Have a Change of Scene

Ten

I drove into Luceville as the City Hall clock struck six. Because of the smog and the cement dust I drove as other drivers were doing with dipped headlights. I felt the dust gritty around my collar and it gave me a feeling of nostalgia.

To reach Spooky’s pad on Lexington I had to cross the centre of the city and I got snarled up in the home-going traffic.

As I crawled past Jenny’s office block I wondered if she was up there on the sixth floor, her hair untidy as she scribbled on a yellow form. But this was no time to think of Jenny. The time to think of her, I told myself, was when I knew for certain I was safe. Until then, she must remain like something one urgently longs for but knows one can’t afford.

I dumped the Chevy in a parking lot within easy walking distance of Lexington, then taking my hold-all, containing a spare shirt, shaving kit and the .38 automatic, I walked through the slums until I came to Lexington.

It was dark now and the street lights were on. Apart from a few old drunks, sitting on trash bins, a few coloured kids kicking a ball around in the street, Lexington at this hour was deserted.

Opposite No. 245, Spooky’s pad, was a dilapidated four-storey tenement house. Two snot-nosed, dirty, white kids sat on the steps. With their grimy little fists clenched between their knees, their tiny shoulders hunched, they stared, for something better to do, at the collection of filth lying in the gutter: it included a dead cat.

On the transom above the battered front door was written:

This seemed to me to be too good to be true. I paused to look across the street at No. 245, then started up the steps, moving around the kids who squinted up at me, their tragic little eyes suspicious. I entered a lobby that smelt of urine, stale body sweat and cats.

An old biddy stood in an open doorway, digging with a splinter of wood at what she had left of her teeth. What hair she had was greasy rats’ tails. Her coverall was stiff with dirt. She couldn’t have been less than eighty, probably more.

I paused before her. She took me in from the candy floss wig down to my scuffed sneakers. I could see by her sneering expression she didn’t like what she saw.

‘You got a room, Ma?’ I said, putting down the hold-all.

‘Don’t call me Ma, you young bastard,’ she said in a voice thick with phlegm. ‘Mrs. Reynolds to you and don’t you forget it.’

‘Okay, Mrs. Reynolds. You got a room?’

‘Twelve bucks a week, paid in advance.’

‘Let’s take a gander.’

I knew the dialogue was strictly from a B movie and from her sneer she knew it too.

‘Second floor. Number five. The key’s in the lock.’

I walked up the creaky uncovered stairs, not touching the filthy banister rail to the second floor. Number five was at the end of a smelly corridor.

The room was about ten-feet square. It contained a bed, a table, two hard backed chairs, a closet and a threadbare carpet. The wallpaper was peeling by the window. There was a grease covered bench on which stood a gas ring.

Leaving my hold-all, I went down the stairs, paid the old biddy twelve dollars, then walked to an Italian store where I bought enough groceries to last me a few days. To the various cans of food, I added a bottle of whisky. Then I went to a hardware store and bought a small saucepan and a frying pan.

Mrs. Reynolds was still propping up her doorway when I returned.

‘Where do I wash?’ I asked.

She eyed me, scratched under her left armpit, then said, ‘Public baths at the end of the street. There’s a crapper on every floor. What more do you want?’

I carried my purchases up to the room, shut and locked the door, set everything down on the table, then examined the bed. The sheets were clean enough, but the two thin blankets carried suspicious looking stains. I wondered when the bugs would appear.

A change of scene?

I thought of Sydney’s luxurious penthouse which I had inherited. This ghastly little room was something I had to endure if I were to keep the penthouse and Sydney’s millions.

Turning off the light, I pulled a chair to the window and began my watch. There were eighteen dirty windows facing me across the street: five of them showing lights. One of these windows belonged to Spooky. I had no idea which of the eighteen was his, but sooner or later, if I watched long enough, I would spot him.

I sat there, smoking and watching. People moved in the lighted squares of their windows: most of them young, wearing way-out gear. On the fifth floor, third window to the left, a handsome young Negress wearing only stretch pants was jiggling to a soundless radio, cupping her naked breasts in her hands. Watching her, I felt lust stir and forced my eyes away from her.

