The Big Bite by Charles Williams(9)

The telephone stopped ringing just as I picked them up.
Now whoever it was would call the cops. Maybe
somebody already had. I was sweating, and my hands
shook. She hadn’t stirred. I juggled the keys frantically in
my hand and slid out from under the bed. The first one was
right. The handcuffs clicked open and I came erect, lunging
toward her. She lay on her back behind the footboard of the
bed, her eyes closed and one arm stretched out beyond her
head. Her face was dead white and the long lashes made
shadows on her cheek. I fell to the floor beside her and
grabbed her bare shoulder, shaking it furiously. There was
no response.
I sprang up and ran through the hallway to the bath.

Wetting the end of a towel in the wash basin, I hurried
back. Kneeling beside her, I began rubbing her face roughly
with the wet cloth. She made a little gasping sound but did
not move. Her eyes remained closed. The house was utterly
silent now that the telephone had stopped. I could feel time
rushing past me like water over the spillway of a dam.
Why didn’t I run and leave her here? Get out, before the
police came. No, I thought savagely; there was still a
chance. God, if I could only get her awake. She moved her
head a little and her eyes opened. She stared blankly up at
me. Her mouth started to open. I put a hand over it.
I put my face down close to hers and whispered furiously,
“Listen. Can you hear me?”
There was no response, nothing but that same blank
stare.
I grabbed her shoulder with my other hand and , shook
her. “Don’t scream! Don’t make any noise at all.
Understand?”
Comprehension began to dawn in her eyes. She was Still
in shock, but maybe I could get through to her. I took my
hand away from her mouth. “Listen! You’ve got to snap but
of it. Somebody may have called the cops.”
The telephone began ringing again.
Tires screamed out on the street somewhere as a car slid
to a stop.
Her lips moved. “Dan—”
The doorbell chimed.
The Big Bite — 165
Oh, Jesus!
I grabbed her by both shoulders. “They’re here. The cops.
You’ve got to go to the door or they’ll break in. Somebody
reported the shot.”
“Dan! I killed him—”
I hauled her up to a sitting position and put my mouth
against her ear. “Shut up! You’ve got to go to that door. Can
you stand up?”
She stared at me. “There’s nothing we can do now.”
I fought down a crazy impulse to scream at her. “Listen,
you little fool—” I broke off, staring at the torn evening
gown. She couldn’t go to the door in that. She was supposed
to have been asleep. “Where is your robe?”
The doorbell chimed again. The telephone went on
ringing.
I shook her. “Get out of that dress!”
There must be a robe of some kind in the clothes closet of
her bedroom. I sprang up and ran in there. A blue dressing
gown was thrown across the back of a chair and some
slippers were on the floor beside it. When I got back in the
other room she was still sitting in the same place with her
hands up against her temples.
I knelt beside her and slapped her across the side of the
face. “Get out of that dress! Look! They’re going to break in
here in about one more minute, and when they do you’re
going to the chair for murder.”
She seemed to understand me at last. She began fumbling
with the top of the dress. It would take her an hour the way
she was going at it. I grabbed it and tried to help. We
weren’t getting anywhere. How did they get in the
goddamned things—from the top or bottom? I caught it and
tried to rip it. It was some kind of strong net material that
was stiff to the touch and didn’t tear straight. It bunched up
and was strong as screen wire. I cursed. Snatching my
pocketknife from the pocket of my trousers, I put the blade
inside the dress, petticoat, and everything, and sawed it all
the way to the hem. I hauled her erect in nothing but her
pants and bra and garter belt, and grabbed the robe.
Somehow she manage to stand. We got the robe about her
shoulders and belted it.
The Big Bite — 166
“Lean on me,” I snapped. I knelt and yanked off the highheeled
shoes one at a time and slid her feet into the mules.
I shoved her ahead of me toward the door into the hall.
“All right,” I hissed at her. “You’re on your own. Answer the
door, and the hell with the telephone. You’ve been asleep.
Something waked you, but you don’t know what it was.
Make it good, or they’ve got you.”
She swayed once and put out a hand to free herself. Then
she was gone down the hall. I eased along after her until I
reached the L, and flattened myself against the wall still out
of sight of the living-room. Her mules made no sound
against the carpet, so I couldn’t tell whether she was still
going or not. At least, I hadn’t heard her fall. Then the front
door opened. I breathed a ragged sigh of relief.
I could hear them. “Mrs. Cannon?” It was a man’s voice.
“Yes,” she said. “What is it?”
“Sorry to trouble you. I’m Charlie Lane, from the Sheriff’s
office. Somebody reported a disturbance of some sort in the
neighborhood. Thought it was a gunshot—”
She said just what I’d told her, and she said it correctly,
with just the right amount of sleepiness in her voice. She
was good.
“You didn’t hear a shot, then?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure what waked me.
“Probably the telephone,” he answered. “Mrs. Ives said
she tried to call you before she phoned us. Said the sound
seemed to come from over here.”
“Probably a car backfiring,” she said wearily. It sounded
as if she had yawned. What an actress, I thought.
