“Not with the safety-catch on, Nick.”
It was well done. Even I looked at the gun. Reisner’s eyes shifted from us and looked
down. Della threw the cushion she had been grasping in one swift, violent movement. It
caught Reisner in the face. She flung herself off the bed and clamped her hands on his hand
and the gun, wedging her finger against the trigger so he couldn’t fire.
I jumped from my chair as Reisner, swearing softly, staggered to his feet, his fist raised to
club Della as she hung with all her weight on his gun arm.
I hit him on the side of his face with a long, looping right that exploded on his cheek-bone
with the impact of a steam-hammer. He wasn’t built for a punch like that. I felt the bone
splinter as he shot backwards, dragging her with him. He cannoned into the wall, bounced
away and began to sag as I stepped up close and smashed a right to his jaw. He went down,
his face coming squarely on a big glass bowl of floating dahlia heads that stood on a table.
The bowl flew into fragments, and the table smashed like matchwood. Water and flowers
scattered over Della and the carpet.
She screamed as the water hit her, but she didn’t let go of the gun until I grabbed her wrist
and pulled her to her feet.
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We stood side by side, looking down at Reisner. He had rolled over on his back. A long
splinter of glass from the broken bowl, like a tiny dagger, had gone deep into his right eye.
His lips were drawn back from his teeth in a snarl of pain and fear, and his right cheek was a
pulp of splintered bone, teeth and blood. He looked terrible.
Della drew closer to me. I could hear her breathing: quick, short gasps, rasping in a dry
throat.
Neither of us moved. We just stared down at him.
He was dead.
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PART FOUR
FADE-IN
I
IT was like a movie-projector operating inside my head, throwing images of the
past on to the white screen that was my mind. I saw again the room and Della in her blue
wrap that hung open to show her long, slender legs and the beauty of her body. I saw myself
with blood out of my face, my fists clenched, and a sick feeling deep inside me, knowing I
had killed him, and that I’d carry the image of his battered face with me to the grave.
“He’s dead, Johnny.”
She gave a little sigh, then stepped back, gathering her wrap about her, turning to look at
me.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. This was murder. All right, I hadn’t meant to kill him, but
I had killed him, and he was there, dead on the floor, and that made it murder.
“He’s bleeding!”
She ran into the bathroom and came back with a bath-towel and did something I couldn’t
have done. She caught hold of his long, chalk-white hair, lifted his head and slid the towel
under it.
There was blood on her hands when she stood up, and I looked at the red stains in horror.
“Johnny!”
“I’ve killed him!”
“Pull yourself together!” Her voice was sharp. “No one knows but you and I. This is what
I’ve been praying for.”
I remembered Reisner had said the same thing when he had heard Wertham was dead.
Some prayers to have! That made them a pair.
“But they’ll find out,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
She came up to me.
“Don’t be a fool! Can’t you see this is what we want? This is the set-up! He’s dead, and we
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can take over. There’s no one to stop us now!”
I stared at her. There was a ruthless look of triumph in her black, glittering eyes, and her
scarlet lips were parted. There was no fear in that hard, lovely face: only triumph, and a
suppressed and violent excitement.
I grabbed hold of her arm and shook her.
“It’s you who’re the fool!” I shouted at her. “We’ve killed him - you and I! They’ll come
after us! They’ll catch us and they’ll fry us! Don’t you think you’re going to get away with
this! You’re not! Maybe we can hide the body for an hour or so, but they’ll find him …”
She put her hand over my mouth.
“Sit down, Johnny, and be quiet. It’s going to be all right. Keep your nerve: that’s all you
have to do. I know how to handle this. It’s going to be all right.”
I sat down, my back to Reisner’s body. All right, I admit it. I was in a bad way. I had killed
a man, and it was like taking a punch in the belly.
“What are you going to do?” I managed to jerk out.
“Look at his face. Doesn’t that tell you what to do?”
I couldn’t look at his face.
“What are you getting at? You make me sick! Haven’t you a spark of feeling? How can you
look at his face?”
She came around the bed to stand in front of me.
“Perhaps I’ve more guts than you, Johnny. Aren’t the stakes worth while? He was going to
shoot us! You killed him in self-defence. Why should you care about him?”
“It’s murder! It’s something that’s going to live with me! It’s something that’ll poison my
whole goddamn life!”
“In a week you’ll have forgotten he ever existed. But if you don’t pull yourself together and
help me, we’ll both go to the chair. Can’t you see that, you poor, frightened booby?”
Slowly I turned and looked at him. He was still a horrible sight, with the splinter of glass in
his eye and his face smashed and bloody.
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She bent over him and gently pulled out the glass. It was the most gruesome thing I’d ever
watched. I couldn’t look away, and the horror of it brought me out into an ice-cold sweat.