Around 20.00 I got hungry. I left the window, pulled down the blind and turned on the light. While I was heating a can of beans I heard the roar of an approaching motor bike. Turning off the gas and the light, I moved fast to the window and pulled aside the blind. There was Spooky astride a glittering new Honda, pulling up outside No. 245.

I watched him as he climbed off the machine and strutted up the steps leading to his pad.

This was the moment. I watched him disappear into the darkness of the block, then I waited for a light to come on in one of the darkened windows. While I waited, I watched the Negress who had put on a flowered shirt and was stirring something in a saucepan.

After a fifteen minute wait, I realised that in whichever room Spooky lived the light was already on when he entered for no light came up in any of the darkened windows. Did that mean that Rhea was in Spooky’s pad? Why not? Why should she sit in the darkness? I began to examine each lighted window. Three of them were without curtains and I could see who were in the rooms. The two remaining windows had flimsy curtains, but not flimsy enough to see through. One was on the third floor. The other on the top floor immediately above the room occupied by the Negress. It seemed to me that one of these rooms must be Spooky’s.

I dropped the blind, put on the light and reheated the beans. For a start this first day hadn’t been bad. I was making progress. At least I now knew Spooky either lived on the third or top floor of this block.

I ate the beans, then turning off the light and raising the blind, I sat again before the window.

Around 21.00 the light in the window on the third floor went out. I now concentrated my attention on the lighted window on the top floor. I watched for almost an hour, then suddenly a shadow moved across the curtains. I recognised Spooky’s silhouette. It was unmistakable. If I hadn’t been watching continuously I would have missed this fleeting shadow. So he was on the top floor, but was Rhea up there with him?

I sat there, watching. The lights in the various windows began to go out. The Negress picked up a large handbag, went to her door and flicked up the light switch. Finally, the only light in the building came through the windows of Spooky’s pad.

Then I saw him come running down the steps and get astride his Honda. The machine burst into an ear-splitting roar. Clapping his helmet on his greasy head, he took off, but the light in his window remained on.

This could mean either of two things: either Spooky didn’t give a damn about his electricity bill or else Rhea was up there in hiding.

But how to find out?

I was a stranger in the district. It would be too dangerous to wander into Spooky’s block even though it looked now that everyone had left the building.

I lit a cigarette and surveyed the street below. Like rats appearing when darkness falls, the street was becoming active. Elderly ragged men and women came shuffling down the steps of the various tenement blocks in search of a bar.

Then I saw the Negress. She was leaning against the rusty railings, swinging her large handbag and I then knew what she was — a prostitute.

I knew her room was immediately below Spooky’s pad. Here was my chance. Maybe I could get confirmation that Rhea was up there.

I thought of the Negress as I had seen her dancing, half naked, in her room. She was pretty and beautifully made. I hadn’t had sex since I had met Judy: that seemed a long, long time ago.

Pushing back the chair, I stood up, groped my way across the dark room to the door and moved out into the smelly corridor.

On my way down the stairs I met no one. Mrs. Reynold’s door was shut. Through the thin panels came the sound of a TV set. I lounged down the steps into the cement-dusty night. The street’s flotsam — youths, girls, drunks and old people — swirled around me. I looked across the street at the Negress who had spotted me. She was looking towards me. I waited until two beat-up cars had roared past me, then crossed the street.

She was moving towards me as I reached the opposite side walk.

‘Hi, honey,’ she said softly, her white teeth gleaming in the lamp light. ‘Lonely?’

I stood by her, looking at her. Her skin was the colour of milky coffee. Her ironed-out black hair framed her face. Even the importance of finding Rhea and silencing her went out of my mind. I had to get this repression that had built up in my body purged.

‘You can say that again,’ I said huskily. ‘Let’s do something about it.’

She surveyed me, her big, black eyes probing.

‘It’ll cost you ten bucks, honey,’ she said. ‘You got ten bucks?’