“Could have been,” he agreed. “But she insisted it was a
gun. Said she was awake, reading, and she never did hear
any car. Well, sorry I troubled you, Mrs. Cannon. We’ll look
around the neighborhood. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thank you,” she said. The door closed. The telephone
had already stopped ringing. My knees felt rubbery as I
leaned against the wall and wiped sweat from my face.
She was returning. I hurried down the hall and into the
room where he was. Scooping up the gun, I put it on safety
The Big Bite — 167
and shoved it in my pocket. I looked at him and came back
out into the hall.
“You’d better come on down to your own bedroom,” I
said, taking her arm.
She stopped and looked at me. Her face was intensely still
and her eyes were cold as ice. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“Thank you so very much for everything, Mr. Harlan.”
She brushed past me and walked as erect as a ramrod
into her own room and collapsed slowly across the bed. Her
face was in her arms, but there was no sound of crying.
I went back in and stood looking down at him, trying to
think. We’d thrown them off the track for the moment, but
what now? I could still save it if we could get him out of
here. But how? They were still prowling the neighborhood;
a car leaving here now would make them suspicious as hell.
Well, I could walk out and get away. Leave her here and
keep going. The hell with her. It was her problem, wasn’t it?
No. The hell it was. I was tied to her. If they caught her
she’d talk. I was implicated in murder now as well as
blackmail. There was something else too. I wasn’t going to
quit and just throw it away after I was in it this far. I wanted
that money, and I was going to get it There had to be a way.
All we had to do was get him out of here—
Sure. It started to come to me. He’d set the whole thing
up himself. Nobody knew I was here, and nobody knew he
was here. It was made to order. As far as any one was
aware, she was the only one in the house; the police had
just been here and had seen she was all right. She’d been
asleep. If they were still suspicious about that shot, at least
they had to assume it hadn’t come from here. And if her car
were to leave here—not tonight, but tomorrow, in a
perfectly routine manner with nobody in it except her, what
could possibly be suspicious about that? Hell, it was perfect.
But how much time did we have? I had to be out of here
before daybreak, and there was a lot to do. I glanced at my
watch, and then remembered it was stopped. Stepping
hurriedly over to the bed, I looked at his. 2:55. It was going
to be close.
I heard a sound in the bathroom next door. She was
beginning to snap out of it. That was fine, because she was
The Big Bite — 168
going to have to come out of her spin and give me a hand if
she wanted to save her neck. I started into the bath to give
her the word.
The door was open. She was standing before the medicine
cabinet shaking capsules out of a brown bottle. There were
at least a dozen of them in the palm of her left hand and a
tumbler of water was standing on the back rim of the basin,
I jumped for her. She heard me and whirled. I caught her
wrist, forced her hand open, and dropped the capsules into
the John. Taking the bottle from her other hand, I shook the
remaining ones out, threw them into the can, and flushed it.
“Look, you little fool!” I hissed at her. “Have you gone
crazy? There’s nothing to it. All we have to do is get him out
of here. I know a way to do it—”
She held herself erect with both hands on the wash basin.
Her face was white as chalk, and she spoke as if all the
breath had been squeezed out of her. “Aren’t you ever going
to be through with me and leave me alone? Couldn’t you
even let me die with a little dignity?”
“Die, hell. Who wants to die?”
“I’ve had those for months. I’ve been saving them,
because I knew there was a good chance I’d have to use
them some day—”
“Shut up!”
“—I won’t be taken alive. I have no intention of becoming
the feature attraction at a Roman carnival—”
I caught her shoulders, “Listen,” I whispered furiously.
“They won’t catch you. Use your head, you little idiot.
Nobody knows he’s even been here. All we have to do is get
him out, and you’ll never be suspected.”
She stared with hopeless bitterness. “Shore up another
bulkhead. Plug another leak in the dike. Keep watching the
roulette wheel to see if it’s really stopped or whether
they’re just pretending it has, to fool you. Why? I’ve had
enough. I’m through.”
I shook her. “I thought you were tough. Why, you little
punk, are you going to fold up and quit now? Stand there
like a nitwit and let ‘em burn you?”
“Are you suggesting” there is anything else to do?”
The Big Bite — 169
“Of course. Shut up for a minute and listen to me.” I told
her the idea. “It’ll work fine.”
“Will it?” she asked.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Don’t you see?” she said wearily. “You never win in the
end. You can’t. You merely postpone defeat.”
“You won’t even make an effort to save yourself?”
“What good would it do?”
I wanted to swing at her. I was beginning to feel crazy.
Catching her by both shoulders again, I put my face right
down in hers and snarled at her. “Tough? Why, you runnynosed
little crybaby, you haven’t got the guts of a louse. Go
ahead. Quit. Stand here and let ‘em take you. Have your
picture all over the front page of every paper in the country.
Have sob-sisters pawing over you, photographers flashing
bulbs in your face every time they take you from the jail to
the courtroom, people staring at you. Look, by the second
day they’ll have a name for you. The Black Widow.”
“What do you think I was saving those pills for?”
“They’re gone now. I doubt if you’d have had the guts to
swallow ‘em, anyway. You’re a punk. Why don’t you face it?”
Anger was beginning to show in her eyes now. That was
what I wanted to see.
