Read Online Nothing More than Murder by Jim Thompson - Free Book Online Page B

me. I put the padlock on it, and gave her the key.
    That’s the way it was. We’d done it so often in our minds that I guess it would have seemed stranger not doing it than doing it.
    I went up to my room, threw a few things into my grip, and came back downstairs. Elizabeth got up from a chair in the living-room and took a step toward me. I took one toward her.
    “Well, Joe?” she said.
    “Well,” I said. “I guess this is it. I guess we won’t be seeing each other anymore. That is, if Carol gets the—her party.”
    “She’ll get her, all right,” said Elizabeth. “I’ve never had any doubt about that.”
    “Well, good-bye,” I said. “I’ll always remember you, Elizabeth.”
    “You’d better, Joe.”
    “I’ll— What do you mean?”
    “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
    “That’s what we agreed on,” I said. “Where’s the argument?”
    I hoped she wouldn’t say anything more. It’s hell to want to sock your wife the last time you’re seeing her.
    “I want to make myself clear, Joe. If your memory should fail you there will be exceedingly unpleasant consequences.”
    “Hell,” I said, “what do you think I am, anyway?”
    “Exactly what I always did.”
    I walked out.
     
    Ordinarily, if I’d wanted to go into the city I wouldn’t have bothered to make excuses to anyone. I’d have just gone. But now it was different. I had to have a good reason for going, and there was only one I could think of.
    I beat Jimmie Nedry to the show by about thirty minutes, and went up to the projection booth. By the time he got there I’d taken the parts cabinet off the wall and had everything in it spread out on the rewind table.
    He didn’t say anything at first, just gave me that sullen, hopeless look he’d been pulling lately, and stripped out of his coat, shirt, and undershirt. Those carbon arcs really heat up the booth. I went on pawing, though, and finally he asked me what I was looking for.
    “I’m looking for the spare photoelectric cells for our sound heads,” I said. “It doesn’t look like we have any.”
    “We’ve got ’em,” he grunted.
    “Well, I don’t believe we have, Jimmie,” I said. “I thought I’d make a check on our parts last night when you were on your relief, and I couldn’t find them then. And I’ve taken everything out this morning, and—”
    “They got to be there,” he said. “Let me look.” He began sorting through the stuff impatiently, half sore. He wound up by picking up each part separately and putting it back in the cabinet. His face had fallen about a foot.
    “I—I just can’t believe it, Mr. Wilmot. We had some spares up there, well, I know it couldn’t have been more than two or three days ago.”
    “You haven’t used any since?”
    “Of course I ain’t! If I had I’d have told you so you could reorder.”
    “Hmmm,” I said. “Did you actually see the cells or just the little carton they come in?”
    “Well—”
    “That’s it,” I said. “At one time or another we’ve replaced the cells in the machines and put the empty cartons back in the cabinet. I’m not saying you did it. I may have myself.”
    “But what became of the cartons?”
    “They must have dropped down and got swept out. No one would pay any attention to them as long as they were empty.”
    “Yeah, but—”
    “I’m not blaming you, Jimmie. The thing is to get some more. We don’t want to be playing silent over Sunday.”
    “No,” he nodded, “that would be bad. You’ll bring some cells back when you go into the city?”
    “I wasn’t planning on going into the city,” I said, “but I’ll have to now. It’s too late for the express to reach us, and the stores will be closed tomorrow.”
    “Yeah—I see.” He rubbed his chin, giving me a puzzled, funny look. “When’ll you be back?”
    “Just as soon as I get the cells. Probably early tomorrow morning.”
    “You—you won’t have to stay over for anything else?”
    “Why should