I thought of my offer to Rhea of five hundred dollars.

‘I’ve got it,’ I said.

‘You don’t look as if you have two bucks.’ She smiled at me. ‘You’re new around here, aren’t you?’

I dug into my hip pocket and showed her a ten-dollar bill. Her slim brown fingers snapped the bill out of my fingers the way a lizard nails a fly.

‘Let’s go, honey,’ she said. ‘It’s all action from now on.’

She led me into the tenement block that smelt worse than my block. She wriggled her bottom at me as she climbed the stairs with me just behind her. It was a long climb and by the time I reached her landing, I had a hard-on that really hurt.

She acted up to me and it was good. In the past when I couldn’t be bothered to chase after some girl, I had taken a tart. I had never had value for money. Usually they lay staring up at the ceiling, some even smoking, most of them giggling but this little Negress did an act that made me feel I was stirring her, although I knew I wasn’t.

When it was over and I had rolled away from her, she didn’t do what most of them did — slide off the bed and begin dressing. She lay by my side, reached for a pack of cigarettes, lit two and gave me one.

‘You certainly wanted that, honey,’ she said, cupping her breasts in her hands.

Yes, I had certainly wanted it. Now I felt completely relaxed as if a boil that had been tormenting me had burst. I dragged smoke down into my lungs and stared up at the dirty ceiling. Then I became aware of footsteps overhead. I had been in such a state before I had laid this girl everything had gone out of focus. Now I heard these footsteps... click-click-click of a woman’s heels, pounding over my head. Then I remembered Rhea and why I was in this sordid little room with a young, naked Negress lying by my side.

I listened.

Backwards and forwards this woman walked above my head: non-stop. Click-click-click.

The Negress crushed out her cigarette.

‘I’ve got to get back to work now, honey,’ she said. ‘Did you have a good time?’

‘What goes on up there?’ I said and pointed to the ceiling.

‘Why should you worry?’ She sat up and swung her long legs off the bed. ‘Up on your feet, honey. I have to go to work.’

I put my arm around her slim waist and pulled her against me.

‘No hurry... another ten dollars buys me your time.’

She spread her warm body down on mine.

‘You mean that?’

‘Want the money now?’

‘Always now, honey. I have to live.’

I got off the bed, went over to where I had left my pants, found another ten-dollar bill and handed it to her. As I laid down, she threw her leg across me and began to nibble at my ear. I let her work on me while I listened to the footsteps moving across the ceiling.

‘What goes on up there?’ I asked. ‘Sounds like a marathon.’

‘A nutter.’ The Negress began to stroke the back of my neck. ‘She drives me crazy. Day after day, night after night, she walks. If it wasn’t for Spooky, I’d go up there and bawl her out, but she’s Spooky’s piece and he’s a big noise in this crap-house.’

‘Have you seen her?’

She lifted herself on her elbow and stared down at me, her big, black eyes quizzing.

‘Why the questions, honey? Let’s have some action.’

All the time she was speaking, I could hear the footsteps.

‘Spooky’s girl?’

‘You know Spooky?’

‘I know him for the bastard he is.’

She relaxed and lowered herself on me again.

‘They’re in trouble up there. He’s hiding her from the fuzz,’ she mumbled, her lips against my neck. ‘She’s been holed up there for two weeks — never goes out: just walks the goddamn floor and drives me crazy.’

I now knew all I wanted to know. I had found Rhea!

Back in my own sordid room, I lay on the bed with the light off and the curtains drawn back. The street lights gave me enough light to see. I was relaxed: this sexual experience had been something I had really needed. Sadie — the Negress had told me her name when I was leaving — had done a thorough therapeutic job on me.

I now knew that Rhea was in Spooky’s pad. As long as she remained alive my own freedom and my inheritance from Sydney were in jeopardy. If the police caught her, she would talk, implicating me. I had to silence her — but how?

