Роберт Беллем - Pulp Frictions

I slipped into my coat and jerked on my hat, Nick threw the cape about the girl’s shoulders and pulled the hood well down over her head so that it hid her face. It was too or three sizes too big for her, but Nick explained that — as if he had thought the whole thing out.

‘Others leave hurriedly by this little door,’ he said. ‘Sometimes wives, with detectives, come seeking divorce evidence — and we have such a hurried exit of a couple. So, if they suspect this way, they cannot be sure. If you desire you can look and see if it is safe — then be gone.’

Not half bad advice that. I turned to Bernie.

‘You stand here.’ I pulled her close to the door as I carefully jerked it open and slipped out into the stone yard behind. Then I shut it, all but an inch. ‘If you hear anyone coming or get afraid of anything let out a holler,’ I cautioned her. ‘Don’t be afraid to scream. We’re only going quietly for the sake of dear old Nick. I won’t be far.’ So I gave the kid’s hand a squeeze of encouragement. It was cold, and trembled in my grasp.

And I didn’t go far; the night was clear enough. There was just a few feet to the little alleyway between two fences, and this alley led down to the yard behind. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought that I made out a door between the two fences, in the back. Not a soul in sight — no place in the alley for a man to hide. Several places in the square of yard, though, for it was a dirty litter of barrels and boxes. It would have taken a half-hour to look behind all of them, and while you were looking behind one a hidden enemy could pop up behind another. No — I wouldn’t waste the time. It would take just a few seconds to rush Bernie the distance to the alley, which was protected on both sides by the high fence. Nick had, no doubt, built that extra height of board fence for the convenience of suddenly departing guests.

One more quick glance I took down the alley — and turned, listening. There was no sound but the dull hum of the music and the scraping of feet across the dance-hall floor. I looked towards the door — it was still slightly open — and the music stopped. Not a sound in that vestibule, so I finished my ‘look-see’ in the alley. The coast was clear. I didn’t waste any time getting back to Bernie.

The girl was there, leaning close to the door and back against the wall — dimly I made out her figure, the size of it triply accentuated in the wrap and the hood which hid even the whiteness of her face. And Nick — nervously his feet were pawing the ground, and his breath was coming in great sucking sounds.

‘Listen, Bernie — you must brace up now. You are safe.’ I encouraged the girl, who leaned against the wall. I think that she nodded, but it was too black there to be sure. But she did not speak.

‘Tell me if you can walk it—’ I started, and stopped. Footsteps were in the hall behind us. There was an angry voice, a quick curse, and a sudden pound against the wall — as if two men struggled.

But I didn’t hear any more. Nick had jerked open the back door, and once again Bernie broke into life. She grabbed suddenly at my wrist and dragged me after her into the night — and I didn’t have to guide her. She must have had real fear of these people, and she knew how to go, too, for I had hardly time to jerk a gun into my hand before we were in the alley and beating it down the straight stretch between the two fences. It just goes to show that you don’t know women. I’d have been willing to bet, a minute before, that she would blow up and I’d have to carry her.

She held my hand now, and hers wasn’t cold any longer. It was warm and moist, and her legs didn’t sag — they were real speedy. She seemed to know, too, where the gate was and how it opened, but perhaps she had come that way before — perhaps the girl who had spoken to me at the table wised her up to all the little ins and outs of Nick’s establishment. But what did it matter? Here we were in a straight line for the street beyond. And even then she didn’t pause. A taxi was passing. The driver saw us reach the sidewalk, flung open the door — and we were in. Certainly she had all the luck, if it was simply luck.

That taxi being there was more than luck — at that time of night. It was almost like an act of Providence — and I believe in Providence as much as the next fellow, maybe — but I don’t believe in Providence furnishing taxicabs at two o’clock in the morning. Yet, if the taxicab was there to inveigle us into it, what good would that do the swarthy gentleman and Bernie’s kindly disposed guardian? There was only one man on the driver’s seat, and his back was towards me. Surely he wasn’t childish enough to think that he could run off with me.

‘Where to?’ the driver said, slipping into second. And then added: ‘You got a lucky break. I got your message right. You can count on me any time, Boss,’ he finished, with a touch of pride.

Now that didn’t sound like a trap. Of course the taxi had been arranged for. But by whom? Nick? Yes, I suppose so. Nick certainly did things quick and thoroughly.

‘Nick got you all right.’ I fell in with the driver’s spirit as I told him to slip along uptown.

‘I don’t know if it was Nick.’ The driver shook his head. ‘I just come back from a trick and got the message out front.’

And that was that. I turned to the girl, who had started in the vamp stuff again. She clung to me like a drunk to a lamp-post when I tried to push her away, and when I asked her where she’d like to go she simply grunted. Yep — grunted, is right.

‘You’re safe now.’ I gave her a pat on the back and told her to lay off the parking business, and as I turned my head I got a whiff of her breath — and it startled me. It reeked of whisky, and I hadn’t noticed that before — but I wouldn’t in the cold. And, boy, I got a real shock, for I suddenly remembered that Bernie had clung around my neck in the heat of the private dining-room and that she didn’t gag me with her breath then. And surely she hadn’t tanked up in the moment I— And I knew. I pushed the girl from me, roughly knocked down her arms and jerked her head up. We passed a street lamp, but I didn’t need one. I knew even before I glanced into that map. The girl in the taxi with me was not Bernie. I had been taken in like a child.

I don’t cry over spilt gin — and I don’t holler when I’m hurt. I just had the driver pull the car to the kerb, and I flung open the door.

‘Get out!’ And when she didn’t move fast enough I picked her up and sat her on the pavement. I knew now why this girl made such good tracks down the alley, and I knew why the hand was warm instead of cold. Should I have been suspicious? I should have. For I had had one real opportunity to suspect that things were fishy, and that was Nick’s not asking for a hand-out. He always wanted money for every little thing — why not a big one like this?

It was all simple — so simple that I nearly boiled over. There had been another girl and another cape. A hand over Bernie’s mouth — and another girl in her place. Just a matter of seconds, and while I was looking down that alley there were many. It only goes to show you how much we misjudge human nature. I didn’t think for a moment that Nick had the guts to double-cross me like that. And I had been proud because he was so anxious to get rid of me. ‘Pride goeth before a flop’ must have been written for me.

But the girl on the sidewalk was putting up an awful squawk, and the taxi driver was turning in his seat and looking at me reproachfully.

‘Drive on,’ I told him, and there must have been something in my voice that made him realise I meant business. The girl, too, seemed to understand, for her tough little face slunk from view as I slammed the door. And if it hadn’t — well, I like to pose as a gentleman, so we won’t go into the probable damage to the taxi when that door swished through the air.