Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(1)

1
It wasn't a very large town. The highway came into it from
the west across a bridge spanning a slow-moving and muddy
river with an unpronounceable Indian name, and then ran
straight through the central business district for four or five
blocks down a wide street with angle parking and four
traffic lights at successive intersections. I was just pulling
away from the last light, going about twenty miles per hour
in the right-hand lane, when some local in a beat-up old
panel truck decided to come shooting backwards out of his
parking place without looking behind him.
There was another car on my left, so all I could do was to
slam on my brakes just before I plowed into him. There was
a crash of metal followed by a succession of tinkling sounds
as fragments of grill-work and shards of glass rained onto
the pavement. Necks craned up and down the sun-blasted
street.
I locked the handbrake and got out, and shook my head
with disgust as I sized up the damage. The front bumper was
knocked loose at one end, and the right fender and smashed
headlight were crumpled in on the wheel. But the worst of it
was the spout of hot water streaming out through the
wreckage of the grill.

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(10)

“Listen, Frankie,” she said hurriedly. “Pearl just called
from town, and he’s on his way out here now. He said he
tried to get you, but you didn’t answer—”
“He hung up before I could get to the phone,” Frankie
grumbled. “What is it?”
I don’t know, except something’s gone wrong. All he said
was he was leaving right then and for me to call you and
keep calling till I got you, if I had to try every place in town.
Don’t tell anybody, not even your wife, but just get out here
as fast as you can.”
“I’ll be right there,” Frankie said. He hung up.
I replaced the instrument and looked at my watch. It was
12:47. We were cutting it dangerously fine. She’d said Pearl
sometimes came home as early as one. It would take Frankie
a couple of minutes to dress, and then Calhoun would wait
two or three more. It was very still in the room. I was hot in
the flannel jacket. Sweat ran down my face. My hands were
so stiff now I could hardly close them.
“How long have you been living with Pearl?” I asked
Trudy.
“Three or four months,” she said defiantly. Then she
started to whine again. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with
anything. I came here from Tampa.”
“When did T.J. show up?”
“About the same time. He was in a cuttin’ scrape up in
Georgia.”

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(9)

“Well, I’ll see you,” I said, and started to turn away.
“Anything I can do for you?” he asked. “Run you in to a
doc if you haven’t got a car.”
”I’m all right, thanks. I’ve just got to find Mrs. Langston.”
And get out of sight within the next five or ten minutes, I
thought, if I wanted to see tomorrow’s sunrise. I went out
the door, and looked across the road. Her station wagon was
parked in front of the office. Nothing surprised me any
more. I broke into a run, and was almost hit by a car. The
driver called me something unprintable and sped on. I ran
into the lobby and could hear her moving around in the
living-room. She turned as I shoved through the curtains.
She was still dressed exactly as she had been at dinner, and
Talk of The Town— 172
as far as I could see she was unharmed. She looked at my
face and gasped, and then, is if we’d been rehearsing it for a
week, she was in my arms.
“I’ve been so worried,” she said. “I’ve been looking
everywhere for you. Bill, what happened?”
“No time now,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here. Fast.”
She grasped the urgency in my voice and asked no
questions. Running into the bedroom, she came out with her
purse and a pair of flat shoes. We hurried out. She locked
the front door. It occurred to me the back one was probably
broken open, but it didn’t seem very important.

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(8)

Studying him now at close range, I decided he’d probably
also fooled about as many people who had thought he was
stupid as had thought he was fat. He was a hick, a townclown,
if you weren’t careful where you looked. He wore a
farmer’s straw hat, suede shoes, and the pair of wide braces
holding up the khaki trousers could have been props in a
vaudeville skit. The eyes under the shaggy brows, however,
were a piercing and frosty blue.
We sat down. He leaned back in the leather chair with his
beer. “So you came back to look for him?” he asked “I heard
him make the crack.”
I got out a cigarette and fumbled with the lighter. “He
wasn’t the one I was looking for,” I replied. “But while we’re
on the subject, I saw you give the two of ‘em the roust. How
come?
“Why not?” he asked. “That’s what they pay me for.”
Talk of The Town— 153
“But you think she’s guilty yourself.”
“If I do, I keep my mouth shut. And women don’t get
jockeyed around on the streets of this town while I’m
patrolling it.”
“They could use you in the Sheriff’s office,” I said.
“They’ve got a good man in the Sheriff’s office,” he
replied. “He’s a friend of mine.”

