Talk Of The Town Part 19

I told her about it, and added, "You see, she'd already laid the groundwork for it. Trying to remember me. I was the Peeping Tom."

"What can we do?"

"I don't know yet," I said. "Up till now it's been a case of one minute at a time. My only chance is to get out of the State, and Redfield knows it. I could turn myself in, hire a good lawyer, and fight extradition until the Sheriff gets back. But he's not going to let me get out. The highways are all blocked right now."

"You think he's gone bad?"

"It's anybody's guess," I said. "It's been digging him for too long. He's got enough of it now to see the truth, if he wants it, but I don't think he will. He's been burying his integrity a little at a time to hang onto her, and that probably makes it easier to go all the way in the end."

"Why did you want to come here, near Talley's place?"

"A hunch. A very long shot I think I've got him tabbed now, and there's a chance we might even be able to prove it."

"What do you mean?"

I lit cigarettes for us. n.o.body could see us here. "Talley is the boy who was making those filthy phone calls, almost beyond a doubt. He hired the acid job. I think he was there the night your husband was killed. And I'm pretty sure he was the one who tried to get me." I told her about that.

"Oh, G.o.d," she said.

"The telephone seems to be his favorite weapon, next to acid and shotguns. I kept picking up little leads that seemed to point to him, but I couldn't believe them because the man we were looking for spoke something that at least resembled English. I didn't know until tonight that Talley could speak anything but hawg-lawg-and-dawg-"

"He's a wonderful mimic"

I know. Tell me everything you can about him."

I suppose you'd say he was the local character," she began. "There's always a new Pearl Talley story going the rounds. He deliberately acts like a simple-minded hillbilly or some sort of low-comedy clown-why, I don't know, because it never fools anybody any more. Actually, I don't think he has much education, but he has a mind as sharp as a razor. n.o.body's ever beaten him in a business deal. He buys, sells, and trades real estate all the time, as a speculator, but he'll spend three hours maneuvering and haggling the same way to trade somebody out of a fountain pen.

"He came here from Georgia about eight years ago, as I understand. With nothing but a ramshackle old truck loaded with some scrubby calves he wanted to trade or sell. I told you, I think, what he owns now-that big junk yard, a half-interest in the movie theater, and three or four farms that he runs cattle on, and a lot of highway frontage.

"He lives on this place and has relatives living on the others. Kinfolks, as he says. n.o.body knows how many he has, or where they come from, or where they go to, or even whether he pays them anything. He's not married, so there are usually one or two over here with him, along with whatever ratty girl he's living with at the moment. I don't think I've ever seen him with a woman that didn't look like the dregs of something, and usually they're young enough to be juvenile delinquents, and probably are. I suppose a psychiatrist would say he was afraid of women, or hated them, and didn't want one around he couldn't degrade."

"He apparently does all his business in bars, but they say he drinks very little himself. Somebody once told me his house is even a little like a honky-tonk, with a c.o.ke machine and a jukebox. I understand they can play the jukebox with slugs, but everybody has to put real dimes in if they want c.o.kes. On the other hand, though, they say he'll bring in a bunch of moons.h.i.+ne every now and then, absolutely free, and get them all drunk. Not convivially drunk, but falling-down drunk, animal drunk. While he stays sober, of course, and watches them make beasts of themselves Ugh! You've no doubt gathered I don't like him."

"Probably with good reason," I said. I think he was trying to drive you insane or wreck your health, simply to buy your motel at a reasonable figure. No doubt it was perfectly logical from his point of view.

She was aghast. "But, good Lord, Bill, would he try to kill you just for that?"

I don't know," I said. "But I'm hoping it was for something else. Do you know whether he's ever been arrested? For a felony, I mean?"

"Not that I ever heard of. Why?"

"It's just a hunch so far. I may be able to tell a little more about it when I get to a phone."

"Where on earth," she asked incredulously, "do you expect to find a telephone out here?"

"Why, I thought we'd use Pearl's," I said.

"But-"

"It strikes me we've been shoved around by these telephoning guys about long enough. What do you say we change our tactics and go on the offensive? We've got nothing to lose now; any direction from here is up."

"I'm with you."

"Put on your walking shoes," I said. "Let's go."

It was a two-story house in a setting of big oaks some two hundred yards back from the road. One lighted window showed in front, on the right. The yard of packed bare earth was unfenced. I took her arm, and we moved silently around to the side, studying the place. There was a lighted window here, too. Probably the same room, I thought. I kept my eyes averted from the light to retain night vision. Fifty yards or so behind the house was a large shadow that presumably was a barn. There was only one car, a Ford sedan from the shape of it. It was parked under a tree to the right of the front porch.

