The Nothing Man by Jim Thompson Page A

came to all of a sudden and I couldn't figure out where I was. I was scared as hell, and I heard someone pounding and a bunch of guys calling back and forth. And I could see flashlights shooting around on the ground. I remembered where I was then and that really chilled me. All I could think of was that the place was being raided and what the hell I was going to say if they found me. I crawled up to the end where the street was, and then I ran across into that little park and-I don't know where all I did go. It was still so damned dark and raining so hard. I think I passed out a couple of times. Then-I don't know how long it was, but finally I heard the ferry whistle and I cut down to the landing. There was a big crowd there, and they were all wet, too-I mean they'd got pretty wet in the rain and most of 'em were stiff or half stiff from hanging around the bars all evening. I squeezed onto the ferry with 'em and went straight down to the john. I was down there in one of the stalls, having a few drinks when-"
    "You'd kept the tequila with you then? That's good."
    "Yeah, I'd held onto it somehow. So I thought I'd got out of the mess without any real trouble, and I was trying to pull myself together when these two guys came in. Boat hands, they were. They were talking about a woman being killed over in the cottages, and-and I didn't think about it being her b-but, God, I'd been there and I'd been crawling all around and-and-and then I got home and Midge and I turned on the radio, and-"
    "How did you get home?"
    "I took a taxi-all but the last five blocks. I only had sixty cents, see, so I rode out fifty cents' worth and gave the driver a dime tip and walked the rest of the way."
    "You didn't give him your address?"
    "No. I just had him head up Main and down Laurel until the meter showed four bits, and then I got out."
    That was good in a way and bad in a way. The driver didn't know where he'd gone, but he'd remember him. And a neighborhood like this, particularly a neighborhood like this, would receive a thorough going-over by Stukey's boys.
    "Y-You-" Two big tears were in the corners of his eyes. "I've t-told you the God's truth, Brownie. I d-don't need to-You know I didn't kill her, don't you?"
    "Yes, Tom," I said. "I know you didn't kill her."
    "B-But they think I did! They've got evidence! They know I was there. They know what I look like. They-"
    "They don't," I said. "Get me? They don't. They know a guy of about your build and size was there, but that's all they know."
    "That's all they need! That cab driver and knowing what I look like and-! I've got to get away, Brownie! It's the only thing I can do!"
    "It's the one thing you can't do," I said. "They'll be watching the trains and buses. If you did manage to get out of town, they'd trail you down. You'd be hanging a sign on yourself."
    "B-But-"
    "The cab driver will be mistaken, if and when they turn you up. It'll be your word against his. Yours and… What about your wife? She knows about this? She'd swear that you were at home all evening?"
    "Sh-She-" His voice dropped to a whisper. "She knows. Sh-She'd swear to it. But-"
    "Good. That'll be good enough. You both stick to that story and there's not a damned thing they can do. They'll try to, of course, if they find you…" If, hell! They'd find him, all right, but I didn't want him any more frightened than he was. "Just deny everything and keep denying, and they'll have to let you go."
    He lifted the bottle, slowly set it down untasted.
    "I-I d-don't think I can do it, Brownie. They get to questioning me and-"
    "You've got to. Once they place you on that island at the time of the murder, once they get you to admit you saw her, that she refused to let you in and you laid around under those cottages drinking-"
    "I know. Jesus!" He shivered. "It's all I've been thinking about. They'll think I was sore at her. They'll think I hung around to-to-"
    "Right. So you do what I told you to do. Don't admit a damned