Роберт Беллем - Pulp Frictions

And that part of the story, I guess, was true. Doctor Maderia said that Nick reached for a gun and that there was a fight, and he drove on, picking up Ferganses around the corner later. That was the first time he knew that Nick was dead. Whether there was a fight or not did not matter. Certainly Nick was dead.

They had driven to Jersey, left the girl there with Ferganses, and the doctor had returned to New York with the other lad, called Farro. That was his story — and it was true enough, I guess. At least, as near the truth as would ever come out. But the more the doctor took me into his confidence the more I distrusted him. Was he just trying to make me less cautious — telling me everything, yet telling me nothing that I really didn’t know already?

Of course I got Bernie’s last name and all about her mother and her father, but why go into that? I would not give her real name, anyway, so we’ll just continue to call her Bernie. That I had frisked the doctor and copped all his hardware is hardly necessary to say. But I had.

The doctor was to be at the house in Jersey at one o’clock; Farro had left for the place early in the day. The doctor was booked to start at twelve, so I thought we’d better start at eleven.

‘You’ll drive,’ I told him, as we stepped into the car.

‘But I don’t know how. I give you my word that I shall make no attempt to—’

‘Stick your hands behind your back then,’ I said, swinging him around.

‘What... what are you going to do?’

‘Put the cuffs on you. Come! Make it snappy.’

And that was enough. He didn’t fancy having his hands bound behind him, and he learned to drive in jig time.

‘I drive a little — but not well,’ he stammered.

‘I’m not particular — jump in.’ I opened the door of the car for him.

And we were off. That was the doctor’s first attempt to put it over on me. Or was it? But it didn’t matter. I didn’t intend this to be a pleasure trip. I was expecting most anything to happen. Bernie was about to receive her delayed service.

Doctor Maderia booked the trip across the Hudson River at Forty-second Street, so I decided to cross at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth. Not that I was just obstinate — but I thought it more conducive to long life and the pursuit of liberty to pick my own route. So we left the ferry at Fort Lee and wound our way up the big hill. And the doctor forgot that he was a novice and drove remarkably well.

But as we shot off towards Newark he got nervous — twice he shifted gears on a hill that a car like mine would race over at forty. There was something on his mind besides his hat, and at length he came out with it.

‘Mr Williams,’ he said suddenly, paying due respect to my age and dignity with the ‘mister’, ‘I didn’t tell you all the truth — the house is not near Newark — rather, up by Englewood.’

‘Yes?’ I fingered the gun in my lap. ‘You’re sure this time?’

And he nodded.

‘Because,’ I went on, ‘we must reach the house by twelve o’clock. If we don’t—’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Well — Doctor, you’ll be a most distressing corpse.’

If it was a joke he missed it, for he was turning the car and we nearly backed into a ditch.

‘I am not going to double-cross you,’ he gulped. ‘I lied because I feared you might break faith with me once you knew the truth, and arrange for the police to come. But now — I shall drive you straight there.’

‘You must suit yourself,’ I said icily as I snapped out my watch. ‘You have until twelve o’clock.’ I didn’t say any more. I didn’t need to; he understood me. And, after all, there was a certain amount of reason for him lying to me at first. I had thought of the police, of course. I never use them if I can help it, but I would use them if I thought it was for the benefit of my client. But here — once the police came into the case — Bernie would go up. Another murder wouldn’t bother these lads. Unfortunately, you can only electrocute murderers once.

We passed through Englewood and back towards the Hudson River. There, just at the top of the Palisades, we turned and followed a fairly good highway — shot into a side road and he stopped the car.

‘It is only — a few — hundred yards further.’ His lips quivered and the words trembled like a popular ‘mammy’ song.

‘You suggest that we walk?’ I asked.

‘It is best.’ He stuck close to me as we left the car. ‘This Ferganses — he is a killer. You must shoot without hesitating — in the back, if possible.’

‘Fine... we’ll ask him to turn around, then.’ But my levity didn’t cheer up the doctor. His legs were trembling in his pants and his teeth chattering. Maybe it was the cold, and again maybe it wasn’t. But I stuck my gun in his back, jerked him erect and told him to lead on. So we started. My own safety lay in the doctor’s love of life. He was walking with death, and he knew it.

It’s funny, too, what an effect a gun has on the physical as well as the moral attitude of a man. When the doctor’s feet would sag and his body slink closer to the ground, I’d just press that gun forward and up he’d come again with a sharp jerk.

So we left the little road, and, with the doctor still doing his jack-in-the-box trick to the sudden prods of my gun, we crossed a wooded field, slipped through the busted part of a barbed-wire fence and saw the house.

Bio, black and ominous it loomed in the moonlight. And then a light — a wavering, flickering flash that came from a room in the upper storey. And it was gone almost at once.

And now we were close to the house.

‘How do we get in?’ I asked.

‘We can use a cellar window — unless you want me to go, alone, by the door and trap them into conversation while you enter.’

There was a laugh in that.

‘We’ll try the cellar window,’ I told him. ‘Which side is the best?’

‘There is one on this side — and one on the other. But the room above the window on this side is where they will be. You cannot see a light because it is heavily shuttered. Both cellar windows will be locked — you’ll have to break one.’

‘We’ll try the other side — lead on, MacDuff.’

He stopped dead as we reached the back of the house.

‘I can’t — go — another step — with that gun — against my — back.’ And his teeth punctuated each word like a buzz-saw.

And, indeed, he seemed in bad shape. Luckily, the grass was soft and deadened his staggering steps. I had only pushed the gun against him for the moral and physical support. Now, if it didn’t have that effect any longer — why, all right. I gave him a few inches leeway. It didn’t make any difference to me. Lead travelling half a foot wouldn’t lose much of its efficiency.

We went on again, the doctor bending — with me close on his trail. We turned the corner of the house and I saw the splash of light. We were nearing a window of which the shade was half up. Rather venture some that. These lads felt safe in their retreat, or— And I rubbed my chin — the light in the window was not the only light at that minute. There was a little light slipping through the darkness of my mind. I nodded. We were going to get action, I thought.

So we swung towards the lighted window three feet above the ground — he crouching double again, those lean, long arms — the white fingers at the end of them standing out — swinging back and forth. He paused as he reached the window, and turned to me.

‘They’ll be in there. You can look in if you wish.’

And I was almost startled by the simplicity of the suggestion. While I looked in that window I would stand directly in the splash of light. Of course I couldn’t be seen by those inside, but what about someone outside? If I could have been sure that my visit wasn’t expected it would be all right. And really, even though the doctor was a charming chap, you could not expect me to put my entire trust in him.