be more money. The detective had trailed him,
so it had to be more money or else the detective had changed his
mind about taking the money and was going to take him in. He turned
and saw three doors. One was a closet door, one was for the
bathroom, one was for the corridor. He thought of the corridor, the
fire escape. But if it was more money it would be all right. He
thought of the fire escape. It was no good. It brought things back
to a chase basis. He had to get rid of that. He had to end it
before it became a chase.

“Mr. Linnell?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Shall I send him up?”

“Don’t hurry me,” Parry said, and he meant
it. Again he thought of the fire escape. He told himself to stop
thinking of the fire escape.

“Mr. Linnell?”

“Who is it wants to see me?”

“Just a moment, please.”

Parry heard dim voices. The name wouldn’t
help, except that this gave him a few more seconds to think it over
even though he knew there was nothing to think over.

“Mr. Linnell?”

“Yes?”

“It’s a Mr. Arbogast, ”

Arbogast. It sounded hard, just as hard as
the detective’s face was hard. It had to be more money. And more
money was all right and it had to be all right.

“Mr. Linnell?” The voice down there was
impatient.

“All right,” Parry said. ” Send him
up.”

He put the phone down and went back to the
bed and leaned against the post. It had to be more money, maybe
another three hundred. And he could spare that. He told himself it
would be all right after he gave the detective another three
hundred and he told himself it wouldn’t be all right because this
was the second time. And as long as there was a second time there
was the possibility of a third time. And a fourth and a fifth. And
after his money ran out the detective would take him in. Again he
began to consider the fire escape and this was the best time for
the fire escape because the detective was already in the elevator
and the elevator was going up. To use the fire escape he must use
it now and right now.

Then he was moving toward the door, going
slowly, telling himself to go faster, telling himself it was
already a chase even though a chase was the last thing he wanted.
He was trying to go faster and his legs wouldn’t play along and he
begged himself to go faster, to open the door and get out of here
and give himself a lead and build the lead. He was almost at the
door. He heard sounds in the corridor, footsteps coming toward the
door. He felt empty and worn out, and he knew it was too late. If
he ran now he would be up against a gun. All these detectives
carried guns. A good idea for a novelty song. All detectives carry
guns.

This was the end of it, because it
couldn’t be money, because it was a matter of plain reasoning,
because the detective had already taken a big risk, taking that two
hundred, and the detective had no intention of taking a bigger risk
now. The detective was here to work, to give back the two hundred
and take him in. There was a weakness in the wife in Portland story
and the detective had snatched at the weakness before letting him
get out of sight, and had trailed him and had him now and would
take him in. And this was the end of it and it had to end this way,
it had to end here, and what he had sensed all along was reality
now, there was really no getting away, they had to grab him
sometime, an ostrich could stick its head in the ground, stop
seeing everyone else but that didn't mean they wouldn't see the
ostrich. As he stood there listening to the footsteps coming toward
the door he thought of how easy it had been at the beginning, how
convenient everything had been, the way the truck was placed, the
empty barrels in the truck, the guards away from the truck and the
open gate and the truck going through. It had been very easy but it
was ended now, and the ending of it was reasonable even though it
wasn't fair, because now they would kill him, and he didn't deserve
death.