Hamilton, Donald - Novel 02 Read Free Page B

           “No,
that’s all right,” he said. He was aware that the attendant was watching with
sudden interest, having at first, probably, assumed that they were married.
                 “Please,”
she said. “I don’t want you to…”
                 She
had a lump of bills in her hand larger than any he could remember seeing. The
top one was a ten. She saw him look at it and flushed, a little embarrassed,
apparently, at the ostentation of the mass of money; and also, he thought
wryly, without a doubt regretting a little that he had learned how much there
was of it.
                 “The
banks weren’t open,” she said apologetically. “I couldn’t get express checks.
Please let me…”
                 “Fifty-fifty,”
he said. “You take the next one.”
                 She
glanced at the attendant. “Oh, all right,” she said, somewhat annoyed. She
thrust the bills back into her purse and started for the car. “Do you mind
driving now, Mr. Emmett?”
                 “Not
a bit.”
                 “I
think I’ll try to take a nap in back,” she said. “I’ve got a splitting
headache. Oh, you took your things…”
                 He
saw her look at the trunk. “Yes,” he said quickly. “I got out a blanket in case
you’d want it. Use my coat for a pillow if you like.”
                 She
hesitated, studied his face for a moment, and said, “Thank you,” and climbed
over the folding seat into the rear of the car.
                 As
he got behind the wheel he could see her, in the rearview mirror, carefully
folding her jacket and laying it up behind the seat with her hat and purse;
then as carefully removing her earrings, not pulling them off but unscrewing
the tiny clamps until the gold blossoms fell into her hand. He started the car.
The wheels spun in the gravel with the quick surge of power that answered his
foot on the accelerator. He glanced up again, guiltily, but she was not
looking. As they swung out onto the highway he heard her remove her shoes and
lie down.
                 “Any
speed limit you want to set?” he asked over his shoulder. “I mean, it’s your
car.”
                 “Oh,
no. Anything you think is safe, Mr. Emmett.”
                 He
let the car gather speed along the concrete, and pulled down the visor in a
vain attempt to cut out the glare of the sun that rested, like a target in the
sights of a rifle, over the ribbon of concrete ahead. He heard her moving
uncomfortably on the narrow leather seat behind him, trying, he guessed, to
find a position that would allow her to relax without hopelessly wrinkling the
skirt of her expensive suit. He wondered if he could hint that he would not
look if she wanted to undress, but he suspected that the suggestion would
merely startle her.
                 He
thought of the empty trunk. Adjusting the rear-view mirror to his eyes, he saw
his own face, rather young and long, now in the evening beginning to need a
shave, the black eyebrows raised in an expression of wry surprise. He brought
the eyebrows down to a frown, watching his ears waggle with the tightening of
his scalp. A car whipped past, going east. He settled himself behind the wheel,
glanced at the gas, radiator temperature, oil pressure, and ammeter readings,
and let the speedometer steady at sixty-five.
                 Nothing
but the car and wad of bills and the clothes she is wearing, he thought.
     

  chapter THREE
 
 
                  
                 They
crossed the bridge at Clinton well after dark. As the lights of the town
dwindled behind them and the speedometer crept back toward seventy, Emmett
looked up and saw headlights in the rear-view mirror. The bastard’s back again,
he thought. He was no longer trying to tell himself that there was nothing
particularly strange about two