rose with a jackknife. As I came abaft he turned and faced me.
“Just a minute, mate.”
I stopped and looked at him. “Yes?”
He gripped the jackknife like a dagger. “Look. I know my wife was in your cottage a couple of times the other day. I know you’re a big, good-looking joe, the kind dames go for.”
“So?” I asked him.
“So keep away from my wife from now on.”
I told him the truth. “I haven’t the slightest interest in your wife, friend.”
His face was blue with cold. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. “Sure. That’s why you were holding hands in the restaurant just now. So I’m warning you. See? Stay away from Mamie.”
I got a little sore. “Or what?”
Meek told me. “Or I’ll stick a knife in you.”
I doubled my fist to hit him, then unclenched it. He was too little for me to hit. I was apt to crack his head like an eggshell. Like I’d caved in Jerry Wolkowysk’s head.
The thought made my breakfast turn over.
“O.K.,” I said and walked on.
Chapter Nine
It was ten when Corliss woke up. It was noon by the time she was dressed and ready to leave for L.A. Her eye looked better than it had when I had kissed her good night. It was still badly puffed, but she’d hidden the discoloring with a good cold cream and powder job. Her sunglasses hid it completely, but every time I looked at her eye I felt better about Wolkowysk.
As we pulled away from the court I asked her how she’d slept.
She said, “I didn’t sleep at all until I’d taken three seconals.” Her lower lip quivered. “It all seems like a bad dream.”
I said, “I’m afraid it wasn’t. I killed the guy and we dumped him. Now it’s fifty-fifty if we beat the law.”
Corliss was indignant. “But think what he did! Certainly that’s against the law. Certainly I had a right to have my future husband defend me.”
I used the lighter to touch off a cigarette and offered her first puff. “I tried to point that out last night. Remember? I wanted to call Sheriff Cooper. But you wanted no part of the law.”
Corliss smoked in silence for a mile. Then she moved closer to me on the seat. “I’m sorry, Swede.” She sounded like a contrite little girl who’d just kicked her playmate’s lollypop into the dust. “I’ve got you into something awful, haven’t I?”
I took the cigarette back. “Anyway, it’s done.”
I was still keeping my speed down and glancing in the rear-vision mirror from time to time. I didn’t want a cop to pick us up before I got rid of the rug.
Corliss laid her hand on my arm. “You still love me? You still want to marry me?”
I patted her hand. “I still love you. I still want to marry you.”
Both statements were true. I’d meant what I’d told Ginty. I was through with the sea. I’d spent eighteen years afloat. And what had it got me? Twelve thousand dollars in cash, which I’d been ready to blow on one last binge. A busted nose, broken in a brawl in Port Said over a Berber wench I wouldn’t have spat on if I’d been sober. A bedding acquaintance with tarts all over the world. In Lisbon, Suez, and Capetown. In Bremen, in London, Murmansk. In Colón, in Rio, in Lima. In Yokohama, in Macao and Brisbane. Starting from scratch every time I shipped out, while other men my age had homes and families. It was time I sent down roots. It was time I stopped spending life as if it were only money. I realized my breathing was labored. Besides, I wouldn’t really feel safe again until Corliss and I were married.
The police could pound on me until both of us were pulp without getting anywhere. I could take it. I knew. I’d been through a lot of fish-bowl sessions. It was different with Corliss. A few hours under the light with smart cops shooting questions at her in relays and she would get hysterical and tell her whole life story. But a wife couldn’t be forced to testify against her husband. And Corliss was the only person in the world who knew I’d killed
“Just a minute, mate.”
I stopped and looked at him. “Yes?”
He gripped the jackknife like a dagger. “Look. I know my wife was in your cottage a couple of times the other day. I know you’re a big, good-looking joe, the kind dames go for.”
“So?” I asked him.
“So keep away from my wife from now on.”
I told him the truth. “I haven’t the slightest interest in your wife, friend.”
His face was blue with cold. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. “Sure. That’s why you were holding hands in the restaurant just now. So I’m warning you. See? Stay away from Mamie.”
I got a little sore. “Or what?”
Meek told me. “Or I’ll stick a knife in you.”
I doubled my fist to hit him, then unclenched it. He was too little for me to hit. I was apt to crack his head like an eggshell. Like I’d caved in Jerry Wolkowysk’s head.
The thought made my breakfast turn over.
“O.K.,” I said and walked on.
Chapter Nine
It was ten when Corliss woke up. It was noon by the time she was dressed and ready to leave for L.A. Her eye looked better than it had when I had kissed her good night. It was still badly puffed, but she’d hidden the discoloring with a good cold cream and powder job. Her sunglasses hid it completely, but every time I looked at her eye I felt better about Wolkowysk.
As we pulled away from the court I asked her how she’d slept.
She said, “I didn’t sleep at all until I’d taken three seconals.” Her lower lip quivered. “It all seems like a bad dream.”
I said, “I’m afraid it wasn’t. I killed the guy and we dumped him. Now it’s fifty-fifty if we beat the law.”
Corliss was indignant. “But think what he did! Certainly that’s against the law. Certainly I had a right to have my future husband defend me.”
I used the lighter to touch off a cigarette and offered her first puff. “I tried to point that out last night. Remember? I wanted to call Sheriff Cooper. But you wanted no part of the law.”
Corliss smoked in silence for a mile. Then she moved closer to me on the seat. “I’m sorry, Swede.” She sounded like a contrite little girl who’d just kicked her playmate’s lollypop into the dust. “I’ve got you into something awful, haven’t I?”
I took the cigarette back. “Anyway, it’s done.”
I was still keeping my speed down and glancing in the rear-vision mirror from time to time. I didn’t want a cop to pick us up before I got rid of the rug.
Corliss laid her hand on my arm. “You still love me? You still want to marry me?”
I patted her hand. “I still love you. I still want to marry you.”
Both statements were true. I’d meant what I’d told Ginty. I was through with the sea. I’d spent eighteen years afloat. And what had it got me? Twelve thousand dollars in cash, which I’d been ready to blow on one last binge. A busted nose, broken in a brawl in Port Said over a Berber wench I wouldn’t have spat on if I’d been sober. A bedding acquaintance with tarts all over the world. In Lisbon, Suez, and Capetown. In Bremen, in London, Murmansk. In Colón, in Rio, in Lima. In Yokohama, in Macao and Brisbane. Starting from scratch every time I shipped out, while other men my age had homes and families. It was time I sent down roots. It was time I stopped spending life as if it were only money. I realized my breathing was labored. Besides, I wouldn’t really feel safe again until Corliss and I were married.
The police could pound on me until both of us were pulp without getting anywhere. I could take it. I knew. I’d been through a lot of fish-bowl sessions. It was different with Corliss. A few hours under the light with smart cops shooting questions at her in relays and she would get hysterical and tell her whole life story. But a wife couldn’t be forced to testify against her husband. And Corliss was the only person in the world who knew I’d killed
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