I left her by the tree. Placing my lips against her ear, I whispered, "Wait here. Don't come in till I call you."

She nodded.

I slipped over towards the lighted window at the side of the house. As I approached it, phonograph music welled up inside and I heard shoes against a wooden floor. I peered through the dirty screen, careful not to get too near.

It was a long room, extending from the front of the house almost all the way to the rear, harshly lit by two big overhead bulbs. Directly across from me, an overblown and vapid-looking blonde girl of eighteen or nineteen was lying on a sofa reading a book and glancing now and then towards the two people who were presumably dancing just outside my line of vision. She was wearing a pair of brief shorts and an inadequate halter that did their best but didn't have a chance against all that overflowing girlishness. She was barefoot, but wore a gold chain around each ankle, and a yellow gold wrist-watch. Beside the sofa was a flimsy card table stacked with magazines and more books. I couldn't see the rear of the room, or anything off to my left at all.

She lowered the book and said to one of the dancers, "Trudy, you ha'n ought to be rubbin' T.J. up like that. Pearl woul'n like it." She spoke like somebody with a mouthful of soap.

"Oh, shut up, La Verne," a girl's voice said. "And for Christ's sake, go put some clothes on. I get so sick of looking at that sloppy-"

Just then the dancers shuffled into view. I stared. One of them was that dark, hard slat of a girl Talley had been using for a memo pad that first day I saw him. But it was the man who caught my eye. He was the one who'd got away from me there in the bar when Frankie started the fight.

I slipped around in front and stepped up on the porch. The screen door swung open noiselessly and I was in a hall that was unlighted except for the illumination from the open door at the right. I stepped through it and looked swiftly around. There were only the three of them, and it was the craziest room I had ever seen.

An interior decorator, locked in it for an hour, would probably have gone foaming mad. Beyond the sofa was a c.o.ke machine. On top of it was a stock saddle, lying on its side. There was a jukebox against the outer wall, blus.h.i.+ng in pastel colors and supplying the dance music, and at the far end of the room a bed made up with a patchwork quilt and old-fas.h.i.+oned bolster. In the corner across from it was a pinball machine. Directly opposite me was a small safe, and in the corner next to it an old roll-top desk covered with papers. There was a telephone on the desk, and on the floor beside it was a small electric fan. There were no rugs, and nothing on the unpainted plank walls except perhaps a dozen pinups torn from magazines.

The dancers sprang apart. T.J. was a lank six-footer with an angular, sun-reddened face and pale eyes. It was a good description Georgia had given. Trudy didn't look any more attractive than the first time I'd seen her. The black eyes were hard, and the thin, dark face expressed a sort of wise-guy contempt for everything. La Verne merely looked at me as if she weren't sure the situation was serious enough to call for a change of expression.

T.J. said harshly. "Whata you want?"

"You, for one thing," I said.

Trudy made a noise with her lips, and laughed. She had all the charm of a strangulated hernia. "Take the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, TJ."

He pulled his knife, clicked it open, and advanced on me in a sort of prancing walk, feinting with the blade. I took the sap from my pocket and hit him across the muscles of the forearm. The knife fell to the floor. I kicked it under the sofa, where La Verne had become carried away with the excitement to the point of sitting up. Trudy shrilled something obscene and tried to rush past me, towards the desk. I tossed her back and she bounced against the jukebox before she fell to the floor with a display of stringy legs. T.J. was holding his arm. I sliced the sap across the other one, caught him by the neck and the back of his pants and threw him into the wall. Then I remembered the way that room had looked and picked him up and bounced him against it again.

The gun was in one of the top drawers of the desk. It was a .45 automatic. I dropped it in my left coat pocket and walked over towards La Verne.

"What's your name?" I asked.

She drew up her big thighs and hugged them, with her chin resting on her knees. It made her look completely naked. She regarded me with what I took to be concern, but might have been merely interest. "You ain't goin' to rape me, are you?"

"Not tonight," I said. "Maybe I can work you in tomorrow if I get a cancellation. So Pearl phoned you the good news?"

"Huh? Oh, sure, he told us about it."

"Name?" I asked again.

"La Verne Talley," she said. "I'm his second cousin."

"What times does he usually get back from town?"

"Oh, not never before one or two o'clock."

Trudy lashed out at her. "Shut up, you stupid punching bag!"

