Runaway (15 page)

“Well, now, thass a pretty good guess, Cindy girl. Yes, I'd say it was about Johnny. Now, how about a cup o' coffee, honey? I sure could use a—”

“What about Johnny? Is he hurt? Have they caught him?”

“Now, now, now,” Sands chided. “Now, now, le's have that coffee first, an' then we'll see about me tellin' you.”

“Is he hurt? For God's sake, Hank!”

“The coffee,” Sands said.

“Can't you even—” She looked at his face, and then cut herself short. “All right. All right, I'll get you some coffee.” She walked to the range, and he watched the skirt tighten across her buttocks, watched the way the long slit starting at the hem revealed her calves when she walked. She was wearing high-heeled shoes, and he looked at the shoes and then said, “Why don't you take off them shoes, Cindy?”

She glanced down at the shoes, and then turned to light the gas under the coffeepot. “What for?”

“I like 'em better off. I like a girl walkin' 'round the apartment without her shoes on.” Sands paused. “Makes a girl look sexy 'thout her shoes on, Cindy.”

She shook out the match and then turned to face him again, a puzzled look in her eyes. “I think I'll leave them on,” she said firmly.

“Why, sure, do what you want.” Sands sighed heavily. “Guess I'll be runnin' along, Cindy. Don't want to keep you.”

“You said you had some news.”

“Why, sure. Sure I got news. An' I'm the on'y cat in Harlem got this news, an' this news concerns Johnny, it do. But a man asks someone t' take off her shoes, an' she acks like he's poison or sutthin'. Well, Cindy, I guess I knows when I ain't wanted, I guess I can see that, all right.”

He made a motion to rise, and Cindy said, “Stay put, Hank.”

He watched her and she shoved one shoe off her foot, using the other foot to loosen it. She stepped out of the second shoe then, and he looked at her painted toenails inside the sheer nylons, and he felt the tremor start in his hands again. He clenched his hands on the table and forced a smile. If he got her to take off her shoes, he'd get her to do anything. This was going along fine. This was going along just the way he wanted it to go along.

“My shoes are off,” she said.

“Yeah, I can see that. You got nice legs, Cindy, real nice legs. Shame they all hidden most of the time. 'Cept at the Yahoo, an' there ain't much hidden there, now is there?”

“Tell me about Johnny,” she said. “Have the police got him? Is that the news?”

“No, that ain't it, Cindy, but don't ask me nothin' else till I got my coffee in me. I can't talk straight 'thout havin' my coffee. Whyn't you sit down, girl?”

“I'm all right standing,” she said.

“Go on, Cindy,” Sands said softly. “Sit down.”

She looked at him again, and he looked back at her this time, and again he sensed she saw something on his face. Her eyes widened a little. She took a look at the coffeepot, and then walked over to the table, sitting quietly, her feet flat on the floor.

“Now, you should cross your legs when you sit, Cindy honey,” Sands said. “More comfortable that way.”

“I'm comfortable,” she said. She kept looking at him curiously.

“You be more comfortable if'n you cross them, Cindy,” he said.

“Look, Hank, what is this? Have you got something to tell me or are you just—”

“Now doan get me upset, Cindy. You get me upset, an' I liable'a walk clear out o' here 'thout tellin' you what I know. Now, you don't want that to happen, do you?”

“No. But if you think—”

“If I think
what
, Cindy?”

“Well, I don't know what you're thinking.”

“I'm jus' thinkin' you should cross them legs o' yours, Cindy, 'cause you'll be more comfortable that way. Tha's the only thing I'm thinkin' right now.”

Cindy drew in a deep breath, and his eyes fled to the front of her blouse. She let out the breath quickly.

“Don't you think it'll be more comfy?” Sands asked.

“I … I guess so,” she said. She crossed her legs quickly and then reached for her hem, moving to pull the skirt down over her knees.

“No,” Sands said, “leave it just like that.”

Cindy uncrossed her legs and rose angrily. “The hell with this!” she said. “I'll be damned if I'm going to—” She saw the smile on Sands' face and cut herself off. “Get out of here, Hank. I don't need your news.”

