What's Better Than Money Page 7

  Rima straightened up from behind the desk. In her hand was a smoking .38. She looked indifferently at the guard. She hadn’t even lost colour.

  ‘There’s no money,’ she said savagely. ‘The drawer’s empty.’

  I scarcely heard what she was saying.

  I stared at the guard, watching the trickle of blood move out of him in a thin thread across the polished parquet floor.

  ‘Let’s get out of here!’

  The urgent rasp in her voice brought me to my senses.

  ‘You’ve kil ed him!’

  ‘He would have kil ed me, wouldn’t he?’ She stared coldly at me. ‘Come on, you fool! Someone will have heard the shooting!’

  She started across the room, but I grabbed her arm, jerking her around.

  ‘Where did you get that gun?’

  She wrenched free.

  ‘Oh, come on! They’l be here in a moment!’

  Her indifferent, glittering eyes horrified me.

  Then somewhere in the outer darkness I heard a siren start up. Its moaning note chilled me.

  ‘Come on! Come on!’

  She ran out into the darkness and I went after her.

  Lights were coming on all over the Studios. Men’s voices shouted.

  I felt her hand on my arm as she shoved me down a dark alley. We ran blindly as the siren continued to moan into the night.

  ‘Here!’

  She pulled me into a dark doorway. For a brief moment her flashlight made a puddle of light, then turned off. She pulled me down behind a big wooden crate.

  We heard racing, heavy footsteps go by. We heard men shouting to each other. Someone began to blow a shrill whistle that set my nerves jangling.

  ‘Come on!’

  If it hadn’t been for her, I would never have got out of the place. She was terribly cool and controlled.

  She steered me through the dark alleys. She seemed to know when we were about to run into danger and when it was clear to go ahead.

  As we ran past the endless buildings and the vast Studio sheds, the whistles and the voices grew fainter, and at last, panting, we stopped in the shadow of a building to listen.

  There was silence now except the still moaning siren.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here before the cops arrive,’ Rima said.

  ‘You kil ed him!’

  ‘Oh, shut up! We can get over the wall at the end of this alley.’

  I went with her until we came to a ten-foot wall. We paused beside it and looked up at it.

  ‘Help me up.’

  I took her foot in both my hands and heaved her up. She swung one leg over the wall, bending low and stared down into the darkness.

  ‘It’s okay. Can you get up?’

  I walked back, ran at the wall, jumped and grabbed at the top. I got a grip, hung for a moment, then heaved myself up. We both rolled over the wall and dropped onto the dirt road that ran alongside the Studio.

  We walked quickly to the main road. Along this road was parked a line of cars belonging to people in a night club across the way.

  ‘There should be a bus in five minutes or so,’ Rima said.

  I heard the approaching sound of police sirens.

  Rima grabbed my arm and shoved me to a Skyliner Ford.

  ‘Get in — quick!’

  I slid in and she followed.

  She had just time to close the door when two police cars went storming past, heading for the main entrance to the Studio.

  ‘We’l wait here,’ Rima said. ‘There’l be more coming. They mustn’t see us on the street.’

  This made sense although I was aching to get away.

  ‘Larry!’ Rima said, disgust in her voice. ‘I should have known he would get it all wrong. They must bank the money or put it in a safe when they close down.’

  ‘Do you realise you’ve killed a man?’ I said. ‘They can send us to the gas chamber. You mad bitch! I wish I had never had anything to do with you!’

  ‘It was in self-defence,’ she said hotly. ‘I had to do it!’

  ‘It wasn’t! You shot him down in cold blood. You shot him twice!’

  ‘I would have been a fool to let him shoot me, wouldn’t I? He had a gun in his hand. It was self-defence!’

  ‘It was murder!’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’

  ‘I’m through with you. I never want to see you again so long as I live!’

  ‘You’re yel ow! You wanted the money as much as I did! You wanted to make money out of me!

  Now, when things turn sour…’

  ‘You cal kil ing a man turning sour?’