“And just what do you want?” she asked coldly.
“The same thing I’ve been after all the time. I can save
your neck, but you haven’t got brains enough to see it.
Look. You can’t bring Tallant back, but at least you can
keep from having your name smeared all over every paper
in the country and winding up in the chair for killing him.
How do you want it?”
“What makes you think you can do it?”
“I’ll show you if you’ll stop acting like a crippled chicken.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing, right now. Just give me your car keys and go lie
down.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you going to try to—to take him
away?”
The Big Bite — 170
“Not tonight. Of course not. If they saw your car leaving
here now they might stop it. Even if the police didn’t see it,
one of the old busybodies around here’d notice. Just get out
of my way, and I’ll tell you everything to do before I shove
off.”
She went in her bedroom and gave me the car keys out of
her purse and lay down on the bed. I went back and looked
at him. The top of his head was a mess, but he hadn’t bled
too much. The bullet had entered just at the base of his
skull and come out on top. That was bad; I had to find it. It
took me about five minutes. All that was necessary was to
stand about where she had been and line it up. It had gone
into the pillow my own head had been on, not more than
about three inches from my face, and was still inside. I
could feel it with my fingers. There’d be a lot of
bloodstained-feathers inside; it wouldn’t do to leave it
around here even if I got the bullet out. I took it out through
the kitchen, opened the trunk of the car, and put it inside.
That was the beauty of the whole thing. It wasn’t necessary
to go outside at all. I went back.
The other pillow was all right. There was no blood on it.
The sheet was badly bloodstained, and the top of the
mattress pad, but the mattress itself was all right. I rolled
the sheet and pad around him and then wrapped a folded
blanket around the upper half of his body and tied him up
with the rope he’d had around my legs. This was the hard
part now.
He was heavy. I was puffing and wet with sweat by the
time I dragged and carried him as far as the garage. I had
to rest before I could boost him up into the trunk. When I
had him folded into it I went back to her bedroom.
“What’d you do with my suitcase?” I asked.
“It’s in the closet there,” she replied without looking up.
“What about the money? I guess you took that out?”
“No. It’s still in there.”
“Good, “ I said. I had bloodstains on the sports shirt I was
wearing. I brought the suitcase out, shaved, and changed
into a new one. The one I had taken off I rolled into a
newspaper and stuck in the car trunk, first cutting out the
laundry mark with a razor blade and flushing it down, the
John. The whole thing was beginning to make me sick now,
The Big Bite — 171
and I was glad it was about over. I took the two handcuffs
and the chains off the bed and threw them in the suitcase
and put it in her car. That was it.
I went back. “All right,” I told her. “Everything’s set
except for remaking that bed. You can do that.”
She got up without saying anything, took some fresh
sheets out of a closet, and made the bed. She put the spread
over it. I looked around. The cops could paw through here a
week and never find anything to indicate I’d ever been here,
or Tallant either. We went back in her bedroom. I looked at
her watch on the dresser and wound and reset my own. It
was 4:15.
“Sit down,” I said.
She sat down on the bed, staring at me without any
expression at all. I tossed her the keys and lit a cigarette.
“You’ve got it made,” I said. “It’s a cinch from here on.
Here’s what you do, and be sure you get it all straight. Call
any one of the local biddies on some excuse in the morning
and just mention you’re going to Galveston to visit friends
over the weekend. Back the car out of the garage and leave
it at the curb while you come back and get your suitcase.
Throw it in back. Stop at some service station where you’re
known—or even at Cannon Motors—and have the car
gassed up. Everything perfectly natural and aboveboard,
see? You might even let them sweep out the car, but for
Christ’s sake if they start checking the tires be sure you
don’t let go your keys. If anybody ever opens that trunk,
you’re dead.
“Drive on out that road to Breward. Time it so you get to
that road turning off lo the lake at about a quarter of ten.
I’ll be waiting for you in the trees just off the road, and I’ll
have that tape with me—”
She interrupted me. Her eyes were very. Cold. “So you
did have it all the time?”
“Of course. But that’s a dead issue now. I don’t even have
to give it to you, but I might as well. I don’t want it. Anyway,
get to that turnoff about a quarter of ten, the way I told you.
If there are any other cars in sight, just pull off and pretend
to be looking at a road map. I don’t want anybody to see me.
When it’s clear, I’ll hop in.
The Big Bite — 172
“This is Friday, and I’m not sure the banks down there are
open tomorrow, but we can make it in three hours. I’ll drop
you off at the Carson Hotel. You get a room, and then take a
taxi to the bank. Draw out ninety-two thousand in cash.
Have you got a briefcase?”
She nodded.
“All right. Bring it.” I looked at my watch again and stood
up. “But never mind now. I’d better get going. I can tell you
the rest of it after you pick me up.”
“What about—?”
“I’ll take care of him. All you do is drive the car from here
to the turnoff, and from then on the whole thing is my baby.
You’re paying me; I’ll do it.”
“All right,” she said.
“You’re convinced now it can be done, and that it’s easy?”
I asked. “No more of this flipping your lid and trying to kill
yourself?”
“I’m all right now,” she said coldly. “I’ll meet you.”
