Read Online Dark Passage by David Goodis - Free Book Online Page B

door
handle.
    The taxi made a right turn. Two neon signs
flashed past, one yellow, the other violet. It was a market
section. It was busy. There were people, too many people. But he
didn’t care. He started to work the handle.
    “Yep,” the driver said. “She gave you
plenty of trouble. I don’t blame you. I don't blame you one
bit.”
    The handle was halfway down. Perspiration
dripped onto grey worsted. The handle was almost all the way
down.
    “Not now,” the driver said. “And not here.
There’s too many cops around.”
    CHAPTER 7
    Parry let go of the handle. He sagged. He
started to breathe as if he had just finished a two-mile run and
the officials said it didn’t count and wanted to get another race
going immediately.
    The driver said, “Is it far from
here?”
    “I’ll give you five hundred dollars,”
Parry blurted. “I'll give you—”
    “Don’t give me anything,” the driver said.
“Just let me know where it is and I'll pick out a dark street
that's empty and you can walk the rest of the way. And don't try
hitting me on the head or I'll run us up on the pavement and into a
wall.”
    Parry had his head almost to his knees. He
made fists and pressed them against his forehead. He said, “The
hell with it, the hell with it. Take me to a police
station.”
    “Don’t be that way. You're doing all
right. You're doing fine.”
    “No,” Parry groaned. “It’s no go. It was
easy for you to see. It'll be easy for others to see.”
    “Now that’s where you're wrong,” the
driver said. He twisted the taxi into a sharp turn and sent it
sliding down a narrow street that was empty and very dark. Halfway
down the street he brought the taxi to a smooth stop. He rested his
arm on the back of the seat and turned and faced Parry. He said,
“And here’s why. I'm out of the ordinary. Not my eyes, but the way
I stick things on my brain and keep them there. And the way I put
things together. I get five or six little things and I put them
together and I get one big thing.”
    “What’s the difference?” Parry said. He
wasn't talking to the driver. “The worst I can get is a week in
solitary. And no privileges. And no chance of a parole. But there
wasn't a chance anyway. They told me I was lucky I didn't get the
chair. That's something I've got to remember—I'm lucky. I'll always
be lucky because I didn't get the chair.” He looked up and saw the
driver watching him. He said, “Go on—take me to a police
station.”
    “I don’t see no sense in that,” the driver
said. “Unless you think you'll be happier in Quentin.”
    “Sure,” Parry said. “I’ll be happier
there. That's why they send us there. To keep us happy.”
    The driver brought up a forearm, put most
of his weight on the elbow, leaning his face against a big hand. “I
got a better idea for you. Let me take you over the Bridge. You can
jump off and it’ll be over in no time.”
    “The Bridge?”
    “Sure. All you gotta do is step off and
you faint on the way down. It’s like going to a painless
dentist.”
    “I’m young,” Parry said, again talking
aloud to himself. “There's a lot of years ahead of me.”
    “Why spend them in Quentin?”
    “What else can I do?” Parry
asked.
    “I want to know something,” the driver
said. “Did you really bump her off?”
    “No.”
    “That’s not the way I figure it,” the
driver said. “I figure she made life miserable for you and finally
you lost your head and you picked up that ash tray and slugged her.
I know how it is. I live with my sister and my brother-in-law. They
get along fine. They get along so fine that once he threw a bread
knife at her. She ducked. And that's the way it goes. Maybe if your
wife ducked there wouldn't be any trial, there wouldn't be any
Quentin. But that's the way it goes. You want a smoke?”
    “All right,” Parry said. He accepted a
cigarette and a light.
    The driver filled his lungs with smoke,
sent the smoke out through the side of his mouth. He said, “Let me
find out something, just to see if I got it right. What was she
like?”
    “She