William McGivern - The Seven File

“Thanks,” he said.

She looked closely at his hand then, and he heard her draw a sharp little breath. “A doctor should see to it.”

“You don’t understand why I couldn’t shoot him?” he asked her again.

“It doesn’t matter.” She looked up at him, her eyes dark and empty. “Understanding, I mean. You didn’t. That’s what matters.”

Hank heard Belle’s footsteps coming back toward the kitchen. He moved away from the girl and sat down at the table. There was nothing more to say to her now; she didn’t trust him, and that was what he needed to know. He couldn’t trust her then. For he understood what she probably hadn’t realized yet; that Duke and Grant couldn’t possibly let them live.

Belle came in, still hugging her arms to her body, and when she saw the nurse take the bottle from the stove, she said, “You’re going to feed her now?”

“Yes.”

“Let me do it. For heaven’s sake, dearie, I won’t drop her. I was taking care of kids while you were in your cradle.”

“No.” Kate started past her but Belle put a hand on her arm. “Wait a minute. You act like I’ve got something catching. Don’t you think I’m good enough to touch that precious little brat?”

“Good enough?” Kate turned and stared at her for an instant in silence. She looked puzzled and fascinated — as f she were seeing some strange but repellent animal for the first time. “Good enough?” she said, shaking her head slowly.

“That’s what I said, good enough!” Belle’s voice had become shrill and strident. The contempt in the girl’s eyes cut her painfully; she felt here eyes beginning to sting. “You don’t have to act so high and mighty,” she said. “You don’t even know me.”

The revulsion she felt was nakedly apparent in the girl’s eyes and face. “I wouldn’t let you feed a dog of mine,” she said in a low, trembling voice.

“Well, that’s a fine thing to say!” Belle tried to laugh, but there was no conviction in her effort; she couldn’t face the contempt in the girl’s eyes. Turning, she smiled shakily at Hank, appealing to him for understanding. “You hear her?” she said. “Real temper, eh?” She wanted sympathy now, a friend to say, “Forget it. She’s bats—”

But Hank’s eyes gave her no such comfort.

Kate walked out of the kitchen and Belle sat down slowly at the table and poured herself a short shot of rum. The girl’s footsteps passed over their heads, clicking softly down the hall to the baby’s room, and Belle said, “She’s got her nerve, eh?” Glancing at the ceiling, she shook her head. “To hear her talk you’d think I built concentration camps as a hobby. You’d think she was the only woman in the world who could take care of that baby. And it’s not even hers, get that. She don’t have any kids at all. And giving me all that holier-than-thou talk. Me, a better mother than she’ll ever make. I’ve got a kid, did you know that?” She smiled at Hank, “A boy, what’s more. He’s sixteen. And you talk about being a good mother. I gave him everything, but he wasn’t spoiled. I could be strict when I had to.” She sipped her drink and nodded, involved with her recollections. “I’ve seen what happens in these spare-the-rod homes. Of course, I never had to be real strict with Tommy. He was always a good boy.”

“Where is he now?” Hank asked her.

“With my mother.” She smiled at him again, pleased at his interest. “He needs a home, you know. And I’ve been on the move pretty much. He’s on the track team. Runs the mile. He’s good about writing me, and my mother sends me all kinds of pictures.”

“Supposing you didn’t know where he was?”

She looked puzzled for an instant. “But he’s with my mother. I just told you.” Then her expression changed and she smiled slowly. “Oh, oh, digging traps for me, eh?”

She didn’t seem annoyed; she was studying him with friendly interest. “You mean supposing he was kidnaped. Well, if I had the Bradleys’ money I’d just pay up and get him back. What else? That’s what will happen to the baby upstairs. Nobody’s going to hurt her. I told Eddie that from the start. ‘You take that baby home safe and sound or count me out.’ That’s what I told him. And the Bradleys won’t miss the money, you can bet. The worry may even do ’em good. They never had a worry in their lives, I’ll bet.”

She believes all this; Hank thought, watching her without expression. What kind of woman is she? There was no clue in her physical appearance; dyed blonde hair, plump, still-pretty features, surprisingly good legs — the cataloging meant nothing. A moral spastic, he thought. A spiritual idiot, physically incapable of defining behavior in terms of right or wrong. She saw nothing wrong in a kidnaping — she could even discuss the therapeutic effect the worry might have on the parents. But her feelings were hurt because the nurse despised her. Like a child, he thought, a stupid, evil child.

Grant walked into the kitchen, his expression sullen and irritable, and looked at Belle. “Well, what about dinner? You started anything?”

“There’s nothing to start except those cans of beans and frankfurters.”

Grant made an effort to control his exasperation; it wasn’t her fault they were eating out of cans.

“Well, fix something then,” he said. “And why the devil don’t you clean yourself up?”

“In this icebox? Are you crazy?” She stared at him defiantly, but the distaste in his expression made her feel shaky and vulnerable. Why was he he yapping at her? He was the one whose nerves were going to pieces.

It was because of him that she had forgotten to bring nail-polish remover and peroxide. Everything else had been neatly packed away; the baby supplies, powder, cream, food, diapers; and her own clothes had been ready for days. She had planned carefully for the trip, making up little lists each morning and crossing off the items as she bought them — the only thing she had skipped was a last stop at the corner drug store for peroxide and nail-polish remover. Grant had been so jumpy that she had stayed in the apartment, bringing him coffee, listening to his stories about the old days in Chicago. Belle’s mood became righteous and angry. In a day of so the roots of her hair would be turning dark, and that would give him something else to gripe about. “You shouldn’t be worrying about food all the time,” she said. “It would do you good to skip a few meals. You’re getting a nervous stomach. I eat anything that’s put in front of me.”

“Yeah, or drink it,” he said, staring at the bottle of rum. “You think frankfurters are T-bone steaks because you’re loaded most of the time.”

“Look, you got a nerve. I—”

“Belle, shut up!” he said, and she saw that his irritation had grown swiftly and dangerously; his eyes were blank and shiny, and there was a small white circle around his tight lips. “Get the supper started,” he said.

She knew he was ready to hit her. “Sure, Eddie. I’ll get right at it. I’ll fix up something. Something you’ll like.”

“Okay, okay , stop chattering. Get with it.” He looked at Hank for an instant, then turned and walked back into the living room.

Belle rubbed her fists into her eyes, like a child fighting back tears. “He doesn’t mean half of that,” she said. “It’s just that he’s got a lot on his mind.”

“I’ll help you with supper,” Hank said. He could hear Grant moving about in the living room, his heels making a steady rhythmic sound on the pine flooring. Pacing back and forth, lighting one cigarette after the other. “I know a way to dress up those beans,” he said, watching Belle. She would crack first, he thought. “How about it?” he said. “Can I give you a hand?”