Dark Passage (7 page)

“Did you get rid of the clothes?” she
said.

“Yes. I made two bundles and threw them
down the incinerator.”

“How was the razor?”

“Fine.”

“That shower and shave did you a world of
good. How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Parry said.

She pointed to the open drawer. “What’s
the big idea?”

“I didn’t have anything to do.”

“All right, let’s close the drawer, shall
we?”

Parry got the clipping into the textbook,
got the textbook back in the drawer along with the other books and
papers. He closed the drawer.

She pointed to the closed drawer.
“Anything happen while I was away—outside of that?”

“You had a caller.” He wondered why he was
telling her.

Irene frowned. “I hope you didn’t answer
the buzzer.”

“No, I didn’t answer the buzzer. But she
came up and she knocked on the door.”

“A she?”

“Yes. She talked to you through the door.
I stayed there and let her talk. It would have been all right
except I had the phonograph going and she could hear it. She kept
asking you to open the door. Finally I told her to go
away.”

The frown went deeper. “That wasn’t such a
bright idea.”

“I know. It got out before I could stop
it.”

“Did she argue with you?”

“No. She went away. Does that close
it?”

“I hope so.”

“What do you mean you hope so?” Parry
asked.

“Well, my friends know I don’t go in for
that sort of thing. Now they'll think-”

“All right, let me get into those clothes
and scram out of here.”

“Wait,” Irene said. “I didn’t mean that. I
don't care what they think. I'm only trying to be technical. And
very careful.”

“Let’s see the clothes.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed and
looked at him. Then she blinked a few times and lowered her head.
She put a forefinger to the space between her eyes and pressed
there and took it around in little circles.

Parry leaned back against the bureau. He
said, “You’re tired, aren't you?”

“Headache.”

“Got any aspirins?”

“In the bathroom cabinet.”

He went into the bathroom, came back with
two aspirins and a glass half-filled with water. She smiled at him.
She took the aspirins and drank all the water. He took the glass
back to the bathroom. When he came back to the bedroom she was
opening the paper boxes.

It amounted to almost a wardrobe. Four
shirts, three white and one grey. Five neckties, three grey and two
on a grey-violet theme. Five sets of underwear and a stack of
handkerchiefs. Six pairs of grey socks. A grey worsted suit with a
vertical suggestion of violet. A pair of tan straight-tipped
blucher shoes. And grey suspenders.

There were other things. A military brush
and a comb. A toothbrush and a jar of shaving cream and a safety
razor.

She arranged the things neatly on the bed
and then she went out of the room. Parry got started with the
clothes. Everything fitted perfectly. His hair was still damp from
the shower and it moved nicely under the brush and comb. He had on
one of the white shirts and a grey-violet tie and he put a white
handkerchief in the breast pocket of the grey worsted suit. He felt
very new and shining.

He walked into the parlor.

Irene was sitting on the davenport and
when she saw him she smiled and said, “Well—hello.”

“Okay?”

“Very okay.”

“I bet you paid plenty.”

“I like to spend money for
clothes.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I said I had a boy friend just discharged
from the Army and I wanted to surprise him with a complete new
outfit. They’re a small, exclusive store and they don't like to be
hurried. But it was a big order and they didn't want to lose it,
and anyway there wasn't much work to be done on the
suit.”

“How’s the headache?”

“Better.”

“That’s good. Thanks for the
clothes.”

“You’re welcome, Vincent. You're really
very welcome. And I've got something else for you.” She opened a
handbag, took the wrapping from a flat white case. She handed it to
him.

It contained a round waterproof-type wrist
watch, chromium plated with a grey suede strap.

Parry looked at the wrist watch. He said,
“Why this?”

“You’ll need a watch. That's one of the
things you'll really need.”

He put the watch on his wrist. He said,
“You’re laying out a lot of money. Can you afford it?”

“What do you think?”

“I’ve got an idea you can afford
it.”

“You’ve got the right idea,” she said.
“Now tell me where you got it.”

“From the clipping.”

Her eyes were soft. Her lips weren’t
curved but it was a smile anyway. She said, “Vincent, will you
always be that way with me?”

“What way?”

“Honest.”

“Yes. I’ll be that way with you until we
say good-by. It's getting dark now. It's almost time to say
good-by.”

She stood up. She said, “Let’s have
dinner. I'm not a bad cook. Do you like fried chicken?”

“Better than anything.”

“Same here,” she said, and then they were
looking at each other. She started a smile, started to lose it, got
it again when he smiled at her. They stood there smiling at each
other. He reached toward the cigarette box and she said. “Light one
for me,” and then she went into the kitchen.

He lit two cigarettes, went into the
kitchen, saw her putting on an apron. She was tying the apron
strings. She gestured with her lips and he put the cigarette in her
mouth and walked out of the kitchen.

“Let’s have some music,” she
said.

“Radio?”

“Yes, put the radio on.”

He got the radio working. A small studio
orchestra was trying to do something with Holiday for Strings but
there weren’t enough strings. Toward the middle most of the
orchestra seemed to be taking a holiday. Parry went over to a
circular mirror at the other side of the room and looked at himself
and admired the grey suit. He fingered the necktie and then he
touched the smoothness of the suede wrist-watch strap. Looking at
the wrist watch he told himself it was fast. It couldn't be eight
already. He turned toward the window. The San Francisco sky was
greying.

