Talk of The Town by Charles Williams(1)

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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.”