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Trudy Hewlett. She ain't no kin."

I turned and looked at Trudy. "Gertrude Hewlett. Gertrude Haines. You people never learn, do you?"

She cursed me.

"And this one?" I continued, nodding to T.J. "What's his name, and his kin rank, and what does he do when he's not throwing acid?"

"T.J. Minor," she replied. "He's a first cousin. He gen'ly sharecrops, but he had a little trouble up in Georgia and had to leave. Me an' him's engaged. We're goin' to run the motel for Pearl-"

Trudy tried to reach her, the tendons standing out in her neck as she screamed, "You dim-witted cow, shut up!"

I shoved her back and faced the big girl again. "That's a lovely watch you've got there. Is it the one Pearl gave you?"

She held out her wrist and gazed at it fondly. "No, Frankie give it to me. . . . Oh, it was before me an' T.J. got engaged."

"Pearl didn't give you one?"

She shook her head at me as if I weren't very bright. "Pearl? He ain't about to give no watch. He says what the h.e.l.l, it don't cost you nothin'. He give Trudy one, but I reckon that was for something else."

"Yes," I said. "I guess it was."

I had to subdue the raging Trudy again. I pushed her harder, and she sat on the floor beside the jukebox.

"All right, La Verne," I said, "where do you sleep? Upstairs?"

"Umh-umh," she replied. "But like I said, TJ.-" She broke off and appraised me thoughtfully. "Hmmm."

"No," I said, "what I meant was you'd better go up to your room and go to sleep. Things are going to get a little rough around here, and you'll be safer out of the way."

16

The jukebox had stopped its plaintive moaning. The room was silent, and very hot under the naked lights. I could hear La Verne going up the stairs to her room. Trudy sat staring at me like some wild animal, while T.J. stirred and pushed his shoulders against the wall, trying to sit up.

I went over to the desk, picked up the little fan, and plugged it in. As I'd already known it would, it ran with a rough whirring sound just like the one in the phone booth at Ollie's bar. Emery dust in the bearings, I thought. I unplugged it and tossed it back on the floor.

"What time is it?" I asked Trudy. She spat at me.

I called Georgia and she hurried in. She looked anxiously at me, and then at the others, and I saw the quick recognition in her eyes as they came to T.J.

"I want you to meet some very charming people," I said. "That's the acid artist, of course. And the hard, gem-like flame is Trudy Hewlett. She's the girl who phoned me how to get out to that old barn."

"I think I feel a little sick," she whispered.

"Oh, don't be hasty or intolerant," I told her. "He gave her a nice wrist-watch."

"Bill, don't-"

"You kill me," Trudy said. "You really do. Squares!"

"Is there anything we can do?" Georgia asked.

"Why not call the cops?" Trudy asked. "That'd be a shrewd move." She was beginning to regain some of her confidence now. After all, squares never did anything to you, and when they couldn't call the police they were helpless.

"We've got a chance," I said. "It's still not much, but it's better than it was. You wait outside, and if a car turns in, warn me and then get out of sight. I'm ready to use that phone now, but we haven't got much time left."

She went out. I perched on the corner of the desk, took Redfield's gun from my pocket, and showed it to them. "You're just about to learn how it gets when squares are pushed too far. If either of you makes a move, you'll be gut-shot before you get off the floor."

T.J. said nothing. Trudy made her lip noise again, but stayed where she was. I looked up Calhoun's home number, breathed a prayer he'd be there, and dialed. The phone rang, and then again. I'd just about given up hope when he picked it up. "Calhoun."

"This is Chatham-"

He interrupted. "Listen. I don't know where you're calling from, and I don't want to know. But if you're not out of this County yet, get out!" get out!"

"I didn't do it. You know that."

"I don't think you did, but that's not the point. Don't you know what'll happen if they bring you in? He's half out of his mind. I've tried to get through to him; it's impossible. I just asked him to calm down a little and he almost hit me in the face with a gun."

"I can't make it out of the State," I said. "And that's the only thing that'd do any good."

He sighed. "No. They've got everything blocked, and he's pretty sure you're still here in the area. He's called in the Deputies from the other towns and they're taking the whole place apart."

I know," I interrupted. "But never mind. Have you had a chance to get anything on that job I asked you about?"

"Sure. I called up there long distance, just in case you did have something up your sleeve. The supermarket didn't have a burglar alarm. The one at the jewelry store was installed by an outfit called Electronic Enterprises, in Orlando."

I sighed. "And by a man named Strader."

"G.o.d, are you sure?"

"Yes."