Night Extra

15

Terrell lay on the sofa in his apartment, breathing with infinite care against a frightening pain that moved up and down his body with the rise and fall of his chest. He stared at the dark ceiling, too spent to make himself a drink or get out of his clothes.

The clock in the Insurance Building struck eleven and then twelve, but it wasn’t until after one that Terrell stood and limped unsteadily into the bathroom. He needed water desperately; his throat was raw and dry, and the air in the room was like the gust from a blast furnace.

The first glass of water didn’t stay down, but that made him feel better. He sipped more, and was able to control the shudders that had been shaking his body. His face wasn’t too badly marked up; there were flecks of black blood on his lips and his skin had the white, poreless look of ivory. But his body had taken a beating, although he was fairly certain that nothing important had been ruptured or broken. He cleaned himself up and went into the kitchen. Fortunately there was cold coffee in the pot and he filled a glass three-quarters full and topped it with whiskey. With the drink and a cigarette he limped back to the couch, completely exhausted, his heart beating protestingly in his ears.

His thoughts had been scattered by the beating and he couldn’t collect them into logical groupings. He didn’t know what to do. Call Karsh. That was imperative. But the phone seemed miles away, and he knew Karsh would be in bed or drunk by now. Probably both.

Terrell wasn’t aware of dozing off, but suddenly a chill went through him and he sat up shaking his head and staring about the dimly-lit room. The illuminated hands of his wrist watch stood at two-thirty. He had been asleep an hour or more. What had waked him?

Then it came again, a soft tap on the door. Terrell got stiffly to his feet, pressing one hand against the pain in his side. There were no weapons in the house, and he could barely raise his arm; he was in no shape for a return bout with Ike Cellars’ apes. But why would they come here? If they planned to eliminate him they wouldn’t do it in installments.

He crossed the room, and stood beside the door with his back to the wall. “Who’s that?” he said.

“It’s me — Connie.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to see you. Her voice was low and pleading.”

Terrell said, “This dialogue seems reminiscent. Thanks but no thanks.”

“Please listen to me.”

Terrell hesitated. Then he said, “Are you alone?”

“Yes, I swear it.”

He put the burglar chain on, and opened the door a few inches. She was alone, looking young and pale and frightened in the softly-lit corridor.

“What do you want?”

“Do you need anything? Can I do anything for you?”

“I’m just fine,” Terrell said. “What makes you think I’d need more help?”

“I was worried — can’t I come in for just a minute, please? I want to explain.”

“I’ll bet your story’s cute,” Terrell said. But he was interested. He unhooked the burglar chain. “Come on in.” When she slipped past him he closed the door and bolted it and then limped back to the sofa.

“You’re hurt,” she said. She came up behind him and touched his arm. “Can I get you anything?”

“You’ve helped enough. Any more help from you and I’ll need a complete set of new parts.”

“I’m terribly sorry. They made me call you.”

“I’m sorry too,” he said, turning and looking at her.

When she saw his face she drew a sharp breath. “They hurt you. You — you’d better sit down. You look sick.”

“Stop fussing,” he said foolishly.

“Well, you stop acting like an idiot.” She turned him toward the sofa. He tried to pull away from her but the strength was flowing out of him in giddy waves. “Cut it out,” he said. He was on his back then and she was adjusting a pillow under his head.

“They made me do it,” she said. “They made me do it. Can’t you believe that?”

“Sure, that’s how concentration camps got built. People were made to do it”

“They said they just wanted to talk to you. Frankie said you wouldn’t see him. So he told me to call you and arrange a date. I... I shouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have if I’d known they were going to hurt you.”

“Hurt me? Where did you get that idea? I won a ribbon for boxing in third grade.” He felt the weight of his eyelids and knew he was entangled in a waking dream; the activity of the last few days was churning before his eyes. The faces of Sarnac and Caldwell and Coglan Hashed in his mind, etched against splintering black and white backgrounds. Other faces followed with bewildering speed; Superintendent Duggan, Ike Cellars, Bridewell, Karsh.

“Would you like coffee?” she asked him.

“I don’t need anything. All right, coffee then.” He knew she wouldn’t be able to find things, so he decided to get up and help. But instead he went to sleep. He didn’t wake until she shook his shoulders gently and said, “Here’s your coffee, Sam.”

