Read Online Delicate Ape by Dorothy B. Hughes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dorothy B. Hughes
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standing room ticket and turning from the window glanced back at the sidewalk. Cassidy was there.
The house lights were darkening as he entered. Cassidy hadn’t followed as yet. There were the last moments of confusion of seating. Piers moved on up the red-carpeted stairs to the balcony lounge, went to the water fountain for excuse and waited there while the orchestra leaped into rhythmic frenzy. There were others who came up the steps but none lingered, none noticed him. All were in haste to be seated before the rising of the curtain. It was possible that Cassidy would not come into the theater, taking it for granted that Piers had gone to the hit show for the purpose of seeing it. It was even possible that Cassidy would take time to feed himself, the big man must be hungry by now. Not that Piers believed that Cassidy would in so doing leave the way clear for Piers to slip away unencumbered into the night. There would be someone watching the exits, a policeman on the beat, a cabbie who could use a slice of police favor, a theater doorman. Meantime, what of the watcher who was watching both Cassidy and Piers? If there were such a one, he hadn’t as yet passed the detective to come after Piers. Perhaps he too was hungry and did not fear losing his quarry as long as Cassidy was in clear view.
Piers had choice of following his original plan, that of leaving the theater during the general confusion of intermission, or of disappearing now. Despite the risk of drawing the attention of an usher by immediate movement, it seemed advisable to move before Cassidy’s weary shoes dogged after him. He wasn’t actually worried about getting past the usher, he had glib excuses waiting on his tongue for his exit. It was the later questions that would be asked concerning him by Cassidy, by an unknown man in the dark.
He crumpled the cup and dropped it in the waste container. By the time of questioning he should be well away. The corners of his mouth tweaked. Cassidy had definitely stated he didn’t care if Piers did escape him. Escape him he would. He walked then without haste, with definite purpose, to the left of the house. The usher stood at the head of the aisle, her eyes on the comedy team chanting on stage. Piers murmured as he passed, “Leo’s office,” and waited a moment for no response. His father had been one of Leo’s first stars. He continued without haste to the door, opened it a slip and stood outside on the narrow passageway, high above the dark alley below. He moved quickly now, listening for the crank of the door opening behind him, but it was silent. He hadn’t been followed yet.
He had a moment as he reached the producer’s door but the knob turned under his hand. It was the same grubby little office, unchanged in twenty years. Even the shabby couch was no more shabby, with no more brown criss-crosses in the worn black leather. He took a breath before he opened the door into the small anteroom. It was empty.
Luck had been with him. There was now the immediate necessity of getting away from here. He opened this door a wedge, slid through. One dim bulb lighted the landing. He remembered three flights to the alley exit. In the death silence the iron steps reverberated to his careful descent. Only if he removed his shoes could he muffle the sound. That chance he couldn’t take. It would stamp him with suspicion if anyone should enter on legitimate business. Moreover, it would hinder progress if he had to cut and run.
Cursing breathlessly he wound down the staircase until he stood in the almost complete darkness of the alley level. There was no sound from above. As he remembered it the alley was short, only a few strides to the street in back of the theater. Yet he hesitated before opening that door, fearing not Cassidy but another man who might stand outside. He didn’t want to die. His hand was actually clammy when he touched the knob, drew the door ajar, guarding himself behind it.
He looked out into an
The house lights were darkening as he entered. Cassidy hadn’t followed as yet. There were the last moments of confusion of seating. Piers moved on up the red-carpeted stairs to the balcony lounge, went to the water fountain for excuse and waited there while the orchestra leaped into rhythmic frenzy. There were others who came up the steps but none lingered, none noticed him. All were in haste to be seated before the rising of the curtain. It was possible that Cassidy would not come into the theater, taking it for granted that Piers had gone to the hit show for the purpose of seeing it. It was even possible that Cassidy would take time to feed himself, the big man must be hungry by now. Not that Piers believed that Cassidy would in so doing leave the way clear for Piers to slip away unencumbered into the night. There would be someone watching the exits, a policeman on the beat, a cabbie who could use a slice of police favor, a theater doorman. Meantime, what of the watcher who was watching both Cassidy and Piers? If there were such a one, he hadn’t as yet passed the detective to come after Piers. Perhaps he too was hungry and did not fear losing his quarry as long as Cassidy was in clear view.
Piers had choice of following his original plan, that of leaving the theater during the general confusion of intermission, or of disappearing now. Despite the risk of drawing the attention of an usher by immediate movement, it seemed advisable to move before Cassidy’s weary shoes dogged after him. He wasn’t actually worried about getting past the usher, he had glib excuses waiting on his tongue for his exit. It was the later questions that would be asked concerning him by Cassidy, by an unknown man in the dark.
He crumpled the cup and dropped it in the waste container. By the time of questioning he should be well away. The corners of his mouth tweaked. Cassidy had definitely stated he didn’t care if Piers did escape him. Escape him he would. He walked then without haste, with definite purpose, to the left of the house. The usher stood at the head of the aisle, her eyes on the comedy team chanting on stage. Piers murmured as he passed, “Leo’s office,” and waited a moment for no response. His father had been one of Leo’s first stars. He continued without haste to the door, opened it a slip and stood outside on the narrow passageway, high above the dark alley below. He moved quickly now, listening for the crank of the door opening behind him, but it was silent. He hadn’t been followed yet.
He had a moment as he reached the producer’s door but the knob turned under his hand. It was the same grubby little office, unchanged in twenty years. Even the shabby couch was no more shabby, with no more brown criss-crosses in the worn black leather. He took a breath before he opened the door into the small anteroom. It was empty.
Luck had been with him. There was now the immediate necessity of getting away from here. He opened this door a wedge, slid through. One dim bulb lighted the landing. He remembered three flights to the alley exit. In the death silence the iron steps reverberated to his careful descent. Only if he removed his shoes could he muffle the sound. That chance he couldn’t take. It would stamp him with suspicion if anyone should enter on legitimate business. Moreover, it would hinder progress if he had to cut and run.
Cursing breathlessly he wound down the staircase until he stood in the almost complete darkness of the alley level. There was no sound from above. As he remembered it the alley was short, only a few strides to the street in back of the theater. Yet he hesitated before opening that door, fearing not Cassidy but another man who might stand outside. He didn’t want to die. His hand was actually clammy when he touched the knob, drew the door ajar, guarding himself behind it.
He looked out into an
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