Rocking from side to side.
“It won’t lift us, Red. Honest to Gawd, it won’t.” “I know,” I said. “You want I should dump him out?” “I guess not. He looks awfully sick.” “What the hell do you want?” “I don’t know.”
The door of the plane opened, a long time later it opened, and there was a big crowd out there. And Sheriff Nick Nickerson reached inside and took the gun out of my hands. “Come on now, boy,” he said. “You just come along now an’ we’ll see about this.” So I got out, and it was all over. All over except for the trial, with a court-appointed lawyer and Judge Lipscomb Lacy presiding.
…I’d never been ashamed of that. I was not ashamed now. Of that.
The garage manager glanced at my requisition card, and turned me over to a young Negro in overalls. He led me back to the rear, past the motorcycles and the black-and-white trooper cars.
“Yes, sir,” he said, stopping. “What kind o’ car you like, now?”
“I can have any one I want?” I asked.
“We-ell. Don’t believe I’d take none of them big babies. That’s a mightly nice little coupe right there. No one’s got no call on that.”
It was practically new, and a plain unadorned black. Only the license plates identified it as a state car.
“It’ll do,” I said. “What time do I bring it back in?”
“You live here in town, sir?”
“Yes, I do,” I said.
“Well, most of the gen’lemen that lives in town jus’ keeps their cars.”
“That sounds like a pretty good arrangement,” I said.
“Yes, sir,” he grinned. “Hardly no one ever kicks on it.”
I gave him a dollar tip, put my papers up in back of the seat and drove out.
11
M adeline Flournoy’s apartment was on the second floor of a two-story brick building in a semi-residential district. A furniture store occupied the first floor. The upstairs entrance was on a side street, and there were no windows on that side. The blank wall of a warehouse rose on the other side of the street.
There was a door at the head of the stairs and another a few steps up the hallway. I hesitated, then remembered the single mail slot downstairs: both doors were hers. I knocked on the first one.
It opened almost immediately.
“Riding or walking?” She didn’t seem surprised to see me. “Where did you park your car?”
“Down the street two blocks on a lot.”
“Come on in.”
She was wearing a pair of shorts, very short, and a gray wool sweat shirt. Her feet and legs were bare. The long curl of her hair was pulled up on top of her head and fastened with a single pin. The crisp brown end of it stuck out even with her forehead like a little brush.
“Now don’t look in there,” she said, nodding the brush. And of course I did look in there, into the bedroom with its rumpled bed. “I just got up.”
“That Doc,” she yawned. “Nothing’s too hard for him as long as someone else has to do it.”
“Up pretty late?” I said.
“Mmm. Come on. I need coffee!”
“Perhaps I should tell you,” I said. “Doc warned me I wasn’t to see you.”
“Pooey on Doc,” she said. “Trust him to order people around. Who the hell is he to tell us what to do?”
“Well,” I said. “He’s in a pretty good position to tell me what to do.”
“Yeah?” She looked at me blankly. “Well, he won’t know about it. No one ever comes around here during the day. But no one.”
She gave my arm an impatient tug, and I went with her.
There was an areaway to our right almost wholly blocked by a worn plush lounge. She closed the connecting door into the living room, pushed me down on the lounge, and, squeezing past my knees, went into the kitchen.
She came back with two cups of coffee and gave me one. Then she sat down or rather stood on her knees facing me.
“You’d better put your legs up, too,” she said. “There’s hardly room for them that way.”
“This is all right,” I said.
“What you squirming for?” She crinkled her eyes. “Have
“It won’t lift us, Red. Honest to Gawd, it won’t.” “I know,” I said. “You want I should dump him out?” “I guess not. He looks awfully sick.” “What the hell do you want?” “I don’t know.”
The door of the plane opened, a long time later it opened, and there was a big crowd out there. And Sheriff Nick Nickerson reached inside and took the gun out of my hands. “Come on now, boy,” he said. “You just come along now an’ we’ll see about this.” So I got out, and it was all over. All over except for the trial, with a court-appointed lawyer and Judge Lipscomb Lacy presiding.
…I’d never been ashamed of that. I was not ashamed now. Of that.
The garage manager glanced at my requisition card, and turned me over to a young Negro in overalls. He led me back to the rear, past the motorcycles and the black-and-white trooper cars.
“Yes, sir,” he said, stopping. “What kind o’ car you like, now?”
“I can have any one I want?” I asked.
“We-ell. Don’t believe I’d take none of them big babies. That’s a mightly nice little coupe right there. No one’s got no call on that.”
It was practically new, and a plain unadorned black. Only the license plates identified it as a state car.
“It’ll do,” I said. “What time do I bring it back in?”
“You live here in town, sir?”
“Yes, I do,” I said.
“Well, most of the gen’lemen that lives in town jus’ keeps their cars.”
“That sounds like a pretty good arrangement,” I said.
“Yes, sir,” he grinned. “Hardly no one ever kicks on it.”
I gave him a dollar tip, put my papers up in back of the seat and drove out.
11
M adeline Flournoy’s apartment was on the second floor of a two-story brick building in a semi-residential district. A furniture store occupied the first floor. The upstairs entrance was on a side street, and there were no windows on that side. The blank wall of a warehouse rose on the other side of the street.
There was a door at the head of the stairs and another a few steps up the hallway. I hesitated, then remembered the single mail slot downstairs: both doors were hers. I knocked on the first one.
It opened almost immediately.
“Riding or walking?” She didn’t seem surprised to see me. “Where did you park your car?”
“Down the street two blocks on a lot.”
“Come on in.”
She was wearing a pair of shorts, very short, and a gray wool sweat shirt. Her feet and legs were bare. The long curl of her hair was pulled up on top of her head and fastened with a single pin. The crisp brown end of it stuck out even with her forehead like a little brush.
“Now don’t look in there,” she said, nodding the brush. And of course I did look in there, into the bedroom with its rumpled bed. “I just got up.”
“That Doc,” she yawned. “Nothing’s too hard for him as long as someone else has to do it.”
“Up pretty late?” I said.
“Mmm. Come on. I need coffee!”
“Perhaps I should tell you,” I said. “Doc warned me I wasn’t to see you.”
“Pooey on Doc,” she said. “Trust him to order people around. Who the hell is he to tell us what to do?”
“Well,” I said. “He’s in a pretty good position to tell me what to do.”
“Yeah?” She looked at me blankly. “Well, he won’t know about it. No one ever comes around here during the day. But no one.”
She gave my arm an impatient tug, and I went with her.
There was an areaway to our right almost wholly blocked by a worn plush lounge. She closed the connecting door into the living room, pushed me down on the lounge, and, squeezing past my knees, went into the kitchen.
She came back with two cups of coffee and gave me one. Then she sat down or rather stood on her knees facing me.
“You’d better put your legs up, too,” she said. “There’s hardly room for them that way.”
“This is all right,” I said.
“What you squirming for?” She crinkled her eyes. “Have
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