A. Fair - Spill the Jackpot

“All right,” I said, “suit yourself.”

“You should know me well enough by this time to know that I always do,” she snapped.

I cupped my hands up against the windowpane of the taxicab, and looked out, trying to get landmarks. We climbed a little hill, made the curve, started down on the other side. The gasoline station with the lone cabin a hundred-odd feet in the rear showed briefly as black splotches against the sky. Then they had swept on behind us.

I slid open the window. “Stop the car right here, will you?”

He swung the car over to the side of the road. “Don’t race the engine, just cut it off, and switch out your lights.”

“I don’t get you.”

“I want you to wait here.”

He put on his brakes, shut off motor and lights, and said, “I think you got your distances wrong. There ain’t a thing near here.”

“It’s all right,” I told him. “I’ll get out and look around.”

Bertha got out with me. In the eastern sky there was a streak of dim light which as yet had no color. The desert chill seemed intensified after the warmth of the taxicab.

We started walking. The cab driver looked after us for a few moments, then turned back, settled down in his car, and huddled into his overcoat.

Bertha asked, “How much of this?”

“Half or three-quarters of a mile.”

She turned abruptly. “I’m going back to the car. To hell with it.”

“All right, take the cab back to town. I have a car that’s good enough to get me where I want to go. I’ll run back to the hospital as soon as I’m satisfied everything’s all right.”

Bertha turned without a word, started back to the cab. I had covered about fifty yards before I saw the lights flash on again oh the cab. I swung to one side of the road as the cab swept into a turn, waited until the red taillight had become a ruby blot in the distance, and then started trudging along the pavement.

The streak of light in the east became more noticeable. There was enough light now to see objects as black blotches against a grayish background. Ahead of me I could see the gasoline station with the little house behind it, and then a hundred yards back from the road, the cabin. I slid into the shadows and waited.

The light in the east was growing stronger. A watcher concealed in the shadows could have seen me approaching along the road — not plainly enough to recognize me, but still I’d been too visible. It was cold. The air was as still as the reflection in a placid mountain lake. I could feel the tips of my ears tingling with the cold. My nose felt cold. I wanted to stamp my feet, yet dared not move. The sound of a car on the highway — remarkable how far you can hear a car snarling along the pavement. I tingled with anticipation. This would be my man. Now that I was here, I wondered just what would happen. Suppose Louie had been drinking again? Suppose the man who was coming had a gun and didn’t waste time in argument? Suppose— The car swung around the corner. The headlights gleamed along the road. It didn’t even slow down, but swept on past and into the distance. The sound of the car diminished into the frosty silence.

I pushed my hands under my armpits and hugged them. I was shivering now, and my teeth were chattering. My feet felt like chunks of ice. No other cars, no sound, just that still cold.

I looked at my watch. By holding the face toward the east I could see the time plainly. It would be three-quarters of an hour before the sun would shed any warmth. I simply couldn’t stand that cold any more. I hadn’t realized how the dry air of the desert will suck the warmth right out through your clothes.

I didn’t want to waken the girl. I tiptoed around to the other window, and called, in a low, cautious voice, “Oh, Louie! Hello, Louie!”

There was no sound.

I picked up a little pebble and tapped gently on the window. Nothing happened. I ran the pebble quickly along the side of the house and gave a low whistle.

I waited, listened, and heard nothing.

The east was orange now, and the stars had drifted far back into space. I was seized with a paroxysm of shivering. I tapped on the window with my knuckles and called, “Louie. Oh, Louie. Wake up.”

The few seconds of silence after that seemed hours.

I walked around to the front door of the cabin and tapped on it gently. Then when I received no answer, I tried the knob.

The door was unlocked. It swung inward.

It had been cold outside, but the air was fresh. In here, there was a stale closeness to the atmosphere which made it seem even colder. I didn’t think I’d ever get warm again. Louie shouldn’t have left the door unlocked. I’d cautioned him particularly about that, and tonight of all times— I locked the door carefully behind me, tiptoed across the room. The boards creaked under my feet. The door of Louie’s bedroom was closed. I turned the knob, opened the door gently, and said in a whisper, “Oh, Louie!”

Enough light was coming from the east now so I could see the objects in the room clearly. The bed hadn’t been slept in.

I stood staring at that vacant bed as the significance of what it meant gradually dawned on my mind.

I whirled and strode toward Helen Framley’s door. I didn’t bother to knock, just turned the knob and kicked the door open.

Her bed was empty. It was half a dozen seconds before I saw the white thing pinned on the pillow. I walked over to it. It was a sealed envelope with my name and address on the outside. There was also a stamp on it. Evidently, she hadn’t been certain I was coming back, and in that event wanted the letter mailed to me.

I tore it open and read:

Darling — I guess this is the only way. You have your life and I have mine. The two never have mixed and never will. You’re you, and I’m me. I’ve got to get out of town. That roll I gave you came from slot machines, and a dick spotted me. I got away, but they’ll be looking for me. After you’d left, I talked with Louie. He’s been around and he knows the way I feel. I can’t work the slot machines without a man who’s handy with his fists, and who knows the racket. Louie sees it the same way I do. Only remember, Donald, it’s strictly a business partnership. That’s understood. And I won’t have trouble with Louie the way I did with Pug. Louie knows where my heart is — and he worships the ground you walk on.

By this time, I guess you know about Pug. I’m not certain that you didn’t all along.

It was either him or both of us. He kept that gun in the bureau drawer where he had some of his papers and things that he didn’t want to leave in his rooming-house. I told him I’d give him a drawer in the bureau. I knew there was a gun there. When he began to get so insanely jealous, I took the gun out and hid it in the dishpan in the kitchen. I knew he’d never look there. After he found us together on the street and had that trouble with the cop, he went directly to the apartment. He was wise. He turned off the lights and hid in the closet.

I came in a few minutes after nine, turned on the lights, and Pug pushed open the closet door. He was crazy. I couldn’t do a thing with him. He swore that he was going to kill us both. He accused me of turning him over to the cops. He hit me, and then made a dash for the drawer to get the gun. I ran for the door. He headed me off. I got into the kitchen and slammed the door. I didn’t have time to lock it. We struggled for a minute at the door, and then he got it open, throwing me back against the sink. I whipped open the cupboard door and reached in the dishpan. He kept coming.

I’m not the least bit sorry. I had to do it. According to your code, I should have notified the law and stayed there and told them my story, let them probe into my past, ask me about my means of making a living, hold me in jail as a material witness, and all that bunk. Well, that’s not my way of doing it. I walked across to the apartment next door and pounded on the door for Mrs. Clutmer — just to make certain that she wasn’t home. No one answered my knock so I just walked out, and left the door open. I ditched the gun where no one will ever find it.