Dark Passage (13 page)

Parry looked at the taxi driver. The taxi
driver walked to the door, opened it, went to the other door,
opened it and stood there looking up and down the hall. Then he
turned and beckoned to Parry, and Parry went out there with him
“and they went down the hall and down the stairs. They were out in
the alley and down a second alley that led to a small side street.
The taxi was parked there. They got in and the two doors closed and
the motor started.

The taxi driver used side streets, used
them deftly, making good time without too much speed. Parry leaned
back and closed his eyes. He was very tired. He was very thankful
he had a place to go to and a friend to help him. The pain kept
digging into his face and banging away at his arms but now he
didn’t mind. He had a place to stay. He had Fellsinger. He had a
new face. Now he really had something that amounted to a
chance.

The taxi came to a stop.

Parry looked out the window. They were
home.

The taxi driver turned and looked at him
and said, “How is it?”

Parry nodded.

“Think you can make it alone?”

Parry nodded again. He took bills from his
pocket, picked out a fifty dollar bill and handed it to the driver.
The driver looked at the bill and then offered it back. Parry shook
his head.

The taxi driver said, “I’m not doing this
on a cash basis.”

Parry nodded. The taxi driver made another
attempt to return the bill. Parry shook his head.

The taxi driver said, “Now you’re sure you
can make it?”

Parry nodded. He started to open the door.
The taxi driver touched his wrist. He said, “You don’t know me. I
don't know you. You'll never see me again. I'll never see you
again. You don't know the name of the men who fixed your face. Or
put it this way. You always had the face you have now. You were
never in a courtroom. You were never in San Quentin. You were never
married. And you don't know me and I don't know you. How does that
sound?”

Parry nodded.

The taxi driver said, “Thanks for the tip,
mister.”

Parry stepped out of the taxi. The taxi
went into first gear and went on down the street. Parry walked up
to the door of the apartment house, went in, and from his coat
pocket he took the key that Fellsinger had given him. He opened the
inner door.

In the elevator he wondered if Fellsinger
had a cigarette holder up there. He was in great need of a
cigarette. The elevator climbed four floors and came to a stop.
Parry walked down the hall. He wondered if Fellsinger had a glass
straw in there. He wondered how it would be to take rum through a
glass straw. He wished Fellsinger had some gin around. He wanted
gin and he wanted a cigarette. He had a feeling that falling asleep
tonight would be hard work. He was at the door of Fellsinger’s
apartment and he put the key in the door and turned it and opened
the door and went in.

It was dark in there, but light from the
hall showed Parry the switch on the wall near the door. He flicked
the switch and closed the door, facing the door as he closed it and
then turning slowly and facing the room. He looked at
Fellsinger.

Fellsinger was on the floor with his head
caved in.

CHAPTER 11

There was blood all over Fellsinger, blood
all over the floor. There were pools of it and ribbons of it. There
were blotches of it, big blotches of it near Fellsinger, smaller
blotches getting even smaller in progression away from the body.
There were flecks of it on the furniture and suggestions of it on a
wall. There was the cardinal luster of it and the smell of it and
the feeling of it coming up from Fellsinger’s busted skull and
dancing around and settling down wherever it pleased. It was dark
blood where it clotted in the skull cavities. It was luminous pale
blood where it stained the horn of the trumpet that rested beside
the body. The horn of the trumpet was slightly dented. The pearl
buttons of the trumpet valves were pink from the spray of
blood.

Fellsinger was belly down on the floor,
but his face was twisted sideways. His eyes were opened wide, the
pupils up high with a lot of white underneath. It was as if he was
trying to look back. Either he wanted to see how badly he was hurt
or he wanted to see who was banging on his skull with the trumpet.
His mouth was halfway open and the tip of his tongue flapped over
the side of his mouth.

Without sound, Parry said, “Hello,
George.”

Without sound, Fellsinger said, “Hello,
Vince.”

“Are you dead, George?”

“Yes, I’m dead.”

“Why are you dead, George?”

“I can’t tell you, Vince. I wish I could
tell you but I can't.”

“Who did it, George?”

“I can’t tell you, Vince. Look at me. Look
what happened to me. Isn't it awful?”

“George, I didn’t do it. You know
that.”

“Of course, Vince. Of course you didn’t do
it.”

“George, you don’t really believe I did
it.”

“I know you didn’t do it.”

“I wasn’t here, George. I couldn't have
done it. Why would I want to kill you, George? You were my
friend.”

“Yes, Vince. I was your
friend.”

“George, you were my best friend. You were
always a real friend.”

“You were my only friend, Vince. My only
friend.”

“I know that, George. And I know I didn’t
kill you. I know it I know it I know it I know it I know
it.”

“Don’t carry on like that,
Vince.”

“George, you’re not really dead, are
you?”

“Yes, Vince. I’m dead. And it's real,
Vince, it's real. I'm really dead. I never thought I'd be
important. But now I'm very important. They'll have me in all the
papers.”

“They’ll say I killed you.”

“Yes, Vince. That’s what they'll
say.”

“But I didn’t do it, George.”

“I know, Vince. I know you didn’t do it. I
know who did it but I can't tell you because I'm dead.”

“George, can I do anything for
you?”

“No. You can’t do a thing for me. I'm
dead. Your friend George Fellsinger is dead.”

“George, who do you think did
it?”

“I tell you I know who did it. But I can’t
say.”

“Give me a hint. Give me an
idea.”

“Vince, I can’t give you anything. I'm
dead.”

“Maybe if I look around I’ll find
something.”