“Fine,” I said. I went in the bath and drew a big drink of
water from the tap and then threw the cigarette in the John.
“I’ll see you. Put your light out in here as if you’d gone back
to bed.” I waved a hand and went down the hall.
I let myself out into the patio through the door behind the
drape and stood for a moment letting my eyes become
accustomed to the darkness. When I could see a little I
eased back to the wall and climbed it. The whole
neighborhood was silent and the houses were dark. I
slipped along the easement and stood for a minute looking
up and down the street before I crossed it. When I was in
the woods on the other side I breathed more freely and
walked faster.
I circled downhill and came out on a deserted street four
blocks away. In another ten minutes I was on the Breward
road going out of town. Twice I met cars, but I saw their
lights a long way ahead and got off the road until they had
gone by. By daybreak I had passed the river bottom where
we had crashed, and was going up the hill on the other side.
I left the road then and cut across. In about fifteen minutes
I came out on the dirt road going in to the lake. Just at
sunrise I was digging up the tape where I had buried it
The Big Bite — 173
under the old stump. I slipped it in a pocket and sat down to
rest while I smoked a cigarette. There was plenty of time. It
was still a few minutes of nine when I got back out to the
Breward road again. I sat down out of sight in the timber
and waited. I was tired and hungry and almost numb now
from this rat-race that seemed to have been going on
forever, but excitement was strong inside me. In just a few
more hours it would all be over and I’d have it made for
good. They’d almost beaten me, but I had whipped them in
the end.
By nine-thirty I was beginning to stare anxiously down the
road, starting to worry again. A thousand things could have
gone wrong. Suppose she had flipped again and killed
herself? Suppose the police had come back and searched
the place? She could be right; they could still be working on
the case, keeping it under cover until they had the evidence
they needed. Suppose they picked her up? My bag was in
the car with Tallant’s body. Probably a half dozen things in
it had my name on them.
Right on the button at 9:45 she came by and picked me
up. Everything was going beautifully.
The Big Bite — 174
18
I pushed it hard, but took no chances, remembering the
cargo we had in the trunk and what would happen if we had
a wreck. It was a little before one when we came into
downtown Houston.
“I’ll drop you at the hotel,” I said. “Register, and then
grab a cab for the bank. Draw out the money, come back to
the hotel, and wait for me to call. I’ll register at the Magill
Hotel. It’ll be sometime after midnight by the time I get
back, and when I do the car’ll be empty and you won’t have
anything to worry about. I’ll turn the tape over to you when
I meet you, and you’ve got it made.”
“Simple, isn’t it?” she said coldly.
“Like shooting fish,” I said.
I pulled up in front of the hotel loading zone. Some
uniformed types helped her out and took her luggage. I
wheeled it on out and caught the Galveston highway. When
I got down there I bought a shovel at a hardware store and
put it in the car. There were several hours to kill. When it
was dark I started out west beach. I drove for miles, until I
was all alone along a vast stretch of empty dunes and scrub,
salt cedars. Parking the car well off the road, I went back in
the edge of the cedars, found a sandy spot, and started to
dig. It took over an hour to scoop out a place long enough
and a little over four feet deep. A few cars went past, down
near the edge of the water, but they could only see the car.
The Big Bite — 175
When I had finished I lit a cigarette and waited until there
were no headlights in sight anywhere before I opened the
trunk and dragged him out. I dropped him in the hole,
threw in the pillow, the bloodstained clothes, and the
handcuffs, and began pushing the sand back in with the
shovel. When it was pretty well smoothed off I threw loose
sand across the whole area with a swinging motion of the
shovel, and turned on the headlights for an instant to see
how it looked. It was fine. It might be a year before anybody
even happened to stop at this particular spot. Nobody would
ever see Tallant again.
I drove back toward town. After two or three miles I
stopped and threw the shovel back among some cedars. It
was 12:30 a.m. When I came into the outskirts of Houston,
hot, tired, and thirsty. I pulled into the white glare of light
of a drive-in and ordered a lemonade. While I was drinking
it in the car I saw the telephone booth inside. The urge to
know, to hear her say she had it and was waiting for me,
became overpowering. I could even go right to the Carson
and get it, take a cab to the airport, and be on my way
tonight if I could catch a no-show on some plane going west.
I didn’t want to sleep; I wanted to be on a plane with that
money under my arm at last. I went into the booth, looked
up the number of the Carson, and dialed.
It was very hot inside the booth. The little fan whirred.
When the girl at the switchboard answered, l” said, “Mrs.
Cannon, please.”
“One moment, sir.”
I could hear her ringing the room. It went on. There was
no answer.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the girl said. “She doesn’t answer, but
perhaps she is asleep. I’ll keep trying.”
“If you would,” I said. “It’s very important.”
She rang some more. Nothing happened. I began to
worry. What the hell was the matter with her, anyway? She
surely couldn’t have gone out.
“She must not be in her room,” the girl said. “Just a
moment and I’ll have her paged in the lobby and in the
restaurant.”
“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll call back.”
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“Oh, it’ll be no trouble,” she interrupted. “It will take only
a minute—”
“I’ll try later,” I said. I started to hang up.