Then an alarming thought dropped into my mind. Had she told Spooky about me? If I silenced her would Spooky then appear on my horizon to blackmail me? Had she told him she had a diamond necklace worth, as she imagined, over a million dollars? Would she give a slob like Spooky such a dangerous piece of information? This was something I had to find out. If she had told him then I would have a double killing on my hands. I would have to silence both of them. I didn’t flinch at the thought. I felt neither Rhea nor Spooky had any right to live. To me, they were dangerous animals and I the hunter, but if I could avoid a double killing it would be easier and safer for me.

Still thinking, still planning, I dozed off, but around two o’clock the first of the bugs arrived. I spent the rest of the night sitting on a hard backed chair, my head on my arms, across the table.

Soon after 03.00, the silence of the night was split by the roar of a motorcycle. I stood at the window and watched Spooky swagger up the steps and to his pad.

After eating a poor breakfast the following morning, I went along to the public baths. The rest of the morning I spent wandering the streets, keeping away from the centre of the town. I was fearful of running into Jenny. I bought a box of anti-bug powder and returned to my room to prepare a lunch of canned beef and canned potatoes. After smothering the bedding and the mattress with the powder, I lay down and went to sleep.

I woke at 19.00. Going to the window, I looked across the street to see a light showing behind the curtains of Spooky’s pad. Sadie, in the room below was cooking something at her stove. Looking down at the street, I saw the Honda was gone which meant Spooky had gone out.

I looked through the cans of food I had bought, decided to try the ravioli which turned out to be tough and tasteless. Then I sat by the window, smoking until around 21.00 I saw Sadie leave her room.

I went over to my hold-all and took from it the .38 automatic which I slid into my hip pocket, then I went down on to the street and joined Sadie as she came from the block.

‘Hi, sugar,’ I said. ‘How about some more action?’

She smiled at me.

‘You sure are keen, man.’ She linked her arm in mine. ‘Yeah... let’s have some action.’

Up in her room, I took a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and let her see it.

‘Do you want to earn this, Sadie?’

Her eyes popped wide open.

‘You want some kinky stuff?’

‘I want to spend the night here,’ I said. ‘I’ve got bugs in my room.’

She put her head on one side, her eyes quizzing.

‘Where do you get all this beautiful bread from, honey?’

‘Never mind. Do I sleep here or do I go to a hotel?’

She held out her hand.

‘Give... you sleep right here.’

When I had entered the room I had become aware of Rhea still pacing.

‘Your nutter keeps walking,’ I said, giving Sadie the bill.

‘You can say that again. I’m used to it now. It’s when she stops that it gets me.’

I watched her put the bill into her handbag, then she went over to the bed. She stripped the bedding. Going to a closet, she produced clean sheets.

‘Nothing but the best,’ I said as I joined her to help remake the bed.

‘When a honey pays a hundred bucks, he’s entitled to clean sheets,’ Sadie said. ‘As we have the night before us, I’m taking a shower. You want a drink or some food?’

‘I’ll take a drink.’

She produced a bottle of cheap whisky, charge-water and ice, then left me while she took a shower.

I sat in a beat-up armchair and listened to Rhea walk the floor above my head. She sounded like a caged animal. I thought of her, remembering the time when I had lusted for her, but now she meant nothing to me except a dangerous animal. If I had dared to have done it, I would have gone up there, kicked the door open and shot her, but I knew that wasn’t the safe way to play out this little drama. When I did kill her, I had to be sure the killing could never be pinned on me.

My love making with Sadie was much more gentle this time: the urgency had gone. We went to sleep, twined in each other’s arms.

Sadie slept deeply, but I just hovered between sleep and wakefulness. I half listened to the click-click-click as Rhea continued to pace, then I became fully awake when the roar of the approaching Honda shook the window.

Sadie moaned and moved, then turned over and went back to sleep.

Below, a door slammed violently. Then I heard heavy footfalls as Spooky pounded up the stairs. The click-click-click of Rhea’s heels suddenly stopped. I heard Spooky open his door, then slam it shut.

‘Listen, you bitch, this is the last goddamn bottle of whisky I’m buying!’

His deep menacing voice came through the ceiling as if he was in Sadie’s room.