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(7)

“You have,” I said. So she’d left here in February, and
started teaching in Galicia in September. Where was she
and what was she doing for six months?
“I suppose there was some insurance?” I asked.
“Not very much, I’m afraid.” She smiled gently. “Teachers
don’t make a great deal, you know. It seems to me there was
a policy for about five thousand.”
Ten, with a double indemnity clause, I thought. “Would
there be anybody else in town who might know where she
went?” I asked. “Any of his family, perhaps?”
“No,” she said. “He came from Orlando. There are some
Spragues here, but no kin.”
She finished her coffee. I thanked her, and walked back to
the office with her. Apparently I was up against a dead end
now. There was nothing in any of this to link her with
Strader, and I had no lead at all on where she could have
spent that six months. I was in the station wagon and just
turning on the ignition when it hit me. How fat-headed could
you get? I reached for my wallet and snatched out the sheet
of paper on which I’d scribbled the dope Lane had given me.
The dates jibed, all right. Eager now, and very excited, I
strode back into the drugstore and headed for the phone
booth.
I couldn’t pull it on her, because she’d recognize my voice.
But I could start with her. I dialed the business office of the
phone company and asked for Ellen Beasley.
“This is that quiz man again,” I said. “If you’ll answer just
one more for me I’ll quit bothering you.”

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(6)

Assume it was one of the four. Which one? Dunleavy
worked in a filling station just up the road. He would have
been able to see me when I ran over there. Ollie was already
there, naturally. Pearl Talley had come in just after me. That
left only Rupe unaccounted for. Did that make him more or
less likely than the others? He could have been watching
from anywhere around, and remained out of sight.
Wouldn’t that be the natural thing to do, rather than
walking in openly, as Talley had done? Sure, I thought,
except for one thing. As far as my reasoning it out
Talk of The Town— 111
afterwards was concerned, the way they saw it, there was
no sweat at all. Afterwards I was going to be dead.
So it could have been Talley just as well as any of the
others. No, I thought. Not with that mush-mouthed, Georgiaboy
accent of his. Whoever the man was, I’d heard him twice
on the telephone, and while he’d been whispering once and
speaking very softly the other time, some of that houn’-dawg
dialect would have come through if it’d been Talley. That left
three of them.
So now I had two very tenuous threads to follow, both due
to the fact they’d underestimated my life expectancy. They’d
know I had them, and they wouldn’t make the same mistake
again. It was a long time before I got to sleep.
* * *

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(5)

“Ridiculous,” she said. “I’m as healthy as a horse.”
“Sure you are. A horse that hasn’t had a square meal in a
month, or a full night’s rest since last year. You’re going to
stay right where you are and let me handle it.”
“But—”
“No buts. Ever since I landed in this town I’ve been
jockeyed around by some character who thinks I’m on your
side. He’s finally convinced me he’s right.”
The telephone rang out in the office. Josie appeared in the
doorway. “It’s for you,” she said. “A long distance.”
Talk of The Town— 91
8
I went out and took it at the desk. I told the operator we’d
accept the charges, and Lane came on. “Mr. Chatham?”
“Yes. How did you make out?”
“Fairly well. Here’s what I’ve been able to round up since
you called; so far it’s mostly just the stuff anybody would
know who followed the investigation last November.

