“Suppose I go to the police?”
“Go ahead.”
At first they would think I was lying. I could prove my story easily enough. And then they would clap me in a cell and leave me there to rot.
“You won’t go to the police,” he said. “And it wouldn’t do you any good if you did. I haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t broken a single law. I’ll break one when I kill you, but it will be a little late for you to go to the police by then.”
“How are you going to kill me from a jail cell?”
He laughed. “I’ll never be in jail again. A respectable man who killed a nonentity who was blackmailing him. My plea is temporary insanity. The prosecution has a weak case without a corpse anyway. Don’t you think I’ll beat the rap?”
He would. Easy.
Silence in a smoky room. I got another cigarette going. My hands were surprisingly steady. I asked him how and when he was going to kill me. Murray smiled. He was enjoying this. It was his show, and he was having fun.
“I haven’t decided yet. I’m in no hurry. I’ve nothing to gain by rushing things. Besides, I want to give you plenty of time to sweat.”
“I may be tough to kill.”
“I don’t think so. You may be tough to find, but I’ll manage it. You’ll be leaving town, of course. I wonder where you’ll run to. Do you remember what Joe Louis used to say? They can run but they can’t hide. I’ll find you.”
“All by yourself?”
“Possibly. I’ve got all the time in the world. I think I’ll give up my law practice, Maynard. The disgrace and all—an understandable move. I don’t have to worry about earning a living. And I have a feeling I’ll enjoy hunting you down. If the problem becomes too tough I can always hire detectives. Or professional killers. What do you think a couple of pros would charge to murder you, Maynard? Think I could afford it?”
I didn’t say anything. He gazed at me, no smile, no frown. Then, slowly, he got to his feet.
“I don’t envy you,” he said.
I stood up.
“I don’t envy you at all. Wherever you go, you’ll be waiting for me. Wherever you are, you’ll know I’m after you. It will be a temptation for me to prolong it. Except for the fact that I’ll never be entirely satisfied until you are dead.”
He used that for an exit line. He walked to the door and opened it. I didn’t see him out.
I had to wait until morning. Waiting was hell, but there were things that had to be done. I needed money— money from Perry Carver, money from my bank account. I had to give up a few hours for the dough, which didn’t mean much in the long run. But it was hell trying to stay in that apartment, trying to sleep, trying to survive until it was time to run.
I had one drink after he left, then left the bottle strictly alone. I packed my suitcases and loaded them into the trunk of the Ford. I took a bath and smoked a lot of cigarettes and tried to sleep and saw right away that it wasn’t going to work. I made a cup of coffee, drank it, smoked some more, left the apartment to go to an all-night beanery for a hamburger and more coffee, returned to the apartment and, somehow, God knows how, made it through the night.
Murray was running a bluff, I kept telling myself. He had tipped to everything and wanted me to leave town and work up a sweat. But he wasn’t a killer and he wouldn’t kill me. It was nothing but a bluff. Except that I couldn’t make myself believe the bluff. I knew the man. I’d spent hours talking with him. I’d played plenty of cards with him. If he were bluffing, I was Marie of Romania.
I appeared at the Black Sand office first thing in the morning. I told Perry as much as I had to tell him. Just that I was leaving town, and leaving right away.
“I just don’t get it,” Perry Carver said. “If somebody made you a better offer, let me know about it. I’ll top it.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
“Wanderlust,” I said. “I’ve got itchy feet, I guess.
I’ve spent my whole life on the move. I thought I could change my style, but it hasn’t been working.”
“You’re making good money,” Perry said.
“I know.”
“And you’ll make better money. Don’t you like the city?”
“I like it well enough. I just want to get on the move again.”
“Where to?”
“The West Coast,” I lied. “San Francisco, probably.”
“That’s a long way to go for nothing in particular. You’ve grown close to Murray, haven’t you? His troubles on your mind?”
I shrugged.
“Nothing I can do to change your mind, Bill?”
“I’m afraid not,” I said.
Perry Carver sighed. My prospect file was on his desk where I had put it. He pulled out a stack of cards and riffled through them unseeingly. For a minute I thought he was going to shuffle them and deal them out. He stuffed them back into the file and regarded me.
“It’s the damnedest thing,” he said. “You turned out to be the best man to work out in my office in I don’t know how long. You’ve got a real future if you’ll stay in one place long enough to become established. Going to stick with the investment business?”
“Probably.”
“If you ever want work—”
“Thanks.”
Another sigh. “Some day you’ll be tired of moving around. Meet the right girl, that sort of thing. It’s just a shame it couldn’t have happened in this city.”
“Yes,” I said. “It is.”
Afterward, I sat down with an official at the bank and the two of us subtracted my uncashed checks from my bank balance and figured out what I had coming. He asked me if I wanted a cashier’s check for the amount, or traveler’s checks, or what. I told him cash would do fine. He stared at me as though I were a throwback to pioneer days and told me what teller to see. I saw the teller and took the cash and left. I stopped at the car place and paid the balance due on the Ford. Then I headed out Main Street toward the river, picked up the highway, pointed the car eastward and shoved the gas pedal to the floor. I had to force myself not to speed, especially after I reached the Thruway. There you can do five miles an hour over the limit with total impunity, but the red column on the Ford’s speedometer kept edging up around seventy-five and I had trouble easing up. I kept telling myself an extra five or ten miles an hour wouldn’t do any good. My foot wouldn’t listen.
New York would do for a starter, I assured myself. Only for a starter—New York would be the first place Murray Rogers would look and, large as the city is, you can never completely disappear there. But New York was a good place to make a preliminary connection and put some wheels into motion. After that, I could go anywhere.
And Murray could follow me. He had the time and the money and the patience and the incentive. With those four components you can find anyone anywhere. Don’t take my word for it. Ask Eichmann.
It had been a pretty little frame while it had lasted. Very neat, very clever. But the frame had been a gamble that had caved in little by little until less than nothing had remained. First the reward had lost its glitter, then the machinery of the frame had lost a few wheels, and finally Murray Rogers had tipped all the way and the whole house of marked cards had fallen in on itself.
Now I was marked for murder.
Somewhere, there was a moral. Not the Golden Rule bit—you can’t apply that to life in the shadow world because the Golden Rule cancels out everything. No, the charm here was a sharper, hipper, dirtier moral.
