Росс Макдональд - The Three Roads

“Your friend Milne? Or is the name ‘Miles’?”

“He’s not my friend. I detest him.”

“And you’re afraid of him, aren’t you? You haven’t told me why.”

“I’m afraid of a man who is capable of anything.”

“I’m not,” he said flatly.

It was no use talking any more. She could never be made to see that he had to do what he was doing. He had no right to love or security until he had settled the question that dragged on his mind. Only action could remove the deathly magnetism that drew him back and down and distorted all his certainties – even his certainty of Paula.

Through the dingy window of his shop Mac the tailor watched Bret as he got out of the car and walked away. The woman’s head turned slowly after him and stayed like that until he was out of sight. But she didn’t try to follow him or say a word. From the expression on her face it looked to Mac as if she was in bad trouble, with no idea of how to get out of it. He was just as glad when she drove away, because it made him feel kind of low to see a pretty woman stood up like that and looking so blue.

There was a pay telephone in the drugstore on the corner, tucked away behind the prescription counter. Bret couldn’t find the Cockalorum in the directory, but Information gave him the number.

Garth himself answered the phone: “Yes?”

“This is Bret Taylor. I want you to come over to L.A. right away.”

“For what?” The high voice was suspicious and resentful.

“I want you to look at a man.”

“I’m busy, Mr. Taylor. I got things to do besides chasing all over the county–”

“Don’t you want to catch the man that beat you?”

“Sure I do, but I don’t want to get in more trouble. I can’t afford it.”

“You can’t afford to have me give your name to the police.”

“You wouldn’t do that, Mr. Taylor? I co-operated with you, I helped you every way I could.”

“You can come here and help me some more.” He described the location of the store. “I’ll wait here for you, but I won’t wait forever.”

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to like it. I’ll be waiting.” He hung up.

There was a lunch counter in the front part of the store, and it reminded him that he was hungry. He slid onto an empty stool and ordered a sandwich and a glass of milk. Then he bought a paper and returned to his seat to read it. The small black letters formed words, and the words were strung together in sentences, but the sentences had no meaning. There were more legible sentences written in acid between the lines.

In the first flush of recognition he had had no doubt that Milne was the man. But as his feelings cooled and shifted his point of view, the circumstances that pointed to Milne were revealing secondary patterns. Whether his hunch was right or wrong the obvious thing to do was to call in the police and give them the facts he had uncovered. But he rejected the idea. They’d only be a further complication, and he didn’t trust the police, who had failed Lorraine so miserably. He had failed her himself but he was resolved not to fail again. He trusted himself, and no one else, to remain incorruptible and see the thing through to the end.

His mind was crouched and tense like a sprinter waiting for the gun. His look returned again and again to the doorway, yet when Garth appeared he didn’t recognize him immediately. The little man had changed to an off-white double-breasted suit with a black shirt and a yolk-yellow tie. He stood just inside the door, a sawed-off travesty of sartorial splendor, while his mobile little eyes glanced back and forth and finally settled on Bret. Bret threw down his unread newspaper and went to meet him.

“You think we’re going to head into trouble?” Garth said as they went out. “This guy’s a killer, remember, if you got the right one, which I doubt–”

“Save it until you see him.”

“Where is he?”

“Half a block from here in his apartment.”

“You expect me to walk right in on him? What if he knows me?”

“You’ll be all right.”

“Maybe. I don’t take chances on that boy.” Garth patted the side pocket of his coat significantly.

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll do it like this.” The plan, which he explained as they walked toward the apartment, was intended to give Garth a look at Milne without being noticed himself. Bret would knock on Milne’s door while Garth waited down the hall. When Milne opened the door Bret would keep him there until Garth could walk past the door and downstairs to the lobby.

“Yeh, but if he knows me? He might jump me.”

“I’ll hold him.”

“If this is the guy he won’t be so easy.”

“I can hold him. Come on, this is the place.”

“I don’t like this.”

But he followed Bret through the lobby and up the carpeted stairs. The upstairs hallways were deserted, dimly lit by windows at their remote ends. All the doors were closed. Somewhere behind one of them a record of the “Pastoral” Symphony was being played. Its sweet rustic gaiety echoed forlornly through the building, bounding disconsolately against the doors and partitions and dying in the walled air.

“Go down to the far end and start back after I knock. We don’t want him to hear us coming together.”

Garth walked away with fear prodding him in the kidneys, a dapper and pathetic silhouette against the light from the window at the end of the hall.

Bret followed Garth halfway down the hall and knocked on the door. From the tail of his eye he saw Garth moving toward him, and simultaneously he heard light footsteps inside the apartment. His throat felt tight, as if constricted by the pressure of converging events. The bolt of the lock was shifted, and Milne opened the door.

“You again?”

“I’m sorry I have to trouble you. You have my hat and tie.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He looked narrowly into Bret’s face. “Is there anything else, or is that the works?”

“Let me see.” Garth was to his left and behind him, out of his range of vision, but he could hear Garth’s footsteps falling softly on the carpeted floor. Milne’s eyes had shifted from Bret’s face and were looking beyond him into the hall. Garth’s footsteps were directly behind him now, following each other very slowly, so that it seemed his heart beat many times between the footfalls.

“Won’t you let me pay you for all your trouble?”

The pale eyes returned to him. “Hell, no. I’m glad to help you out. What happened to the girl friend?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe she’s waiting for you, eh? How’s about coming in and have a drink? It won’t do her no harm to wait while you have one little drink.”

“No, thanks.” He allowed his impatience to enter his voice. “May I have my hat and tie? I’m in a hurry.”

“Why, sure, certainly. I was just trying to be a pal.” He left the door open and returned a moment later with the white-covered hat and the black tie. “You want to look in a mirror to put your tie on?”

“No, thanks. Not now.”

“You leave my suit at the tailor’s like I said?”

“Yes. Thanks for everything.”

Bret walked away quickly without looking back. Not until he reached the head of the stairs did he hear the door softly close.

Garth was waiting in the street, jumpy with nerves.

“Is that the man?”

“Now look here, Mr. Taylor. I saw him at night and it was quite a while ago. I think it’s him–”

“Will you swear to it?”

“Let’s get away from here. He might come out.” He started away on his short legs, moving so fast that Bret had to run to catch him.

“You know it’s him then, don’t you?”