Рауль Уитфилд - Sinners' Paradise

“Lou! We were looking for you. You’ve got to get us away. Del’s been-“

He nodded his head and led the way towards Tiny’s car. Through a blur, Pinky saw that he had his overcoat on, and his hat. And, evidently, he knew that Del had been shot. His mask was still on, and his blacking for the cannibalistic makeup.

“We’ll both ride in the back seat,” Tiny exclaimed, helping Pinky in before her. Pinky sank down in the soft cushions. She felt as though she were about to faint. And Del was lying back on the polished floor.

A vision of Haverstraw-with the gun in his hand-flared before her eyes. She shuddered, and Tiny held her tightly with both arms.

“Why don’t we start?” she asked Lou.

He did not reply, but Tiny soothed her. “He jumped off the running-board as he was getting in,” she said. “I suppose he forgot something.”

Pinky was sobbing as though her heart would break. Again and again she reproached herself and Tiny for having come. “Del may be dead!” she repeated over and over.

“He may be,” Tiny agreed, “but it isn’t likely. The chances are that Haverstraw had been drinking too much to be able to aim very straight.”

A figure lurched up to the car, and jerked open the door. It was garbed as a tramp, but looked somewhat the worse for wear.

“That Stella in there?” the man demanded. “She’s got on a Peter Pan costume, and you dropped this.”

He offered Tiny Pinky’s small turban, which she had dropped on the way out.

“Been looking mos’ everywhere for Stella,” he went on, blinking nervously from behind his mask.

“You keep right on looking,” Tiny advised. “This is part of our pirate costume. Your Stella’s probably inside.”

“Inside?” The tramp shook his head. “Never find her in there. Too much excitement. Fellow just got killed.”

“Killed?” Pinky jerked herself upright, staring at the tramp.

“Killed dead!” the fellow repeated solemnly.

“You run along,” Tiny advised. “This isn’t Peter Pan, and I haven’t the slightest idea where she is.”

The tramp bowed, muttered something that sounded like an apology, and closed the machine door, walking towards the inn.

“Killed!” Pinky repeated. “Oh, why doesn’t Lou come? Can’t you drive, Tiny? I want to get away from here.”

Tiny patted her hands. “I wouldn’t want to try driving,” she replied. “Although I feel pretty good. But we can’t run off without Lou very well, and that fellow probably didn’t know what he was talking about.”

“He said he was killed,” Pinky groaned.

“He said he was ‘killed dead’,” Tiny corrected, “and that means that he didn’t know what he was saying.”

More figures moved beside the car, the front-seat door was opened. Lou climbed in, squeezed himself behind the wheel.

Pinky straightened in her seat; her body became rigid. Delatante had climbed in after him. She saw that he was handling his left arm with care. He did not speak.

The machine moved slowly from the parking place; the lights of Romany Inn faded behind them.

Pinky leaned forward. “Del,” she questioned, “are you hurt? Did he shoot you?”

He shook his head, but did not turn in the seat. Tiny soothed her, turning the collar of her coat up about her neck.

“There,” she cheered. “I told you that fool couldn’t shoot straight. He had been drinking too much, Pinky. And besides, you can’t kill Del-he’s too tough.”

“But they’ll talk,” Pinky returned, recovering somewhat from her astonishment. “They’ll find out, in some way, who I am. I know they will.”

She was silent for several minutes as the machine sped along the smooth road.

“I think I’ll go to Hobey, Tiny-and tell him the whole truth,” she said suddenly. “He may believe me-and I’m sick and disgusted at the thought of what we’ve done.”

“He may believe, is correct,” Tiny returned. “And then again-he may not.”

There was another silence. Both men sat motionless in the front seat. It was evident that they were too disgusted with events to speak.

“I don’t care,” Pinky finally said, with determination. “I’m going to tell my husband. He may not believe-but he’s going to know the truth. I’m through!”

“Pinky!” Tiny was staring at her. “You mustn’t. I’d like to tell mine, too-but we can’t. Don’t you see?”

“I don’t see-and I’m going to tell!” Pinky was sitting straight. She felt better, having made the decision. “I lied-and I’m sorry.”

The machine slowly jerked to a stop. Del moved his head around, lifted his hands to his mask. Pinky screamed. It was not Del-it was Hobey, her own husband!

Tiny was speechless. The driver faced her, his mask down. Sam Fenwick!

Hobey chuckled. “Well,” he demanded. “Glad to see your husbands? We got you out of a nasty mess, didn’t we?”

Both women were unable to speak. Pinky felt as though her throat were paralysed. Tiny was still staring at Sam, who was grinning.

“You don’t know as much about valets as you think you do,” Sam stated impassively. “He gave me the details and I called Hobey, who sort of figured Pinky was up to something. A phone from Chicago prevented my leaving-meeting postponed.”

“But how-“ Pinky, staring at her husband, was able only to manage the two words. But he seemed to understand.

“We mixed in-after we got hold of your escorts, who were outside, bragging about their achievements. They were easily convinced that it would be wise to lend us their masks and clothes. Mine’s a rather tight fit, but you didn’t notice it, Pinky.” Hobey grinned. “Sam had to borrow some blacking.

“Haverstraw never hit me. The bullet landed in the ceiling. And that crowd never did find out who I was. Had some trouble getting out, but here we are. Nice party, eh?”

“Oh, Hobey,” Pinky sobbed. “I never want to go on another. I’ll stay-“

“You’re darned right you will!” Hobey grinned. “Right by the radio and fireside. If we hadn’t heard you-both you and Tiny-tell us how you stood, well, things might have been different. But this time we’ll let you off easily, eh, Sam?”

“Guess we’ll have to,” Sam replied. “They had enough tonight to last for a while.”

“Forever!” Pinky and Tiny chorused.

“Let’s shift,” Hobey suggested. He changed seats with Tiny. The machine started. But Sam drove slowly-and with one hand. A cluster of lights went slowly behind.

“The end of the Neck,” Hobey whispered to his wife. “Will you be good now?”

Pinky sighed. “The end of ‘Sinners’ Paradise’,” she said in a low voice. “You just bet I will, Hobey!”