‘Give it to me!’ I immediately recognised Rhea’s voice.

‘Take it! Drink yourself to death! Why the hell should I care?’

Sadie moaned softly in her sleep.

There was a long pause, then Spooky started to talk again: ‘I’ve had enough of this! I want you out! I want my pad to myself! I want you out!’

‘Shut up, you stupid jerk of a bastard!’ There was a hysterical note in Rhea’s voice that alerted me.

‘I’m staying here! I’ve nowhere else to go! You start trouble for me, you goddamn creep and I’ll fix you! I can fix you, Spooky! The fuzz can’t wait to get their paws on you!’

After a long pause, Spooky said, ‘Just what the hell is all this? I’ve got to know! What’s this about you staying here until the heat cools off? What heat? What have you done? Why the hell do you come here, hiding from the fuzz? Where’s Fel? I want to know! I’ve had enough of you walking the goddamn floor and swilling whisky. I want my pad back without you!’

‘Do you?’ Lying motionless, feeling Sadie’s body warmth seeping through me as she pressed against me, I listened. Rhea went on. ‘I stay here until it’s safe for me to go. I’m not showing myself on the streets until the heat’s off. I’ve done a lot for you. Who bought your goddamn bike? Why don’t you try to earn something? What are you good for except riding a bike and bragging, you stupid, brainless creep?’

‘Okay.’ Spooky’s voice went down a tone and I had to listen hard to hear what he was saying. ‘Then you get out! Go ahead and talk to the fuzz about me. They won’t worry me once they get you. So pack and get out!’

‘Have a drink, Spooky.’

‘I said... get out!’

‘Aw, come on... let’s forget it. We’re always fighting.’ There was a sudden whine in Rhea’s voice. ‘Have a drink, I want bed... and you.’

‘Who wants you? I said get out!’

‘I know you did, honey, but I want bed. Come on.’

‘I’ve had enough of you, you drunken cow! Go fix your own goddamn problems and leave me alone!’

I suddenly realised by the viciousness in his voice that he meant what he was saying. I slid off the bed and struggled into my clothes. This could be my chance! She hadn’t told him! So Spooky wasn’t a menace to me! As I pulled on my shoes, Sadie turned on her back.

‘Honey... where are you?’ she muttered and then went back to sleep.

I heard Spooky yell: ‘Out!’

The door above slammed open: there was a thud.

‘Take your goddamn junk!’

Another thud, then the door slammed shut.

By this time I was out in the corridor. I shut Sadie’s door softly, then ran down the stairs to the entrance of the block. I stood against the wall in the darkness, listening.

Rhea started down the stairs. I heard her muttering, ‘Bastard. Bastard.’

Then I saw her outline as she groped her way across the lobby to where I was standing.

‘Take it easy, baby,’ I said softly. ‘There’s a fuzz passing.’

She came to an abrupt stop, catching her breath. She peered at me.

‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Like you... trying to cool off,’ I said.

She slumped against the wall by my side. I could smell the whisky on her breath.

‘Cooling off? What do you mean?’ Her words were slurred. She was higher than a kite.

‘I heard. Want to run with me, baby? I’ve a car. I know a pad out of town that’s safe.’

She slid down on the floor.

‘God! I’m drunk!’ There was a wail of despair in her voice. ‘I want to die!’

But not here, I thought. The bang of my gun would start trouble for me. I had to get her out in the open before I shot her.

‘Come on, baby,’ I said, and taking hold of her arm, I hauled her to her feet. ‘Let’s go.’

She leaned against me.

‘Who are you? I can’t see you. Who the hell are you?’

‘Come on... let’s go.’

I hauled her down the steps and on to the deserted street. She staggered as she walked and I had to steady her. Under the street light, she pulled away from me and we looked at each other. I scarcely knew her. She had aged horribly. There were streaks of white in her red hair. Her emerald green eyes glowed as if light bulbs were behind them. She was emaciated. She weaved as she peered at me.

She had on the blood-red trouser suit and she carried a bulging sling bag on her shoulder.

