Nemesis

Chapter V

They let Fran in at four thirty. Larry stood up when she came in and for a moment they stared at each other. Her eyes were red, but she tried to smile.

“Larry,” she whispered.

Then he was holding her close and she was crying, her face buried into his chest.

“Don’t, honey,” he said.

“It was all my fault. If I hadn’t acted like I did you wouldn’t be here now. Oh, darling, what are they keeping you for? They wouldn’t tell me a thing.”

“Sit down here,” he said. He sat beside her on the cot and held both her hands. “I’m in trouble, honey. How bad I don’t know. Until about fifteen minutes I wasn’t sure of my name. I was lost. I was dead. I thought I was insane.” He squeezed her hands and met her eyes steadily. “I’m not much better now. A little, but not much. I’m thinking now. It’s not getting me anywhere, but it’s a start. The most important thing, darling, is that you believe me. No matter what you’re told or how screwy my story sounds. You’ve got to believe me.”

“Oh, I do, darling.”

“You haven’t heard the story yet. Last night I had a few drinks. I’m not going to tell you what a fool I was for storming out last night. Some day I will.”

“Don’t, darling,” she whispered.

“After a few drinks I met a girl. I had one drink with her and it was doped. I passed out. I woke up this morning in bed with her and she was dead. That is the God’s honest truth. That’s all there is. But you’ve got to believe me.”

Her eyes were widened with horror.

“Oh, my darling,” she murmured.

“And here’s the twist. They can’t find her body. Not a trace of her. Not one thing to prove I’m not just lying.”

“But, darling, are you sure?”

“Dead sure. They almost talked me out of it. Had me convinced I was dreaming or crazy. But I know I’m not. Somewhere in this town there is a dead girl. And somebody is covering up her murder for some reason.”

“Darling, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“I know it doesn’t.” He looked at her and then down at her hands. “The only alternative,” he said slowly, “is that I’m insane. That’s why I won’t admit it.”

Fran put her head against his shoulder and murmured, “I believe you, darling. That makes me crazy, too, doesn’t it?”

He smiled at her. Not much of a smile but it was the first time he’d felt like smiling since last night.

“Crazy as a coot,” he said.

They sat close together without talking much for the next hour. The copper in the corridor had turned an elaborately indifferent back to them, and was engrossed in a paper.

They sat there until six o’clock.

And then Meyers came back. He opened the door and frowned at Larry.

“The verdict is in,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Get the hell out of here. You’re nuts!”

He walked away, a puzzled, angry man, with gray clothes, graying hair and a gray soul.

“Somebody tried to frame me, Fran. Why, I don’t know. I wouldn’t know him if I passed him on the street, but he can hold this thing over my head like a rock. He can crush me anytime he feels like it. That’s why I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

They were sitting in their kitchen over empty coffee cups. He lit another cigarette and went on:

“I’ve got to know all about what happened last night or I’ll go insane. I can’t live with this thing on my mind.”

“Darling,” Fran said, “there’s nothing you can do.” She tried to make her voice soothing, but she couldn’t eliminate the note of strain and tenseness. She put her hand over his and held it tightly. “You’re out of it now, darling, you’re in the clear. It could have been horrible, but by some miracle it’s turned out all right. Please don’t try and stir up anything.”

“I’ve got to,” Larry said. “This morning I woke up with a murdered girl beside me. Can I forget that? Can I go back to the office as if nothing had happened? I’ve got to find out who murdered her and why it was done.”

“What are you going to do?” Fran asked. She drew her hand away from his and her voice was despairing.

“I’ll start at the beginning,” Larry said. “At the Kicking Horse.” He put his cigarette out and stood up. “Call the office tomorrow morning and tell them I have a cold. Or anything.”

Fran sat with her hands in her lap as he straightened his tie.

“When will you be back?” she said.

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

“As soon as I can, honey. You get to bed and try and sleep.”

She buried her face in his sleeve and said, “darling, be careful.”

“I will,” he promised.

It was nine o’clock. Madison street was crowded and noisy. The lights were on and music blared from loudspeakers. The blinking neon signs advertised bars, cafes, dance halls and burlesque shows.

Larry stopped in front of the Kicking Horse.

He felt cold and afraid. He wasn’t the heroic type. He was just an ordinary guy. His throat was dry and the fear he felt was something he could taste.

The trouble he was in had started here, and now he was walking back in, without any authority, without any backing, without even a clear idea of what he wanted, and it was like sticking his head into a noose. But it was something he had to do. He was old enough to know that you had to do the tough things by yourself.

He pushed open the door and walked into the vestibule. The hat check girl was the same red head of the night before. She smiled at him without recognition as she took his hat. She handed him a check and he went into the bar room.

The place was half-full. The orchestra was playing, a few couples were dancing and there was a little play at the dice tables that flanked the band.

There was smoke in the air and the pervading tavern smell of perfume and stale beer. He sat down at the bar and waited for the bartender.

He was the same one. The dark haired guy with the lively brown eyes and the scar running across his forehead. Larry couldn’t be mistaken. Not with that scar. That was as good as a finger print.

The bartender was talking to a couple a few stools down. When he saw Larry he came over and put his hands on the bar. His face was expressionless.

“What’ll it be?”

“A beer,” Larry said. “But there’s no hurry. I want to talk to you.”

“You can have the beer,” the bartender said.

He moved away, came back in a moment with a glass of beer with a neat collar.

“Anything else?”

“I want to talk to you,” Larry said.

The bartender leaned a little closer. “I speak English,” he said. “I understand it, too. But I guess you don’t. I’m busy. I haven’t got time to talk Do you get it now?”

