Wolkowysk.
Her fingers bit into my arm. “Are you as frightened as I am, Swede? Do you feel sort of sick to your stomach?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She looked back at the wicker basket on the jump seat. “Then why did you have Cora prepare a picnic lunch? I can’t eat a thing. It would choke me.”
I said she’d find out why I’d had the lunch packed in a few minutes, as soon as we came to a suitable stretch of beach. I glanced sideways at her white face. “Now you tell me something, honey. We’re in this thing together. We have to be truthful with each other, don’t we?”
“Of course.”
“Then tell me this. And remember the cops may check and I’ll have to know where I stand. How well did you know Jerry?”
Corliss folded her hands in her lap. “I told you last night, Swede.”
“Tell me again.”
Tears trickled out from under her sunglasses. “I went to one dance with him. In Manhattan Beach. For the Damon Runyon Cancer Fund. I had to fight him all the way home in the car.” The tears rolled faster. “Then, to get even with me, he told it all up and down the highway that I was bad. That I’d do it for twenty dollars. So I went to his place to raise hell. And there you were. Drunk, and hurt, and bloody, but grinning at me. And I forgot what I’d gone there for.”
I handed her my handkerchief. “O.K. That’s fine. Stop crying. Just so I know.”
Her voice was small. “Say you believe me.”
“I believe you.”
I found the kind of beach I wanted just above Oceanside. The highway ran close to the ocean. There wasn’t a house for a mile in either direction. I pulled off the highway on the lee shoulder of the road and helped Corliss out of the car. Then I carried the wicker hamper and a blanket to the beach.
I spread the blanket on the sand and told Corliss to set out the lunch I’d had the heavy-set waitress pack. She thrust out her underlip in a sullen pout but did as she was told. While she was spreading the lunch on the blanket I gathered a big pile of driftwood.
The tide was out. I laid my fire well down on the shingle where the incoming tide would cover and dispose of the ashes. When it was burning well I went back to the car for the rug. Before leaving the court I’d soaked it in gasoline, rolled it into a tight bundle, and wrapped it in newspaper. A dozen motorists saw me carry it from the car to the fire.
“What’s that?” Corliss asked.
“The rug we wrapped Wolkowysk in.”
The color drained from her cheeks. I thought for a minute she was going to faint.
I dropped the rug on the fire. Then I sat down on the blanket beside her and made her take a big drink of the rum-laced coffee in the vacuum bottle. The color came back to her cheeks. She snuggled her hand into mine. I ate a ham sandwich with the other. For the sake of the folks driving by. While we watched the rug burn.
The back of it was rubberized and smelled worse than the cotton, but the wind was blowing offshore. To the folks in the passing cars we were just a sailor and his girl picnicking on a cool day, with a fire to keep us warm.
Back in the car again, Corliss said, “I’m glad you thought of the rug.”
I said, “So am I.” I wished I could do as much for the wheel of Wolkowysk’s car.
The closer we got to L.A., the colder and darker it got. I rolled up the windows and turned on the heater. Corliss rode with her thigh pressed to mine. I could smell the perfume of her hair. It made me think of her hair on the cliff. I began to want her again, driving into Los Angeles through the smog on U.S. 101.
Corliss was as nervous as I was. She picked at the buttons of her coat. She twisted on the seat. I could see her lips move, telling imaginary beads every time we passed a police car.
We came into Anaheim in back of an Ohio car. At the second intersection its driver signaled a right-hand turn from the right-hand lane, then turned left in front of me. I had to stand on the brake to keep from ramming the
Her fingers bit into my arm. “Are you as frightened as I am, Swede? Do you feel sort of sick to your stomach?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
She looked back at the wicker basket on the jump seat. “Then why did you have Cora prepare a picnic lunch? I can’t eat a thing. It would choke me.”
I said she’d find out why I’d had the lunch packed in a few minutes, as soon as we came to a suitable stretch of beach. I glanced sideways at her white face. “Now you tell me something, honey. We’re in this thing together. We have to be truthful with each other, don’t we?”
“Of course.”
“Then tell me this. And remember the cops may check and I’ll have to know where I stand. How well did you know Jerry?”
Corliss folded her hands in her lap. “I told you last night, Swede.”
“Tell me again.”
Tears trickled out from under her sunglasses. “I went to one dance with him. In Manhattan Beach. For the Damon Runyon Cancer Fund. I had to fight him all the way home in the car.” The tears rolled faster. “Then, to get even with me, he told it all up and down the highway that I was bad. That I’d do it for twenty dollars. So I went to his place to raise hell. And there you were. Drunk, and hurt, and bloody, but grinning at me. And I forgot what I’d gone there for.”
I handed her my handkerchief. “O.K. That’s fine. Stop crying. Just so I know.”
Her voice was small. “Say you believe me.”
“I believe you.”
I found the kind of beach I wanted just above Oceanside. The highway ran close to the ocean. There wasn’t a house for a mile in either direction. I pulled off the highway on the lee shoulder of the road and helped Corliss out of the car. Then I carried the wicker hamper and a blanket to the beach.
I spread the blanket on the sand and told Corliss to set out the lunch I’d had the heavy-set waitress pack. She thrust out her underlip in a sullen pout but did as she was told. While she was spreading the lunch on the blanket I gathered a big pile of driftwood.
The tide was out. I laid my fire well down on the shingle where the incoming tide would cover and dispose of the ashes. When it was burning well I went back to the car for the rug. Before leaving the court I’d soaked it in gasoline, rolled it into a tight bundle, and wrapped it in newspaper. A dozen motorists saw me carry it from the car to the fire.
“What’s that?” Corliss asked.
“The rug we wrapped Wolkowysk in.”
The color drained from her cheeks. I thought for a minute she was going to faint.
I dropped the rug on the fire. Then I sat down on the blanket beside her and made her take a big drink of the rum-laced coffee in the vacuum bottle. The color came back to her cheeks. She snuggled her hand into mine. I ate a ham sandwich with the other. For the sake of the folks driving by. While we watched the rug burn.
The back of it was rubberized and smelled worse than the cotton, but the wind was blowing offshore. To the folks in the passing cars we were just a sailor and his girl picnicking on a cool day, with a fire to keep us warm.
Back in the car again, Corliss said, “I’m glad you thought of the rug.”
I said, “So am I.” I wished I could do as much for the wheel of Wolkowysk’s car.
The closer we got to L.A., the colder and darker it got. I rolled up the windows and turned on the heater. Corliss rode with her thigh pressed to mine. I could smell the perfume of her hair. It made me think of her hair on the cliff. I began to want her again, driving into Los Angeles through the smog on U.S. 101.
Corliss was as nervous as I was. She picked at the buttons of her coat. She twisted on the seat. I could see her lips move, telling imaginary beads every time we passed a police car.
We came into Anaheim in back of an Ohio car. At the second intersection its driver signaled a right-hand turn from the right-hand lane, then turned left in front of me. I had to stand on the brake to keep from ramming the
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