I lit a cigarette, and dragged down smoke, staring at the face of the clock just above my head. Eight and a half hours! What in h.e.l.l was I going to do with myself all that time?
I poured another slug. The back of my throat was burning, but I didn"t care. It had to be Scotch or I"d dive off the deep end. I kept thinking of the black Buick out there below the terrace, and how easy it would be to get in it and get out of here. In that car I"d be miles away with an eight-hour start.
I drank the Scotch and dragged down more smoke. I was feeling steadier now; not so scared. My nerves weren"t jumping; maybe fluttering, but not jumping anymore, and the Scotch was hot, comforting and good. I reached for the bottle again when from behind the curtain a telephone bell began to ring. The shrill sound made me jump, and I nearly knocked the bottle on to the floor.
I heard the barman say, aHe"s not in the bar, miss. No, I haven"t seen him since lunch-time. He looked in around one o"clock, but I haven"t seen him since.a I stubbed out my cigarette. The muscles in my face had stiffened until they hurt.
aYeah, if I see him,a the barman went on, aI"ll tell him.a He hung up.
They were looking for Reisner already ! I had to do something. She had said my job was to keep them away from the cabin. If they began looking for him . . .
aHey! You!a The barman pushed aside the curtain and came out. His eyes went to the bottle. I could see him counting the number of slugs I had had.
aYes, Mr. Ricca?a aWho was that on the phone?a aMiss Doering, Mr. Reisner"s secretary. She has an urgent call for him. Would you know where he is, sir?a I knew where he was all right. Just to hear his name brought up a picture of him, lying on his back, his face smashed in and his right eye cut in half.
I wanted to pour another slug, but I was scared he"d see my hand shaking. Without looking at him I said as casually as I could, aHe"s with Mrs. Wertham, but they"re busy. They"re more than busy, they"re not to be disturbed.a I felt, rather than saw, him stiffen. He had got beyond the bees and flowers stuff. He knew what I meant.
aBetter tell Miss Doering,a I went on. aNothing is as important as what they are doing right now.a aYes, Mr. Ricca.a The shocked, cold tone in his voice told me I"d driven it a shade too far into the ground. He went back behind the curtain.
I nearly knocked the bottle over again in my haste to fill my gla.s.s.
I heard him say, aMr. Ricca is in the bar. He says Mr. Reisner is with Mrs. Wertham, and they are not to be disturbed. That"s right. It doesn"t matter how important it is.a I wiped the sweat off my face and hands with my handkerchief. Well, I"d played it: a little rough, perhaps, but I"d played it.
The Scotch was. .h.i.tting me now. I felt a little drunk. Regretfully I put the cork back in the bottle. I couldn"t risk getting plastered. She had said I was to go out and show myself. That"s what I had to do.
I walked out of the bar and on to the terrace. It was hot out there. Below stood the Buick. All I had to do . . . I dragged my eyes away from it and walked along the terrace, down the steps, not thinking where I was going, but aware of the need to get away from the car and the temptation to bolt.
A sudden noise brought me to a standstill: a deep-chested, guttural sound that seemed to shake the ground, and which ended in a coughing grunt.
For a moment that sound had me going, then I realized it was the roar of a lion. I was heading towards the zoo, and that transfixed me. The vision of throwing Reisner"s dead body into the pit floated into my mind, and I felt my knees give under me.
I looked back over my shoulder. The Buick still stood there in the sunshine. What was I waiting for? I had to get out of here. I had seven hours and fifty minutes start. In that car I could be four hundred miles away before they even began to look for me.
All right, I was plastered, and I was scared. The roar of the lion, reminding me what I had to do at midnight, stampeded me. I turned and walked to the car, got in, trod on the starter and slipped the gear stick into second. I took a quick look over my shoulder. No one shouted at me. No one tried to stop me. The car moved away smoothly, gathering speed as I changed in top. I drove along the wide carriageway, thinking in another minute or so I"d be out on the highway where I could tread on the gas and go.