“This won’t take long,” Larry said “I was in here last night. I talked to you. Remember?”

The bartender’s brown face was expressionless. But his lively brown eyes looked wary.

“I get paid for tending bar,” he said. “I serve hundreds of drinks every night. I don’t look at the people who buy the drinks. I just look at their money. And you owe me a quarter for that beer, bud.”

“You must remember me,” Larry said. “You asked me if I wanted to meet someone. I told you I had a fight with my wife and was anxious to get home. Don’t you remember that?”

“No. I got trouble enough without listening to other people’s. I never seen you before.”

“Any trouble, Sam?” a quiet voice said.

Larry looked around and saw a solidly built man standing behind him, looking at the bartender. He had black curly hair, swarthy cheeks and white even teeth. His expression was one of amiable curiosity, but he had the kind of face that could become hard and savage in an instant. He was dressed carefully in a midnight blue suit, a figured white shirt and blue tie. Except for the too-wide shoulders and too-pinched effect at the waist, and the extra couple of inches of white handkerchief showing from his breast pocket, his clothes were in excellent taste.

The bartender said, “no trouble, Mr. Tonelli. The guy’s just gabby and I’m busy.”

Tonelli’s face lost its amiable expression. “Sam,” he said, “that’s no way to talk to our customers.” He sat down on a stool beside Larry and smiled. “What’s the trouble, pally? Just feel like talking, eh? Well, I’m a good listener.” He put a hand on Larry’s shoulder and gave it a little pat. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t feel like talking,” Larry said. “I just want to clear up something. I was in here last night. I talked to the bartender. Now he says he don’t remember me.”

“So, that’s it,” Tonelli said. He looked thoughtful while he undressed a thin cigar and wetted one end slowly. When it was drawing well he glanced through the smoke at Larry. “Now this isn’t anything to worry about. Sam here serves dozens of people every hour. You can’t expect him to remember everybody. But what of it? You didn’t come back just to see if he remembered you.”

“That’s right,” Larry said. “I came back here to find out about a girl.”

“Ah!” Tonelli smiled genially. He removed the cigar from his mouth with manicured fingers and made a little O with his lips. His expression was amused. “So that’s it. Now what about this girl? Did you meet her in here?”

“Yes. The bartender introduced us.”

“Not on your life,” Sam said.

Tonelli raised his eyebrows. “A little difference of opinion.” He patted Larry’s shoulder. “How about it?”

Larry looked at the bartender. “He introduced us. She was sitting one stool away and he bought us both a drink, told us we ought to get along well together.”

“And did you?” Tonelli smiled.

“The guy is crazy,” the bartender said.

“Now, now,” Tonelli said soothingly. “Let’s not argue about it. The customer is always right. Now about this girl. Supposing you did meet her here. Supposing Sam just doesn’t happen to remember. What about it?”

Larry wet his lips. He didn’t know what to say. But he knew the bartender, Sam, was lying. And that gave him a little assurance.

“Now,” Tonelli said, “look at it this way. You met a girl in here last night. Tonight you’re back asking about her. That means a couple of things. She stood you up for a date tonight and you want to find her. Or she rolled you last night, or gave you a run around, and you’re out to square it up. That’s the reason guys look for dolls, take it from me Pally. They either love ’em, or hate ’em. Now which is it, with you?”

“I don’t know,” Larry said.

“Well, what did she look like?”

“A tall blonde. Good clothes, good shape. That’s all I noticed.”

“Only a perfectionist would look for more,” Tonelli grinned. “But I don’t remember any dames like that in here. What about you Sam?”

“Never,” Sam grunted.

Tonelli spread his hands palms-up and shrugged. “I guess you’re wrong, Pally. You must have been in some other joint. Better try somewhere else.”

Larry felt he was fighting shadows. Shadows that could hit back when they were ready. Then he remembered something.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “I can prove I was in here. I talked to one of the twenty six girls. She’ll remember me.”

Tonelli shrugged. “What will that prove? Maybe you were in here. I never said you weren’t. But if it will make you feel any better that’s fine.”

Larry turned on the stool and looked at the girl’s behind the green felt twenty six tables. There were three of them. They were all pretty. They were all blondes.

Corinne had been a brunette.

“Well?” Tonelli said.

“She’s not here now,” Larry said. He turned back and looked helplessly at Tonelli. “Her name was Corinne.” Tonelli frowned for a moment and then drummed his finger tips on the bar. “Corinne?” He shook his head and looked doubtfully at Larry. “That’s a blank,” he said. “Maybe some dame by the name of Corinne worked here. Maybe two or three years ago. But not since then.” He shook his head and then smiled. “That should make you feel better. Now you know you’re in the wrong joint. It happens all the time. Guys come in here looking for dames they met in Detroit or St. Louis. They get mixed up, have a few drinks, and they lose track of places and time. I’ve seen it a dozen times.”

Larry felt a cold nausea in his stomach. The shadows were dancing around him, grinning and smirking. Waiting for their chance. And then he wondered if he was crazy.

“You never had a girl in here by that name?” he persisted.

Tonelli looked at the end of his cigar and shook his head.

“And you never saw a tall, well dressed blonde in here?”

“That’s a pretty general description,” Tonelli said. “I wouldn’t give you a definite answer on that. But it seems pretty sure you didn’t meet anybody in here like that last night.”

He patted Larry on the shoulder. “Go home and get some sleep, Pally. And forget about this thing. I think you had a few extra drinks last night and got a little mixed-up.”

Larry stood up. His hands were shaking.

“Thanks,” he said. He walked out.