  ‘Oh, quiet down!’

  I sat still, my hands gripping the steering wheel. I was panic stricken. I told myself I must have been out of my mind to have got mixed up with her. If I got away I would go home and I would start my studies again. I would never do a bad thing again so long as I lived.

  We heard more sirens. Another police car packed with plain clothes men went past, and a few seconds later, an ambulance.

  ‘That’s the end of the procession,’ Rima said. ‘Let’s go.’

  She got out of the car and I followed her.

  We walked fast to the bus stop. After two or three minutes the bus arrived.

  We sat at the back. No one paid us any attention. Rima smoked, staring out of the window. As we came down the main road to the waterfront, she began to sneeze.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I

  Soon after seven o’clock the next morning, I woke out of a restless sleep, and staring up at the ceiling, I thought back on the previous night. I felt pretty bad.

  I had had only three or four hours’ sleep. Most of the night I had thought of the guard and how Rima had shot him.

  She had gone to her room when we had got back, and I had heard her snivelling and sneezing for an hour until I thought the sound would drive me crazy. Then I heard her go out and I guessed she was going to hunt for some sucker to buy her a shot.

  I was asleep when she came in. I was aware of her door shutting but I was so tired, I turned over and went off to sleep again.

  Now, lying in bed, with the sun coming around the edges of the blind, I wondered what I had best do.

  I had to leave town. I didn’t dare stay here any longer. I would see Rusty, borrow the fare from him, and I’d leave this morning.

  There was a train out around eleven o’clock.

  My bedroom door opened abruptly and Rima came in. She was dressed, wearing her red shirt and her skin tight jeans. She looked pale and her eyes were glittering unnaturally. She had had her shot all right.

  She stood at the foot of the bed, looking at me.

  ‘What do you want?’ I said. ‘Get out of here!’

  ‘I’m going to the Studios. Aren’t you coming?’

  ‘Are you crazy? I wouldn’t go back there for al the money in the world.’

  She wrinkled her nose at me, her eyes contemptuous.

  ‘I’m not going to pass up that job. If I do, it’l be the last I’l get. What are you going to do then?’

  ‘I’m leaving town. Have you forgot en you killed a man last night or is it just one of those things you can brush off?’

  She smiled.

  ‘They think you did it.’

  That brought me bolt upright in bed.

  ‘Me? What do you mean?’

  ‘Relax. No one killed anyone. He’s not dead.’

  I threw off the sheet and swung my feet to the floor.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It’s in the paper.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘It was outside one of the rooms.’

  ‘Well, don’t stand there! Get it!’

  ‘It’s gone now.’

  I felt like strangling her.

  ‘They real y say he isn’t dead?’

  She nodded, her eyes bored.

  ‘Yes.’

  I reached for a cigarette and lit it with a shaking hand. The surge of relief that ran through me left me breath
less.

  ‘Where do you get that line about me kil ing him?’ I demanded.

  ‘He’s given the cops a description of you. They’re looking for a man with a scarred face.’

  ‘Don’t give me that! It was you who shot him!’

  ‘He didn’t see me! He saw you!’

  ‘He knows I didn’t shoot him,’ I said, trying to keep my voice down. ‘He knows I was facing the wall when you shot at him! He must know I didn’t do it!’

  She shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

  ‘Al I know is the police are looking for a man with a scar. You’d bet er watch out.’

  By now I was ready to hit the ceiling.

  ‘Get me a paper! Do you hear? Get me a paper!’

  ‘Stop shouting. Do you want everyone to hear you? I’ve got to catch the bus to the Studio. Maybe you’d bet er stay here and not show yourself.’

  I grabbed hold of her arm.

  ‘Where did you get the gun from?’

  ‘It belonged to Wilbur. Let go of me!’ She jerked free. ‘Don’t lose your nerve. I’ve been in worse jams than this. If you keep under cover for a couple of days, you’l be al right. Then you can get out of town, but don’t try to go before.’