He had been asleep half an hour, and the rest had revived him considerably. The apartment smelled pleasantly of coffee and cigarette smoke, and Connie was sitting in a chair beside the sofa. A tray was on the floor beside him.

“Do you feel any better?” she asked him.

“I’m all right, I guess.” He sipped the coffee and looked around for a cigarette.

“Here,” she said, offering him a pack.

He took one, accepted a light from hers, and nodded his thanks. She had pushed the sleeves of her dress up and knotted a large bathtowel around her waist. Under this improvised apron she wore a gray wool dress that buttoned up the front from the hem to the belt line. The buttons were brown and shiny and glinted when she crossed her legs.

“You should get to bed,” she said. “I’ve put out your pajamas and turned back the covers.”

“That’s fine.”

“Are you hungry? I could make you an omelette.”

“You sound like the Welcome Wagon people,” he said. “I’d like a drink, that’s all.”

“I’ll fix it. Water? Ice?”

“Just a little water.”

While she was in the kitchen Terrell stood and limped into his bedroom. The bed was turned down neatly and his pajamas and robe were folded over the back of a chair. He slipped out of his suitcoat and let it drop to the floor, but the shirt was another matter; he could barely raise his hands to his collar, and the buttons felt like pinheads under his clumsy fingers.

She came in a little later with his drink. He was standing with his hands at his sides. “Give me a lift with this shirt, please,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” She seemed eager to help out, he thought with a touch of irritation. Like a teen-ager collecting scrap for a charity drive — damp with the goodness of it all.

She put the drink down and took off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. She said something in a little whisper when she saw the bruises along his ribs. Her lips began to tremble. “They might have killed you,” she said.

“A small price for a good story,” he said. “That was our class motto. Martyrs in the cause of fearless reporting — a fine, clean way to go, don’t you think?”

“Lie down and stop it. Should I call a doctor or something?”

“No, I don’t think so. Nothing’s broken. It will wear away in a day or so.”

“Why are you putting yourself on a spot? Isn’t there someone who could help you?”

“Sure,” he said, “you for one. But you said no.”

“It wouldn’t do any good. You can’t change things.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I can change into my pajamas, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Yes, certainly.”

Terrell got under the covers a few minutes later and let his body sink gratefully into the soft warmth of the bed. A knock sounded gently on the door, and he said, “Come in.”

She had her coat over her arm. “I’m going now,” she said. “Is there anything else I could get for you?”

“I don’t think so.”

She came to the side of the bed and looked down at him with a grave little frown. “I made fresh coffee. All you have to do is turn up the burner when you want it.”

“Okay, thanks.” They looked at each other for a few seconds in silence. She was very pale and her short yellow hair shadowed her eyes. The shiny brown buttons on her skirt glinted as she shifted her weight.

“I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

“I think I will.”

“I’d better go.”

“So long, Connie. And thanks again.”

But she stood watching him and made no move to leave. Finally she sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at the tips of her brown pumps. “I’m running out of small talk,” she said. “I thought — don’t you want me to stay?”

“Just like that?” he said.

“Sure — just like that.” She spoke almost flippantly, but a tide of color was moving up in her pale cheeks.

“You know, this sort of thing was always happening to my platoon sergeant,” Terrell said. He rose on one elbow and picked up his drink. “Every time he got leave he’d check into a hotel and be ready for the sack when there was this knock. It was a girl, see? She’d noticed him in the lobby. Well, what could he do. She wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. The next morning she’d tell him she had never known what love was before. This happened to him every time he promoted a three-day pass.”

“Please shut up,” she said.

“But nobody ever believed him. Now I suppose no one will ever believe me.”

She started to rise but he caught her arm. “All right, it’s not funny,” he said. “Why do you want to stay? A tender breast for the wounded warrior? Something like that?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t figure it out.” She looked at him and the light from the bedlamp glinted on the tears in her eyes. “You made me feel cheap and useless, that’s all. I wanted to do something for you, something I could do—” She shook her head quickly. “It doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry.”

“It was a very decent impulse.” He was oddly touched and grateful, and that made him feel awkward. “Would you like a cigarette? Something to drink?”

She shook her head again, “No, I’ve got to go.”

“At the risk of sounding ridiculously statistical, this is the first time anything like this ever happened to me.”

“That’s probably your fault,” she said. “You’ve kept people away with gags and — I don’t know — bitterness. I feel it, anyway.”