“Is there any message?” she asked quickly. “Would you
like to leave a number? Uh—I could try her room again,
also, if you would like. It’s just possible she might have
taken a sleeping pill and be a little slow waking—”
I put the receiver back on the hook and went back
outside, thinking about sleeping pills. She was crazy—there
was no telling. But I had thrown them away. That didn’t
mean anything; she could have had a trunkful of the
damned things. I paid for the lemonade and drove off.
The streets were almost deserted now. I heard a siren
wailing somewhere in the distance behind me. When I was
downtown I parked the car about a block away from the
Carson, took my bag out, and walked around to the Magill. I
was tight now with worry and uneasiness. Oh, hell, I
thought; she just went out somewhere; I’ll call again after I
register. But the picture persisted; suppose she had drawn
out the money and it was lying there beside her in a locked
hotel room while she drifted down and down into sleep with
a bottle-full of those capsules inside her? I shook my head
and walked on. No, I told myself. That was too whacky even
for her.
The small lobby of the Magill was deserted except for the
clerk half asleep behind his desk. I registered. He turned
the card around and glanced at the name.
“Oh. Mr. Harlan,” he said. “Just a minute. Someone left a
message.” He reached for a pad lying on a shelf beside the
small switchboard, and studied it for a moment with his lips
pursed.
Maybe it’s in Sanskrit, I thought, and he has to translate
it. I wanted to strangle him. “Yes?” I asked.
“Hmmmm. It was a lady. She didn’t leave any name. She
called twice. Said she would be out until late, but that she
would call you again and try to catch you as soon as you
checked in.”
I breathed softly. “Thanks,” I said.
He clanged the bell on the desk and a colored boy
appeared from somewhere in back. When I was up in the
The Big Bite — 177
room and he had departed with his tip I took off my coat
and stared at the telephone. Should I try the Carson again?
No. She was probably still out, and she’d said she would call
again. She already had, twice, so she apparently wasn’t
trying to run out on me or anything. I unpacked my bag, and
checked the envelope containing the eight thousand. Just
for something to do, I counted it again. It was all there, to
the last five-dollar bill. I forced myself to sit down, and lit a
cigarette. I stared at the telephone, trying to force it to ring.
Five minutes went by. Ten minutes.
It rang. I grabbed it.
“Mr. Harlan?” It was her voice, all right. I could hear
music in the background. Where in the name of God was
she? In some honkytonk?
“Yes,” I said. “Where are you? Have you got it?”
“I’m in a bar on Fannin,” she replied.
I took a slow breath and drew my left hand across my
face. “Have—you—got—it?”
“Of course,” she replied coolly. “It’s right here in the
booth with me.”
I could feel nerves uncoiling all over my body. “All right.
Good. Do you want me to meet you at the Carson?”
“No. I’ll come there.”
“For God’s sake, hurry it up. You’re sober, aren’t you?”
“Of course.” She hung up.
They never made any sense, I thought. Wandering around
in bars at one in the morning with $92,000 in cash. I got up
and began pacing up and down the room. I’d have gone
crazy trying to sit still. I thought of all I had gone through
for that money. It seemed like a lifetime since that
afternoon Purvis had walked up to me in the lobby of the
hotel in Galveston. And now in a few minutes I’d get my
hands on it at last. She had it. She was bringing it here. I lit
a cigarette, took two puffs on it, and crushed it out. It
suddenly occurred to me I hadn’t eaten anything in over two
days. Who cared? I wanted to sing, or shout, or climb up the
walls.
There was a light tap on the door. I sprang forward to
open it.
The Big Bite — 178
She was very smooth looking in a light skirt and strawcolored
blouse with a bunch of violets pinned to one
shoulder. She was carrying the briefcase and her purse, and
she had a folded newspaper under her arm.
“Come in,” I said. “Come in.”
I closed the door and started to reach for the briefcase.
She tossed it carelessly on the bed and sat down in the
armchair near the desk and telephone stand. I forgot her. I
sat down on the bed and sliced open the zipper of the
briefcase. My hands shook a little. God, it was wonderful. It
was in bundles, tied with paper bands with the
denomination stamped on them. I let them fall out on the
bed. They fell in little stacks.
“Quite an interesting sight,” she said.
I turned. She wasn’t looking at the money. The brown
eyes were on my face with a cool and faintly mocking
expression in them.
“You’re satisfied now?” she asked.
“Sure, sure,” I said.
She reached out a hand and knocked cigarette ash into a
tray. The sleeves of the straw-colored blouse were long and
full, tapering in closely at her wrists. “Everything is all
right? The roulette wheel has stopped at last, and you’ve
won? You’re happy?”
“What do you think?” I said. “This is what I started out to
get, and I got it.”
“You’re a success story. You are to be congratulated, Mr.
Harlan. I assume you have carried out your end of the
bargain?”
“Sure,” I said.
“You are a man of honor. Knowing you has been one of
the high points of my life.”
“Write me about it,” I said. “Every other Christmas.”
“Sure, sure. Call me up. I’m in the book. So who has to
like it? So write me about it. So what else is new? Learn the
patter of the insulated and be a real tough guy. It’s easy.”