“Don’t do that, Vince. Don't move from
where you are now. If you step in the blood you're going to make
footprints.”

“Footprints won’t make any difference one
way or another. As soon as they find you here they'll say I did
it.”

“Yes, Vince. That’s what they'll say. You
can't do anything about that. But if you give them footprints
you'll be throwing everything away. What I mean is, if they have
the footprints they'll have more than a conclusion. They'll have
you, because they have means of tracing footprints, tracing right
through to the store where the shoes were bought. When they get
that they'll get her. And if they get her they'll get you, because
you can't operate without her.”

“George, I can’t go back to
her.”

“What do you mean, you can’t go back?
You've got to go back. You can't go anyplace else. Where else could
you go?”

“I don’t know, George. I don't know. But I
can't go back to her.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I can’t help it, George. I can't go back
to her. I can't bring her back into it now.”

“But she wants to help you,
Vince.”

“Why, George? How do you make it out? Why
does she want to help me?”

“She feels sorry for you.”

“There’s more to it than that. There's
much more. What is it?”

“I don’t know, Vince.”

“I can’t go back to her.”

“You’ve got to go back. You've got to stay
there for five days. You need someone to take care of you until
those bandages come off. Then when you go away you can really go
away. You'll have a new face. You'll have a new life. You always
talked about travel. Places you wanted to see. I remember the
things you said. How grand it would be to get away. From everybody.
From everything. How I felt bad about it when you said that,
because I figured our friendship was one of those very valuable
things that don't happen very often between plain guys like you and
me. How I hoped you'd include me in your plans to go away. You knew
that. You knew how I felt. And I had an idea that when you finally
went away you would take me with you. To that beach town in Spain.
Or that place in Peru. Was it Patavilca.”

“Yes, George. It was
Patavilca?”

“Patavilca in Peru. Jumping out of our
cages in an investment security house. Jumping out of our cages in
dried up apartment houses. Going away, going away from it, all of
it, going to Patavilca, in Peru. With nothing to do down there
except get the sun and sleep on the beach. They showed that beach
in the travel folder. It was a lovely beach. And they showed us the
streets and the houses. The little streets and the little houses
under the sun. I was waiting for you to say the word. I was waiting
for you to say let’s pack up and go.”

“Why didn’t you say the word, George? Why
didn't you take the bull by the horns? There wouldn't have been any
trial. This trouble would have never happened.”

“You know why I didn’t say the word. You
know me. Guys like me come a dime a dozen. No fire. No backbone.
Dead weight waiting to be pulled around and taken to places where
we want to go but can't go alone. Because we're afraid to go alone.
Because we're afraid to be alone. Because we can't face people and
we can't talk to people. Because we don't know how. Because we
can't handle life and don't know the first thing about taking a
bite out of life. Because we're afraid and we don't know what we're
afraid of and still we're afraid. Guys like me.”

“You had ideas, George.”

“I had ideas that I thought were great.
But I was always afraid to let them loose. Once you were up here
and I put my entire attitude toward life into a trumpet riff. You
told me it was cosmic-ray stuff. Something from a billion miles
away, bouncing off the moon, coming down and into my brain and
coming out of my trumpet. You told me I should do something with
ideas like that. And I agreed with you but I never did anything
because I was afraid. And now I’m dead.”

“I think I better be going
now.”

“Yes, Vince. You go now. You go to
her.”

“George, I’m afraid.”

“You go to her. Stay there five days. Then
go to Patavilca, in Peru. Stay there the rest of your
life.”

“I can’t see myself going
away.”

“You’ve got to see that. You've got to do
that. You've got to go far away and stay there.”

“I wish I knew who killed you.”

“It doesn’t make any difference. I'm dead
now.”

“And that’s why it makes a difference.
Because you're dead. And they'll say I killed you, just as they
said I killed her. And I said I didn't kill her. I said it was an
accident. All along I said it was an accident and that's what I
believed. I always believed she fell down and hit her head on that
ash tray. I don't believe that any more. I know someone killed her
and that same someone killed you.”

“You’re curious, Vince. And you're getting
angry. That won't do. You can't be curious and you can't be angry.
You've got to think in terms of getting away, and only that. And
now you better go.”

“Good-by, George.”

Parry switched off the light. He stepped
out of the apartment and closed the door slowly. There was a stiff-
ness in his legs as he walked down the corridor. In the elevator he
had a feeling he was going to faint. He sagged against the wall of
the elevator and he was going to the floor and as his knees gave
way he put his hands on the wall and braced himself and made
himself stay up.

On the street he tried to walk fast but
his legs were very stiff and he couldn’t get any go into them. The
pain in his face mixed with the pain in his arms and he wanted to
get down on the pavement and sleep. He kept walking. He looked at
his wrist watch and it said a few minutes past five and he looked
up and saw the beginnings of morning sifting through the black
sieve. He walked down the empty quiet streets.

He walked a mile and knew he had another
mile to go. He didn’t think he could make it. A taxi came down the
street and he turned and saw the driver looking at him. He was
tempted to take the taxi. But he knew he couldn't take a taxi. Not
now. Not at this stage. The taxi slowed down and the driver was
waiting for him to make a move. He kept walking. He faced straight
ahead, knowing that the taxi driver was regarding his bandaged head
with increasing curiosity. He kept walking. The taxi picked up
speed and went down the street and made a turn.

A glow came onto the pavement, dripping
from the grey light getting through the black sky. Parry walked
past a cheap hotel and stopped and looked back at the sign. He was
tempted to go in and take a room. He was so tired. The pain was so
bad. He was so very, very tired.