David Goodis: Five Noir Novels of the 1940s and '50s (Library of America) Read Online Free PDF Page B

to third and did forty. She held it there.
    Parry said, “Why did you come back?”
    “You looked lonely out there.”
    “I felt lonely.”
    “How do you feel now?”
    “Better.”
    “Much better?”
    “Much.”
    For a while they didn’t say anything. Then Parry asked her if it was all right to smoke and she opened both side windows and tossed a book of matches over her shoulder. She asked him to light one for her. He lit two cigarettes, reached up and gave her one, then got down under the blanket and pulled smoke into his mouth. The smoke aggravated the heat that was already in the blanket. He didn’t mind. He found that the thirst was going away and going along with it was the pain in his elbows and the back of his hand had stopped bleeding.
    She said, “I forgot something.”
    “You mean you left something with the police?”
    “No, I forgot something when I said you weren’t soft, the way I’d expected you’d be. When I said you were mean. I forgot that you were in a prison for seven months. Of course you’re mean. Anyone would be mean. But don’t be mean to me. Promise me you won’t be mean to me.”
    “Look, I told you before—you’re not stuck with me.”
    “But I am, Vincent. I am.”
    Parry took the cigarette from his mouth, put it in again and took a long tug. He got the smoke out and then he sighed. He said, “It’s too much for me.”
    She didn’t answer that. Parry felt the car turning, going slower, heard the sound of San Francisco coming in and getting under the blanket. The sound of other automobiles and the honking of horns, the hum of trade and the droning of people on the streets. He was frightened again. He wanted to getaway from here and fast. He began remembering pictures he had seen in travel folders long ago. Places that looked out upon water. Lovely beaches. One was Patavilca, Peru. Another was Almeria, Spain. There were so many others, it was such a big world.
    The Pontiac came to a stop.

4

    P ARRY GOT his head past the edge of the blanket. He said, “What’s the matter?”
    “We’re at my place. It’s an apartment house. We’re on Geary, not far from the center of town. Are you ready?”
    “Ready for what?”
    “You’re going to get out of the car. You’re going to stay at my place.”
    “That’s no good.”
    “Can you think of anything better?”
    Parry tried to think of something better. He thought of the railroad station and he threw it away. He thought of hopping a freight and he knew they’d be watching the freight yards. They’d be watching every channel of possible getaway.
    He said, “No.”
    “Then get ready, Vincent. Count up to fifteen. By that time I’ll be in the apartment house and the elevator will be set to go up. When you reach fifteen get out of the car and walk fast but don’t run. And don’t be scared.”
    “What’s there to be scared about?”
    “Come on, Vincent. Don’t be scared. It’s all right now. We’ve reached home.”
    “There’s no place like home,” Parry said.
    “Start counting, Vincent,” she said and then she was out of the car and the door closed again and Parry was counting. When he reached fifteen he told himself that he couldn’t do it. He was shaking again. This wasn’t her apartment house. This was her way of getting rid of him. What did she need him for? What good could he do her? She had the keys to the car and now she was taking a stroll. When he got out of the car he would see there was no apartment house and no open door and nothing. He told himself that he couldn’t get out of the car and he couldn’t remain in the car.
    He got out of the car and faced a six-story yellow brick apartment house. The front door was halfway open. He closed thedoor of the Pontiac. Then he walked quickly across the pavement, up the steps of the apartment house.
    Then they were in the elevator and it was going up. It stopped at the third floor. The corridor was done in dark yellow. The door of her apartment was green.