‘Hi, Wig-top,’ she said. ‘You got any hair under that wig?’

‘Come on, baby,’ I said. ‘I’ve a car up the street. Let’s you and me take off.’

She studied me drunkenly. The candy floss wig, my thick beard, my dirty clothes seemed to give her confidence.

‘You on the run too?’

‘I’ll say. Let’s go.’

She laughed: a horrible hysterical drunken sound.

‘My brother died,’ she said. ‘The only goddamn sonofabitch who understood me. The fuzz killed him.’

I took hold of her arm.

‘Let’s get the hell out of here.’

She went with me. She was so drunk she would have fallen flat on her face if I hadn’t held on to her.

We weaved together down the deserted street and to where I had parked the Chevy. As I unlocked the car door, she leaned against the car, staring at me.

‘Haven’t I seen you before, Wig-top?’

‘What do the fuzz want you for?’ I asked and slid into the driving seat.

‘Why the hell should you care?’

‘That’s right... you getting in or staying out?’

She opened the offside door and dropped into the passenger’s seat. I had to lean across her to slam the door.

‘Where are we going, Wig-top?’

‘I don’t know where you are going, but I know where I’m going. I’m heading for the coast. My brother has a boat. He’s going to take me to Havana.’

‘Havana?’ She pressed her hands to her face. ‘I want to get there.’

‘So okay... have you any money?’

She slapped her big bag.

‘It’s here. Come on, Wig-top, let’s get moving.’

When we got onto the Tamiami Trial, heading for Naples, she fell asleep.

The time now was 04.00. In another hour it would be light. The broad freeway was deserted. On either side were dense forests of Cypress and pine trees.

I looked at her. Her head was against the window, her eyes closed. All I had to do was to slow down, bring the car to a gentle stop, take the .38 from my hip pocket, shoot her through the head, open the offside door and tip her body on to the road, then drive off. There was nothing to it. Just before reaching Naples, I’d get rid of the candy floss wig, dump the car and catch a Greyhound bus to Sarasota. There I’d buy a new outfit, shave off my beard and head across country by bus to Fort Pierce. From there, by bus I’d head back to Little Jackson where I had garaged my Buick. Then I would drive back to Paradise City: free and safe!

This plan flashed through my mind: it was so easy. I had imagined getting rid of Rhea would have been impossibly dangerous, but there she was in a drunken sleep entirely at my mercy. All I had to do was to point the gun at her and squeeze the trigger.

I looked into the driving mirror. The long freeway was dark: no sign of approaching headlights. Gently, I eased my foot off the gas pedal. The car began to lose speed, then drifted slowly to a standstill in the deep shadows of an oak tree as I shifted the gear lever into neutral. I set the handbrake.

I looked at Rhea, but she still slept, then I put my hand behind me and my fingers closed over the butt of the .38. Slowly, I drew the gun and slid back the safety catch.

I lifted the gun and pointed it at her head, my finger curling around the trigger, but that was a far as I went.

I sat there, looking at her, the gun aiming at her and in despair, I knew I couldn’t pull the trigger. I couldn’t kill her in cold blood. In the heat of the moment I had killed Fel, but it wasn’t in my makeup to shoot a sleeping woman.

Rhea’s eyes suddenly snapped open.

‘Go ahead, Larry Carr,’ she said. ‘Prove to yourself you have some guts. Go ahead... kill me!’

The blazing headlights of an approaching truck lit up the interior of the Chevy. I could see Rhea clearly. God! She looked awful! How I could have ever lusted for her seemed now, looking at her, to be some dreadful erotic nightmare. She was huddled in the corner, her eyes dull, her thin lips twisted into a sneering little grin and she looked out of her mind.

‘Go ahead... kill me!’ she repeated.

The truck roared by, shaking the Chevy in its slipstream. The thought flashed through my mind, making me flinch, that if I had killed her, the truck would have passed as I was tipping her body on to the road.

I let the gun slip out of my hand. It dropped on the bench seat between us. I knew this was the end of the road for me and I suddenly didn’t care anymore.

