Read Online A Dog's Ransom by Patricia Highsmith - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Highsmith
Ads: Link
there wasn’t any beer. Now he didn’t dare go out again. Just do without, unfortunately. He set about making his dinner.
Open a can of beans. He had a specially good brand of beans a little more expensive than Heinz, and that was one small treat for tonight. Kenneth read the paper, which he had already looked at, while he ate. Politics scarcely interested him. International conferences, even wars, were like things going on thousands of miles away from him, not touching his life at all—any more than a stage production could touch a person’s actual life. Sometimes a news item captured his attention, a woman mugged in a doorway on 95th Street, or a suicide found in a New York apartment, and he read every word of these things.
Kenneth had tidied up and was stripped to the waist, washing himself at his basin, when there came a knock at his door. Because of the running water, he hadn’t heard any steps. Kenneth cursed, feeling extreme annoyance and slight fear. He buttoned his shirt again, but left it hanging out of his trousers.
“Who is it?” he called sharply to the door.
“Mrs. Williams!” came the assertive voice, as if the name itself were enough to gain admittance. It was his landlady.
Kenneth irritably unlocked his door and slid the bolt back.
Mrs. Williams was tallish, stout, shapeless. Her hair was gray, her expression anxious and sour. Under her arched eye-sockets her pinkish eyes were always stretched wide, as if she had just been affronted. “Are you in any trouble, Mr. Rowajinski?” She had an abominable way of pronouncing his name.
“I am not .”
She came back at him: “Because if you are, you’re getting out, do you understand? I’m not so fond of you, you know, or of your twenty dollars a week. I’m not going to have any doubtful characters on my property.” And so forth.
Kenneth wondered what had happened.
At last she came to it. “A policeman was just here asking me what your name was and what you did for a living.”
“A policeman?”
“He didn’t say what it was about. I’m asking you .”
“How should I know? I haven’t done anything.”
“You sure you haven’t? Spying in people’s windows or something like that?”
“Did you come here to insult me?” said Kenneth, drawing himself up a little. “If you—”
“A policeman doesn’t come asking questions unless there’s a reason,” she interrupted him. “I’m not having any creeps in my house, Mr. Rowajinski, because I don’t have to have them, there’s too many decent people in the world. If that policeman comes again, I’m putting you out, you hear me?”
She’d have to give him some notice, Kenneth thought, but he was too taken aback to point this out. “All right, Mrs. Williams!” he said bitterly. He was holding his doorknob so fiercely his fingers had begun to hurt.
“I just want you to know.” She turned and went.
Kenneth closed the door firmly and relocked it. Well! At least the cop hadn’t asked to see him, hadn’t wanted to talk to him or search his room. Or was he coming back with a search warrant? This thought caused perspiration to break out on Kenneth’s body. The rest of the evening was miserable for him. He took the folded letter from his top drawer and destroyed it. He kept listening for footsteps, even when he was in bed.
6
C larence had been on the brink of asking to see the little man called Kenneth Rowajinski, but by that time it was nearly nine, and Clarence had not yet covered his beat once on foot, and he was to be rejoined by his partner for that night, a fellow named Cobb. Cops went in pairs after nightfall. MacGregor had told him and Cobb at the briefing to pay special attention to 105th Street tonight, because a woman had reported a strange man today in her apartment building, a man who had entered in some way other than by passing the doorman, and maybe he was in hiding there still, or maybe he had been casing the place for a robbery. Since 8 p.m. when he had gone
Open a can of beans. He had a specially good brand of beans a little more expensive than Heinz, and that was one small treat for tonight. Kenneth read the paper, which he had already looked at, while he ate. Politics scarcely interested him. International conferences, even wars, were like things going on thousands of miles away from him, not touching his life at all—any more than a stage production could touch a person’s actual life. Sometimes a news item captured his attention, a woman mugged in a doorway on 95th Street, or a suicide found in a New York apartment, and he read every word of these things.
Kenneth had tidied up and was stripped to the waist, washing himself at his basin, when there came a knock at his door. Because of the running water, he hadn’t heard any steps. Kenneth cursed, feeling extreme annoyance and slight fear. He buttoned his shirt again, but left it hanging out of his trousers.
“Who is it?” he called sharply to the door.
“Mrs. Williams!” came the assertive voice, as if the name itself were enough to gain admittance. It was his landlady.
Kenneth irritably unlocked his door and slid the bolt back.
Mrs. Williams was tallish, stout, shapeless. Her hair was gray, her expression anxious and sour. Under her arched eye-sockets her pinkish eyes were always stretched wide, as if she had just been affronted. “Are you in any trouble, Mr. Rowajinski?” She had an abominable way of pronouncing his name.
“I am not .”
She came back at him: “Because if you are, you’re getting out, do you understand? I’m not so fond of you, you know, or of your twenty dollars a week. I’m not going to have any doubtful characters on my property.” And so forth.
Kenneth wondered what had happened.
At last she came to it. “A policeman was just here asking me what your name was and what you did for a living.”
“A policeman?”
“He didn’t say what it was about. I’m asking you .”
“How should I know? I haven’t done anything.”
“You sure you haven’t? Spying in people’s windows or something like that?”
“Did you come here to insult me?” said Kenneth, drawing himself up a little. “If you—”
“A policeman doesn’t come asking questions unless there’s a reason,” she interrupted him. “I’m not having any creeps in my house, Mr. Rowajinski, because I don’t have to have them, there’s too many decent people in the world. If that policeman comes again, I’m putting you out, you hear me?”
She’d have to give him some notice, Kenneth thought, but he was too taken aback to point this out. “All right, Mrs. Williams!” he said bitterly. He was holding his doorknob so fiercely his fingers had begun to hurt.
“I just want you to know.” She turned and went.
Kenneth closed the door firmly and relocked it. Well! At least the cop hadn’t asked to see him, hadn’t wanted to talk to him or search his room. Or was he coming back with a search warrant? This thought caused perspiration to break out on Kenneth’s body. The rest of the evening was miserable for him. He took the folded letter from his top drawer and destroyed it. He kept listening for footsteps, even when he was in bed.
6
C larence had been on the brink of asking to see the little man called Kenneth Rowajinski, but by that time it was nearly nine, and Clarence had not yet covered his beat once on foot, and he was to be rejoined by his partner for that night, a fellow named Cobb. Cops went in pairs after nightfall. MacGregor had told him and Cobb at the briefing to pay special attention to 105th Street tonight, because a woman had reported a strange man today in her apartment building, a man who had entered in some way other than by passing the doorman, and maybe he was in hiding there still, or maybe he had been casing the place for a robbery. Since 8 p.m. when he had gone
Similar Books
