Man on The Run by Charles Williams(10)

Fourteen
I opened my eyes. I was lying on a hospital bed in a
small white-painted room. It was daylight. Across
from me a uniformed policeman was seated in a
chair tilted back against the wall, reading a paper.
He glanced up and saw I was awake.
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Eleven-thirty,” he said. He went to the door and
spoke to someone just outside it. I couldn’t hear
what he said. He came back and sat down again. I
moved my arms and legs, and everything seemed
to work except that I was sore and stiff and my side
hurt. I felt the right side of my face. It was painful.
I thought of Suzy. They might know what had
happened to her, but I couldn’t even ask. There
was a chance she was still all right, and if I even
mentioned her name it would implicate her. They
knew somebody had been helping me.
“Can I make a telephone call?” I asked the
uniformed man.

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(9)

It was Pier Five. I could see the pool of light at
the entrance to the shed, and the watchman
leaning back in a chair reading a magazine in front
of his little office just inside the doorway. There
was no way to get on or off the pier without going
past him, but they didn’t require a pass on most of
them. I searched the street in both directions and
was about to hop down from between the cars
when I saw a police car coming from the right. It
stopped at the watchman’s office of the boat repair
yard that was the next pier beyond Five. The men
in it were talking to the watchman. Then it came on
up to Pier Five. They called the watchman out and
talked to him. I began to catch on. They were
looking for me, probably, and giving my description
to the watchmen at all the piers. They passed the
next one, which was not in use, and went on to Pier
Seven where they did the same thing.
It could be something else, of course, but I
couldn’t take a chance on it. I had to stop and tell
the watchman what I wanted and what boat I
wanted to board, and if he had my description the
police would be there before I could even get to the
outer end. I cursed wearily. Now what?
I’d never find a way to do it from here. I went
back to the left for another fifty yards to where the
watchman couldn’t see me crossing the street, and
hurried over when there were no cars in sight. I
stood in the shadows in front of Pier Six and stared
across the slip. Pier Five ran out for some twohundred
feet, with a long T-head at the outer end.

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(8)

The dresser held not a scrap of paper of any kind.
I even felt under the bottoms of the drawers the
way they did in movies. Letters, letters—now where
the hell would she keep old letters? I straightened
and started to turn, looking futilely around the
room. My gaze stopped suddenly and backed up
and I gasped, feeling my scalp tingle.
The door of the bathroom was partly open, and
from this side of the room I could see in past the
edge of it. The light was poor, but there was no
doubt that what I saw was the sloping end of. an
old-fashioned bathtub, and hanging inertly from the
edge of it a slender and very shapely leg. I reached
the door in two strides, pushed it open, and
snapped on the light. When I looked down into the
tub I had to fight to keep from being sick.
She was lying on her back with her eyes open,
staring up at me through about six inches of water
with the long black hair floating around her face.
Her head was almost under the spigots, one of
which was dripping intermittently and shattering
Man on The Run — 122

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(7)

“Go ahead. But when you get through I want you
to listen to me for a minute. Okay?”
“Right,” I said. I told him about trying to follow
Frances Celaya home and what had happened. “So
she saw me in Stedman’s apartment that night,” I
finished. “That’s the only way in the world she
could have recognized me. She knew I was after
her, and she tried to kill me.”
“But did you see her in the apartment?”
“No. I didn’t see anybody. Except Stedman.”
“Then what put you on her trail?”
”I can’t tell you that,” I said. “It involves a friend
of mine.”
“Your story doesn’t make any sense.”
“I know it doesn’t. I’m just telling you what
happened. I don’t know anything about her at all,
or why she’d want to kill Stedman. I can’t tell you
who that big goon is, or even what he looks like,
because it was too dark. But I’m pretty sure he’s a
seaman or used to be one.”
“Why?”
“When he was telling the girl to watch me, he
said if I came around, to sing out. Sing out is a
seagoing expression, and one of the few that
sailors ever use ashore. And that thing I hit him
with was a fid.”
“What’s a fid?”
“It’s a heavy wooden spike, pointed at one end
and rounded on the other, and it’s used in splicing
line. So he might be working ashore as a rigger, or
on small boats of some kind.”
“All right,” he said brusquely. “Now I want to
give you some advice, Foley. I don’t think you
realize the dangerous spot you’re in, so let me spell
it out for you. It’s probably the luck of the stupid
Irish, but you’ve been fouling up the police force of
a whole city for a week. There are several hundred

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(6)

She boarded a Montlake bus, the number seven
line. Two more passengers got on after her, and
then I climbed aboard. She had found a seat and
opened the magazine and didn’t look up as I went
past. I went on to the rear and sat down.
I opened the paper and pretended to read,
keeping my face down. The bus turned north along
a heavily traveled arterial. We passed a district of
apartment houses. Several passengers got off. She
went on reading. After awhile the bus swung off
onto quieter streets and we went past a large
housing development. At every stop one or two
passengers debarked. Soon there were only five of
us left. I wondered why she lived so far out; we
must be miles from downtown. Then she put the
magazine away and started watching the stops.
“Stevens,” the driver called out. She gathered up
her things and came back to the rear door. The bus
stopped and she got down. The door closed, but
just before we got under way again I glanced up
suddenly from my paper and asked, “This
Stevens?”
“That’s right,” the driver said. I grabbed the
briefcase and got off. The bus went on. I took out a
cigarette and stood momentarily on the corner as I
lighted it. It was a run-down district of older frame
houses. Diagonally across the intersection a service
station was a glaring oasis of light, but there were
few cars on the street. She crossed the intersection
and turned right opposite the service station, going
up the sidewalk under the trees on the far side. As
Man on The Run — 87