Ahead of me I could see the ma.s.sive gates. They were closed, and the two uniformed guards were standing in front of them, their hands on their hips. I touched the horn b.u.t.ton, slowed down, waiting for them to open up, but they didn"t. They just stood, watching me, their faces expressionless under the hard peaks of their black caps.
I pulled up.
aWhat do you expect me to do a" drive through those G.o.dd.a.m.n things ?a I didn"t recognize my voice. It sounded as harsh as a file on rusty iron.
One of the guards sauntered up to me: a tough-looking bird with close-set eyes and a nose that spread over his face, as if someone had given him the heel some time in his life.
aSorry, Mr. Ricca,a he said. aBut I gotta message for you.a I looked at him, my hands gripping the steering-wheel until the muscles in my arms ached.
aWhat is it?a aMrs. Wertham said if you come this way we were to turn you back. She and Mr. Reisner want to see you.a I knew I could take him. He was leaning forward, wide open for a hook to the jaw. My eyes shifted to his companion. He was standing away to my left, his hand on the b.u.t.t of a gun he carried in a holster at his hip. He looked ready to go into action.
aThat"s okay,a I said, trying to smile. aI"ve seen them. Get those gates open. I"m in a hurry.a The guard"s cold, green eyes sneered at me.
aThen I guess they want to see you again. The call"s just come through. Sorry, but orders is orders.a aOkay,a I said, knowing I was licked. aI"ll see what they want.a I slid the gear stick into reverse.
They stood watching me as I made a U-turn. They were still watching me as I drove back to the casino.
I parked the Buick below the terrace and got out. I was trembling, and blood hammered against my temples. I might have guessed I, wasn"t going to out-smart her quite so easily. She thought of everything: even with Reisner bleeding on her rug, she still had time to take care of me.
I walked down towards the beach. A car sneaked up beside me, and a girl"s voice said, aI"m going your way. Let"s go together.a I stopped and looked at her: a cute blonde with bed in her eyes and a pert little face that knew all the answers, and the questions, too. She was in a yellow, strapless swimsuit that gripped her curves and set off a figure that"d make a mountain goat lose its foothold. On her fair, fluffy head was a big picture hat of plain straw, with a rose pinned to the under-brim. She was the kind of girl I wouldn"t have tangled with sober, but the kind I wanted the way I was feeling now.
I opened the offside door of the car and got in beside her.
She drove on towards the beach, her small hands patting the steering-wheel in time to the swing that was coming over the car radio, and she kept looking at me out of the corners of her eyes.
aAs soon as I saw you I knew I had to know you,a she said. aI like big men, and you"re the strongest, biggest man I"ve ever seen.a I couldn"t think of anything adequate to say to that one, so I let it ride.
aWhat are you going to do a" swim?a she asked, giving me a cute little smile that was supposed to have me on my hands and knees begging for favours.
aThat"s the idea. Do you swim in that outfit?a aDon"t you like it?a aIt likes you a" I can see that.a She giggled.
aWe can always go somewhere where I needn"t wear it. Shall we?a aIt"s your car,a I said.
She spun the wheel at the next intersection and increased the speed.
aI know a place. We"ll go there.a I sat staring through the windshield, asking myself if this was what I wanted. I didn"t know. I didn"t think so, but it had dropped out of the sky into my lap, and it might blunt the edges of what lay ahead of me.
aYou"re Johnny Ricca, aren"t you?a she said as she drove the car along a narrow road lined on either side by royal palms. aHow did you know that?a aEveryone is talking about you. You"re the big-time gambler from Los Angeles. Someone said you were a gangster. I love gangsters.a aWell, that"s good news. And who are you?a aI"m Georgia Harris Brown. Everyone knows me. My father is Gallway Harris Brown, the steel millionaire.a aDoes he love gangsters too?a She laughed.
aI never thought to ask him.a She swung the car off the road and b.u.mped over gra.s.s, over sand and pulled up on a lonely stretch of beach, screened by blue palmettos and palm trees.