“Excuse me for living.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot that one.”
I said nothing. She was silent for a moment.
The Big Bite — 179
Then without looking at me, she asked, “I won’t ask any of
the details, but—it was on Galveston Island?”
“Yes,” I said. “Does it matter?”
She shook her head slowly, still looking down at the end
of her cigarette. “I guess not.”
“The tape’s there on the dresser,” I said.
“Thank you.” She looked toward it without interest, and
made no move to pick it up.
“Don’t you want it?”
“Not particularly.”
I stared at her “I don’t get you.”
“It isn’t important, is it? I mean, it has no actual value
except as a hockey puck or a ball has value as long as a
game of some kind is in progress. The game is over, so it is
no longer something to be pursued. And, obviously, you
could have made twenty copies of it by this time.”
“You’re an odd-ball,” I said.
“No doubt. You make a great effort to understand people,
don’t you?”
“Not often.”
“Couldn’t that be a little dangerous, in your profession?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But, listen. Why were you
wandering around in bars with all that money on you? I
thought you’d be at the hotel.”
“Oh. I haven’t been back to the hotel since the morning
papers hit the street.”
I stared at her puzzled. “Why not?”
The paper she had brought in was lying folded in her lap.
She tossed it to me. “Perhaps that will clear it up for you.”
I unfolded it. In the center of the front page a two-column
picture of Julia Cannon hit me right in the eye. SOUGHT,
the caption read.
I stared, feeling cold in the center of my back. There were
two columns of the story. Headlines and subheads sprang
up at me. WIDOW SOUGHT IN. “PERFECT-CRIME”
SLAYING . . . REPORTED IN HOUSTON . . .TIE-UP WITH
PURVIS SLAYING HINTED . . . NEW MYSTERY ADDED . . .
The Big Bite — 180
“A story of five months’ dogged but unpublicized police
work was revealed today in the announcement by the
Lucerne County Sheriff's office that it is believed to be
almost certain now that Howard L. Cannon, Wayles
automobile dealer, was murdered last March instead of
meeting death in an automobile crash as was supposed. The
dead man’s widow, Mrs. Julia Cannon, is being sought for
questioning in connection with the crime, as is Daniel R.
Tallant, Wayles sporting goods dealer. Both are missing. It
is further suspected that Tallant himself may have met with
foul play.
“Both new light and fresh mystery were added to the case
in the past 24 hours with the announcement that Tallant is
wanted for questioning in connection with the death of
Wilton L. Purvis, former insurance investigator of Houston,
who figured prominently in the investigation of the
supposedly accidental death of Cannon last March, and by
the announcement that Tallant has disappeared, following a
mysterious gunshot heard in the vicinity of the Cannon
home last night and that his car was later found parked
near a wooded area some two blocks way.
“Following a search of the Cannon home by police
yesterday, it was announced that definite traces of blood
were found on the floor of the garage—”
That was where I had put him down.
“—and that an empty cartridge case was found in one of
the bedrooms of the house—”
Oh, Jesus, I hadn’t even thought of that.
She was saying something.
“Shut up!” I said. I felt as if my head would fly off. “I’ve
got to see what it says—”
She shook her head. “It’s not really necessary. I can tell
you what it says. It says, quite simply and beautifully, that
the roulette wheel has stopped at last. They have been
working on it for five months, and since Purvis’s death they
have been working with the Houston police. A picture of
Dan has been identified by three people as the man they
saw in the vicinity of Purvis’s apartment house that night.
You see? They don’t stop the wheel; they just let you think
it’s stopped. I tried to tell you that.
The Big Bite — 181
“They know I’m in Houston. The bank has reported I
cashed that check for ninety-two thousand this afternoon.
They think I’m trying to escape, using the money, and every
exit has been blocked off. I shall be picked up in a matter of
hours, if not minutes. If I had stayed in the hotel I would be
in custody now—”
“Shut up!” I fought to keep my voice down. I wanted to
scream at her. “Let me read—”
She shook her head. “You are so obvious. There is no
mention of you anywhere in the story. Apparently nobody
has any idea you have been connected with it at all.”
I sighed weakly. I was all right. I was still free. They’d
been there at the Carson when I called, and all the time the
girl had been stalling me so they could trace it. I shuddered,
thinking of how it would have been if I’d called from here
instead of that pay phone. I was in the clear. They couldn’t
do anything to me because they didn’t even know about me.
Nobody did. Except—
She smiled. “Nobody except me, Mr. Harlan.”
I stared at her.
She shook her head. “You can’t kill me. You are registered
in this room, under your own name. And you might have
some difficulty in getting my body out of. here.”
“Wh—what are you going to do? Why did you come here?”
She took a puff of the cigarette and slowly tapped the ash
into a tray. “I’m not going to do anything. In another half
hour I shall be dead. I told you I have no taste for Roman
carnival.”
“Where-?”
“Not here. Obviously, that would be in very bad taste
because it would embarrass you. I shall check in at some
other hotel, under another name. By the time my
description registers, I shall be beyond their reach.
Naturally, I had the prescription refilled before I left town
yesterday.”
