her drab prison uniform she looked like
a bewildered, overworked waitress. And when she saw my face—a
familiar face—she almost smiled. Unless you’ve been locked in a
cell, you can’t really appreciate the luxury of an open door or the
solace of companionship or the pleasure of simple choice. That
half-smile faded almost immediately and was replaced by a tough,
unfriendly frown.
"Ah," I said. "That's the Sarah I’ve
come to know."
"I’m going to skip the name calling," she
said coldly.
"I called you because I need your help. Your
meddling has gotten me into a great deal of trouble and you’re the
only person who can get me out of it."
"You want me to prove that you didn’t kill
your father?" I said.
"No."
"What, then?"
"My lawyer is going to post bond this afternoon.
Unless I can convince Les that I had nothing to do with what happened
last night, he’ll kill me."
"You want me to act as a bodyguard?"
Sarah shook her head. "I want you to tell Les
that it was your fault, that I had nothing to do with the bust."
I laughed hollowly, pushed back my chair, and got to
my feet.
Sarah looked up in confusion. "Where are you
going?"
"Where do you think? I heard what you wanted to
say and I’m not interested."
"Just what are you interested in? Oh, but why
ask?"
She sat back in her chair and stared at me with fresh
assurance. "You’re a fascinating type, Mr. Stoner, in a
ghoulish way. A man without loyalty, without honor, without
friendship. A man who lives like a parasite in the creases of
society, feeding on age, disease, and unhappiness. I once told you
that I thought you were intelligent. I know now how wrong I was. It’s
all instinct with you, isn’t it? All smell." She leaned
forward and looked indifferently at the tabletop. "How much?"
she said under her breath. "How much do you want?"
I did a foolish thing. I got angry. "Twenty
thousand," I said.
She started as if she’d been slapped. "You’re
joking?"
"Hell, no," I said. "You understand my
type and janissaries come high this year, Miss Lovingwell. I want
twenty thousand dollars."
"I don’t know if I have that much," she
said nervously.
"Sure you do. You’ve got all of Daddy’s
money coming to you."
"I have money of my own," she said quickly.
"From where?"
"That’s none of your business."
"You’re wrong, Sarah. If I work for you,
everything about you is my business." I sat back down at the
table. "Why’d you do it, Sarah? Why’d you kill him? It
wasn’t for money—that’s below your character. That’s more in
my line, right? So why’d you do it? Revenge? To get back for
Momma?"
Sarah groaned as if I’d punched her squarely in the
gut. "What do you know about Mother?" she said.
"I know that you blamed your father for her
death. Is that why you killed him?"
"I didn’t kill him."
"Sure you did. The police have a witness who can
place you on the scene at the time of the murder. And when I get
through telling them why your father hired me, they’ll have a
motive, too."
"Don’t tell them that!" she said shrilly.
"I have to get out of here. If you tell them that, they’ll
never let me go. I’1l give you the money you want."
I shook my head. "I don’t want to play any
more, Sarah. Not for money or honor or fun."
"You’re going to tell them?"
"I don’t have a choice. McMasters knows I lied
to him about your alibi. He knows I’m withholding evidence about
your father’s death. I’m just not going to risk my neck for you
any longer. Because I think you are lying. I think you did kill your
father."
"I swear I didn’t do it," she whispered.
All of the outrage and assurance had left her face.
"For what it’s worth, I didn’t betray you,"
I said.
"Your friend O’Hara told the police that the
alibi was a phoney. But before you start thinking up some category to
stuff him into, you ought to know that he was beaten up before he
confessed."
"I don’t believe you," Sarah said.
"It’s not in the dialectic, huh? Well,
a bewildered, overworked waitress. And when she saw my face—a
familiar face—she almost smiled. Unless you’ve been locked in a
cell, you can’t really appreciate the luxury of an open door or the
solace of companionship or the pleasure of simple choice. That
half-smile faded almost immediately and was replaced by a tough,
unfriendly frown.
"Ah," I said. "That's the Sarah I’ve
come to know."
"I’m going to skip the name calling," she
said coldly.
"I called you because I need your help. Your
meddling has gotten me into a great deal of trouble and you’re the
only person who can get me out of it."
"You want me to prove that you didn’t kill
your father?" I said.
"No."
"What, then?"
"My lawyer is going to post bond this afternoon.
Unless I can convince Les that I had nothing to do with what happened
last night, he’ll kill me."
"You want me to act as a bodyguard?"
Sarah shook her head. "I want you to tell Les
that it was your fault, that I had nothing to do with the bust."
I laughed hollowly, pushed back my chair, and got to
my feet.
Sarah looked up in confusion. "Where are you
going?"
"Where do you think? I heard what you wanted to
say and I’m not interested."
"Just what are you interested in? Oh, but why
ask?"
She sat back in her chair and stared at me with fresh
assurance. "You’re a fascinating type, Mr. Stoner, in a
ghoulish way. A man without loyalty, without honor, without
friendship. A man who lives like a parasite in the creases of
society, feeding on age, disease, and unhappiness. I once told you
that I thought you were intelligent. I know now how wrong I was. It’s
all instinct with you, isn’t it? All smell." She leaned
forward and looked indifferently at the tabletop. "How much?"
she said under her breath. "How much do you want?"
I did a foolish thing. I got angry. "Twenty
thousand," I said.
She started as if she’d been slapped. "You’re
joking?"
"Hell, no," I said. "You understand my
type and janissaries come high this year, Miss Lovingwell. I want
twenty thousand dollars."
"I don’t know if I have that much," she
said nervously.
"Sure you do. You’ve got all of Daddy’s
money coming to you."
"I have money of my own," she said quickly.
"From where?"
"That’s none of your business."
"You’re wrong, Sarah. If I work for you,
everything about you is my business." I sat back down at the
table. "Why’d you do it, Sarah? Why’d you kill him? It
wasn’t for money—that’s below your character. That’s more in
my line, right? So why’d you do it? Revenge? To get back for
Momma?"
Sarah groaned as if I’d punched her squarely in the
gut. "What do you know about Mother?" she said.
"I know that you blamed your father for her
death. Is that why you killed him?"
"I didn’t kill him."
"Sure you did. The police have a witness who can
place you on the scene at the time of the murder. And when I get
through telling them why your father hired me, they’ll have a
motive, too."
"Don’t tell them that!" she said shrilly.
"I have to get out of here. If you tell them that, they’ll
never let me go. I’1l give you the money you want."
I shook my head. "I don’t want to play any
more, Sarah. Not for money or honor or fun."
"You’re going to tell them?"
"I don’t have a choice. McMasters knows I lied
to him about your alibi. He knows I’m withholding evidence about
your father’s death. I’m just not going to risk my neck for you
any longer. Because I think you are lying. I think you did kill your
father."
"I swear I didn’t do it," she whispered.
All of the outrage and assurance had left her face.
"For what it’s worth, I didn’t betray you,"
I said.
"Your friend O’Hara told the police that the
alibi was a phoney. But before you start thinking up some category to
stuff him into, you ought to know that he was beaten up before he
confessed."
"I don’t believe you," Sarah said.
"It’s not in the dialectic, huh? Well,
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