“We were tailed,” I said.
“What—?” She stopped dead, with her head half turned.
“Small car. You didn’t notice him unless you saw my lights brush him as I made the turn at the top of the hill.”
“Who was it?” Her voice was tense.
“How would I know? He must have picked us up here, therefore he’ll come back here. Could he be a cop?”
She looked back at me, motionless, frozen. She took a slow step, and then she rushed at me as if she was going to claw my face. She grabbed me by the arms and tried to shake me. Her breath came whistling.
“Get me out of here. Get me out of here, for the love of Christ. Anywhere. Hide me. Get me a little peace. Somewhere where I can’t be followed, hounded, threatened. He swore he would do it to me. He’d follow me to the ends of the earth, to the remotest island of the Pacific—”
“To the crest of the highest mountain, to the heart of the loneliest desert,” I said. “Somebody’s been reading a rather old-fashioned book.”
She dropped her arms and let them hang limp at her sides. “You’ve got as much sympathy as a loan shark.”
“I’ll take you nowhere,” I said. “Whatever it is that’s eating you, you’re going to stay put and take it.”
I turned and got into the car. When I looked back, she was already halfway to the bar entrance, walking with quick strides.
16
If I had any sense, I would pick up my suitcase and go back home and forget all about her. By the time she made up her mind which part she was playing in which act of which play, it would probably be too late for me to do anything about it except maybe get pinched for loitering in the post office.
I waited and smoked a cigarette. Goble and his dirty little jalopy ought to show up and slip into a parking slot almost any moment. He couldn’t have picked us up anywhere else, and since he knew that much he couldn’t have followed us for any reason except to find out where we went.
He didn’t show. I finished the cigarette, dropped it overboard, and backed out. As I turned out of the driveway towards the town, I saw his car on the other side of the street, parked left-hand to the curb. I kept going, turned right at the boulevard and took it easy so he wouldn’t blow a gasket trying to keep up. There was a restaurant about a mile along called The Epicure. It had a low roof, and a red brick wall to shield it from the street and it had a bar. The entrance was at the side. I parked and went in. It wasn’t doing any business yet. The barkeep was chatting with the captain and the captain didn’t even wear a dinner jacket. He had one of those high desks where they keep the reservation book. The book was open and had a list of names in it for later in the evening. But it was early now. I could have a table.
The dining room was dim, candlelit, divided by a low wall into two halves. It would have looked crowded with thirty people in it. The captain shoved me in a corner and lit my candle for me. I said I would have a double Gibson. A waiter came up and started to remove the place setting on the far side of the table. I told him to leave it, a friend might join me. I studied the menu, which was almost as large as the dining room. I could have used a flashlight to read it, if I had been curious. This was about the dimmest joint I was ever in. You could be sitting at the next table from your mother and not recognize her.
The Gibson arrived. I could make out the shape of the glass and there seemed to be something in it. I tasted it and it wasn’t too bad. At that moment Goble slid into the chair across from me. In so far as I could see him at all, he looked about the same as he had looked the day before. I went on peering at the menu. They ought to have printed it in Braille.
Goble reached across for my glass of ice water and drank. “How you making out with the girl?” he asked casually.
“Not getting anywhere. Why?”
“Whatcha go up on the hill for?”
“I thought maybe we could neck. She wasn’t in the mood. What’s your interest? I thought you were looking for some guy named Mitchell.”
“Very funny indeed. Some guy named Mitchell. Never heard of him, I believe you said.”
“I’ve heard of him since. I’ve seen him. He was drunk. Very drunk. He damn near got himself thrown out of a place.”
“Very funny,” Goble said, sneering. “And how did you know his name?”
“On account of somebody called him by it. That would be too funny, wouldn’t it?”
He sneered. “I told you to stay out of my way. I know who you are now. I looked you up.”
I lit a cigarette and blew smoke in his face. “Go fry a stale egg.”
“Tough, huh,” he sneered. “I’ve pulled the arms and legs off bigger guys than you.”
“Name two of them.”
He leaned across the table, but the waiter came up.
“I’ll have bourbon and plain water,” Goble told him. “Bonded stuff. None of that bar whiskey for me. And don’t try to fool me. I’ll know. And bottled water. The city water here is terrible.”
The waiter just looked at him.
“I’ll have another of these,” I said, pushing my glass.
“What’s good tonight?” Goble wanted to know. “I never bother with these billboards.” He flicked a disdainful finger at the menu.