“Ah, but you do,” Sands said, smiling. “I'm the on'y cat what knows it. An' it's damn important, Cindy. Say, ain' that coffee ready yet?”

She walked to the stove in her stocking feet, and he listened to the slap of her feet against the linoleum, wetting his lips. He had to be careful about this. He didn't want to lose it, and she'd almost slipped off the hook then. He had to give her a little more.

“Now, listen here to' me, Cindy,” he said. “I ain' snowin' you, girl. This is important. It's important to you, an' it's important to Johnny, mighty important to Johnny. So stop actin' like a prima donna, an' simmer down an' listen. You hear?”

“I hear,” Cindy said from the stove.

“Then hear good, and don't go insultin' me, neither, 'cause I'll walk out o' here sure as you're standin' there, an' then you an' Johnny can go plumb to hell both. I'm doin' you a favor as it is, comin' here to tell you this.”

“You said the police didn't get him?”

“They ain't got him. I wun't come here to tell you that.”

“Then he's hurt. Is that it? He's hurt and he needs my help?”

“Le's have the coffee, Cindy.”

Cindy bit her lip, and then brought the coffee and a cup and saucer to the table. She poured the coffee for Sands, and then took the pot back to the stove, returning with a bottle of milk. Sands poured a little milk into the coffee, put two teaspoonfuls of sugar into it, and then sipped at it.

“Mmm,” he said, “this is real good coffee, Cindy. You make a nice cup of coffee.”

“
Is
he hurt, Hank? Is that what you came to tell me?”

“Well, you know 'bout his arm, don't you, Cindy?”

“Yes. Has it started bleed—”

“Cindy, I do wish you'd sit down an' cross them pretty legs of yours. I like watchin' them legs o' yours when they crossed. I mean, for a girl who shows her navel every night, you sure get persnickety 'bout showin' a li'l knee to an old friend got information for you.”

“All right, all right, all right,” Cindy said impatiently. She crossed her legs rapidly, leaving the skirt above her knees. Sands looked at her knees and smiled. He moved his chair a little closer to hers.

“You
do
know 'bout the arm then, huh?”

“Is that all this is about? Is that what you—”

“Cindy, this the most important information I ever had to d'liver. This information can mean Johnny's life, an' I ain't snowin' you.”

“Has he started bleeding again?”

“Cindy,” Sands said slowly, “take off your clothes.”

She stared at him as if she hadn't heard him.

“What?” she said.

“I'd like to look at your legs, Cindy. I'd 'preciate it if you took off your clothes.”

“What?” she said again, stunned. “What?”

The smile dropped from Sands' face. “I want you to take off your clothes,” he said. “I want you take them off right now, right this minute. An' then we'll see about tellin' you this information.”

“Is that what you want?” she said. “Just that?”

Sands smiled again. “No. Not just that.”

“You must be crazy,” she said.

“You got a choice, Cindy,” Sands told her.

“I thought so. From the second you came in here.”

“You can either—”

“No. The answer is no. Get out of here before I vomit. Get out of here before I—”

“You can either kick me out,” Sands persisted, “or you can hear me out. If you hear me out, considerin' Johnny's bad arm an' all, you can likely save his life. He's out there someplace, you know.”

“No,” Cindy said. “Get out.”

“Sure,” Sands answered, smiling. He got up and put on his coat. “He's your boy friend, not mine.”

“How do I know this information is the goods? How do I know you're not lying just to—just to get what you want?”

“You got to take my word, honey. You ain't got a choice.”

“Your word is about as good as—”

“Take it or leave it. Yes or no?” Sands said tightly.

“How do I know you'll tell me after … afterward?”

He could see it was gnawing at her. He could see the idea didn't appeal to her, but she sure as hell wanted this news. She bit her lip and stared at him worriedly.

“You got to take my word,” he repeated.

She seemed to consider for a long time. Sands shrugged, figuring it was now or never. He had to force her hand, and there was only one way to do that.

“Well, honey,” he said, “you done had your chance. I'll see you 'round.”

He went to the door and put his hand on the doorknob. He started to open the door.

“Wait,” Cindy said softly.

Sands turned and looked at her expectantly.

