Уильям Макгиверн - Odds Against Tomorrow

“Yes — I don’t know why.”

“You often have trouble sleeping?”

She glanced at him, a touch of color in her cheeks. “I’m afraid so.”

“I’m a pretty good sleeper,” he said. “If sleeping were a commercial activity, say like baseball, I’d be the DiMaggio of the league.”

“What’s the secret? Plenty of exercise, wide-open windows and so forth?”

“The open window is the real secret,” he said.

“Does your wife mind a cold bedroom?”

“I’m not married,” Kelly said. “But I have a future wife wandering around somewhere, and I hope she won’t mind.”

“It’s an interesting way of looking at things.” She laughed a little. “In fact it’s pretty cockeyed.”

“I don’t know. Men torch for ex-wives. So what’s wrong with me torching for a future wife?” He smiled at her. “Don’t you ever daydream like that? About the guy you’re going to marry?”

“I suppose I must have. I suppose everyone does.” She stood and smoothed her skirt with swift, efficient gestures. “Would you like more coffee?”

“Yes, thanks.” Watching her, he began to understand the incongruous thing about her; she didn’t seem to realize she was attractive — she just didn’t have the casual confidence in herself that was usually part of a good-looking woman’s equipment. That puzzled him, too. Hadn’t anybody told her she was pretty or amusing or wonderful? It seemed unlikely. Maybe someone had stopped saying it... that had the same effect sometimes.

She should be married, he decided finally; that would fix her insomnia.

Kelly wasn’t insensitive, but his mind worked simply and directly. The obvious seldom escaped him, and the obscure always sounded a warning bell in his mind; the combination made him a difficult man to fool.

The phone rang, shattering the uneasy silence, and he said, “Excuse me,” and picked up the receiver.

“Is Sheriff Burns there?” It was a woman’s voice, high and shaky. “This is Doctor Taylor’s wife.”

“No, he’s out. Can I help you?”

“Something has happened to my daughter. Something terrible — I’m sure of it.” The woman’s voice was rising hysterically. Kelly said, “Take it easy now. Just tell me what’s wrong.” He covered the receiver and looked questioningly at Nancy. “Doctor Taylor’s wife?”

“That’s Laura Taylor — they live in Avondale, about ten miles from here.”

“Mrs. Taylor,” Kelly said.

“I’m trying to be calm. My daughter went to a parish dance tonight. She should have been home hours ago. But she’s not.”

“Who did she go with?”

“The Metcalf boy. I’ve called him already. He was in bed — he told me he left Carol off at one o’clock.”

“Did he see her go inside the house?”

“Yes, yes — he took her to the door.”

“Have you checked the house carefully? She might have curled up on a sofa or something like that.”

“She’s not here, I tell you. I’ve gone from the basement to the attic.”

“Would she have gone out to stay at a friend’s house?”

“No — something terrible has happened. I’m sure of it.”

“Is Doctor Taylor there?”

“He’s got a call. There was an accident on the federal highway. I’m here alone.”

Kelly turned and stared at the radio speaker. He was sure there had been no accident on the federal highway; he had been sitting beside the speaker all night. “Mrs. Taylor, I’m coming right out,” he said. “Just take it easy. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Please, please hurry.”

Kelly reached for his trenchcoat. One of the hunted men was wounded, and a doctor had been called to a nonexistent accident — it could only mean one thing...

“I’m going to get your father,” he said to the girl. “Can I drop you on the way?”

“No, please don’t bother.”

“Why do you think it’s a bother? Come on...”

Ingram stood at the windows in the living room of the farmhouse and watched the first mud-colored light of dawn pushing back the darkness that hung at the top of the meadow. It was too late for them to start moving; by the time they got ready to go the sun would be up. He glanced at Earl who was sleeping with his head against the back of the sofa and his good arm resting protectively across his wounded shoulder. In the dim lamplight his face was a mask of weakness and pain; the hollows beneath his eyes were like deep purple bruises, and his whiskers had grown into a black furry smudge across his soot-gray skin. Looks as bad as I feel, Ingram thought.

They would have to sit tight here today, he decided, glancing to where Earl’s woman lay sleeping. She had made her bed with the rear cushion from the car, and was lying with her knees drawn up under an old comforter she had found in an upstairs closet. There was something grim about the way she slept, Ingram thought. Like a fighter taking a last rest before going into the ring — her breath came deep and steady, and her flat body seemed purposefully and deliberately still, as if she were readying herself for some big ordeal. A tidy cat of a woman, too; pumps lined up neatly, bed made like a Girl Scout, and even a ribbon tying back her long, black hair. He could see the pale triangular blur of her face, and the rhythmic vaporings of her breath in the cold air. She was strong, he knew; tough and selfish. She was watching out for herself and Earl — and nobody else. Maybe that was right, he thought, feeling a surprising stab of loneliness. That was a woman’s need — to guard the life she had with a man. He began to feel sorry for himself, pitying his body its lonely sickness and pain. A motherless child, he thought, trying to mock his mood. Sometimes I feel like a motherless child, a long way from home... He shook his head with weary humor at the plaintive words of the song. Just because my hair is curly, just because my teeth are pearly... How square could you get?

Earl shifted and opened his eyes. Ingram looked at him and said, “How’re you feeling now?”

“Okay, I guess.” Earl was staring at the windows. “It’s getting light. We better get rolling, eh?”

“It’s too late.” Ingram sat down slowly in a chair facing Earl. “I figure we got to wait till dark. We can’t get past the police in the daytime. They’ll see you’re hurt. At night you can sit with your coat collar turned up and they won’t see you too good.”

Lorraine stirred and Earl lowered his voice. “We just sit here all day?”

“I don’t see any other way,” Ingram said quietly. “We’ll be okay. The old folks won’t bother us, and the cops don’t know where we are. We just keep out of sight and we’ll be all right.”

“Maybe,” Earl said, moving his good hand in a limp, futile gesture. The pain in his shoulder was dull and slow, better than he’d expected it to be, but his mood was heavy and spiritless; his thoughts drifted with sluggish indifference about their predicament. He picked up a cigarette from the pack on the couch, and leaned forward to draw a light from the match Ingram struck for him. Inhaling deeply, he watched the smoke drift in thin, blue layers toward the ceiling. “How about the doctor?” he said finally. “Think he can bring the cops here?”

“I don’t see how. Funny, he acted like he didn’t even want to. He kept thanking me for — well, how everything turned out.”

“Yeah, that is funny,” Earl said dryly.

“But he doesn’t know anything that can help the cops. He was blindfolded all the time. So was his daughter. And I drove in circles till they were dizzy with it. I figure our chances this way: nobody knows about your woman and her car. So when it gets dark we can drive right through the roadblock. I’m small enough to curl up in the trunk, and you can ride up with your woman. Why should they stop us?”