aNice, isn"t it?a she said, taking off her hat and tossing it on the back seat. She slid out of the car on to the sand. aWell, I"m going to have a swim. Coming?a As I got out of the car I suddenly decided I wasn"t going ahead with this. I shouldn"t be here. I should be where I could be seen: where anyone looking for Reisner could ask me if I had seen him. I must have been crazy to have come with this blonde in the first place. If I couldn"t get away from the casino, the least I could do was to try to safeguard my own neck, and I wasn"t doing that by remaining in this out-of-the-way spot with this blonde who was one jump lower than an animal.
aI guess not,a I said. aI"ve just remembered I"ve work to do. You wouldn"t like to drive me back?a The cute little smile went away as if wiped off by a sponge. aI don"t get it,a she said, and her voice went shrill.
aNever mind: I"ll walk,a I said. aYou go ahead and have your swim.a I knew she"d take a swing at me, and she did. I gave her the satisfaction of landing on me. It would have been easy enough to have slipped inside her flying hand, but I didn"t want her to feel all that frustrated. For her size she carried a good slap. It made my cheek burn.
aSo long,a I said, and walked away. I didn"t look back, and she didn"t yell after me.
Instead of keeping to the road I moved through the palmetto thicket, heading back the way I had come, but not paying much attention to where I was going. After a while I realized I had been walking for some time and I was still not within sight of the casino.
I paused to look around me. Over to my right I could see the blue, almost motionless ocean through the trees. To my left was a forest of mangroves. I had no idea now if I were walking away from the casino or towards it, and knowing I should get back there, I got worried.
This stretch of beach was as lonely and as deserted as a pauper"s funeral, and I was in two minds to turn back and make a fresh start when I heard a girl singing. She was singing Temptation, a song that had always given me a creepy sensation whenever I"d heard it.
She wasn"t tearing into it as most singers do, but singing it in an absentminded kind of way, as if her mind were only half concentrating on the song.
I moved forward cautiously, wanting to catch a glimpse of her before she saw me. From the sound of her voice she"d be around the next clump of mangroves.
My shoes made no sound in the soft sand. I got behind a shrub and peered over it.
She was sitting on a camp-stool, an artist"s easel in front of her, and she was painting in watercolours. I couldn"t see the painting, for she was facing me, and I wouldn"t have bothered much if I could have seen it. I looked at her: she was the only picture I wanted to look at.
She wore a blue and white bolero jacket that left her midriff bare, a pair of white shorts, and blue plastic and cork sandals. She was bare-headed, and her thick, short hair looked like burnished copper in the strong sunlight. She was as different from the blonde cutie as a Ming vase is from a vase you win at a shooting-gallery, and lovely without being sensational. Her eyes were big and blue and serious; her mouth, with just the right amount of lipstick, wide and generous, and her figure neat, compact and curved where it should be curved.
I stood looking at her. The Scotch was still giving me a false sense of security. I seemed to have stepped out of the darkness into the sunlight, and to have turned my back on something that was as unreal as a bad dream. Just to look at this girl, singing to herself, unaware of me, made Della and Reisner, and the immediate horrible future, go out of my mind the way dirty water leaves a sink when you pull out the plug.
chapter twenty-four.
I stood for maybe a minute, listening to her song, and watching her sun-browned hand and the paint-brush at work, wondering who she was and how she came to be in such an out-of-the-way place. Then suddenly she must have felt me watching her, for she looked up and saw me. She gave a little start and dropped her brush.
I came out from behind the shrub.
aI"m sorry. I didn"t mean to startle you. I heard you singing and wondered who it was.a Not a very brilliant approach, but it was, at the moment, the best I could do. For the first time since I had left the cabin my voice didn"t sound like the croak of a frog.
