William McGivern - Savage Streets

“I don’t think Farrell’s got the real story,” Malleck said, and got slowly to his feet. “I think he’s lying.”

“I do, too,” Grace Ward said. She spoke with desperate vehemence. “It’s an impossible story. Wayne wasn’t that sort of man. I can’t imagine what reason you have for blackening his name this way.”

“Just a minute now,” Ward said, patting her shoulder absently. “Easy does it.” He smiled at Farrell, but he was apparently controlling himself with an effort; a pulse was swelling and falling rapidly in his left temple, and the smile didn’t soften the lines of tension around his mouth. “John, we’re men with a certain amount of experience in the world, and we should be able to look at this matter reasonably. Now let’s assume this thing happened just as you say. Let’s accept as a fact that Norton confessed to raping this girl. Are you morally certain that Norton would be a reliable witness against himself? As I say, we’re men of a certain amount of experience. But Norton was different. He was an innocent and naive sort of guy, which was to his credit. Totally wrapped up in his home and family. He was in a kind of backwater at his bank, not very close to the meanness and bitchiness in the world. What I’m getting at is this: in spite of his confession, are you sure he raped this girl? After all, she’s a tough little cookie. You can be sure it wasn’t her first time, start with that. Can you be sure she didn’t make it happen? Leading him on with a lot of tricks, and then persuading him that she had been a, well, unwilling partner to the whole thing?”

“No, I can’t be sure,” Farrell said. “But it’s not my job to judge his or her motives.”

“One other thing then,” Ward said quietly. “Norton was close to a state of shock from a brutal beating. And probably half out of his mind from a mistaken sense of guilt. Supposing under those circumstances he’d blurted out that he’d embezzled funds from his bank. Or had been having an affair with your wife. Would you accept these fantasies as Gospel? Or would you consider his condition before making any judgment?”

They were not new arguments to Farrell; he had used them all himself.

Ward watched him for a few seconds in silence, and then said: “You’re going to the police, eh? And tell them what Norton told you?”

“Yes,” Farrell said.

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Malleck said, his arms swinging out from his sides. “You got to come through me, and you aren’t man enough for that.”

“Now hold it!” Ward said sharply. “I’m not through. You’re determined to go to the police, then, John. You feel it’s your duty to support this girl’s story and provide a loophole for the hoodlum who murdered Norton? Is that your position? I’d advise you to think carefully before you answer.”

“I’m going to tell the truth.”

“We can’t stop you, of course,” Ward said.

“Maybe you can’t, but I can,” Malleck said.

“If you did stop him, you’d be doing him a favor,” Ward said quietly.

No one spoke for an instant; and when Ward struck a match the sound seemed to rip through the close fabric of silence.

“What do you mean?” Malleck said slowly.

“John, you’d better listen to me before you leave,” Ward said, standing up and buttoning his coat with his free hand. Then with his shoulders hunched forward and his face set in hard, purposeful lines, he said without heat or bluster; “I told you I intended to fight for what’s important to me. I wasn’t just making conversation, as I’m going to show you.” There was no hint of threat in his voice; he might have been reading the minutes of a routine meeting. “First of all, no one here believes your story. Malleck doesn’t, Grace and I don’t, and neither do the Detweillers. We don’t believe for a second that Norton made the confession you claim he made. And the police won’t believe you either. So I’m not concerned about whatever pipe dreams you tell them. For your own good — which I’m frankly not much interested in — you’d be wiser not to take that story to the cops. You won’t hurt us, you’ll just hurt yourself.”

Everyone was watching Ward as he spoke, and it seemed to Farrell that they were hungrily absorbing warmth and reassurance from his air of casual, almost contemptuous confidence.

“First of all, it’s your unsupported statement that you left that clubhouse before Norton,” Ward said. He waited until he saw that Farrell understood what he meant, and then he smiled faintly. “Don’t look so startled. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. Secondly, it’s your unsupported statement that Norton confessed to raping that girl. There are no other witnesses. It’s your testimony, yours alone, that will smash his reputation, and turn his memory into something shameful and dirty. So why are you doing it? Why are you supporting this little whore’s preposterous charge? Let me tell you this: anyone with an ounce of brains won’t have to look far for the answer.”

Farrell shook his head. “You’ve really surprised me, Sam.”

“Go to the police,” Ward said coldly. “They’ll put two and two together. And if they’re slow about it we’ll give them a nudge in the right direction.”

Malleck suddenly caught Farrell’s arm in his big heavy hand. “I get it now,” he said slowly, and his face was shining with an almost exultant excitement. “You been lying from the start. It wasn’t Norton who raped that girl. It was you.”

“I gave you a chance,” Ward said quietly. “I suggested we be reasonable. But you’re stuck, I see now. You’re turning your back on us because you’ve got to. Do you think I believed your big talk about duty and principle? Like hell. And neither will the cops. You’re trying to save those two sacks of human garbage because it’s the only way you can save yourself. You raped that girl and then talked her into pinning it on Norton. And what price did you pay? Simply to back up her story and save her precious little boy friend. It’s so obvious I’m surprised you tried to shove it down our throats.”

Malleck shifted his grip to the lapel of Farrell’s coat. “Oh you bastard,” he said softly. “You miserable bastard. I’m going to give you something to take with you to the cops.” He drew his right fist back slowly, holding Farrell away from him with a straight left arm.

Farrell welcomed the disgust and anger flowing through him. “Try it,” he said.

But before Malleck could swing Detweiller grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from Farrell. “Now let’s cut this out,” he said, in a high, anxious voice. “Fighting won’t help things.”

Malleck turned on him furiously, slapping his hands aside with a chopping motion of his arm. “You rabbit,” he said. “You been trying to crawl over to his side all night.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Detweiller said, backing away from the rage in Malleck’s eyes. “I’m with you — look, there’s nothing to be mad about.”

Malleck struck him across the face with the back of his hand. “Don’t move, stand there,” he said. And as Detweiller stood helplessly before him, arms hanging limply at his sides, Malleck struck him again, using the palm of his hand this time, and the force of the blow knocked Detweiller back against the couch. He sat down abruptly and awkwardly, the marks of Malleck’s blows searing his gray face. Chicky put a hand on his arm but he drew away from her, blinking his eyes rapidly.

“I haven’t said anything tonight,” she murmured gently. “It was your chance. Why didn’t you take it?” Her eyes were grave and sad as she studied the shame in his face. She seemed unaware of the others in the room.

“You didn’t go to New York to meet Ginny for the theater,” he said in a low, choking voice. “You went in to spend the night with Dick Baldwin, the fearless newshawk, the big deal.”