Корнелл Вулрич - A Treasury of Stories (Collection of novelettes and short stories)

“They oughta know better than to build a place with two entrances these days,” the policeman was saying disgustedly.

“Mr. Simms,” ventured Ivy timidly, “may I go home now?”

“Don’t annoy me at a time like this!” Mr. Simms exclaimed abruptly. “Go ahead if your time’s up.”

She hurried to the back room and down the steps to the locker-room. She quickly opened the locker with her key, took her street-dress off the hook, pulled the Dutch cap from her head, and then sat down momentarily on the long bench to rest her feet and get her breath back. It was then that, glancing into the mirror before her on the wall, she saw his reflection for the first time. He had wedged himself into the corner between the wall and the end locker and couldn’t be seen as you opened the door. She froze from head to foot.

“Wait a minute. Keep your head,” his voice said. “You know me.” And he came out and stood there and, of all things, smiled nonchalantly at her.

“You!” she squeaked. “You — last night!” They stood looking at each other, she up at him and he down at her. It never occurred to her, somehow, to scream for help. After all, when you have danced and eaten a sandwich with a person, you don’t usually scream for help the very next time you see him. “I should have known there was a catch in it somewhere,” she declared bitterly. “So this is what you are and what you do! And now I suppose you think I’m going to help you get away or something—?”

He kept right on smiling at her; he even seated himself negligently astride the bench, opposite to her. “Go ahead,” he invited with a sweep of his arm. “Call them in.” He said this with complete indifference. She felt, somehow, that he really meant it; he wasn’t just bluffing. “I didn’t even know you worked here,” he went on. “If you think I’d trade on your liking for me to get myself out of this jam, you’re all wrong.”

“My liking for you?” she exploded violently. “You’ll find out in a minute just how much I like you! You — you criminal!” She leaped up and took a step toward the door, a determined and furious one. Then there was loud knocking and confused voices from outside. “Don’t come in. I’m undressed!” she shrieked wildly, and threw her whole weight against the door to hold it. Over her shoulder she saw that reckless fool still grinning at her, his eyes on the uniform that clothed her from neck to calf. She couldn’t help admiring his nerve; maybe that was what made her do what she did.

“There’s no one in there but you, is there, Ivy?” the manager’s voice called in.

She evaded the question. “How could there be, Mr. Simms?” she shouted back. “I’ll be out in five minutes!”

The confusion of voices melted away on the other side of the locked door.

“Such a lot of trouble,” he grinned, “to save a criminal!”

“You certainly don’t deserve it!” she admitted bitterly. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me, anyway! Now get out of here before they find you!”

He came up behind her. “All right, let’s go,” he agreed. “I’ll turn my back while you’re changing.”

“Me, you mean?” she said in a barely audible voice. “Go with you!” And froze in consternation.

“Life is short and sweet; that’s the way to live it. Here, slip this on.” And that very large diamond ring he had pointed out to her last night behind the glass showcase passed into the palm of her hand. “We’ll pick up a car outside, send it back tomorrow C.O.D. We’ll make our getaway into Jersey or Connecticut, and what happened upstairs tonight won’t happen any more if you don’t want it to.”

“But it would always be hanging over us. It would only spoil everything,” she said. “The only thing I like about you is your suddenness — your courage. Only why couldn’t it have been something on the square, like saving a child from fire? Right is right and wrong is wrong.” She shook her head. “Hurry up and get away if you can,” she pleaded, clenching her hands. “I don’t want to have to call them in here!”

He simply saluted her with two fingers at his temple. He opened the door an inch or two with infinite precaution and stood there listening. He crept as far as the stairs to reconnoiter and then looked back at her. He winked. He could think of winking at a time like this!

“They’re all up front at the other end of the restaurant,” he reported elatedly. “Now’s my chance. Watch me go out the back way!” The last thing she heard him say was: “Too bad I have to leave you behind, baby. We were made for each other.” Then he slipped from sight and was gone.

She stood there waiting, listening. No disturbing sounds came back to her. He had gotten away. It was over. She gave a peculiar sigh. If only she had had the courage! What was life after all? If you were going to be afraid of it, you were better off dead. Suddenly she found her street-coat wrapped around her uniform, found herself racing up those stairs after him. A skyrocket seemed to have exploded within her, brilliant, flashing; stars were in her eyes.

“Wait!” she gasped. “Wait! Life can’t pass me by; it mustn’t! Wait, I’m coming!”

Out the back way, from the lighted restaurant into the dark street she sped. Halfway down toward the corner the red tail-light of a car lurched out of a line of parked machines. Instinctively she felt that he was in it, knew he must be. She didn’t even know his name, didn’t know what to call him. Life has no time in its headlong rush. Her despairing scream rent the quiet night air.

“Wait, wait for me! Take me with you!”

The car didn’t stop. He wasn’t the kind would stop, ever. Instead it went crashing into reverse and heeled backwards toward her. The door swung open; his arm reached out to take her — to take what he wanted out of life. She found the running-board with one foot and before she could even get in next to him they were careening madly down the street and the city and the world went flashing by, left far behind. Out in the darkness somewhere in back of them came the eerie wail of a police siren. He only laughed, and even in the act of swerving crazily from side to side, so that any minute threatened to be their last, turned to her and their lips met in the bitter sweetness of a kiss stolen on borrowed time.

“Again!” she pleaded. “Again! We may never have time for another—” The windshield cracked and there was a powdered seam in it directly between their two heads — or where their two heads had been only an instant before.

“Crouch down low, darling,” he grinned, “and away we go! A miss is as good as a mile!” She slipped down to the floor and rested her head against his knee and never took her eyes from his face after that. From time to time in their long mad flight through darkness he would reach down and stroke her hair with one hand and say: “How does it feel to be alive?” She knew what he meant; he didn’t mean because of the bullets — he meant to be alive in this new way, the way she had always longed to live; the way that was to be her way from now on.

The sleepy-eyed clerk in the little upstate hotel pushed the register toward them at three in the morning, and Eddinger turned to her and kissed her before he signed it. A recklessly happy kiss, an exulting kiss at having outwitted death one more time. The clerk had never seen two people with such shining eyes; he wondered disapprovingly if they’d been drinking. Mr. and Mrs. Smith the book recorded.

“The best you’ve got,” he told the clerk, and carelessly tossed a crumpled bill on the desk.

“You don’t have to pay your bill until you leave,” said the clerk. Eddinger looked at Ivy and they both laughed, as though they shared some private joke between them.