She bent to pick up the brush.
aI"ve missed my way, and I think I"m lost,a I went on. aI"m trying to find the casino.a aOh.a The explanation seemed to rea.s.sure her. aIt"s easy to do that. I suppose you came through the mangroves.a aThat"s right.a I moved to one side so I could see her painting. The sea, sand and palms and the blue of the sky made a vivid and attractive picture. aThat"s good,a I said. aIt"s absolutely life-like.a That seemed to amuse her, for she laughed.
aIt"s supposed to be.a aMaybe, but a lot of people couldn"t do it.a I fumbled in my hip pocket for a packet of cigarettes, flicked out two and offered them.
aNo, thank you. I don"t smoke.a I lit up.
aJust how far away am I from the casino?a aAbout three miles. You"re walking away from it.a She began to clean the brush that had dropped into the sand.
aYou mean I"m off the casino"s beach?a aYes; you"re on my beach.a aI"m sorry. I didn"t mean to trespa.s.s.a aI didn"t mean it that way,a she said, smiling. aIt"s all right.
Are you staying at the casino?a It flashed into my mind that I didn"t want her to know me as Johnny Ricca, gambler and gangster. It didn"t matter to me that the blonde, Georgia Harris Brown, should think so, but this girl was different.
aI"m only staying a few days. Some place, isn"t it?a Then I asked her, aDo you live around here?a aI have a beach cabin close by. I"m collecting background material for display work.a aWhat was that again?a I dropped on the sand, away from her, watching to see if she disapproved, but her expression didn"t change.
aI work for Keston"s in Miami. It"s a big store. You may have heard of it,a she explained. aI provide sketches and colour schemes for window dressing and special displays.a aSounds interesting.a aOh, it is.a Her face lit up. aLast year I went to the West Indies and did a series of paintings. We turned one of the departments into a West Indian village. It was a terrific success.a aMust be a nice job,a I said. aI hope you don"t mind me holding up your work. I"ll get along if you do.a She shook her head.
aIt"s all right. I"ve just finished.a She began putting away her brushes. aI"ve been working since ten. I guess I"ve earned some lunch.a aA little late for lunch, isn"t it?a aNot when you live alone.a She studied the painting, and I watched her. I decided she was the prettiest and nicest girl I"d ever met.
aI think that"ll do,a she said, and stood up. aThe easiest way back to the casino is for you to walk along the beach.a aI"m Johnny Farrar,a I said, not moving. aI suppose I couldn"t carry your stuff back for you? There seems a lot of it.a aSounds as if you"re inviting yourself to lunch,a she said, smiling. aI"m Virginia Laverick. If you haven"t anything better to do . . .a I jumped to my feet.
aI haven"t a thing. I guess I"m sick of my own company, and meeting you . . .a I picked up the easel and her other stuff when she had packed it, and went with her across the hot sand.
aI can"t ask you in,a she said suddenly, aI live alone.a aThat"s okay,a I said, only too glad to be walking at her side. aBut I"m harmless, or maybe you don"t think so.a She laughed.
aBig men usually are,a she said.
After a short walk we came to a bungalow, screened by flowering shrubs, with a green-painted roof and gay flowers in the window-boxes and a wide verandah on which were lounging chairs, a radio set and a refectory table.
aSit down,a she said, waving to one of the chairs. aMake yourself at home. I"ll get you a drink a" Scotch?a aFine,a I said.
aI won"t be a minute.a But she was a lot longer than that, and I was pacing up and down the verandah, my nerves on the jump again, by the time she reappeared. I saw why she had been so long. She had changed out of the sun-suit which she had probably decided wasn"t suitable to be wearing when entertaining a strange man in an empty bungalow, and she was now in a white linen dress, shoes and stockings. I gave her full marks for good sense.
She carried a tray on which were bottles, gla.s.ses and plates of sandwiches. She set down the tray on the table, smiling at me.
aGo ahead and fix yourself a drink,a she said. aIf you feel like eating, there"s plenty.a I poured myself a big slug of Scotch, splashed ice water in it, while she flopped into an armchair and started on the sandwiches. aYou look as if you"ve been in a fight,a she said.
aYeah, I know.a I felt my nose, embarra.s.sed. It was still a little sore and swollen. aI got into an argument with a guy. It looks worse than it feels.a I took a mouthful of Scotch. It hit the spot all right.