‘What’s the matter, Cheapie?’ she asked. ‘You had it all planned, didn’t you? Run out of guts? Did you imagine I wouldn’t know you even in that godawful wig?’

I stared at her, hating her. She was as repulsive to me as a leper.

‘I’ll say what your boyfriend said to you: get out!’ I said. ‘Get out of my car.’

She peered at me.

‘Don’t get your bowels in an uproar. I’ve got the necklace... you and I could still beat the rap.’ She fumbled in her bag, opened it and took out the leather jewel case. ‘Look. I have it! A million dollars! You said you could sell it! Together, we can go to Havana. We could start a new life together.’

Together? With her? I shuddered.

‘Sell it? Live with you?’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t live with you if you were the last whore left in the world! That necklace isn’t worth a dime... it’s a fake.’

She stiffened and leaned forward. Her green eyes blazed with madness.

‘You’re lying!’

‘It’s a glass replica, you poor fool,’ I said. ‘Do you imagine I would let you and your moronic brother walk off with a million dollars’ worth of diamonds?’

She drew in her breath in a sharp, little hiss.

I expected her to fly into a murderous rage but what I had told her seemed to crush her.

‘I warned the mug,’ she said, half to herself. ‘I knew you were a snake from the moment I saw you, but he wouldn’t listen. ‘This guy’s okay,’ he kept saying, but I knew different.’ She relaxed back. ‘Okay, Mr. Cheapie Carr, so you win. If they catch me, I’ll go away for life. I’ve already had eight years in jail. I know what it means... you don’t. Fel didn’t He’s lucky to be dead.’

I couldn’t bear to look at her any longer.

‘Beat it!’ I said. ‘When they pick you up, talk as much as you like. I’ve got beyond caring. Get out and get lost!’

She didn’t seem to hear me.

‘I had two weeks shut up in his stinking pad,’ she said. ‘Two weeks! Every minute I expected the fuzz to come and get me. God! I could do with a drink!’ She pressed her hands to her face.

Watching her, I felt no pity for her. I wanted to be rid of her, to drive away, to go back to Paradise City and wait there for the police to come and get me.

‘Beat it!’ I shouted at her. ‘You’re rotten. Even a stinking brainless creep like Spooky doesn’t want you! Get the hell away from me!’

‘Fel was the only one who couldn’t live without me,’ she said. ‘Then he ran away when the crunch came... yellow right through.’ She gave a hard barking laugh. ‘Well, I guess this is curtains for me. I wonder what it’s like to be dead.’

Then I saw she had my gun in her hand.

‘Drop that!’ I shouted.

‘So long, Cheapie... your time will come.’

As I lunged at her, she shoved me off, lifted the gun, pointed it at her head and pulled the trigger.

The flash of the gun blinded me and the bang stunned me. I felt a wet mess on my face and shuddering I threw myself out of the car. I stood there shaking, mopping my face with my handkerchief as a thin wisp of gun smoke curled out of the open door.

Sergeant O’Halloran sat at his desk, rolling his pencil across the blotter.

On the bench against the wall sat five of Spooky’s gang: kids ranging from ten to fifteen years of age, sullen, dirty and wearing their uniform of black shirts and jeans.

I caused a sensation with these kids as the two patrolmen shoved me into the charge-room: that I could understand. With my candy floss wig at the back of my head, Rhea’s blood on my shirt, a bruise on the side of my jaw where one of the patrolmen had hit me and handcuffs on my wrists I made a photo that would cause a sensation anywhere.

There was an immediate buzz from the kids and O’Halloran, leaning forward, bawled, ‘Quiet, you little bastards! Hear me or I’ll get amongst you!’

It seemed to me I was back on square A.

One of the patrolmen came forward and began talking to O’Halloran. I only caught a few of his words: ‘Tamiami Trail... shot dead... gun in his hand.’ Lowering his voice, he went on talking and O’Halloran wrote it all down.

