Dark Passage (5 page)

“I see you go in for swing,” he
said.

From another room she said, “Legitimate
swing.”

He heard a door closing and knew she was
in the bathroom. All he had to do now was open the door that faced
the corridor. Then down the corridor and out by way of the fire
escape. And then where?

Dragging on the cigarette he stooped over
and began going through the record albums. When he came to Basie he
frowned. There was a lot of Basie. The best Basie. The same Basie
he liked. There was Every Tub and Swinging the Blues and Texas
Shuffle. There was John’s Idea and Lester Leaps In and Out the
Window. He took a glance at the window. He came back to the records
and decided to play Texas Shuffle. He remembered that every time he
played Texas Shuffle he got a picture of countless steers parading
fast across an endless plain in Texas. He switched on the current
and got the record under the needle. Texas Shuffle began to roll
softly and it was very lovely. It clicked with the fact that he had
a cigarette in his mouth, watching the smoke go up, and the police
didn’t know he was here.

Texas Shuffle was hitting its climax when
she came out of the bathroom. Parry turned and looked at her. She
smiled at him.

She said, “You like Basie?”

“I collect him. That is, I
did.”

“What else do you like?”

“Gin.”

“Straight?”

“Yes. With a drink of water after every
three or four.”

She stopped smiling. She said, “There’s
something odd about that.”

“Odd about what?”

“I also go for gin. The same way. The same
chaser schedule.”

He said nothing. She went into another
room. The record ended and Parry got Basie started with John’s
Idea. The idea was well under way and Basie’s right hand was doing
wonderful things on the keys and then she was coming in with a tray
that had two glasses and two jiggers, a bottle of gin and a pitcher
of water.

She poured the gin. Parry watched her
while he listened to the jumping music. She gave him some gin and
he threw it down his throat while she was filling her jigger. He
helped himself to a second jigger. He lit another cigarette. She
put on another record, and sat down in a violet chair, leaning back
and gazing at the ceiling.

“Light me a cigarette,” she
said.

He usually smoked a bit wet but he lighted
her cigarette dry. As she took it from him she leaned over to lift
the needle from the finished record.

“More?” she said.

“No. Let’s talk instead. Let's talk about
what's going to be.”

“Do you have plans already?”

“No.”

“I do, Vincent. I think you should live
here for a while. Live here until the excitement dies down and an
opening presents itself.”

Parry picked himself up from the floor. He
walked to the window and looked out. The street was almost empty.
He saw smoke coming from a row of stacks beyond rooftops. He took
himself away from the window and looked at a grey-violet
wall.

He said, “If I had a lot of money I could
understand it. The way it is now I don’t get it at all. There's
nothing in this for you. Nothing but aggravation and
hardship.”

He heard her getting up from the chair,
walking out of the room. From another room he heard a sound of a
bureau drawer getting opened. Then she was coming back and saying,
“I want to show you something.”

He turned and she handed him a clipping.
He recognized the print. It was from the Chronicle. It was a letter
to the editor.

There’s a great deal to be said in behalf
of Vincent

Parry, the man now on trial for the murder
of his wife. I don’t expect you to print this letter, because the
issue will be ultimately settled in court and from the looks of
things it is a fair trial and Parry has his own lawyer. And yet the
prosecution has steadily aimed at getting away from the technical
aspects of the case and attempted to picture Parry as a combination
of unfaithful husband, killer and draft dodger. I am not acquainted
with Parry's marital difficulties. As for the killer angle, the
case is not yet completed and further testimony will no doubt bring
up new facts that will decide the matter one way or another.
However, I am certain that Vincent Parry is not a draft dodger. I
happen to know that Parry made several attempts to enter the armed
forces even though he had been rejected previously because of
physical disability.

The letter was signed — Irene
Janney.

Parry said, “Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not much of a letter. It hardly says
anything.”

“It’s not the entire letter. The Chronicle
couldn’t print all of it. They'd have to use a couple of columns.
But they tried to be fair. They included that contradiction of the
draft-dodging angle.”

“How did you know I tried to get
in?”

She pressed, her cigarette in a yellow
glass ash tray. “I have a friend who works at your draft board. He
told me. He said you were called up twice and rejected. He said you
kept pestering the draft board for another chance to get
in.”

“Is that what got you interested in the
case?”

“No,” Irene said. “This friend knew I was
interested. He called me up and told me what had happened at the
draft board. He told me you really wanted to get in. It checked
with the way I felt about the entire affair. Sometimes I get that
way. I get excited about something and I give it everything I
have.”

“I think I’ll clear out,” Parry
said.

“Sit down. Let’s keep talking. Let's tell
each other about ourselves. How's the kidney trouble?”

“I’ve been feeling better,” Parry said. He
lit another cigarette.

“It’s odd about the kidney
trouble.”

“Why?”

“I have it also. Not serious, but it
bothers me now and then.”

“Look, I think I’ll clear out. How's the
fire escape?”

“Stay here, Vincent.”

“What for?”

“Stay until it’s dark at
least.”

He looked at the stained-yellow cabinet,
the unmoving shining black record on the phonograph disc. He said,
“It’s this way. I've got to keep moving. And moving fast. Like this
it's no good. The police will be working while I'm doing nothing.
They're running after me and if I don't run I'll be
caught.”

“There’s a time to run.”

He was about to say something but just
then the phone rang. It was a French phone, yellow. It was on a
yellow table beside the grey-violet davenport. Irene picked up the
phone.

