Ed McBain - Puss in Boots

“You got any answer for that?” he asked. “About how I could ever be sure of you again?”

She nodded.

“You do, huh?”

She nodded again.

“You want to tell me about it? Because I think I’ve got an answer of my own, but it might be nice to hear your ideas.”

He came across the room toward her, around the generator, stood standing over her. She tried not to seem afraid, but she was. She tried not to cower away from him into the corner, but she did.

“Don’t want to hurt you when I rip off the tape,” he said. “That hurts, don’t it?” He smiled and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. Something in his right hand now, she peered into the darkness, trying to fathom what...

A pruning shears.

He slipped one cutting edge of the shears under the tape. She felt the blade cold against the back of her head. He closed the shears. The tape snapped. He peeled it away from her head and her mouth. He held his hand under her mouth.

“Spit,” he said.

She spit out the rag.

“Good girl,” he said.

Her mouth was dry. It tasted of the rag.

“Want to tell me now?” he said. “How I could be sure about you?

“You could be sure of me,” she said. Saliva was beginning to flow into her mouth again. She licked her lips.

“But how, Puss? I thought I was sure of you before, you know.”

“Yes, but it would be different now.”

“Because you got no hair anymore, you mean? Because men might not find you too pretty without no hair?”

“Well, my hair... ”

“Your hair would grow back, wouldn’t it?”

“Not if you... if you didn’t want it to.”

“Well, you wouldn’t want to go around the rest of your life without any hair, would you?”

“No, but—”

“Then how could I trust you if I let your hair grow back?”

“You could trust me.”

“How, Puss?”

“Please don’t call me that,” she said.

“Oh, you don’t like that name? I thought you liked that name. You seemed to enjoy it when he called you that name.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You seemed to.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Oh now, I don’t really believe that, Puss.”

“Look... ”

“Yes?”

“If you’d... if you’d just let me... ”

“Yes?”

“Let me out of here... ”

“Yes?”

“I promise you’d have nothing to worry about ever again.”

“I don’t believe that either, Puss.”

“I promise.”

“No, I don’t believe you.”

“Please believe me. I’d never ever... ”

“No, I think my idea is better, Puss.”

“Wh... what idea?”

“How to make sure you won’t ever cheat on me again.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

“Oh, I know you won’t.”

“I won’t, really. I’ve... ”

“Yes?”

“I’ve learned my lesson, really.”

“You have? You mean you’ll be a good girl from now on?”

“Yes.”

“Say it. Say you’ll be a good girl.”

“I’ll be a good girl.”

“From now on.”

“From now on. Forever. I promise.”

“I know,” he said. “You’re going to be a good girl forever, Puss. I’m going to make sure of that.”

He smiled again.

He moved closer to her.

“Want me to cut them ropes?” he asked.

“Yes, “she said. Her heart was beating wildly. Maybe, maybe...

“With these shears here?” he asked.

“Yes. Please cut the ropes.”

“Sharp enough to cut through them ropes, that’s for sure,” he said.

“Then please do it,” she said.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll do it,” he said, and opened the shears.

Velma saw light upstairs in the Markham house.

Upstairs where there was the two bedrooms. When Prue was alive, she’d used the smaller one as a little office. Carlton had his own little room downstairs, where he worked on his clocks. Clocks on all the walls. Fiddled with them, took them apart, made sure they kept good time before he carried them over to his shop. Light moving through the upstairs room. Had to be a flashlight, the way the light was moving around up there.

She wondered, was it the police in there? Police hadn’t been here in a long time now, was it possible they’d come back looking for something? Then why didn’t they turn on the regular lights, ’stead of sneaking around up there with a flashlight?

The light stopped moving.

In the room Prue used as an office now.

Moved again.

Stopped again.

Couldn’t be Carlton breaking into his own house again, ’cause he was in jail, where he belonged. Maybe it was the police. Or maybe she’d made a mistake that night when she thought she’d seen Carlton breaking the glass on his kitchen door, maybe it’d been somebody else, somebody coming back now to get whatever he missed last time around, easy pickings, an empty house, the wife dead, the husband in jail...

No, she hadn’t made any mistake that night, it’d been Carlton, all right.

Then who was it up there now?

She decided to call the police.

She went immediately to the phone and dialed 911.

But by that time, Henry Gardella had found what he was looking for, and was heading down the steps toward the front door.

“Because... if I could be sure of you,” Susan said, “then I’d know what to tell Joanna when we pick her up next week.”

“We don’t have to tell her anything,” Matthew said. “She really doesn’t have to know what we’re—”

“Oh, but she will know,” Susan said. “I mean, she already knows something’s different around here, she knew that before she went off to school.”

“Yes, she knew that. But we don’t need to explain—”

“Well, she’ll ask. You know Joanna. I love her to death, but she’s the nosiest little girl who ever—”

“Not so little anymore.”

“No, not so little. But the thing is... if I knew where we were going... ” She shook her head. “Do you know where we’re going, Matthew?”

“No,” he said.

“Neither do I. I mean... are we getting married again or something?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to get married again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I.”

She was silent for a very long time.

Then she said, “Do you love me, Matthew?”

“Yes,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said, and almost said, But I’m so frightened.

Because she knew that the cheapest, most expensive words in the English language were “I love you.”

Came right out the front door, ran through the rain to the car where he’d parked it up the street, clutching the maroon-colored accordion file to his chest, all her canceled checks in there, all her recent checkbooks and bank statements, the mother lode.

He started the car and began driving back toward the motel.

At the intersection on US 41, he passed a police car going in the opposite direction. The red dome lights on the police car moved into the distance in his rearview mirror.

His hand was bleeding red through the dish towel he’d wrapped around it.

Blood was seeping through the brown paper bag. He walked through the rain, carrying the bag down to the lake.

Had to be careful walking around the lake. Lost two dogs to the gators in the past year.

Stood on the shore in the rain.

Tossed the bag out as far as he could.

Waited.

Saw one of the gators slither off the bank into the water.

Saw the gator moving toward where the bag had sunk.

Saw the gator disappear under the surface.

He walked back to the house then, to go look at the movie again.