  ‘Once they get a lead on me, this will be the first place they’ll come to!’

  ‘Oh, quiet down!’ Her tone of contempt maddened me. ‘You’re yellow. Keep your nerve and you’ll be all right. Just relax, can’t you? You’re boring me.’

  I caught her by the throat and slammed her against the wall. Then I slapped her face: bang!… bang!…

  bang! I wasn’t proud of myself for hitting her, but I had to. She was so rotten I had no answer to her attitude but to hit her.

  I let go of her and stood away from her, panting.

  ‘I’m scared!’ I said. ‘I’m scared because I have some decency left in me. You! You have nothing.

  You’re rot en through and through! I wish I never had anything to do with you! Get out!’

  She leaned against the wall, her face where I had hit her red as fire, her eyes glowing with hate.

  ‘I won’t forget that, you skunk,’ she said. ‘I’ve a lot to remember you by. One of these days, I’l even the score. I hope he dies and I hope you go to the gas chamber!’

  I threw the bedroom door open.

  ‘Get out!’ I yelled at her.

  She went out and I slammed the door after her.

  For a long moment I stood motionless, trying to control my breathing. Then I went over to the mirror and stared at my white, frightened face. I looked at the thin scar that ran down the side of my jaw. If the guard had described that to the police I was cooked.

  I was stiff with panic. My one thought now was to get away and go home, but if the police were already looking for me, it would be asking for trouble to show myself on the streets in daylight.

  I heard Carrie come thumping up the stairs. I opened the door.

  ‘Do me a favour,’ I said. ‘I’m staying in today. Get me a paper, will you?’

  She looked sharply at me.

  ‘I ain’t got time, Mr. Jeff. I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘It’s important. Can’t you borrow one for me?’ I had to make an effort to keep calm. ‘Try and get me one, Carrie.’

  ‘I’ll see. Are you sick?’

  ‘I’m not feeling too bright. Get that paper for me.’

  She nodded and went off downstairs.

  I got back into bed, lit another cigarette and waited. I had to wait half an hour, and by then I was in a terrible state of nerves. Then I heard her lumbering up the stairs again. I jumped out of bed and went to the door.

  She pushed a paper at me and a cup of coffee.

  ‘Thanks, Carrie.’

  ‘The missus was reading it.’

  ‘That’s okay. Thanks.’

  I shut the door, set down the coffee and looked at the front page of the paper.

  The usual war headlines took priority. The date was August 5th, 1945. Super Fortresses, so the headlines told me, had been continually flying over Japan, plastering eleven Japanese cities with leaflets, warning the people of intensive bombing to come.

  The threat to Japan didn’t interest me. What I was hunting for was a threat to myself.

  I found it finally on the back page.

  A guard at the Pacific Studios had surprised an intruder and been shot, the report said. The guard, an ex-policeman, well liked when on the force, was now in the Los Angeles State hospital. He had given the police a description of the gunman before lapsing into a coma. The police were hunting for a man with a scar on his face.

  That was all, but it was bad enough.

  I felt so bad, I had to sit on the bed, my legs refusing to support me.

  Maybe this guard was going to die after all.

  After a while, I got dressed. I had a feeling that I might have to make a bolt for it, and I had the urge to be ready. I packed my suitcase, and I checked my money. I had only ten dollars and fifty cents left in the world.

  Then I sat by the window, watching the street below.

  A little after midday, I saw a police car pull up at the far end of the street and four plain clothes men spill out. The sight of them set my heart hammering so violently I could scarcely breathe.

  In this street were four rooming-houses. The detectives split up and walked rapidly towards the various houses.

  The one who headed for mine was a big man with a pork pie hat on the back of his head and a dead cigar butt gripped between his teeth.

  I watched him walk up the steps and I heard the bell ring as he thumbed the bell push.

  I left the window and went out onto the landing. I looked down over the banisters, three flights into the hall.

  I saw Carrie cross the hall and heard her open the front door.

