Patricia Highsmith - Strangers on a Train

As important as the plans, of course, was to find someone for the job. He would do it himself, he thought, if not for the fact Gerard, his father’s private detective, would nail him no matter how carefully he planned it. Besides, he wanted to put his no-motivation scheme to the test again. Matt Levine or Carlos—the trouble was he knew them. And it was dangerous to try to negotiate without knowing if the person would agree. Bruno had seen Matt several times, and hadn’t been able to mention it.

Something happened in Port-au-Prince that Bruno would never forget. He fell off the gangplank coming back aboard ship the second afternoon.

The steamy heat had stupefied him and rum had made it worse, made him hotter. He was on his way from Hotel La Citadelle to the ship to get his mother’s evening shoes, when he stopped in a bar near the waterfront for a Scotch with ice. One of the Puerto Ricans of the crew, whom Bruno had disliked since the first moment he saw him, was in the bar and blind drunk, roaring around as if he owned the town, the Fairy Prince, and the rest of Latin America. He called Bruno a”wite bum-m”and a lot of other things Bruno could not understand but which made everybody laugh. Bruno left the bar with dignity, too tired and disgusted to fight, with a quiet determination to report it to Alice and get the Puerto Rican fired and blacklisted. A block away from the ship, the Puerto Rican caught up with him and kept on talking. Then, crossing the gangplank, Bruno lurched against the handrope and fell off into the filthy water. He couldn’t say the Puerto Rican had pushed him, because he hadn’t. The Puerto Rican and another sailor, also laughing, fished him out and dragged him in to his bed. Bruno crawled off the bed and got his bottle of rum. He drank some straight, then flopped on the bed and fell asleep in his wet underwear.

Later, his mother and Alice came in and shook him awake.

“What happened?” they kept asking, giggling so they could hardly talk. “What happened, Charley?”

Their figures were fuzzy but their laughs were sharp. He recoiled from Alice’s fingers on his shoulder. He couldn’t talk, but he knew what he wanted to say. What were they doing in his room if they didn’t have a message from Guy?

“What? What guy?” asked his mother.

“G’way!” he shouted, and he meant both of them.

“Oh, he’s out,” said his mother deploringly, as if he were a hospital case nearly dead. “Poor boy. Poor, poor boy.”

Bruno jerked his head this way and that to avoid the cool washcloth. He hated them both and he hated Guy! He had killed for him, dodged police for him, kept quiet when he asked him to, fallen in the stinking water for him, and Guy didn’t even want to see him! Guy spent his time with a girl! Guy wasn’t scared or unhappy, just didn’t have time for him! Three times he had seen her around Guy’s house in New York! If he had her here, he would kill her just like he had killed Miriam!

“Charley, Charley, hush!”

Guy would get married again and never have time for him. See what sympathy he’d get now when this girl played him for a sucker! He’d been seeing her in Mexico, not just visiting friends. No wonder he’d wanted Miriam out of the way! And he hadn’t even mentioned Anne Faulkner on the train! Guy had used him. Maybe Guy would kill his father whether he liked it or not. Anybody can do a murder. Guy hadn’t believed it, Bruno remembered.

Twenty

“Have a drink with me,” Bruno said. He had appeared out of nowhere, in the middle of the sidewalk.

“I don’t care to see you. I’m not asking questions. I don’t care to see you.”

“I don’t care if you ask questions,” Bruno said with a weak smile. His eyes were wary. “Come across the street. Ten minutes.”

Guy glanced around him. Here he is, Guy thought. Call the police. Jump him, throw him down to the sidewalk. But Guy only stood rigidly. He saw that Bruno’s hands were rammed in his pockets, as if he might have a gun.

“Ten minutes,” Bruno said, luring him with the tentative smile.

Guy hadn’t heard a word from Bruno in weeks. He tried to summon back the anger of that last evening in the snow, of his decision to turn Bruno over to the police. This was the critical moment. Guy came with him. They walked into a bar on Sixth Avenue and took a back booth.

Bruno’s smile grew wider. “What’re you scared about, Guy?”

“Not a thing.”

“Are you happy?”

Guy sat stiffly on the edge of his seat. He was sitting opposite a murderer, he thought. Those hands had crushed Miriam’s throat.

“Listen, Guy, why didn’t you tell me about Anne?”

“What about Anne?”

“I’d have liked to know about her, that’s all. On the train, I mean.”

“This is our last meeting, Bruno.”

“Why? I just want to be friends, Guy.”

“I’m going to turn you over to the police.”

“Why didn’t you do that in Metcalf?” Bruno asked with the lowest pink gleam in his eyes, as only he could have asked it, impersonally, sadly, yet with triumph. Oddly, Guy felt his inner voice had asked him the question in the same way.

“Because I wasn’t sure enough.”

“What do I have to do, make a written statement?”

“I can still turn you over for investigation.”

“No, you can’t. They’ve got more on you than on me.” Bruno shrugged.

“What’re you talking about?”

“What do you think they’d get on me? Nothing.”

“I could tell them!” He was suddenly furious.

“If I wanted to say you paid me for it,” Bruno frowned selfrighteously, “the pieces would fit like hell!”

“I don’t care about pieces.”

“Maybe you don’t, but the law does.”

“What pieces?”

“That letter you wrote Miriam,” Bruno said slowly, “the cover-up of that job canceling. The whole convenient trip to Mexico.”

“You’re insane!”

“Face it, Guy! You’re not making any sense!“Bruno’s voice rose hysterically over the jukebox that had started up near them. He pushed his hand flat across the table toward Guy, then closed it in a fist. “I like you, Guy, I swear. We shouldn’t be talking like this!”

Guy did not move. The edge of the bench cut against the back of his legs. “I don’t want to be liked by you.”

“Guy, if you say anything to the police, you’ll only land us both in prison. Don’t you see?”

Guy had thought of it, even before now. If Bruno clung to his lies, there could be a long trial, a case that might never be decided unless Bruno broke down, and Bruno wouldn’t break down. Guy could see it in the monomaniacal intensity with which Bruno stared at him now. Ignore him, Guy thought. Keep away. Let the police catch him. He’s insane enough to kill you if you make a move.

“You didn’t turn me in in Metcalf because you like me, Guy. You like me in a way.”

“I don’t like you in the least.”

“But you’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

“No,” Guy said between his teeth. Bruno’s calm amazed him. Bruno was not afraid of him at all. “Don’t order me another drink. I’m leaving.”

“Wait a minute.” Bruno got money from his wallet and gave it to the waiter.

Guy sat on, held by a sense of inconclusiveness.

“Good-looking suit.” Bruno smiled, nodding toward Guy’s chest.

His new gray flannel chalk-stripe suit. Bought with the Palmyra money, Guy thought, like his new shoes and the new alligator brief case beside him on the seat.

“Where do you have to go?”

“Downtown.” He was to meet a prospective client’s representative at the Fifth Avenue Hotel at 7. Guy stared at Bruno’s hard, wistful eyes, feeling sure Bruno thought he was on his way to meet Anne now. “What’s your game, Bruno?”