“Sit down,” she said. And then, in almost a whisper, “I'll … I'll do what you want.”

Sands took off his coat and sat down on the edge of the bed. Cindy looked at him again, and he saw the disgust on her face, and somehow the disgust pleased him immensely.

“Go on,” he said. “I'm waitin'.”

She pulled the blouse out of her skirt and began unbuttoning it. She folded the blouse over a chair, working like an automaton. She unhooked her skirt and then pulled down the zipper, letting it fall to her feet and stepping out of it. She took off her stockings, and then she hesitated, and Sands looked at her again, and she seemed to decide that hesitation was the wrong thing with him watching her. He leaned forward anxiously now, feeling the heat at the pit of his stomach, watching her uncover her body. She undressed rapidly, and then she stood naked near the stove, looking at him hesitantly, trembling a little.

Sands smiled and stuck his hands out in front of him, as if he were weighing the air.

“Come here, baby,” he said.

She got out of bed immediately afterward. She lighted a cigarette to take the taste of his foul kisses out of her mouth, and then she threw on a robe and crossed her arms over it. She felt filthy. She had never felt like this before, never in her life. Even the first time, and she'd been forced that time, even then she had not felt this filthy.

“Tell me,” she said. She did not look at him. She kept her back to him, not wanting to see him as he dressed.

“Tell you what?” Sands asked.

She whirled rapidly. “You said—”

“The news, you mean? Oh, the information. That what you want me to tell you?”

“Yes. What is it about Johnny?”

Sands dressed quickly. “I tell you, honey,” he said, pulling his jacket on, “I tell you, I really enjoyed that. I sure did.”

“For God's sake,” she shouted, “is Johnny hurt?”

Sands buttoned his jacket and put on his coat. “I really liked it. I think I'll come back for more tomorrow.”

“What?” She looked at him, stunned.

“Or maybe tonight. Maybe I'll stop by tonight, Cindy, an' we'll see about it then, huh, Cindy?”

“You … you didn't have anything to tell me!” she said, shocked with the realization. “It was all a trick!”

“I got something,” he said, “an' maybe I'll tell it to you tonight. I'll stop by 'fore you go to the club, Cindy.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then she said, “Oh, you rotten sonovabitch.”

She flung herself across the room, tossing away the cigarette, her fingers spread wide. Her nails caught at the flesh under his eyes, and she pulled downward with all her strength, feeling the skin rip. She clawed higher, wanting to get at his eyes, wanting to rip the bastard's eyes out. Her nails raked his forehead, tore his nose, and she heard him scream like a woman. He turned his head, and then he brought his hand up in a sharp punch that caught her on the chest. She staggered backward and he went after her, hitting her again, still with a bunched fist, catching her on the mouth this time. She fell to the floor, tasting the blood on her lip, the robe pulling back over her legs.

Sands reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face, and his eyes opened wide when he saw the bloodstains.

“You'll never find out now,” he said. “Never! You hear me?”

She looked at him, trying to think of a way to reach him, wanting this news about Johnny, thinking, I've given you the most I could give.

“Hank …” she said, the anger out of her now, only the desire for the information, remaining.

Sands laughed shrilly, a high laugh that fled to the ceiling of the room. He kept dabbing at his torn flesh and laughing.

“Hank, is he hurt? Can you tell me that? Is Johnny hurt?”

“You dumb li'l whore,” Sands said. “You think I'm goan tell you now? You can bust, an' you can rot, but you never goan get it out o' me no more. No matter what you do now. You understan' that? You ain' gettin' nothin' from me!”

“Hank, I did what you said!”

“Shut up! Shut up an' listen to me. I got information, all right, I got mighty pow'ful information. But you ain' gettin' nothin'. You give to me, but you ain't gettin' nothin' in return. Not a damn thing.”

He walked to the door, about to leave, and then a new idea seemed to strike him. He turned and said, “I'll tell you sutthin' else, Cindy Matthews. I hope that sonovabitch drops dead out there. I hope we has a blizzard tonight, an' I hope his goddamn arm falls off, an' I hope the mis'able bastard freezes hisself to death, thass what I hope.”