  I heard the hard cop voice bark, ‘City police. We’re looking for a man, youngish with a scar on his face. Anyone like that living here?’

  I had my hands on the banister rail. I gripped the rail so tightly, the heat of my hands made the varnish sticky.

  ‘A scar?’ Carrie sounded bewildered. ‘No, sir. No one is here with any scar.’

  I leaned against the rail, blessing her.

  ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m sure. I’d know if there was anyone here with a scar. There ain’t.’

  ‘This guy is wanted for murder. You stil sure?’

  ‘No one living here with a scar, sir.’

  Wanted for murder!

  So he had died!

  I went back to my room and lay on the bed. I was cold, sweating and shaking.

  Time stood still.

  I lay there, sweating it out, maybe for ten or maybe twenty minutes, then there came a hesitant knock on the door.

  ‘Come in.’

  Carrie opened the door and stared at me. Her fat, lined face was anxious.

  ‘There was a police officer…’

  ‘I was listening. Come in, Carrie, and shut the door.’

  She came in, closing the door.

  I sat up on the bed.

  ‘Thanks. It’s nothing to do with me, but you saved me some trouble.’

  I went over to the dressing-table for my wallet.

  ‘That cop could have made things tricky for me,’ I went on, taking out a five-dollar bill. ‘I want you to have this, Carrie.’

  She wouldn’t take it.

  ‘I don’t want it, Mr. Jeff. I lied because we are friends.’

  I had a sudden wave of emotion that nearly made me cry. I sat abruptly on the bed.

  ‘You’re in trouble, aren’t you?’ she said, looking searchingly at me.

  ‘Yes. I didn’t have anything to do with the shooting, Carrie. I wouldn’t shoot anyone.’

  ‘You don’t have to tel me. You stay quiet. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  ‘I don’t want anything, thanks.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’l get you a paper later on,’ she opened the door, then paused. ‘She�
�s gone.’ She nodded in the direction of Rima’s door.

  ‘She told me.’

  ‘Good riddance. You take it easy,’ and she went away.

  Soon after five o’clock, she came into my room and dropped the evening paper on the bed. She looked pale and bothered, and she gave me a long, uneasy stare before she went out.

  As soon as she had shut the door, I grabbed the paper.

  The guard had died without coming out of his coma.

  The paragraph was small beside the war headlines, but the words hit me like a punch in the face.

  The police were still looking for a youngish man with a scar on his face: an arrest was expected at any moment.

  As soon as it was dark, I told myself, I would get out. The thought of staying in this box of a room was hard to take, but I knew I didn’t dare go onto the streets as long as it was light.

  Leaving the room, I went down the stairs to the pay booth and called Rusty.

  It was good to hear the sound of his hard, rough voice.

  ‘I’m in trouble, Rusty. Wil you come over to my place when it’s dark?’

  ‘Who do you imagine is going to keep the bar open if I do that?’ he growled.

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  ‘Maybe I could come to you…’

  ‘How bad is the trouble?’

  ‘As bad as it can be.’

  He must have picked up the panic in my voice for he said soothingly, ‘Keep your shirt on. I’l get Sam to handle it. When it’s dark, huh?’

  ‘Not before.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll be over,’ and he hung up.

  I went back to my room and waited. It was a long wait, and I was in a pretty bad way by the time the sun went down over the bay and the lights went on in the honky-tonk bars and on the gambling ships. At least there now seemed safety out there in the growing darkness.

  A little after nine o’clock I saw Rusty’s Oldsmobile come around the corner, and I went down the stairs and had the front door open as he came up the steps.

  We climbed the three flights of stairs in silence. It was only when he was in my room and I had shut the door that the tension in me eased a little.

  ‘Thanks, Rusty, for coming.’

  He sat on the bed, his fat, blue jowled face shiny with sweat, his eyes anxious.

  ‘What’s the trouble? That girl?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I picked up the evening paper and gave it to him, pointing to the paragraph with a shaking finger.