Dark Passage (21 page)

The footsteps came closer and he wondered
why it was taking so long for the footsteps to reach the
door.

The sound of the footsteps was a soft
mallet sound, softly tapping at the top of his skull, and
slowly.

The sound of the footsteps took form and
became a mallet. The mallet was a weapon. He ought to defend
himself against a weapon. He had that right. It was proper and it
was just that he should defend himself now. The mallet was the
beginning of death and he had a right to defend himself against
death.

The sound of the mallet was louder now,
closer now, the feeling of it was heavier, and now it was fully
upon him and it was hurting and he ought to think in practical
terms, think of a way to defend himself. The detective was a fairly
big man and the detective had a gun and fists wouldn’t be
sufficient. There was Pa-tavilca to think of, there was getting
away from here and going to Patavilca to think of, and the
detective was trying to keep him away from that, trying to take him
away from life and the delight of Patavilca and he had a right to
defend himself, to hold onto life. He was looking at the door,
listening to the footsteps coming toward the door, listening to the
mallet, feeling the mallet, knowing that as each blow of the mallet
came against him it was doing something to his brain, knowing he
had to stop that, knowing he couldn't stop it, knowing he had a
right to defend himself, listening to the footsteps, feeling the
mallet, knowing it wasn't fair that they should kill him, knowing
that soon it would be too late, he would be dead, and he was alive
now, and he should be preparing to defend himself, knowing he was
going to do something to defend himself, knowing he didn't hate the
detective and he really didn't want to hurt the detective but he
had to do something to defend himself and what he had to do was
grab something. He turned his head and on the dresser across the
room he saw an ash tray.

It was a glass ash tray.

It was fairly large.

It was heavy. A very heavy ash tray had
killed Gert. This one was very heavy.

He stared at it.

The mallet was banging now, banging hard
on his skull. He got up from the bed and went over and picked up
the ash tray and he was thinking that he would open the door for
the detective and hide the ash tray behind his back and manage to
get behind the detective and then hit him with the ash tray, hit
him hard enough so he would go down, hard enough so he would stay
down, but not too hard, because too hard would kill the detective
and he didn’t want to kill the detective. He didn't want to but he
wanted to hit the detective hard enough to put him down and keep
him down long enough for the negotiation of the fire escape and the
complete beginning of a complete getaway, but not too hard, of
course not too hard. But hard enough. That would take measuring and
he wondered if he would be able to measure it correctly. And he
knew he wouldn't be able to measure it. He knew he was going to
bring it down too hard because he was so anxious to get away,
because now he was at a point where he was more afraid of bringing
it down too lightly than too hard. And now that he had it in his
hand and his mind was made up to use it he could not put it down
and he was going to do something now that he didn't want to do,
that he never expected he would do, and he didn't want to do it,
and he pleaded with himself not to do it, and he knew he would
always regret doing it, and he was sick and he was tired, every
part of him was so tired except his right arm and his right hand
and the fingers that had a firm hold on the heavy glass ash tray.
He pleaded with himself to drop it, to let his fingers go limp, to
let the ash tray go to the floor. His grip tightened on the ash
tray, the mallet crashed down on him, the door became liquid,
flowing toward him, flowing back, the floor was liquid, the door
flowed in again, the mallet crashed down again, he saw it
happening, just as if it was already happening he saw the detective
coming in and the perfect teeth smiling at him and the forefinger
tapping against the thin moustache and he heard the detective
telling him it was tough and it was too bad but it was necessary to
take him in and he could hear himself saying something about the
offer of an extra three hundred and he could see the detective
shaking a head and saying no, it was tough, it was too bad and it
was a rotten job but it was a job all the same and it was necessary
to take him in. And the detective was asking him to come along and
he said all right, he would come along and then he was getting
around and sort of behind the detective and the heavy glass ash
tray was a part of his fingers, a part of his arm as he brought up
his arm, brought it up high as the detective started to turn to
look at him to see what he was doing and then he brought it down,
swinging it down, the heavy glass ash tray, very heavy, very hard
and thudding so horribly hard against the detective's head. And the
detective stood there looking at him. And he wanted the detective
to go down. And he brought the ash tray down again, and the head
began to bleed. The blood came running out but the detective
wouldn't go down so he hit the head again and still the detective
wouldn't go down and he hit the head once more. And the detective
refused to go down even though the blood was running very thickly
now, very fast, and the ash tray came against the head and against
the head again and the blood washed down over the detective's face
and the perfect teeth were smiling and very white and glistening
until the blood dripped down over the teeth and made them very red
and glistening and the detective stood there with his head of blood
and he wouldn't go down.

The blood dripped onto the detective’s
shoulders, down over the detective's shoulders, down the arms,
dripped off the ends of the fingers, dripped onto the floor,
collected and pooled on the floor, rose up and clung to the
detective's shoes, came up along the detective's trousers as more
blood came down over the detective's chin, dripped onto the
shirtfront and the detective was wearing a very red and glistening
shirt and then a very red and glistening suit. All of the detective
was red and glistening and the redness gushed from the black and
deep openings in the detective's head and added to the glistening
and the red. And the detective wouldn't go down. The detective was
a glistening and red statue, all red, standing there and refusing
to go down, and now it was impossible to use the ash tray again
because the arm was tired, too tired to lift the ash tray again,
and the detective stood there smiling with his perfect red teeth,
and then there was a knocking on the door.

The redness stood there.

The knocking came again.