I shook my head helplessly. “I don’t dig you.”
“Is that surprising? You never make any effort to
understand anybody. You never even listen. And I’ve told
you it could be dangerous in a profession such as yours.”
The Big Bite — 182
I leaned forward. “Look. You mean you’re going to walk
out of here, and say nothing to anybody? And you’ll be dead
when they find you?”
“Precisely.”
“How about the room clerk? Did you ask him the number
of this room?”
She shook her head. “He gave it to me when I called you
from the bar. I didn’t stop at the desk on the way up, and he
barely glanced at me. He probably thinks I’m a call girl
somebody ordered.”
I went on staring at her. “It throws me. What did you
come here for?”
“Why, to say good-by. And to give you that money.”
She would never make sense to me. “Why? I—I mean, why
the money?”
Her eyebrows raised. “I promised it to you, didn’t I?” And
what else could I do with it? I had already cashed the check
before I learned I was trapped with no further place to run,”
I shook my head. It was unbelievable. But there it was. I
had the money, and as soon as she walked out of this hotel I
was free to run and nobody would even be looking for me.
“As a matter of fact,” she said, “I offered part of it to an
old friend of mine tonight, but she didn’t want it. She
doesn’t expect to live much longer, and she said it was of no
value to her. Another odd-ball, no doubt. So what remained
but to bring it to you?”
I sighed, feeling weak all over. “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks a
million.”
“Not at all, Mr. Harlan.” She smiled, and stirred as if to
get up. “You are entirely welcome. I thought you would
appreciate it.”
The Big Bite — 183
19
I looked at my watch. I could probably catch one of the
early flights to the Coast. “Well, I won’t keep you. And
hadn’t you better shove right along? You wouldn’t want to
stooge around too long and let them pick you up.”
She smiled again. “And certainly not in your room? I was
wondering if you would actually say that.”
“So I’ve said it.”
“The so beautifully consistent Mr. Harlan.” She gathered
up her purse. “But there was one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“The good-by,” she said quietly.
“All right. So good-by.”
She studied me thoughtfully. “The farewell carries a
legacy with it.”
“What?”
“I wanted to leave you something.”
Without thinking, I glanced around at the money piled on
the bed.
She shook her, head. “Not that. That’s yours, free and
clear, to enjoy as you wish. You might even say you earned
it; at least you worked hard enough for it. No. The legacy is
something else entirely.”
The Big Bite — 184
She still had the purse in her hands. I lunged forward and
grabbed it. I opened it and looked inside.
She smiled. “There is no weapon in it. Unless a bottle of
capsules is a weapon.”
I shook my head. She reached out and retrieved the
purse.
I began to get it then. She had blown her stack
completely. She was crazy.
“So what is this big deal you’re going to leave me?” I
asked. Maybe I’d better humor her so she’d shove before
the cops found her here.
“It’s quite simple, Mr. Harlan,” she said. “What I am going
to bequeath to you is an emotion.”
I was right. She had flipped.
“You lead a very barren life, insulated as you are against
everything. I have just done what I could to rectify that, by
arranging for you to have one with you rather consistently
in the future, the only emotion—besides greed—that I
believe you are capable of feeling. Fear.”
“What?”
She leaned back in her chair. “I’m not very fond of you,
Mr. Harlan. That may have escaped your attention up to this
time, since hypersensitivity to the feelings of others is not a
weakness of yours, but I assure you it is quite true. But I
have studied you. And one of the things I found intriguing
was your predilection for the letter-to-be-opened-after-mydeath
sort of threat you like to hold over people. So I
thought you might appreciate this thing I have arranged for
you.”
“What in hell are you talking about?”
She stood up and crushed out her cigarette. “I have a
friend here in town who is a very old woman in very ill
health. She is the one I just spoke of as refusing the money
because she doesn’t expect to live much longer, She used to
be one of my teachers years ago. I am quite fond of her, and
I am glad to be able to say that for some perverse reason
she likes me. Like a great many very old women she has
grown to be unimpressed by lots of things and she has a
somewhat irreverent sense of humor. She also happens to
have a notary’s commission.
The Big Bite — 185
“I spent about two hours out at her home today, after the
morning papers came out. I wrote out a rather full account
of all this thing, particularly in reference to your
participation in it, and signed it in her presence. She put
her seal on it. She doesn’t know what is in the document,
but she witnessed the signature. It has been sealed, and will
be placed in her lawyer’s safe, to be opened when she dies.
That may be next month, next year, or three years from now
—”
I stared at her. I couldn’t even open my mouth to speak.
“There is no statute of limitations on murder, Mr. Harlan,”
she went on. “You are guilty of withholding evidence of two
murders, and of being not only an accessory but an active
participant in a third.”
I finally got my mouth open. Nothing came out.
She turned and started toward the door. Then she paused
with her hand on the knob.
“Of course, I could have merely had it notarized and then
left it beside me tonight so the police would find it in the
morning, but that seemed to me to lack finesse. That way,
you wouldn’t have time to enjoy your wealth, or to savor
your emotion to its fullest. Emotion can grow, you see. Or at
least, that particular one can. The passage of time and the
night-and-day uncertainty somehow mature it and give it a
certain poignant quality I am sure you will appreciate.”
