Read Online Gulf Coast Girl by Charles Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Charles Williams
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had only their jobs and bleak boarding-houses to fill their time. I couldn’t take a chance on two. I’d better go, even though it meant more time to kill outside before I could come back.
I locked the door, picked up the key case, and went up on the pier. The wet trail I’d left before was still there on the concrete. I remembered the car was a green Oldsmobile. That was good. Mine was a tan Ford. He’d remember all right; there couldn’t have been any mistake. I didn’t have the flashlight now, but I groped around until I found it. I got in and started the motor. I was nervous. Suppose he was standing outside the shack where he could see right into the car? I wouldn’t know it until I’d come out the doors at the other end of the shed, and then it would be too late.
I thought of the answer to that. Switching the lights on, I turned the car around until it was headed for the door at the far end, and turned them off again. As soon as my eyes were accustomed to the darkness I went slowly ahead. There was no danger of running into anything, and I could see the door just faintly ahead of me. When I was within thirty or forty feet of it I eased to a stop and got out. Slipping up to it on foot, I peered around the edge. It was all right. There was only the empty gate with the hot cone of light above it, and the vacant lots beyond. He was inside. I turned and ran lightly back to the car.
Remembering to slouch low in the seat, I eased the door shut, flipped the lights on, and went ahead. My mouth was dry. It was a hundred miles. I was outside now. I turned left, crossed the railroad spur. Not too fast. Slow down a little approaching the gate. The car was right in front of the shack now. Lifting a hand, I looked just once, out of the corners of my eyes.
He was sitting on a stool at the desk just behind the window, pouring coffee out of a Thermos. He glanced up casually, waved a hand, and then looked back at the cup. I was past.
The tension gave way, and I felt as if I’d flow out over the seat like spilled water. Every nerve in my body relaxed. There was nothing to it now.
I turned left at the next corner and went down a dark street toward town. It was about fifteen blocks to the honky-tonk district. Parking the car in a dark spot a half block from a gaudy burst of neon and noise, I looked quickly around and got out, taking the keys and locking it just as he would have. No one had seen me. I went up to the corner and turned right, away from the water-front. As I passed a vacant lot I threw the keys far into it in the darkness. I was free of him now. I thought of him and shuddered. The poor, vicious, unfortunate little bastard. Why couldn’t he have stayed away?
I didn’t know how far I walked. It must have been miles. I avoided lights and kept to the quiet residential districts, going away from the waterfront all the time. At twelve-thirty I was near an all-night drugstore. It was late enough now. It would be around a quarter of one by the time I got back. I went in a side door and back to the telephone booth and called a cab. When it came I was waiting out at the side in the shadows. I got in without the driver’s getting a look at my face. Everything was all right now. I sat back in the corner, where he couldn’t see me in the mirror.
We passed the last street and were approaching the gate. No one was in sight. “Just slow down there so I can tell him who I am,” I said to the driver. “You don’t need a pass to drive in.”
“Right, chief,” he replied.
He braked to a stop in front of the shanty. The 12-to-8 watchman was looking out the window. “Manning,” I called out, keeping my face in shadow. He lifted a hand.
“All right, Mr. Manning.”
The driver shifted gears and started to move ahead. Then he stopped. Somebody was calling out from the shack. “Mr. Manning! Just a minute—”
I looked around. The watchman was coming out. “I almost forgot to tell you. A woman called about ten minutes
I locked the door, picked up the key case, and went up on the pier. The wet trail I’d left before was still there on the concrete. I remembered the car was a green Oldsmobile. That was good. Mine was a tan Ford. He’d remember all right; there couldn’t have been any mistake. I didn’t have the flashlight now, but I groped around until I found it. I got in and started the motor. I was nervous. Suppose he was standing outside the shack where he could see right into the car? I wouldn’t know it until I’d come out the doors at the other end of the shed, and then it would be too late.
I thought of the answer to that. Switching the lights on, I turned the car around until it was headed for the door at the far end, and turned them off again. As soon as my eyes were accustomed to the darkness I went slowly ahead. There was no danger of running into anything, and I could see the door just faintly ahead of me. When I was within thirty or forty feet of it I eased to a stop and got out. Slipping up to it on foot, I peered around the edge. It was all right. There was only the empty gate with the hot cone of light above it, and the vacant lots beyond. He was inside. I turned and ran lightly back to the car.
Remembering to slouch low in the seat, I eased the door shut, flipped the lights on, and went ahead. My mouth was dry. It was a hundred miles. I was outside now. I turned left, crossed the railroad spur. Not too fast. Slow down a little approaching the gate. The car was right in front of the shack now. Lifting a hand, I looked just once, out of the corners of my eyes.
He was sitting on a stool at the desk just behind the window, pouring coffee out of a Thermos. He glanced up casually, waved a hand, and then looked back at the cup. I was past.
The tension gave way, and I felt as if I’d flow out over the seat like spilled water. Every nerve in my body relaxed. There was nothing to it now.
I turned left at the next corner and went down a dark street toward town. It was about fifteen blocks to the honky-tonk district. Parking the car in a dark spot a half block from a gaudy burst of neon and noise, I looked quickly around and got out, taking the keys and locking it just as he would have. No one had seen me. I went up to the corner and turned right, away from the water-front. As I passed a vacant lot I threw the keys far into it in the darkness. I was free of him now. I thought of him and shuddered. The poor, vicious, unfortunate little bastard. Why couldn’t he have stayed away?
I didn’t know how far I walked. It must have been miles. I avoided lights and kept to the quiet residential districts, going away from the waterfront all the time. At twelve-thirty I was near an all-night drugstore. It was late enough now. It would be around a quarter of one by the time I got back. I went in a side door and back to the telephone booth and called a cab. When it came I was waiting out at the side in the shadows. I got in without the driver’s getting a look at my face. Everything was all right now. I sat back in the corner, where he couldn’t see me in the mirror.
We passed the last street and were approaching the gate. No one was in sight. “Just slow down there so I can tell him who I am,” I said to the driver. “You don’t need a pass to drive in.”
“Right, chief,” he replied.
He braked to a stop in front of the shanty. The 12-to-8 watchman was looking out the window. “Manning,” I called out, keeping my face in shadow. He lifted a hand.
“All right, Mr. Manning.”
The driver shifted gears and started to move ahead. Then he stopped. Somebody was calling out from the shack. “Mr. Manning! Just a minute—”
I looked around. The watchman was coming out. “I almost forgot to tell you. A woman called about ten minutes
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