He stood up and leaned against the back of the booth, stared a long minute at Jake and the driver.
The driver looked up from his plate, said: “Ain’t we goin’ on to San Berdoo?”
Kells didn’t show that he had heard. His eyes were blank, empty. He spoke sidewise to Borg: “I’m going back into town and find out what it’s all about.”
Granquist stood up swiftly. Her eyes were very bright and her face was set and determined. She said: “So am I.”
Kells bent his head a little to one side. “You’re going to stay here — and Fat is going to stay here. If I don’t make out, I’ll get a steer to you over the radio — or some way.” He moved his eyes to Borg. “You snag a car and take her to Las Vegas or some station on the UP where you can get a train.”
Borg nodded.
“I’m going to find out what happened to the immunity we were promised by Beery’s pal, the captain,” Kells went on. “He’s supposed to have the chief of police in his pocket — and the DA is his brother-in-law.” He poured a drink. “Now he puts the screws on us for knocking over Crotti. Public Enemy Number One.” He drank, smiled without mirth. “God! That’s a laugh.”
Kells glanced at Granquist, moved his head and shoulders slightly, turned and went out into the kitchen. She followed him. He was half sitting on a big table and she went to him and put one arm around his shoulders, one hand on his chest. She moved her head close to his.
He spoke very quietly, almost whispered: “I’ve got to go by myself, baby. It’s taking enough of a chance being spotted that way — it’d be a cinch if we were together.”
“Can’t we wait here till it cools off, or take a chance on getting away now?” Her eyes were hot and dry; her voice trembled a little.
Kells said: “No. That’d mean getting clear out of the country — and it’d mean being on the run wherever we were. I had that once before and I don’t want any more of it.”
He took a small package wrapped in brown paper out of his inside breast pocket and handed it to her. “There’s somewhere a hundred and ninety grand here,” he said. “Don’t let Borg know you’ve got it. I think he’s okay but that’s a lot of money.”
She took the package and put it in one of the big pockets of her long tweed topcoat.
Kells asked: “Have you got a gun?”
She nodded, patted her handbag. “I picked up the spick’s — the guy who was with Crotti.”
Kells kissed her. He said: “I’ll get word to you some way, or be back by tomorrow noon. Watch yourself.”
He limped to the door, through it into the other room.
Granquist followed him to the door, stood leaning against the frame; her face was dead white and she held her deep red lower lip between her teeth.
Kells spoke over his shoulder to the driver: “Come on.” The driver jumped up and followed him to the outer door. Kells turned at the door, said, “Be seeing you,” to Borg. He did not look at Granquist. He went out and the driver went out after him and closed the door.
On Kenmore near Beverly Boulevard Kells leaned forward and tapped on the glass. The cab swung to the curb and the driver slid the glass. Kells asked: “Are you married?”
The driver looked blank for a moment, then said: “Uh huh — only we don’t get along very well.”
Kells smiled faintly in the darkness. “Maybe you’d get along better if you took her for a little vacation down to Caliente — or Catalina.” He held out four crumpled bills and the driver reached back and took them. He held them in the dim light of the taxi meter and whistled, and then he stuck the bills hurriedly in his pocket and said: “Yes, sir.”
Kells said: “I want you to remember that you took us up to Lankershim and that we transferred to another car there and headed for Frisco. Is your memory that good?”
“Yes, sir.” The driver nodded emphatically.
“If it isn’t,” Kells went on — “I give you two days. My friends here would be awfully mad if anything happened to me on account of your memory slipping up.” He lowered his voice, spoke each word very distinctly: “Do you understand what I mean?”
The driver said: “Yes, sir — I understand.”
Kells got out and stood at the curb until the cab had turned down Beverly, disappeared. Then he went to the drugstore on the corner and called the taxi stand at the Ambassador, asked if Number Fifty-eight was in. He was on a short trip, was expected back soon. Kells left word for Fifty-eight to pick him up on Beverly near Normandie, went out of the drugstore, west.
His leg didn’t hurt so badly now. He wasn’t quite sure whether it was a great deal better or only momentarily numb. Anyway, it felt a lot better — he could walk fairly comfortably.
The cab detached itself from northbound traffic at the corner of Normandie, pulled into the curb. Fifty-eight stuck his head out and grinned at Kells.
Kells climbed into the cab, asked: “How are ya?”
Fifty-eight said: “Swell — an’ yourself? Where to?”
“Let’s go out to the apartment house on the corner of Yucca and Cahuenga first.” Kells leaned back.
They went over Normandie to Franklin, west on Franklin to Argyle, down the curve of Argyle and west two more blocks to Cahuenga. Kells got out, said, “I won’t be long,” and went into the apartment house on the corner. He asked at the desk for the number of Mister Beery’s apartment, went into the elevator and pressed the third-floor button.
Florence Beery was tall — almost as tall as Kells — slim. Her hair was very dark and her eyes were big, heavily shadowed. She stood in the doorway and looked at Kells, and her face was a hard, brittle mask.
She said slowly: “Well — what do you want?” Her voice was icy, bitter.
Kells put up one arm and leaned against the doorframe.
He asked: “May I come in?”
She looked at him steadily for a moment, then she turned and went through the short hallway into the living room. He closed the door and followed her into the living room, sat down. She stood in the center of the room, staring at the wall, waiting.
Kells took off his hat and put it on the divan beside him. He said: “I’m sorry about Shep—”
“Sorry!” She turned her head toward him slowly. Her eyes were long upward-slanted slits. “Sorry! This is a hell of a time to be sorry!” She swayed a little forward.
Kells said: “Wait, Florence. Shep wouldn’t be in the can if he hadn’t thrown in with me. He wouldn’t be ten or twelve grand ahead, either. The dough hasn’t been so hard to take, has it?”
She stood staring at him with blank unseeing eyes, swaying a little. Then she sobbed and the sound was a dry, burnt rattle in her throat, took two steps toward him, blindly. She spoke and it was as if she were trying to scream — but her throat was too tight, her words were low, harsh, like coarse cloth tearing:
“God damn you! Don’t you know Shep is dead — dead!”
The word seemed to release some spring inside her — sight came to her eyes, swift motion to her body — she sprang at Kells, her clawed hands outstretched.
He half rose to meet her, caught one of her wrists, swung her down beside him. The nails of her free hand caught the flesh of his cheek, ripped downward. He threw his right arm around her shoulders, imprisoned her wrists in his two hands, then he took her wrists tightly in his right hand, pressed her head down on her breast with his left. She was panting sharply, raggedly. Then she relaxed suddenly, went limp against his arm — her shoulders went back and forth rhythmically, limply — she was sobbing and there was no sound except sharp intake of breath.
Kells released her gradually, gently, stood up. He walked once to the other side of the room, back. His eyes were wide open and his mouth hung a little open, black against the green pallor of his face. He sank down beside her, put his arm again around her shoulders, spoke very quietly: “Florence. For the love of Mary! — when? — how?”