A Bat in the Hall

Horgan leaned against the wall, fingering the stained butt of the forty-five that hung against his thigh, wishing that the last girl would get through with her overtime work and he could go home and get the hot grey uniform off. Ramay, the fat little janitor who always smelled of coal dust and stale sweat, lounged next to Horgan, looking wearily at a batch of mops which lay on the floor.

“It’s a soft job you got, Horgan. A guard on the top floor of an office building. A child’s work for a hulk like you. I know about you. You drink your beer, draw your pay and spend a short day walking around the hall Now take me...”

“Shut up!” Horgan leaned over the janitor.

“Okay. You and your temper. They shouldn’t let you carry a gun!”

Horgan relaxed and stood moodily, cursing the last girl who was working after the others had left. She walked out of the office, throwing a casual glance at the two. She was a tall, heavy girl with a mass of black hair. Horgan leaned away from the wall, but she drank from the water fountain and headed back into the office. Through the open door they could hear the busy clattering of her typewriter. Horgan knew that it was dark outside. His stomach gnawed at him.

Ramay jumped and peered down the hall.

“Hey, Horgan. There’s a bat in the hall. See ’im?”

Horgan looked down the hall. Something black flapped and skimmed close to the ceiling. “How’d a bat get in here? Let’s get him!”

“How?”

“Simple. Grab a mop and get down there beyond him. He won’t fly by you if you get past him. Drive him up here.”

Ramay sneaked down the hall with exaggerated caution. He stooped and darted by the fluttering shape. Horgan picked up another mop and Ramay took a wild swing at the bat. It swooped up toward Horgan. He swung a hard over-hand blow at it and missed. The bat swooped back toward Ramay. The little man turned it back again.

Horgan held the mop poised over his shoulder. He took two quick steps forward so that the light from the open office door would shine on the black creature. He poised and swung with every ounce of strength in his heavy shoulders. He felt the small impact as the mop head hit the bat — then a greater impact that stung his hands. He stood stupidly and watched the tall girl fall heavily onto the tile floor, quick blood staining her face. She had stepped out at the wrong second.

The metal end of the mop had hit her across the forehead.

As he bent over her he heard Ramay running toward him. He knew she was knocked out. He felt for her pulse. He couldn’t locate it and he couldn’t see her breathing. He felt of the bloody patch on her forehead and the crushed bones gave slightly under his thick fingers. He started back, wiping his fingers on the side of his pants.

Ramay’s voice was high and broken as he asked. “She hurt bad?”

“Dead.”

“Mother of God! They’ll crucify you for this, Horgan.”

The big man squatted and thought. No more pay checks. No more beer. Cops and prison. His mind worked slowly and carefully.

He stood up and said, “You got your flashlight with you, Pop?”

“Sure! Why?” He hauled the heavy, three-cell light out of his pocket. Horgan took it. He shone the light on the floor near the girl’s head. No blood on the floor.

“I’m phoning the cops if you’re not,” Ramay said, and started into the office where the girl had been working. The bright light shone on the paper in her typewriter. Horgan slid the forty-five out of the holster, jacked a shot into the chamber and carefully shot Ramay behind the right car.

He picked up the girl and carried her into the office. He dropped her on the floor, stuck a big hand inside the top of her dress and ripped it open. Then he tore her skirt. He worked fast. He carefully lifted Ramay and dropped him face down across the girl. He took the girl’s hand and dug her fingers across Ramay’s cooling cheek. Then he dipped the end of the flashlight in the bloody spot on the girl’s head. He wrapped Ramay’s fingers around the flashlight and left it in the man’s hand.

He stepped to the phone which had been left plugged in to on outside line and dialed a number. “This is Horgan, civilian guard at Investment Securities — that’s right. Morgan Building — I’ve just killed a man — I said killed a man — yeah — and there’s a girl dead here too — I won’t touch anything — yeah — goodbye.”

He spent the next few minutes washing the small bloody spot off the metal edge of the mop.

Morgan shifted in the chair and wondered when Detective Sergeant Cannell would let him go. The police station smelled of disinfectant and dampness.

Canned cleared his throat, fingered his ineffectual-looking chin and started again.

“Now, Horgan, I want to make sure I understand. You decided to sneak out for something to eat, but after you walked down a few floors, you decided it was a bad idea. As you came back up into the ball, you heard screams. You ran toward the direction of the sound, pulling your gun. You came to the office just as the girl stopped screaming. You saw Ramay ready to slug her again with the flashlight. You fired, trying to get him in the shoulder, but caught him in the head. You examined the two bodies, touching the girl’s head, and then phoned us. The time of the shot, heard in another building, verifies your story. Just to check, will you go through it once more, please.”

Horgan sighed and started again. He spoke slowly, with calm emphasis. While he was speaking, a uniformed man walked quietly in and placed two objects on Cannell’s desk. Horgan stopped, but Cannell motioned him to go on.

It was hard to talk while Cannell unwrapped the two objects. One was the bloodstained flashlight with greyish powder still clinging to the sides. The blood had smeared part of the lense.

The second package turned out to be a new flashlight of the same model. Some sudden sense of alarm began to fog Horgan’s speech. Cannell hefted the other flashlight and then brought it down with sudden force against the top of a stack of magazines on one corner of his desk. Horgan’s voice ground to a dead stop as the shattered glass sprayed across the office, the bent rim dropped onto the desk.

The walls seemed to come nearer as Horgan realized what he had forgotten. He lowered his head and Cannell’s voice came softly through a deeping mist, “Now suppose you tell us what really happened.”