She was drinking orange juice, and I was aware she watched me just a little uneasily.
aIt"s nice of you to take pity on me,a I said. aI was feeling pretty low. You know how it is. I"ve been around on my own, and got sick of my own company.a aI thought there were lots of attractive girls staying at the casino.a aMaybe there are, but they don"t happen to be my style.a She smiled.
aWhat is your style?a I never believe in pulling punches, in or out of the ring. I let her have it.
aWell, you are, I guess,a I said, and added hastily, aand don"t think that"s your cue to yell for help. You asked me, and I"ve told you, and another thing while we"re on the subject, I"m not the type who makes a girl yell for help.a She looked steadily at me.
aI didn"t think you were or I wouldn"t have asked you here.a That took care of that. Anyway, it cleared the air. She started talking about her work. From what she told me it seemed to be well paid, and she seemed to do more or less what she liked, and go where she liked.
I was happy enough to sit there in the sunshine and listen. The Scotch was taking care of my nerves, and she was taking care of my thoughts. For the first time since that car crash I relaxed.
After a while she said, aBut I"m talking too much about myself. What do you do?a I was expecting that one, and had the answer ready. aInsurance,a I said. aI"m a leg man for the Pittsburgh General Insurance.a aDo you like it?a aIt"s all right. Like you, I get around.a aIt must pay well if you can stay at the casino.a I had to get that straightened out at once.
aI promised myself I"d live like a millionaire for a couple of days, and I"ve saved for years to pull it off. Well, this is it, but I"ll be moving into the town on Tuesday.a aDo you like being a millionaire?a aThere"s nothing like it.a aThat"s the last thing I"d want to be.a aWell, I guess I"ve never had enough money,a I said, surprised at her emphatic tone. aIt"s my greatest ambition to get my hands on a roll and spend it. The casino is a kind of dress rehearsal.a aYou mean really big money?a She was looking at me with interest.
aYou bet I mean big money.a aWell, how will you get it?a That stopped me. I suddenly realized I was talking too much.
aI haven"t an idea. It"s all a pipe-dream, of course. Maybe someone will die and leave me a fortune.a I didn"t get the joke over, and I noticed she looked curiously at me.
I was floundering around to change the subject when she remembered they were giving a recording of Beethoven"s Fifth Symphony on the radio.
aToscanini is conducting,a she said. aCould you bear it?a aGo ahead.a I had never heard Beethoven"s Fifth Symphony; for that matter I had never heard any symphony, and I had only the vaguest idea what it was all about. But when the music came pouring out into the sunlit silence, its richness and its surging onrush had me gripping my chair. And when it was finally over, Virginia leaned forward and shut off the radio and looked at me enquiringly.
aWell?a aI"ve never heard anything like that before,a I said. aI"ve steered clear of that kind of music. I thought it was only for highbrows.a aDoes that mean you liked it?a aI don"t know about that. It did something to me, if that"s anything. All that sound, the movement, the way that fella built it up a" well, I guess it was something.a aLike some more?a aIs there any?a aI have records inside. The Ninth"s even better. The choral"ll make your hair stand on end.a aThen I"d like to hear it.a She stood up.
aCome and help me load up. I"ve one of these record-changing gadgets.a I followed her into the big lounge: a comfortable, well-furnished room, full of books and watercolours I guessed were hers.
Against the wall was a ma.s.sive radiogram, and by it a cabinet full of records.
aIs this place yours?a I asked, looking round.
aOh, yes, but I don"t come here often. I don"t get the chance. When I"m not here I rent it to a girlfriend who writes novels. She"s in New York right now, but she"ll be back in a couple of weeks.a aAnd where will you be?a aAnywhere. I might be in China, for all I know.a That was a disturbing thought.
aBut you"re here for a couple of weeks?a aPossibly three.a She loaded the record holder, putting on Beethoven"s Ninth and the Eroica.
She sat on the settee away from the radiogram and I sat in an armchair near the open cas.e.m.e.nt windows where I could see the beach.
She was right about the choral in the Ninth. It did make my hair stand on end. When the Eroica came to an end she loaded the record holder with a symphony by Mendelssohn and another by Schubert, saying she wanted me to hear the differences in their technique.
It was getting on for seven o"clock by the time we were through playing records, and that still gave me five more hours before midnight.