Read Online A Hell of a Woman (Crime Masterworks) by Jim Thompson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jim Thompson
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"Go take a flying jump at yourself, you snotty bastard." And I slammed up as he started to cuss.
Well, that had been my best bet but it wasn't my only one. Characters like Pete Hendrickson were my meat. I knew just what they'd do, just where they'd go. Sure, it'd taken me weeks to run him down before; and I could work out in the open then instead of slipping around like I had to now. But that had been different. I hadn't been looking for him for myself. This time it was for me-for me and Mona and a hundred grand-and by God I'd find him.
I drove into town, and parked at the foot of skid row. I got out and started walking.
I must have walked fifteen miles that afternoon. Past the employment agencies with the bums hanging around in the front. Past the flop houses with their fly-specked windows and stinking lobbies. Past the greasy spoons. Past the pool halls and wine joints and cheap beer parlors.
Hell, it was Saturday afternoon wasn't it? And even if he had a home, a guy like Pete wouldn't stay in on Saturday afternoon. He'd be down here where he could stretch a few dimes into a party. Where he could guzzle and scoff and have enough left over for a flop.
So I walked and walked, just strolling from place to place, going around and around and around. And Saturday afternoon went away, and it was Saturday night.
I was too jumpy to eat-not that I could have got anything to eat, anyhow. I found a bar that wasn't too completely crummy looking, and threw down a few double shots. Then I started walking again.
He had to be here, someplace. Son-of-a-bitch, he just had to! If he wasn't around here, then he must have left town and- I gritted my teeth together. _No! NO! He couldn 't do that to me. They couldn 't do that to me_.
Saturday night.
Eight o'clock Saturday night. Still no Pete… and it was almost time to meet Mona.
I bought a pint of whiz, and went back to my car. I yanked the cap with my teeth, making them ache to beat hell and liking the ache. I threw down a slug- two or three slugs. I dropped the jug down on the seat, and stepped on the starter.
High? Man, I was higher than a kite; but not from the old gravy. It was the kind of high you get on when you got to do something and can't. When you've got to have the answers and you don't know any.
What was I going to do now? What was! going to tell Mona? I'd told her I was going to fix it, and I'd reached the point where I could almost feel that hundred grand…
I fingered the cap off the bottle and took another long drink… Tell her? Tell her nothing. If I could dig up Pete tomorrow or the next day, fine. If not-and I'd better not hang around town much longer after that- well, she'd have a few days of hope before she found out the truth. And me, I wouldn't have had anything more than I was entitled to.
It was the only thing to do, as I saw it. Brush her off on the questions. Play it close to the vest. Make her happy and grateful, and then-You know. Nothing wrong with that, was there? I wasn't taking anything that she wasn't perfectly willing to give me.
"Nothing wrong," I said-and I said it out loud. "Dolly Dillon says there's nothing wrong with it-the rotten son-of-a-bitch!"
So, anyway, I admitted it; and! was mad enough at myself to bite nails. But I knew I was going to go right ahead, just the same.
She was waiting in the shadows of a tree a few doors down from the super-market. She climbed into the car, laying a little sack of groceries up behind the seat, and I stepped on the gas. The jerk threw her against me. She moved away, looking a little frightened, her voice trembling.
"W-where are we going, Dolly? I've been away from the house quite a while, and-"
"I won't keep you long," I said. "What's the matter? You act like you're not glad to see me."
"Oh, no, Dolly! I mean, I am glad. But-Is everything all right? W-we… you're still going to do it?"
"Didn't I say so?" I said.
"Monday? N-no later than Monday, Dolly? I'm scared to death she'll-"
"I told you,
Well, that had been my best bet but it wasn't my only one. Characters like Pete Hendrickson were my meat. I knew just what they'd do, just where they'd go. Sure, it'd taken me weeks to run him down before; and I could work out in the open then instead of slipping around like I had to now. But that had been different. I hadn't been looking for him for myself. This time it was for me-for me and Mona and a hundred grand-and by God I'd find him.
I drove into town, and parked at the foot of skid row. I got out and started walking.
I must have walked fifteen miles that afternoon. Past the employment agencies with the bums hanging around in the front. Past the flop houses with their fly-specked windows and stinking lobbies. Past the greasy spoons. Past the pool halls and wine joints and cheap beer parlors.
Hell, it was Saturday afternoon wasn't it? And even if he had a home, a guy like Pete wouldn't stay in on Saturday afternoon. He'd be down here where he could stretch a few dimes into a party. Where he could guzzle and scoff and have enough left over for a flop.
So I walked and walked, just strolling from place to place, going around and around and around. And Saturday afternoon went away, and it was Saturday night.
I was too jumpy to eat-not that I could have got anything to eat, anyhow. I found a bar that wasn't too completely crummy looking, and threw down a few double shots. Then I started walking again.
He had to be here, someplace. Son-of-a-bitch, he just had to! If he wasn't around here, then he must have left town and- I gritted my teeth together. _No! NO! He couldn 't do that to me. They couldn 't do that to me_.
Saturday night.
Eight o'clock Saturday night. Still no Pete… and it was almost time to meet Mona.
I bought a pint of whiz, and went back to my car. I yanked the cap with my teeth, making them ache to beat hell and liking the ache. I threw down a slug- two or three slugs. I dropped the jug down on the seat, and stepped on the starter.
High? Man, I was higher than a kite; but not from the old gravy. It was the kind of high you get on when you got to do something and can't. When you've got to have the answers and you don't know any.
What was I going to do now? What was! going to tell Mona? I'd told her I was going to fix it, and I'd reached the point where I could almost feel that hundred grand…
I fingered the cap off the bottle and took another long drink… Tell her? Tell her nothing. If I could dig up Pete tomorrow or the next day, fine. If not-and I'd better not hang around town much longer after that- well, she'd have a few days of hope before she found out the truth. And me, I wouldn't have had anything more than I was entitled to.
It was the only thing to do, as I saw it. Brush her off on the questions. Play it close to the vest. Make her happy and grateful, and then-You know. Nothing wrong with that, was there? I wasn't taking anything that she wasn't perfectly willing to give me.
"Nothing wrong," I said-and I said it out loud. "Dolly Dillon says there's nothing wrong with it-the rotten son-of-a-bitch!"
So, anyway, I admitted it; and! was mad enough at myself to bite nails. But I knew I was going to go right ahead, just the same.
She was waiting in the shadows of a tree a few doors down from the super-market. She climbed into the car, laying a little sack of groceries up behind the seat, and I stepped on the gas. The jerk threw her against me. She moved away, looking a little frightened, her voice trembling.
"W-where are we going, Dolly? I've been away from the house quite a while, and-"
"I won't keep you long," I said. "What's the matter? You act like you're not glad to see me."
"Oh, no, Dolly! I mean, I am glad. But-Is everything all right? W-we… you're still going to do it?"
"Didn't I say so?" I said.
"Monday? N-no later than Monday, Dolly? I'm scared to death she'll-"
"I told you,
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