before.’
‘Once they get a lead on me, this will be the first place they’ll come to!’
‘Oh, quiet down!’ Her tone of contempt maddened me. ‘You’re yellow. Keep your nerve and you’ll be all right. Just relax, can’t you? You’re boring me.’
I caught her by the throat and slammed her against the wall. Then I slapped her face: bang!… bang!…
bang! I wasn’t proud of myself for hitting her, but I had to. She was so rotten I had no answer to her attitude but to hit her.
I let go of her and stood away from her, panting.
‘I’m scared!’ I said. ‘I’m scared because I have some decency left in me. You! You have nothing.
You’re rot en through and through! I wish I never had anything to do with you! Get out!’
She leaned against the wall, her face where I had hit her red as fire, her eyes glowing with hate.
‘I won’t forget that, you skunk,’ she said. ‘I’ve a lot to remember you by. One of these days, I’l even the score. I hope he dies and I hope you go to the gas chamber!’
I threw the bedroom door open.
‘Get out!’ I yelled at her.
She went out and I slammed the door after her.
For a long moment I stood motionless, trying to control my breathing. Then I went over to the mirror and stared at my white, frightened face. I looked at the thin scar that ran down the side of my jaw. If the guard had described that to the police I was cooked.
I was stiff with panic. My one thought now was to get away and go home, but if the police were already looking for me, it would be asking for trouble to show myself on the streets in daylight.
I heard Carrie come thumping up the stairs. I opened the door.
‘Do me a favour,’ I said. ‘I’m staying in today. Get me a paper, will you?’
She looked sharply at me.
‘I ain’t got time, Mr. Jeff. I’ve got work to do.’
‘It’s important. Can’t you borrow one for me?’ I had to make an effort to keep calm. ‘Try and get me one, Carrie.’
‘I’ll see. Are you sick?’
‘I’m not feeling too bright. Get that paper for me.’
She nodded and went off downstairs.
I got back into bed, lit another cigarette and waited. I had to wait half an hour, and by then I was in a terrible state of nerves. Then I heard her lumbering up the stairs again. I jumped out of bed and went to the door.
She pushed a paper at me and a cup of coffee.
‘Thanks, Carrie.’
‘The missus was reading it.’
‘That’s okay. Thanks.’
I shut the door, set down the coffee and looked at the front page of the paper.
The usual war headlines took priority. The date was August 5th, 1945. Super Fortresses, so the headlines told me, had been continually flying over Japan, plastering eleven Japanese cities with leaflets, warning the people of intensive bombing to come.
The threat to Japan didn’t interest me. What I was hunting for was a threat to myself.
I found it finally on the back page.
A guard at the Pacific Studios had surprised an intruder and been shot, the report said. The guard, an ex- policeman, well liked when on the force, was now in the Los Angeles State hospital. He had given the police a description of the gunman before lapsing into a coma. The police were hunting for a man with a scar on his face.
That was all, but it was bad enough.
I felt so bad, I had to sit on the bed, my legs refusing to support me.
Maybe this guard was going to die after all.
After a while, I got dressed. I had a feeling that I might have to make a bolt for it, and I had the urge to be ready. I packed my suitcase, and I checked my money. I had only ten dollars and fifty cents left in the world.
Then I sat by the window, watching the street below.
A little after midday, I saw a police car pull up at the far end of the street and four plain clothes men spill out. The sight of them set my heart hammering so violently I could scarcely breathe.
In this street were four rooming-houses. The detectives split up and walked rapidly towards the various houses.
The one who headed for mine was a big man with a pork pie hat on the back of his head and a dead cigar butt gripped between his teeth.
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.’