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(4)

He nodded. “That’s right. Maybe a kind of home-town
hero, in a way. A local boy that made good down there in
that big-wheeling-and-dealing crowd in south Florida, or at
least showed ‘em we could hold our own with ’em. We were
always a little proud of him. He played some mighty good
football at Georgia Tech. He was officer of a submarine that
sank I don’t remember how many thousand tons of Japanese
shipping in World War Two. After the war he went into the
construction business in Miami—low-cost housing. Made a
lot of money. They say he was worth pretty close to a million
at one time. But the thing was he never seemed to lose
touch like so many kids do when they go away and get
successful. Even after his daddy died—he used to be
principal of the high school—after he died and there weren’t
any Langstons left around here at all, he used to come back
and go duck-hunting and fishing and visit with people.”
“But what happened?” I asked. “Why did he retire and buy
a motel? He was only forty-seven, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right. He got hit by several things all at once.
There was a bad divorce, with a big property settlement—”
“Oh,” I said. “Then how long had he and the second Mrs.
Langston been married when he was killed?”
Talk of The Town— 69
“A little less than a year, I guess. Four or five months
before they came up here and bought the motel.”
“What were the other things?” I asked.

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(3)

You asked for a cop and they sent you a comic-opera
clown like this. I choked down a sarcastic remark that
wouldn’t have helped the situation a great deal, and was just
about to ask him where he wanted to start when he
shrugged and said, “Well, that’s about it, huh?” He turned
and went out.
I stared at his back in disbelief, but followed him. I caught
up with him on the porch. “What do you mean, that’s it?”
He favored me with an indifferent glance and hitched up
his gunbelt again. “I’ve seen it, haven’t I? I’ll make a report
on it, but we haven’t got much to go on.”
“How about checking this place for prints?” I asked. “Or
don’t you want to? And how about the registration card he
made out? And if you thought it wouldn’t bore you too much,
I can give you a description of him. And the car. Any of that
interest you? And what about those jugs in there?”
“Well, what about the jugs? They had acid in ‘em. So I
know that already.”

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(2)

Talk of The Town— 24
“You seem to be pretty interested, for it to be none of your
put-in.”
“I’m just studying the native customs,” I said. “Where I
grew up, people accused of murder were tried in court, not
in barrooms.”
“You’re new around here?”
“I’m even luckier than that,” I said. “I’m just passing
through.”
“How come you’re riding a taxi? Just to pump Jake?”
I was suddenly fed up with him. “Shove it,” I said.
His eyes filled with quick malice and he made as if to get
off the stool. The bartender glanced at him and he settled
back. His friend, a much bigger man, studied me with dislike
in his eyes, apparently trying to make up his mind whether
to buy a piece of it or not. Nothing happened, and in a
moment it was past.
I fished a dime from my pocket and went back to the
telephone. The dark girl and the man in the cowboy hat had
apparently been paying little attention to us. The girl
glanced up now as I went past. I had an impression she was
scarcely eighteen, but she looked as if she’d spent twice that
long in a furious and dedicated flight from any form of
innocence. Her left leg was stretched out under the edge of
the table with her skirt hiked up, and the man was grinning
slyly as he wrote something on her naked thigh with her
lipstick. She met my eyes and shrugged.

Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(1)

1
It wasn't a very large town. The highway came into it from
the west across a bridge spanning a slow-moving and muddy
river with an unpronounceable Indian name, and then ran
straight through the central business district for four or five
blocks down a wide street with angle parking and four
traffic lights at successive intersections. I was just pulling
away from the last light, going about twenty miles per hour
in the right-hand lane, when some local in a beat-up old
panel truck decided to come shooting backwards out of his
parking place without looking behind him.
There was another car on my left, so all I could do was to
slam on my brakes just before I plowed into him. There was
a crash of metal followed by a succession of tinkling sounds
as fragments of grill-work and shards of glass rained onto
the pavement. Necks craned up and down the sun-blasted
street.
I locked the handbrake and got out, and shook my head
with disgust as I sized up the damage. The front bumper was
knocked loose at one end, and the right fender and smashed
headlight were crumpled in on the wheel. But the worst of it
was the spout of hot water streaming out through the
wreckage of the grill.