The redness vanished as Parry opened his
eyes. Then he closed his eyes again, closed them tightly and tried
to see redness or anything near redness and all he got was black.
He opened his eyes and he heard the knocking, and he walked over to
the dresser and put the ash tray back where it belonged. Then he
walked back across the room toward the door, and with the inside of
his head a spinning vacuum he put a hand on the knob, knowing a
crazy, careening joy as he anticipated the living face of the
detective. He opened the door and saw the face of
Studebaker.

CHAPTER 16

There was no hat this time. There was grey
hair, very thin on top. There was a new suit, a new shirt and a new
tie. And new shoes. And Studebaker was smiling as he stood there in
his new clothes. He put a hand in his coat pocket. He took out a
small pistol and he pointed it at Parry.

He said, “Walk backward. Keep walking with
your hands up until you hit the wall.”

Parry walked backward. His shoulders came
against the wall and he bounced a little and then he stood still
with his hands up.

Studebaker was in the room now and he was
closing the door. He had the pistol pointed at Parry’s stomach. He
said, “I could shoot you now and make myself five thousand
dollars.”

“I didn’t know they were offering
anything,” Parry said.

“That’s what they're offering,” Studebaker
said. “they're stumped.”

“Have you talked to them?”

“No,” Studebaker said. “If I was a dope I
would’ve talked to them. I'm not a dope. In old clothes I know I
look like a farmer but I'm not a farmer. Just stand there with your
hands up and I'll stand here and we'll talk it over.”

“What do you want?”

“Money.”

“How much?”

“Sixty thousand.”

“I can’t afford that. I can't come
anywhere near it.”

“She can.”

“Who?”

“The girl.”

“What girl?”

“Irene Janney.”

“Who’s she?”

“Look, Parry. I told you I’m not a dope.
And I'm not a farmer. I know she's worth a couple hundred thousand.
She can spare sixty of it.”

“She’s out of it. You can't do a
thing.”

“Except turn you in. And that brings her
in. That makes her an accessory to the Fellsinger job. It’s twenty
years off her life.”

“They wouldn’t give her that.”

“All right, let’s give her a break. Let's
make it ten. It's still worth sixty thousand. That leaves her a
hundred and forty thousand. With that hundred and forty she can get
back the sixty in no time. And then we'll all be happy.”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Parry said. “I’m sure.” He watched
the pistol. The pistol remained pointed at him but it was moving.
Because Studebaker was moving, because Studebaker was going toward
the phone.

Studebaker took hold of the phone and
lifted it from the hook.

“Put it down,” Parry said.

Studebaker smiled. He put the phone down.
He said, “You’ll play?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s okay. Think about it all you want
to. Look at it up and down and sideways. You'll come to the same
thing. You'll see it's the best way. What you've got to do now is
shake me. I'm a big stone in the road and you've got to get rid of
the stone to keep on going. So what you've got to do is talk to her
and show her what her only move is. You got plenty on
her.”

“You too. You seem to know
plenty.”

“Not as much as you. If I went to her
alone I wouldn’t have much to back myself up. What I want to do is
go there with you and have her see you with me so she'll know I'm
not kidding. Then and there I want her to write me out a check for
sixty thousand. That's the way we work it. We go there
together.”

“You’ve done this sort of thing before,
haven't you?”

“Nup. This is the first time. How am I
doing?”

“You’re doing fine. Tell me, Arbogast,
what are you?”

“I’m a crook.”

“Small time?”

“Until now.”

“In old clothes you don’t look like a
crook.”

“In old clothes I look like a
farmer.”

“What will you do with the sixty
thousand?”

“Probably go to Salt Lake City and open up
a loan office. There’s a fortune in it. People are crazy these
days. People are always crazy but these days they're especially
bughouse. They're making money but they want more. They're spending
like lunatics. With a loan office I'll clean up. The way I got it
figured out, sixty thousand gives me a perfect start.”

“You won’t keep bothering her, will
you?”

“I tell you sixty thousand is just the
right amount. I’ll have it doubled and redoubled inside a couple
years.”

“Okay if I light a cigarette?”

“No. Keep your hands up.”

“You’re a careful guy.”

“Sure I’m careful. I'm no dope. I'm
careful and I'm smart. I'll give you a slant on how smart I am.
I'll tell you the way I handled it, and then you'll know just how
much of a chance you've got to put something over on me. Now you
remember when I picked you up on that road, you remember you were
wearing a pair of grey cotton trousers and heavy shoes and nothing
more.”

“You knew who I was right
away.”

“I didn’t know anything of the kind,”
Arbogast said. ” You had Quentin written all over you, but that was
all. So I said to myself here's a fellow making a break from
Quentin. I said to myself I'll pick up this fellow and see what he
has to offer.”

“That,” Parry said, “I don’t
get.”

“I’ll tell you how it is with me,”
Arbogast said. “I'm always on the lookout for an opportunity.
Anything that comes along with a possibility tag on it I grab. Here
you were, out on the road, a fellow running away from Quentin.
Maybe you had connections. Maybe you'd be willing to pay for a lift
and a hiding place. Maybe I could stretch it out long enough to get
something on you and shake you down later. That's the way I figured
it. We'll say it was twelve to five I could make myself some heavy
money on the deal. Twelve to five is always good enough for me,
especially when my only bid is picking you up and having a talk
with you. Now let's be agreeable and keep our hands up.”

“They’re up.”

“Get them up higher and keep them that
way. And maybe you better turn around. Yeah, I think you better
turn around and face the wall and I’ll see what you
got.”