"B-better watch out now, Red," his voice cracked and rose. "B-better watch out, k-keep away from me! Ain't n-no h-harm done. I- just a joke, n-no h-harm in j-jokin'…"
He stumbled and tried to throw his hands in front of his face.
I chopped down and in, with the edge of my hands, getting both kidneys at once. His arms came down and I cuffed him, spinning him around. I jerked his tie tight, as tight as I could get it, took a turn around his neck with each end, and knotted it in the back.
I let him drop to the floor and watched him thrash about, scratching and clawing at his throat.
As from a distance I heard Madeline say, "He'll d-die, Pat. Don't let him die…"
"A few oranges," I said, "in a net bag. Or a flour sack. And something to cut the tie."
"What do you want with the oranges?"
"You'd better hurry," I said, and I kicked him away as he tried to crawl up my legs.
She came running back with a paring knife, and four or five oranges in the bottom of a red net bag.
I swung the sack with both hands. It struck him in the chest and flattened him. It frightened him to the last degree he could be frightened. I beat him all over the chest and stomach and thighs, and then I turned him over and beat him up and down the back.
I jerked him upright, cut the necktie and tossed him into a chair. He sat there panting, pawing at his throat, his eyes rolling up and down in his head.
I had Madeline bring me a washrag and a comb, and I sponged off his face and combed his hair for him. I set his hat back on his head, and buttoned up his coat.
"Do you understand?" I said. "That's what it means."
"I-" he nodded his head. "I g-get you."
"You might not make a charge stick," I said. "And if you did, I'd still find a way of seeing you. I can't lose any more, and you can lose and keep losing. So I'd see you. Once. I wouldn't have to see you after that."
I jerked a thumb toward the door. "You've got it. Keep it."
He wasn't hurt. No one who was hurt could have got out of there that fast. I laughed a little as the door slammed.
Madeline grinned, a slow fixed grin.
"You see I didn't kill him," I said. "I didn't even hurt him."
"What about the-way-?"
"The oranges? That's the old dummy-chucker's trick. You know, the fake-accident racket."
"I guess I don't know, Pat," she said slowly, "much of anything."
"A man's supposed to have been in an accident, but he doesn't have any marks on him. So a confederate takes a bag of oranges and beats him with them. They don't hurt him, but they turn him black and blue. He's a mass of bruises."
"Oh."
"Our friend struck me as being unusually susceptible to fear. He'll probably believe to his dying day that he barely escaped being killed."
"And he didn't, did he?"
I thought I had explained. "No," I said, shortly. "Not that time."
I picked up my undershirt and put it on. I put on my shirt and tie. I reached for my coat, but she was ahead of me. She held it for me, pushing it up onto my shoulders; and then she slid around in front, holding me tight around the waist.
"I understand, Pat. Oh, I do understand, honey!"
"I guess," I said. "You understand too much."
"It's all right, Pat. I don't blame you. But-Oh, let's just forget it!"
"I made you afraid," I said, "with what I did to that guy. You're afraid I'll do the same thing to Doc. What's Doc to you, Madeline? What is he planning that makes you think I might try to kill him if I found it out?"
She shook her head, stubbornly. "There's nothing I can tell you, Pat," she said. "Nothing. If you love me, you'll have to believe that."
"All right," I said.
She gave me a final squeeze. "Betcha everything's going to be all right," she declared, brightly. "Betcha it will."
"Betcha," I said. I knew she was crying the second the door closed behind me.
13
Hardesty had a suite of offices on the top floor of the city's tallest skyscraper. The legend on the series of doors leading to the reception room read:
Hardesty & Hardesty Attorneys at Law
and the receptionist, a querulous elderly woman with a suspicious stare, presided over a room as old fashioned as the building was new.
I put my cigarette out, and folded my hands. After some fifteen minutes, Hardesty came out of his office.
He nodded to me, tossing some papers on the receptionist's desk.
"I'll be tied up the rest of the morning, Mrs. Smithson," he told her. "Just make a note of any calls I have, will you?"
"Tied up!" she exclaimed. "You're supposed to be in court at eleven o'clock."
"Clark will handle it; nothing important," he said. "Come right on in, Pat."
He closed the door on her disapproving grunt, an abashed smile on his darkly handsome face. "Friendly little thing, isn't she?"
"An old employee?" I said.
"One of my grandfather's." He put a match to his cigarette and held it for mine. "He and my father were partners, in case you're wondering about the firm name."
"That must make it one of the oldest law firms in the state."
"I think it is," he nodded. "Quite an outfit, eh? When my father died, I planned on fancying things up a bit but you can see how far I got. I imagine if the other building we were in hadn't been condemned I wouldn't even have got us moved over here. Anyhow, stodginess is an asset with the kind of clientele we have."
"Yes," I said. "I suppose it would be."
"Not quite what you expected, huh?" He gave me a shrewd glance. "You didn't think an old and respectable law firm would be mixed up with a guy like Doc."
"Frankly, no," I said. "Although I'm not being critical of Doc."
"Mmm. Of course not. Well, confidentially, Pat; I'm not involved with Doc a bit more than I can help. You know how it is. You want to swing a piece of business with the state, and the first thing you know you find Doc or someone like him in your path. And you either work with him or you don't put your deal across."
I nodded noncommittally. The less I had to say about Doc, I felt, the better.
"Let's see, now. How long have you been out of Sandstone?"
"Almost three weeks."
"And you're pretty badly worried. Oh, don't be afraid to say so, Pat."
"All right," I said. "But it's a pretty hard thing to put into words. The trouble is-is Mrs. Luther. She won't leave me alone."
"Oh?"
"She came back to my room the second night I was there, and she almost got me in very serious trouble with Doc. She's followed the same line of conduct ever since. She does things that, well, look like hell."
"Mmm," murmured Hardesty. "That's embarrassing, all right, but I wouldn't be too disturbed about it. Doc won't blame you for it."
"He shouldn't," I said. "But he does. I can't tell him it isn't my fault. I can't brush her off. I can't let her go on. Whatever I do or don't do, I have Doc angry with me. I'm afraid it might lead to my parole being canceled."