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(5)

inside when she heard Mrs. Purcell scream and
then run out of the house.
“The police were there within minutes. Purcell
was slumped over his desk in the living room, shot
through the temple with his own thirty-eight. The
shoulder holster was where he always left it when
he came home, hanging on a hook in the hall
closet. The gun was lying on the rug beside his
chair. They could get only partial prints off it, but
they were all his. There was no sign of a struggle at
all, and nothing to indicate anybody else had been
there. The gate to the backyard was locked, and
nobody in the block had seen anyone come or go
from the front of the house. It couldn’t have been
an accident, because all his gun-cleaning
equipment was put away in the kitchen. There was
no note, but on the desk just under his face was a
single sheet of white paper and a ballpoint pen, as
if he’d started to write one and then changed his
mind.”
It was baffling. “What do you think?” I asked.
“That he was murdered.”
“Why?”

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(4)

”Shove it, you shanty-Irish pig,” I said, and
dropped the phone, receiver and all, into the sink.
The broken end of the cord still dangled over the
edge. It didn’t look neat at all so I coiled it very
carefully, and shoved it down into the water along
with the rest of the instrument. I turned and
walked out without looking back.
Sleet pattered on my hat brim and tapped on my
face. I broke into a run, and just before I turned the
corner I looked over my shoulder. The bartender
and one of the men were standing in the doorway
to see which way I went. By the time I’d run
another block I heard the sirens.
I went on, feeling my feet lift and swing and
pound against the concrete until every breath was
agony. I turned and turned again and lost all sense
of direction. I saw headlights approaching down an
intersecting street. The car started to turn toward
me, and just before the headlights swept over me I
dived sideways into an oleander hedge. I fell
through it, and lay in a puddle of water with the
sleet tapping restfully on my hat and the side of my
face. My arm was against something metallic and
uncomfortable. I reached over and felt it with my
other hand. It was a lawn sprinkler. I thought
drowsily it would be a shame if they turned it on.
More cars went up the street, swinging
spotlights.

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(3)

I tried to guess where she was taking me, and
why, but gave up. She’d said back to Sanport, and
if I’d guessed all the turns correctly, that was the
direction we were headed now, but what part of
town she meant and what she was up to were a
complete mystery. I tried to guess what time it
was, and thought it must be after six. It was
probably dark outside, judging from the
impenetrable blackness here in the trunk. I could
move a little, and there seemed to be plenty of air.
I listened to the high whine of tires on wet
pavement and hoped she was a good driver. Locked
in the trunk of a flaming wreck would be a horrible
way to die. Then I wondered if I didn’t have enough
to worry about now, without borrowing more.
Man on The Run — 35
After what could have been anywhere from half
an hour to an hour she slowed and made another
turn. The sounds changed. There weren’t nearly as
many cars hurtling past in the other direction. They
dwindled until we seemed to be almost alone on
the road, and then the road itself was different.

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(2)

Man on The Run — 16
She’d probably been hit by that door when it
slammed shut. Then I remembered the way she’d
weaved as she got back in the car the first time,
and bent down to sniff her breath. At least part of
Suzy Patton’s trouble—if this was Suzy Patton—
was that she was crocked to the teeth. I didn’t
know how carbon monoxide and alcohol mixed in
the human system, but I had a hunch she was
going to be a very sick girl in a few minutes. I
slipped off the high-heeled sling pumps and kicked
open the bathroom door. She began to retch. I halfled
and half-carried her and held her up. When she
was through being sick, I wet a wash cloth at the
basin and bathed her face while she leaned weakly
against the bathroom wall with her eyes closed.
She didn’t open them until she was back on the
bed. She took one look at me and said, “Oh, good
God!” and closed them again. She made a feeble
attempt to pull her skirt down. I straightened it for
her, and she lay still. I went out in the living room
and lighted a cigarette. I could handle her all right,
but if the police came by again and noticed those
garage doors were unlocked, I was dead. I looked
at my watch. It would be at least three more hours
before it was dark.
I stood in the doorway and looked at her. She
was a big girl and a striking one, with blonde hair
almost as white as cotton. Close to five-nine, I
thought. Probably thirty to thirty-three years old.

Man on The Run by Charles Williams(1)

One
Couplings banged together up ahead. We were
slowing. I stood up in the swaying gondola and
looked forward along the right side of the train.
Pinpoints of light showed wetly in the distance. We
continued to lose speed.
Then just before we reached the station, the
block changed from red to green, the drawbars
jerked, and the beat of the wheels began to climb. I
cursed. I had to get off and it had to be now;
daybreak couldn’t be far away. I went over the
right side, groping for the ladder. When I had a
foot on the last rung I leaned out and jumped,
pumping my legs. I landed awkwardly, fell, and
rolled.
When I stopped I was lying face down in the mud.
I raised my head and turned a little so I could
breathe, and rested, wondering if I had broken
anything. Wheels and trucks roared past, and then
the train was gone. I sat up. My legs and arms
seemed to be all right. Less than a hundred yards
away, on the other side of the track, was the
station, a darker shadow in the night with a single
cone of light at this end illuminating the sign.