1973 - Have a Change of Scene (24 page)

‘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 c a m e . 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.’