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.’
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.
He read it, his face screwed up, his expression blank.
Then he looked up and stared at me.
‘For Pete’s sake! You didn’t do it, did you?’
‘No, but she did. I must have been out of my mind. I wanted five thousand dol ars for her cure. She told me we could find the money in the casting director’s office. I fel for it. We went out there, broke in, but there was no money. The guard caught me. She was behind the desk, out of sight. She shot him.’ I sat on the upright chair and hid my face in my hands. ‘I was against the wal , with my back turned to him. Listen. Rusty, I swear I didn’t do it.’
He put the paper down, took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, shook one out into his large hand and lit it.
‘So you’re in trouble. Wel , I warned you, didn’t I? I told you she’d be a load of grief to you.’
‘You told me.’
‘Wel ? What are you going to do?’
‘I want to get out of here. I want to go home.’
‘That’s about the first sensible thing you have said since I’ve known you.’ He put his hand inside his coat and took out a shabby wallet. ‘Here you are: as soon as I heard the state you were in, I raided the till.’
He offered me five twenty dollar bills.
‘I don’t want al that, Rusty.’
‘Take it and shut up.’
‘No. Al I want is my fare home. It’l be ten bucks. I’m not taking any more.’
He got to his feet, cramming the bills back into his wallet.
