William McGivern - Savage Streets

“All right. Now you told me you couldn’t see if there was anyone in the rear seat. You were in front of the car at that time. But standing beside the car you had a clear look at the back seat. Think now, Jimmy. Were there any boys in the rear of the car?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, I don’t know.”

“You either saw them or you didn’t, Jimmy. Which is it?”

“I’m not sure, that’s all.”

“What about the boys in the front seat? You said that one wasn’t wearing a tie. It’s a cold day. So he must have been wearing a coat or a sweater. Did you notice which?”

“I guess it was a sweater.”

“Would you recognize this boy if you saw him again?”

“Well, he didn’t look like anyone special.”

“You’re sure you never saw him before?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Jimmy hesitated; some of the pink healthy color from his bath had drained from his face. “I mean I might have seen him somewhere, but I don’t remember if I did or not. It’s not impossible, that’s all.”

“You saw the boy from the front,” Farrell said slowly. “Then you must have seen him from the side. You got a good look at him, didn’t you?”

“Well, it was all so fast.”

“Listen to me carefully: are you certain you don’t know those boys? Will you swear to that?”

“Gee, Dad, I don’t know.” Jimmy’s voice was shaking. “I told you everything I saw. Don’t you believe me?”

Farrell caught his shoulders. “Why should I? You lied before, didn’t you? In the police station. You wouldn’t identify Duke or Jerry. You lied because you were afraid of them. Isn’t that right?”

“I wasn’t sure, I wasn’t sure — Andy Ward wasn’t sure either.”

“Don’t go on lying. You knew who they were. But you were too scared to speak up.”

“I told you what I saw,” Jimmy whimpered, his eyes sliding away from the anger in Farrell’s face. “I told you all I know.”

“Like hell you have,” Farrell said. “You’re still lying. Angey’s in the hospital with a broken leg because of those hoodlums. She might be dead. Have you thought of that? Why are you covering up?”

“I can’t... I don’t know it...” Jimmy began to cry. “Dad, please. Don’t be mad at me. I want to do what you want. But I don’t know.”

“Duke and Jerry were in that car, weren’t they?” Farrell shouted at him. “Look at me. Look me in the eye.” He shook the boy’s shoulders. “Tell me the truth, damn you. It was Duke and Jerry, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?”

“Yes!” Jimmy almost screamed the word, his voice rising and breaking hysterically. “Yes! Yes!” He threw himself into his father’s arms, his body shaking with convulsive sobs. “I saw them. I saw them.”

Farrell held him close and rubbed his back and shoulders until he stopped crying. Then he said, “Now listen, Jimmy, I’ve got to go out for a while.”

“Do I have to stay here alone?”

“No, of course not.”

“When’s Mommy coming home?”

“She’ll spend the night at the hospital with Angey. So how would you like to stay at the Wards’? You won’t even have to change. Just go up and collect a toothbrush. I’ll call Mrs. Ward.” He held Jimmy at arm’s length and smiled into his tear-streaked face. “It’ll be fun, eh?”

“Okay, Dad.”

Farrell called Grace Ward, who said quickly she was delighted to have Jimmy for the night. When Jimmy came downstairs Farrell kissed him and opened the door. “Run for it,” he said. “They’re expecting you.” He waited in the doorway until he saw that Jimmy had crossed the street and was ringing the Ward doorbell. Then he closed the door and went quickly up to his bedroom. He changed clothes with a furious haste, flinging his coat and tie aside, and pulling on a heavy woolen sweater. He kicked off his shoes and put on a pair of rubber-soled moccasins. A thread of guilt flickered like quicksilver against the bright red anger in his mind. He was almost glad of what had happened to Angey; without it, there would never have been this savage sense of release.

He was on his way downstairs when the phone began to ring.

“Yes, hello,” he said, and was shocked at the sound of his voice; it was that of a stranger, harsh and strident.

“John? This is Sam Ward.”

“What is it?”

“Now listen to me; calm down. I know where you’re heading. Jimmy told me who was driving that car.”

“This is my affair, Sam. Keep out of it.”

“Don’t be a fool. You don’t know what you might run into. I’ll call Detweiller and we’ll go with you.”

“I don’t want any help. They ran down Angey; I’m going to pay them off for it.”

“Use your head, for Christ’s sake. You’re not Superman. You’ll get jumped by those bastards.”

“You keep out of this, Sam,” Farrell said, and put the receiver down with a crash. He stared about the room like a man in a trance, aware of the stillness around him and feeling like a stranger in this worn, comfortable room, isolated from associations and objects once as familiar to him as his reflection in a mirror.

He poured himself a drink and drained the glass in one swallow. The whiskey was cold and then hot, exploding in his stomach and fanning out through his body.

Farrell turned sharply as a key clicked in the front door; in the silence, in the unrealness of the house, the sound was as ominous as the cocking of a pistol.

The door opened and Barbara stepped into the hallway, the cold wind swirling about her ankles and whipping at the skirts of her tweed coat. She laughed as she pushed the door shut. “What a night! I was going to call you to bring me a nightie and toothbrush, but Angey’s asleep and I decided I had time to run over myself. Where’s Jimmy?”

“I sent him over to the Wards’.”

“But why? Don’t you think it would be better for him to be home tonight?”

“I’ve got to go out.”

She had come to the door of the studio. “Out? What for?”

He still held the empty glass in his hand. His face was flushed and hot. “I’m going out,” he said.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Jimmy told me who was driving the car that hit Angey. Duke and Jerry.”

“Why didn’t he tell the police? Is he sure?”

“He’s sure.” Farrell’s voice rose. “Do you think he’d lie about it?”

“No, of course not. But why do you have to go out? Wouldn’t it be simpler to call the police? It’s such a bad night and...”

“I’m not going to the police.”

“What are you talking about? Have you been drinking?”

“You think I’d have to be drunk to care about what happened to Angey?”

“Now stop this, John.” She took off her coat and threw it over a chair. “Stop it this minute. Put down that glass, for Heaven’s sake, and stop glaring at me. I know you’re upset and worried, but that’s no reason to...”

She caught her breath as Farrell suddenly threw his glass aside. It struck the bookshelves and crashed to the floor in pieces. “I could remind you that drinking isn’t a problem of mine,” he said. “It was your old man who got himself tanked every night, remember.”

“John, please,” she said, barely whispering the words. Tears had started in her eyes but she made no move to brush them away; they welled up, gleaming like crescents of silver in the lamplight. “You don’t know what you’re saying. You couldn’t want to hurt me that way. I’m not going to let you go. Think of what you’re doing, for God’s sake.”

He caught her shoulders and moved her away from the door, his big hands smothering her reflexive, futile struggles. “I don’t want to think,” he said, almost shouting the words at her. He jerked open the front door and ran down the walk to his car, hearing her voice calling to him above the frantic wind. As he started away from the curb he saw her framed in the doorway, a hand raised and the wind whipping her skirt about her legs. She was calling his name but the roar of the motor drowned out her voice as he shot into the black tunnel of the street.