I grabbed her arm. “You can’t do it! No—”
She smiled and opened the door. Gently disengaging her
arm, she said, “Good night, Mr. Harlan. And think of me
from time to time, will you?”
She lifted her hand in a little gesture of farewell and went
down the hall toward the stairs. I leaned against the door
and watched her. It was an erect and unhurried walk, as if
she didn’t have a care in the world.
I went back inside and closed the door. A month ... a
year ... three years.... I sat down on the bed. It was lumpy
and uncomfortable. I looked around and saw I was sitting on
the pile of money. I pushed it off onto the floor. I’d never
know. The first inkling I’d ever have of it was when, they
came knocking on the door to pick me up. Run? Run where?
They always found you.
The Big Bite — 186
I tried to light a cigarette. My hands shook so badly I let it
fall to the floor. I didn’t even try to pick it up. I went on
staring at the wall.
That was the horrible part of it.
I’d never know when—
Mr. Harlan?
A Mr. John Harlan. He live here?
A fat man, a thin man, a man with one gold tooth, a tall
man, a man with tufts of hair in his ears, a smiling man, a
man with one drooping eyelid—
A man with a Panama hat pushed back on his head, a man
with a cigar in his mouth—
A man with spring sunlight in his face, a man wearing a
raincoat against the November rain—
Mr. Harlan?
Is this Mr. Joseph N. Carraday, whose real name is John
Harlan?
A man sweating in the Florida sun, a man with Chicago
snow on the shoulders of his overcoat—
He looks at you through the narrow opening of the
doorway.
Mr. Harlan?
I’ve come to read the water meter. To collect for the
Times-Picayune-Mirror-Sun-Post-Dispatch-Examiner-Herald-
Tribune. To sell you an aluminum pot. To tell you about our
new hospitalization plan.
To arrest you for murder.
No!
I lunged to my feet. It was here. Here in this city. Look.
All I had to do was find her so I could get it away from her
and destroy it. Hell, finding her would be easy. She was a
Notary Public. She was an old woman. She was ill. How
many old-women-ill-Notaries-Public were there in a city of
maybe less than a million?
I grabbed up the telephone directory and flipped wildly
through the yellow pages.
Naturopathic Physicians . . . Newspaper Dealers . . . Night
Clubs ...
The Big Bite — 187
Notaries Public . . .
Column after column of Notaries Public.
Most of them weren’t even listed by name. They were
listed by the places they worked: insurance agencies,
attorneys’ offices, banks, real estate offices.
I was shaking. I stared at the yellow columns. Hell, I could
do it. Hire private detectives. That was it. Look. I had lots of
money. Hire all the private detectives in town. They’d find
her. They’d find her before—
Before what?
Why, before she died, of course.
And so what was I going to find her for? To kill her? If she
wouldn’t tell me where the statement was, I’d have to
threaten to kill her to make her talk, and if I killed her they
would get me just that much quicker—
And she didn’t have it, anyway. Her attorney had it.
So I had to find her, and then find out who her attorney
was. And if she wouldn’t tell me who her attorney was, I had
to threaten to kill her to make her talk, and if I killed her—
How many attorneys were there in a city of maybe less
than a million? The yellow pages flew by in a blur.
Attorneys. (See Lawyers.)
Lapidaries . . . Lawn Mowers . . . Lawn Mowers, Rental. . .
Lawyers.
I stared. Page after page of lawyers.. Entire races of
lawyers. A torrent of lawyers, a waterfall of lawyers, a
whole river of lawyers overflowing from the bottomless
springs of a thousand law schools and spreading across the
pages faster than I could turn them. I put my head down in
my hands.
No. Don’t go to pieces. You can do it. You’ve got money.
Look at all the money you’ve got. Hire detectives. Find her.
Find her lawyer. Find her lawyer’s safe. Open the safe.
How? Hire somebody to open the safe. A safe-cracker.
Safe-crackers . . .
Saddlery . . . Safe Depositories . . . Safes . . . Safety
Equipment. . . Scales. . . What?
Get hold of yourself. Look, it doesn’t mean anything.
The Big Bite — 188
It was just a momentary aberration. You’d been looking
for all those other things in the yellow pages, so naturally—
I sat down then, and picked up the cigarette. It was all
right. It’s just a problem, see. Find her, find the attorney—
lawyer, that is—get somebody to open the safe. She’ll live
that long. Sure she will.
Hell, it’s nothing, compared to what they were up against.
Suddenly, I thought of Tallant. He was dead. And by now
she was probably dropping off to sleep, for the last time.
The roulette wheel had stopped for them and they were at
peace. They were resting.
And why shouldn’t they be? They had got up and given me
their seats in front of the wheel.
No, by God, I thought. I’ll beat ‘em. I’ll show ‘em. All I
have to do is find her, and then find the lawyer— But first
I’d better get out of here. This place wasn’t safe any more.
Maybe the clerk had recognized her. Maybe he had called
the police. That was it; pack up and move somewhere else,
and then I would be able to think.
Hurry.
The Big Bite — 189