Dark Passage by David Goodis

toward Post?”
    “Sure,” the little man said. “I’m not
going there but I'll go there anyway. Any place you want to
go.”
    They stepped into the car. Both doors
closed. The little man was still shaking and he stalled the car
twice before he really got it going. The car made a turn. Parry
took out a pack of cigarettes.
    “Smoke?”
    “Thanks,” the little man said. “I need
it.”
    Parry gave him a light, lit his own,
leaned back and watched the street lamps parading quickly toward
the car.
    “Sometimes I just get burned up,” the
little man said.
    “I know.”
    “I get so burned up I don’t know what I'm
doing,” the little man said. “And it's not good for me. I got high
blood pressure. I've had it for years.”
    Parry was watching the rear-view
mirror.
    The little man was taking something from
his pocket.
    Parry tugged hard at the cigarette and
wondered if the single light he saw back there was the headlamp of
a motorcycle.
    “Here, take this,” the little man said,
handing Parry a card.” I’m nobody important, but any time I can do
you a favor-”
    Parry looked at the card. Glow from the
street lamps showed him Max Weinstock, Upholsterer.
    “Sure you feel all right?” the little man
said.
    “I’m fine,” Parry said. “I wasn't hurt at
all.”
    “But maybe you should see a doctor just to
make sure.”
    “No, I’m all right,” Parry
said.
    The little man looked at him.
    Parry looked at the rear-view
mirror.
    The car made another turn, stopped for a
light, went down three blocks, stopped for another light, made
another turn and the little man said, “Whereabouts on
Post?”
    Parry took the folded slip of paper from
his pocket, studied it for a few moments. He directed the little
man to
    “let him off at a street that was one
block away from the address on the paper.
    The car made another turn, going left on
Post.
    “Do you have the time?” Parry said,
forgetting the watch on his wrist.
    The little man glanced at a wrist watch.
“Two-thirty.”
    “Too early,” Parry said.
    “Early?”
    “Nothing,” Parry said. “I was just
thinking.”
    The little man was looking at him. As the
car stopped for another light the little man leaned forward
slightly so he could get a better look at Parry’s face. Parry took
out the pack, lit another cigarette, sustaining the match and
holding his left hand in front of the left side of his face.
Glancing sideways, he knew the little man was still looking at him.
He had a feeling it was going to happen now, while they were
waiting for this light to change. He told himself Post was
reasonably empty and he could handle the little man as he had
handled Studebaker. The little man was still looking at him and now
he had his cigarette going and the match was going to burn his
fingers. He blew out the match, his hand came down. The little man
was still looking at him. Parry's teeth clicked, his head turned
mechanically, he stared at the little man, his stare went past the
eyes of the little man and he was staring at a police squad car
parked there beside the little man's car.
    The light changed. The police squad car
went forward.
    “The light changed,” Parry
said.
    The little man turned and looked at the
light. He made no move to get the car going.
    “The light changed,” Parry
said.
    “Yes,” the little man said. “I know.” He
made no move to get the car going.
    “What’s the matter?” Parry
said.
    The little man looked at him.
    “Can’t we get started?” Parry
said.
    The little man was leaning back now, his
head was down, he was looking at nothing.
    “Won’t the car go?” Parry said.
    “The car’s all right,” the little man
said.
    “Then what’s the matter?” Parry said. “Why
are we standing here?”
    The little man looked at Parry. The little
man said nothing.
    “I don’t get you,” Parry said. He looked
at the rear-view mirror. He put fingers on the door handle. He
said, “We can't stay here in the middle of the street. We're
blocking traffic.”
    “There’s no traffic,” the little man said.
It was under a