She squatted back on her heels, the splinter of glass between her finger and thumb, and
looked at the battered dead face, her brows drawn down in a frown of concentration.
“He could have been mauled by an animal,” she said softly. “And that’s what they are
going to think.” She glanced up. “Don’t you see the way out, Johnny? All we have to do is to
drop him into the lion’s pit. It’s as simple as that. He feeds them. He even goes into their
cages. Sooner or later there was bound to be an accident. Everyone knows the risks he took.
Hame knows, and that’s important. They won’t think anything of it if we don’t make
mistakes. It’s fool-proof.”
I could only sit and stare at her.
“You mean you’ve just thought that up?”
“Why not? You have only to look at him to see it’s the way out.”
Spider’s legs ran up my spine. She was incredible. The moment she was in a jam, her brain
devised a way out. Wertham hadn’t been cold before she had thought up how she could use
me to gain control of the casino. Reisner hadn’t stopped bleeding before she had a fool-proof
idea to explain away his death. And it was fool-proof if we could only get him to the pit
without anyone seeing us. She just wasn’t human.
“It’s all right, isn’t it, Johnny?”
She looked up at me, her black eyes glittering, her fingers blood-stained, and she was like a
lovely, gruesome ghoul.
“Yes, it’s all right if no one sees us.” Already I was beginning to breathe more freely, and
my heart eased off its violent hammering. “We can’t do it until after dark.”
“
No. Stand up and let me look you over. Show me your hands.” Her examination was
searching and thorough, but finally she satisfied herself I had no blood on my clothes.
“You’re all right. Now, listen: go out into the grounds and be seen. Go and play a round of
golf. If you can get someone to play with you, so much the better. Don’t come back until
midnight. If anyone asks you where Reisner is, tell them he’s with me, and we’re not to be
disturbed.”
“Golf? Do you think I could play golf with this on my mind ?” I was almost yelling at her.
“Are you crazy? Haven’t you a spark of feeling?”
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“It’s you who are crazy. If you can’t play golf, have a swim or walk around or go to the
bar! Do anything you damn well please, but get out of here and let them see you! You’ve got
to keep them away from here. That’s your job. You’ve got to make them think he and I are
too busy to be disturbed. Get a grip on yourself. Play this wrong, and we’re sunk!”
I drew in a deep breath.
“And what are you going to do?”
The awful little smile I had seen when she was a split second away from shooting me
flickered across her mouth.
“I’m staying here - with him. I’m making sure no one gets in and finds him. That’s what
I’m going to do.”
“You’ve got nine hours of it.”
“That won’t kill me. I’ve things to think about. You won’t think I’m scared to be alone with
him, do you? He’s dead. I’m not squeamish, even if you are. I’ve got my life to plan.”
I longed to get away from that ghastly room, from her, from him. I wouldn’t have stayed
with that battered body for nine hours for all the money in the world.
I moved to the door.
“And, Johnny …”
I paused.
“What is it?” Out of the corner of my eye I could see his white and brown shoes and his
gaudy yellow socks. I hurriedly looked away.
“We have to trust each other, Johnny,” she said, as still as a statue. “Don’t lose your nerve
and run away. You might be tempted, but don’t do it. If you did I couldn’t cover this up. I
must have your help. So don’t run away.”
“I’m not going to run away.”
“You might be tempted. A nine-hours’ start is tempting, but if you did bolt I’d have to tell
Hame it was you who killed him, and Hame would believe it.”
“I’m not going to run away,” I said, and my voice was a croak.
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She came to me and put her arms around my neck, and I felt a shudder run through me at
her touch.
“You still love me, don’t you, Johnny? It’s going to be all right. It’s going to work out the
way we planned. We’re set up for life now.”
All I could think of was that her fingers, stained with his blood, were touching the back of
my neck. I wanted to shove her away from me, but I didn’t because I knew she was as
dangerous as a rattlesnake, and there was nothing to stop her going to Hame and pinning the
murder on me. So I kissed her, and the touch of her hot, yielding lips made me feel sick, and
the sight of him lying there with his head wrapped in the towel made me feel even sicker.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” she said, her face against mine. “Keep your nerve, Johnny. It’s
going to be all right.”
Then I was outside, with the hot afternoon sun on my face and nine hours of hell in front of
me. I had a frantic urge to run and keep running until I’d put miles between me and that cabin
where she was keeping watch over his dead body, but I knew I wasn’t going to run away
because she had me in a trap from which, as far as I could see, there was no way out.
II
The bar-room with its sun awnings and lavish fitments, its mahogany, horseshoe-shaped
bar, and its pink-tinted mirrors was empty when I walked stiff-legged across its expanse of
parquet flooring. The square-shaped clock above the rows of bottles told me it was twenty-five minutes past three: not the hour to start drinking, but that wasn’t going to stop me. If I
didn’t get a drink inside me quick I’d flip my lid.