“Hello—oh, hello Bob. How are you—yes, I’m
fine-tonight? Oh, I'm sorry, Bob, but I won't be able to make it
tonight—no, no other commitments, but I just don't feel like going
out. —Oh yes, I'm quite all right, but I'm in the mood for a quiet
evening and reading and the radio and so forth all by myself—no, I
just feel that way—don't be silly—oh, don't be silly Bob—well,
maybe tomorrow—oh, Bob don't be silly—stop it, Bob, I don't like to
hear you talk that way. Call me tomorrow—yes, tomorrow about seven.
—Of course not. How's your work coming along— that's fine—all
right, Bob—yes, tomorrow at seven I'll expect to hear from you.
Good-by—”

Parry walked toward the door.

She stood up and stepped between Parry and
the door. She said, “Please, Vincent—”

“I’m going,” he said. “That phone call did
it.”

“But I didn’t want to see him
anyway.”

“All right, but there will be times when
you’ll want to see him. And times when you want to be at certain
places. Doing certain things. And you won't be able to, because
you'll be stuck with me.”

“But I said only for tonight.”

“Tonight will be a beginning. And if we
let it begin it will keep on going. You’re trying to help me but
you won't be helping me. And I certainly won't be helping you any.
We'll only get in each other's way. I'm going.”

“Just until tonight, Vincent. Until it
gets dark.”

“Dark. They won’t see me when it's dark.”
He stood there staring at the door as she stepped away from him and
went into another room. He didn't know what she was doing in the
other room. When she came back she had a tape measure in her hand.
He looked at the tape measure and then he looked at her
face.

She said, “I’m going to buy you some
clothes.”

“When?”

“Right now. I want the exact measurements.
I want the fit to be perfect. And it’s got to be expensive clothes.
I know a place near here—”

She took his measurements. He didn’t say
anything. She took the measurements and then she made notes in a
small memo book. He watched her going into another room. Again he
heard the sound of a bureau drawer getting opened. As she came out
again she was counting a roll of bills. A thick roll.

“No,” Parry said. “Let’s forget about it.
I'm going

“You’re staying,” she said. “I'm going.
And I'll be back soon. While you wait here you can be doing things.
Like getting rid of those rags you're wearing. All of them, even
the shoes. Take them into the kitchen. You'll find wrapping paper
there. Make a bundle and throw it into the incinerator. Then go
into the bathroom and treat yourself to a hot shower. Nice and hot
and plenty of soap. And you need a shave.” A little laugh got out
before she could stop it.

“What’s the laugh for?”

“I was thinking you could use his razor.
It’s a Swedish hollow-ground safety razor. I used to be married and
I gave it to my husband for a Christmas present. He didn't like it.
I used it every now and then when I went to the beach. I stopped
using it when someone told me depilatory cream was
better.”

“What happened to your
husband?”

“He took a walk.”

“When was this?”

“Long, long ago. I was twenty-three when
we married and it lasted sixteen months and two weeks and three
days. He told me I was too easy to get along with and it was
getting dull. I just remembered there’s no shaving soap. But I've
got some skin cream. You can rub that in and then use the ordinary
soap and you won't cut yourself. The incinerator is next to the
sink. Don't forget to get every stitch of those clothes into the
bundle. Maybe you better make two bundles so you'll be sure they
get down.”

“All right, I’ll make two
bundles.”

She was at the door now. She said, “I’ll
be back soon. Is there anything special you want?”

“No.”

“Will you do me a favor,
Vincent?”

“What?”

“Will you be here when I come
back?”

“Maybe.”

“I want to know, Vincent.”

“All right, I’ll be here.”

“What colors do you like?”

“Grey,” he said. “Grey and violet.” He
wanted to laugh. He didn’t laugh. “Sometimes a bit of yellow here
and there.”

She opened the door and left the
apartment. Parry stood a few feet away from the door and looked at
the door for several minutes. Then he walked back to the tray where
the gin was and he poured himself two shots and got them down fast.
He took a drink of water, went into the kitchen and found the
wrapping paper. He undressed, slowly at first, then gradually
faster as he realized he was getting rid of Studebaker’s clothes
and they were dirty clothes. For the first time he was aware that
they had a smell and they were itchy. It was a pleasure to take
them off and throw them away. Now he was naked and he was making
two bundles. He got a ball of string from the kitchen cabinet, tied
the bundles securely, then let them go down the incinerator. He
heard the swishing noise as the bundles dropped, the vague thud
that told him they had reached bottom. Knowing that Studebaker's
clothes and the prison shoes were going to burn and become ashes he
felt slightly happy.

He walked into the bathroom. It was yellow
tile, all of it. There was a glassed-in shower and he got it
started and used a rectangle of lavender soap. He made the shower
very hot, then soaped himself well, got the hot water on again,
switched to full cold, let it hit him for the better part of a
minute. Then he was out of the shower, using a thick yellow towel
that he could have used as a cape.

The skin cream mixed well with the soap,
resulting in a decent lather that gave the razor a smooth ride. He
shaved in three minutes and then he went into the parlor and lit a
cigarette. He had the yellow towel wrapped around his middle and
tucked in. He looked over the Basie records and decided to play
Shorty George.

He let the needle go down and just as it
touched the black he felt something coming into the apartment. It
was only a noise but to him it had form and the ability to clutch
and rip at his insides.

It was the buzzer.

Parry lifted the needle and stopped the
phonograph. He waited.

The buzzer sounded again. Parry slowly
lifted the cigarette to his lips and took a long haul. He sat down
on the edge of the davenport and waited. He gazed at the phone
attachment beside the door and as the buzzer hit him again he
decided to lift the phone and tell the person down there to go away
and leave him alone. He let his head go into cupped
hands.