Irene came in and said dinner was ready.
She really knew how to fry a chicken. She opened a bottle of
Sauterne and he knew before he took the first taste it was
high-priced wine. He told her she was a good cook. She smiled and
didn’t say anything. For dessert they had butterscotch pudding. She
told him she had a weakness for butterscotch pudding and made it
three times a week. He asked her if she ate out much and she said
no, she liked her own cooking and besides restaurants these days
were an ordeal.

They had black coffee and then they sat
there smoking cigarettes. He offered to help her with the dishes
and she said no, she could do them in a jiffy. He went into the
parlor and she did the dishes in a jiffy. Parry took another look
at the sky and it was getting dark. He was watching it get darker
as Irene came into the parlor. She followed his gaze out the
window. She followed his gaze to the wrist watch.

She said, “Don’t go. Stay here tonight.
You can sleep on the davenport.”

“That’s out. We've got maybe thirty
minutes and then I'm on my way. And now I want to ask you
something. Where is your brother?”

“Dead. He was in a terrible automobile
accident six years ago. What you really want to know is how I got
my money. And that’s how. My father willed it to Burton, and then
in the hospital, just before he died, Burton willed it to me. It
amounts to a couple hundred thousand dollars.”

“That’s a lot of cash.”

“It’s good to have. It's the only thing I
have.”

“What about your husband?”

“I received the final decree a few months
ago. I don’t know where he is. Do you want the name?”

“Why should I want the name?”

“Why should you want to know where I got
my money?”

“Curious. You didn’t get it with water
colors. I knew that. And you didn't get it through sociology. I
knew that. So I went back to the clipping and I wanted to check on
it and I wanted to know why you had it and not your brother. Was
this where you lived with your husband?”

“No.”

“What kind of guy was your
husband?”

“A louse.”

“When did you find it out?”

“The first week.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

She said, “I had the money and I had me
and I had him. I wasn’t much interested in the money. That left me
and him. He liked to drink, but that was all right, so did I. And
he liked to gamble and that wasn't so good, because he had an idea
he knew poker and he didn't know the first thing about poker. Even
nights when we stayed home together he wanted to play poker and one
night I took him for every cent he made that month. I think that
was the only thing he liked about me—the fact that I could make him
look sick when it came to poker.”

“What was his line?”

“All right, Vincent, I’ll tell you about
him. His name is George Hagedorn and I met him three years ago. We
knew each other four months and then we got married. We were a
couple of lonely people and I guess that was the only reason we
married. He didn't know I had money. I told him a few days after
the wedding and it didn't seem to make much difference. I guess
that was one of the very few things that was good about him. He had
a lot of pride. Maybe too much. I think that was why he gambled. I
think that was the only way he reasoned he could get money with his
own hands. He hadn't tried many other ways because he was very
lazy. One of the laziest men I've ever seen. When we married he was
thirty-two and a complete failure. A statistician making forty-five
a week in an investment security house.”

“What house?”

“Kinney.”

“I know that firm,” Parry said. “They’re
big. Offices in Santa Barbara and Philly. I can't figure Santa
Barbara.”

“He tried to get transferred down to Santa
Barbara but they didn’t need him there. He wouldn't have lasted at
the office here but he had asthma and it kept him out of the Army
and I guess they figured they might as well keep him for the
duration. Besides, they had him broken in. But he was late and
absent a lot and I guess they finally got fed up with him. About a
year ago I tried to get in touch with him and I called Kinney and
they said he didn't work there any more. They didn't know where he
was.”

“Why did you want to get in touch with
him?”

“I was lonely. I wanted a
date.”

“What about Bob?”

“I had an idea you’d remember that. You
remember things, don't you.”

“Certain things stick in my mind. What
about Bob?”

“That was during a time when I wasn’t
seeing Bob. Every now and then it happens that way.”

“What way?”

“Well, I get afraid. Or maybe it’s my
conscience, because he's married. Not really married. He's
separated, but his wife won't give him a divorce. She doesn't want
him and at the same time she won't let anyone else have him. She
gets a kick out of it. But I don't have to tell you, Vincent. You
know what she is. You know who she is.”

CHAPTER 6

Parry looked at the window. Now it was
dark grey out there and getting darker. He said, “I better be
going.”

“She worked against you at the trial,
Vincent. She works against everybody. She has a way about her. She
won’t leave people alone. And the way she pesters me—”

“The way she pesters you has nothing to do
with me,” Parry said. He got up and moved toward the door. “All I
know is she couldn’t see me through the door and she didn't see me
through the window. That's all I want to know. You've been good to
me. I won't forget it but I want you to forget it. Being good to
people sounds nice but it's hard work. From here on there's only
one person you'll need to be good to. That's yourself. Good-by,
Irene.”

“Good-by, Vincent. Wait, you’ve got things
here. I'll put them in a grip—”

He opened the door and walked out. He
looked up and down the corridor and then he stepped quickly to the
elevator. When he reached the street he saw it was even darker than
it had looked from the window. He walked quickly, walked south,
searching for a drugstore. Three blocks and then he saw a drugstore
and instinctively his hand went into the right side-pocket of the
grey worsted trousers, groping for change. His fingers touched
paper and he was taking bills from the pocket. All new bills, crisp
and bright. It amounted to a thousand dollars. Eight one-hundred
dollar bills. Two fifties. The rest in tens and fives. He wondered
how she knew he kept his money in the right side-pocket of his
trousers. He started toward the drugstore, then told himself a
telephone call was out. A taxi made a turn and started slowly up
the street. Parry stepped to the curb and raised his
arm.