He felt unaccountably responsible for her sadness. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I apologize for the gags. You’ve made a handsome gesture.” Terrell put his drink down and took one of her hands. He didn’t want to hurt her any more than he had already, but he couldn’t find the words to express his feelings. “Couldn’t we forget the bitterness?” he said.

“Can you do that?”

He touched her cheek and then the smoothness of her throat. When she turned and smiled uncertainly at him, Terrell felt very lucky and just a bit humble. “We’ll try,” he said...

The ringing phone woke him much later. He got up on his elbow and switched on the bedside lamp. The room was dark but lines of soft, gray dawn framed the drawn blinds. He lifted the phone and the operator said, “Mr. Terrell?”

“That’s right.”

“One moment. Beach City is calling.”

Terrell swung his legs over the side of the bed and lit a cigarette. Then he looked over his shoulder and saw that she was watching him with a sleepy little smile. “Sorry,” he said.

“And I was having such an elegant dream.”

“Close your eyes and pick up where you left off. It’s still early.”

“I’m all right.”

“All right, eh? That’s putting it coolly.”

“I’m fine then. Wonderful.” She snuggled into the pillow, her face small and pale in the frame of her tousled blond hair. Terrell touched her cheek gently with the back of his hand. “You look very nice.”

“I feel very nice.”

The receiver clicked in Terrell’s ear, and a voice he knew said, “Sam? Sam Terrell? This is Tim Moran, Beach City Homicide. Sorry about the time.”

“Never mind. What’s up?”

“That little cop who shot himself over here, you remember? Coglan? Well, I don’t think he did. I don’t want to say more now, but if you come over here I’ll give you the story.”

“There’s no traffic. I can make it in two hours.”

“Fine. I called you because I just got a brush-off from your police department. They want that suicide tag to stick.”

“Who’d you talk to?”

“A cop named Stanko. He’s captain of detectives in Coglan’s district.”

“That figures. I’ll see you in two hours, Tim. And thanks.”

Terrell put the receiver down and said, “I’ve got to shave and get rolling. You try to get back to sleep.”

“You must go?”

“Yes, it’s important.”

She sat up smiling and pressed her cheek against his arm. “I wanted to help you,” she said. “And it was the other way around.”

“It was much more than that,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it when I get back. In loving detail.”

Terrell showered and shaved in under three minutes, but spent that much time repairing nicks on his chin. When he left the bathroom he smelled coffee and heard the click of high heels in the kitchen. He shook his head and began dressing. But he couldn’t help smiling. The experience with her had left him bemused; he felt very happy, and at the same time he felt like a damn fool!

“There wasn’t time for an omelette,” she said, when he came into the kitchen. “I fried two straight up. Is that all right?”

“Just fine.” She was wearing his robe belted tightly about her waist, and one of his bow ties as a hair ribbon. Terrell felt oddly shy with her. He wanted to kiss her, but for some reason he felt the gesture would be wrong. There was a moment of constraint between them as he sat down at the table.

“The coffee smells just wonderful,” he said.

She put a cup before him and a plate which she had warmed in the oven. “When will you be back?” she said.

“Early this afternoon, cocktail hour at the latest. Will you have cocktails with me?”

“Yes, I’d like to.” She sat down and said simply, “I want to help you. I want to tell you what happened that night at Eden’s.”

Terrell said, “You’re not afraid any more?”

“It isn’t that. I’m still scared.”

“But you want to join the crusade?”

“I just want to be on your side, that’s all.” She seemed puzzled by him. “That’s why people join crusades.”

He was silent a moment, watching her. Then he said, “Does anybody know you came here last night?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Listen to me: if I let you help, will you promise me not to stick your nose out of this apartment? And to keep that door locked until I get back? And promise not to let anyone in, up to and including the Angel Gabriel?”

“Yes, I promise.” She was smiling and the awkwardness between them was suddenly gone. He cared about her, and that made what had already happened much more important. “You’re on the team,” he said, patting her hand.

“Ike Cellars came to the apartment that night,” she said. “He wanted Eden to do a job for him.”

“And that job was?”

“To help frame Mr. Caldwell.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“I was in the bedroom. I heard it.”

Terrell looked down at her firm little hand. “That delicate pinkie is going to knock this city for a loop. Now tell me everything from the start. Just as you heard it. I’ll pour the coffee.”