I knew he was booking me for Rhea’s murder and I didn’t care. I was past caring about anything. During the long drive back to Luceville I had had time to think. Rhea’s suicide had jolted me back to the man I had been before the crash that had killed Judy. Now, I saw myself as I was. This subconscious greed that must have always been with me had come to the surface. Because of this greed I had caused Sydney’s death. Because of this greed I had murdered Fel Morgan. I thought of the moment when I had hooked my fingers into his trousers’ cuffs and had heaved him into oblivion.

This moment, as I was driven back to Luceville, was my moment of truth.

Finally, O’Halloran got through with his writing, then he beckoned to me. I didn’t move. I stared at him until the patrolman guarding me, gave me a shove forward.

‘Your name?’ O’Halloran demanded in his worn-out husky voice.

‘Laurence fifteen-hundred dollars Carr,’ I told him.

He leaned forward, his little pig eyes opening wide, then he seemed to recognise me.

‘Take that goddamn wig off,’ he said to the patrolman who pulled the wig off my head and put it on the desk.

O’Halloran drew in a long, slow breath, then staring at me, he said. ‘You got anything to say, but watch it, whatever you say could be used against you.’

‘She was as sick of life as I am,’ I said. ‘She wanted to die so I shot her.’

He snorted, then sat back, waving to the patrolman.

‘He’s a nutter. Take him to Homicide.’

So I was taken to the Homicide department. The Lieutenant in charge was a small, white-haired man with steel blue eyes, a red face and an aggressive jaw.

He asked a lot of questions, but by this time I wasn’t in the mood to talk. I sat dumb, staring down at the floor and even when he slapped me across the face, I still said nothing. So, finally, they put me in a cell.

I sat there, hating myself because I had caused the death of a man who had gone so much for me and who had left me the bulk of his riches.

They brought me a meal which I didn’t eat.

Later, O’Halloran came into the cell and with his thumbs hooked into his belt, he regarded me.

‘You’re in real trouble, buster,’ he said and his husky voice sounded surprisingly gentle. ‘What did you want to sound off for? There’s still time... suppose you give it to me the way it happened?’

I looked directly at him.

‘I killed her,’ I said. ‘The rest of the performance is up to you people.’

O’Halloran scratched under his right armpit.

‘The Lieutenant wants to know if you’ll make a statement.’ He shifted his cap to the back of his head. ‘Listen, buster, if I were you, I wouldn’t, but I’m doing what I’m told.’

I could see he was worried.

‘Why wouldn’t you?’ I asked.

He took off his cap, stared at it, then slapped it on his head.

‘Between you and me, I think you’re a nutter and I don’t believe you knocked her off. That’s why I think you should sit tight and keep your trap shut until you get an attorney here.’

‘You think I’m a nutter?’

He nodded.

‘Yeah... all along. The moment you hit this town, that’s what I thought. Now take my advice. You sit tight. We’ve called Paradise City. There’s a bit shot attorney coming with your partner, Mr. Luce. They’ll fix this. You sit tight.’

The last thing I wanted was for Tom Luce to get me out of this mess.

‘Tell the Lieutenant I’m now ready to make a statement.’

O’Halloran shifted from one foot to the other.

‘Look, fella, you may be a nutter, but you have something I dig for.’ He leaned forward and lowering his voice, he went on. ‘You don’t understand the trouble you’re in. Look... suppose I call Miss Baxter and tell her... she’ll help you. How’s that, fella?’

Jenny?

I saw now that Jenny had gone the way Judy had gone... a wonderful memory, a dream, but no longer for me.

‘Tell the Lieutenant I’ll make a statement,’ I said.

O’Halloran wiped the sweat off his face with the back of his hand.

‘You could talk yourself into a fifteen year stretch,’ he said and I could see he was really worried. ‘Even if they think you’re a nutter, you couldn’t get out under ten.’

I leaned back against the prison wall, suddenly relaxed.

‘Tell the Lieutenant I’ll make a statement.’ In my mind I saw Sydney with his kindness and his talents, buzzing around me. ‘Fifteen years... ten years? Well, it will make a change of scene, won’t it?’