The barman appeared from behind a jazz-patterned curtain and looked at me with polite
enquiry. He was a tall, thin bird with a high, bald dome, shaggy eyebrows and a long, beaky
nose. His white coat was as clean as soap and water could make it, and as stiff with starch as
a bishop watching a muscle dance.
“Yes, Mr. Ricca?”
I wasn’t expecting to be recognized, and I flinched.
“Scotch,” I said. My voice sounded like a gramophone record with a crack in it. “Set up the
bottle.”
“Yes, Mr. Ricca.”
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He reached up to a shelf and took down a bottle still wrapped in tissue paper. His long,
bony fingers ripped off the paper, and he put the bottle in front of me.
“Four Roses, sir,” he said, “or would you prefer Lord Calvert?”
I picked up the bottle and poured myself a slug. My hand was shaking and I slopped the
stuff on the polished counter, I felt him watching me.
“Get the hell out of here,” I said.
“Yes, Mr. Ricca.”
He went away behind the jazz-patterned curtain.
I knew I shouldn’t have snarled at him, but I wanted that drink so badly I couldn’t control
myself, and I knew I couldn’t have carried the glass to my mouth with him there to watch the
unsteady journey.
And it was unsteady. I slopped most of it, but I got the rest down. I poured myself another
me began to loosen up.
I lit a cigarette, and dragged down smoke, staring at the face of the clock just above my
head. Eight and a half hours! What in hell was I going to do with myself all that time?
I poured another slug. The back of my throat was burning, but I didn’t care. It had to be
Scotch or I’d dive off the deep end. I kept thinking of the black Buick out there below the
terrace, and how easy it would be to get in it and get out of here. In that car I’d be miles away
with an eight-hour start.
I drank the Scotch and dragged down more smoke. I was feeling steadier now; not so
scared. My nerves weren’t jumping; maybe fluttering, but not jumping any more, and the
Scotch was hot, comforting and good. I reached for the bottle again when from behind the
curtain a telephone bell began to ring. The shrill sound made me jump, and I nearly knocked
the bottle on to the floor.
I heard the barman say, “He’s not in the bar, miss. No, I haven’t seen him since lunch-time.
He looked in around one o’clock, but I haven’t seen him since.”
I stubbed out my cigarette. The muscles in my face had stiffened until they hurt.
“Yeah, if I see him,” the barman went on, “I’ll tell him.”
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He hung up.
They were looking for Reisner already! I had to do something. She had said my job was to
keep them away from the cabin. If they began looking for him …”
“Hey! You!”
The barman pushed aside the curtain and came out. His eyes went to the bottle. I could see
him counting the number of slugs I had had.
“Yes, Mr. Ricca?”
“Who was that on the phone?”
“Miss Doe
ring, Mr. Reisner’s secretary. She has an urgent call for him. Would you know
where he is, sir?”
I knew where he was all right. Just to hear his name brought up a picture of him, lying on
his back, his face smashed in and his right eye cut in half.
I wanted to pour another slug, but I was scared he’d see my hand shaking. Without looking
at him I said as casually as I could, “He’s with Mrs. Wertham, but they’re busy. They’re more
than busy, they’re not to be disturbed.”
I felt, rather than saw, him stiffen. He had got beyond the bees and flowers stuff. He knew
what I meant.
“Better tell Miss Doering,” I went on. “Nothing is as important as what they are doing right
now.”
“Yes, Mr. Ricca.”
The shocked, cold tone in his voice told me I’d driven it a shade too far into the ground. He
went back behind the curtain.
I nearly knocked the bottle over again in my haste to fill my glass.
I heard him say, “Mr. Ricca is in the bar. He says Mr. Reisner is with Mrs. Wertham, and
they are not to be disturbed. That’s right. It doesn’t matter how important it is.”
I wiped the sweat off my face and hands with my handkerchief. Well, I’d played it: a little
rough, perhaps, but I’d played it.
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The Scotch was hitting me now. I felt a little drunk. Regretfully I put the cork back in the
bottle. I couldn’t risk getting plastered. She had said I was to go out and show myself. That’s
what I had to do.
I walked out of the bar and on to the terrace. It was hot out there. Below stood the Buick.
All I had to do … I dragged my eyes away from it and walked along the terrace, down the
steps, not thinking where I was going, but aware of the need to get away from the car and the
temptation to bolt.
A sudden noise brought me to a standstill: a deep-chested, guttural sound that seemed to
shake the ground, and which ended in a coughing grunt.
For a moment that sound had me going, then I realized it was the roar of a lion. I was
heading towards the zoo, and that transfixed me. The vision of throwing Reisner’s dead body
into the pit floated into my mind, and I felt my knees give under me.
I looked back over my shoulder. The Buick still stood there in the sunshine. What was I
waiting for ? I had to get out of here. I had seven hours and fifty minutes start. In that car I