Free Wild Town by Jim Thompson Page A

turn around and walk off? You’re all paid up with the law. You got a clean conscience—I reckon. So what’s the answer? What are you afraid of? Why put up with me a minute more than you care to?”
    Bugs looked down at the walk, not answering him. He couldn’t. He couldn’t put his feelings into words, nor, naturally, would he have dared to if he could have. He was guilty, technically guilty of at least manslaughter. There was a growing impression in his mind that he had been given his job for a sinister purpose, and that tacitly he had agreed to that purpose. So he could be held by Ford, forced to bend to him. And Ford knew it, and he was making him admit it.
    The silence lasted for seeming hours. Then Ford cleared his throat, and his tone was casual again.
    “Looks like you made quite a hit with Amy. Can’t say when I’ve seen her quite so taken with a fella. How’d you like her anyway?”
    “I liked her fine,” Bugs said gruffly. “A lot more than I should, I guess.”
    “Yeah?”
    “I mean, well, I’m just getting a start here. Never really had anything in my life, and don’t know that I ever will have. And if she’s your fiancee…”
    “Mmm? Well, yeah, I believe I did say that, didn’t I? But that’s kind of a loose expression out this a-way. Gal and a fella goes steady for years, it’s just kind of taken for granted that they’re engaged. Don’t really have to do nothin’ or say nothin’ about it themselves.”
    “Well,” said Bugs. “I—uh—see.”
    “Had an idea you didn’t like the way I talked to her tonight. Kind of got the impression you didn’t like it a-tall.”
    “I didn’t! I thought it was a goddamned lousy thing to do!”
    “Yeah? Uh-huh?”
    “What do you mean, ‘yeah, uh-huh’?”
    “I mean, you got some right not to like it? I mean, just what the hell is she to you for you to like or dislike it? Sure, you ain’t got nothing, but you’re still young and you’re a pretty fair figure of a man, and Amy ain’t the kind to count the money in your pocket. She was pretty taken with you; that’s all that counts with her. And you seemed to reciprocate the feeling. And remember, I ain’t standin’ in your way. Got too much pride to use my job in a personal matter, even if I did want to…So let’s have your answer. Just what the hell is she to you? Or maybe I should say, what’d you like to have her be to you?”
    “Hell.” Bugs squirmed. “What’s this all about, anyway? I’m busy, and I hardly know the girl and—”
    “You can be unbusy a minute longer. And maybe you know her too well. You feel like you know her too well, and you don’t like what you know.”
    “For God’s sake, Ford! I told you that—”
    “Why don’t you say it? Spit it out. Say that she might be all right for you to play around with, but she ain’t good enough for anything more.”
    So all right, Bugs thought savagely. I do feel that way, kind of. And how can you blame me for that?
    He didn’t say anything, however.
    Although he might as well have.
    Ford stared at him, lip curling, his face a mask of profane wonderment. “We’ll, I,” he said, incredulously, “I will be a son-of-a-bitch! Never let no one call me that in my life, but I’ll say it myself. I will be a dirty double-donged son-of-a-bitch!…A jailbird like you. A stupid, stubborn jerk that never did a damned thing right in his life, that’s fouled up everything, and you think…”
    He turned slowly and walked away.
    Scowling defensively, Bugs re-entered the hotel. So maybe he had botched up his whole life. Or, rather, since it wasn’t his fault, it had been botched up for him. That was why he had to be extra careful now. Because he wasn’t so young anymore, and just about one more wrong move would foul him up for good.
    And just where—and this was what completely bewildered Bugs—where did Ford get off at lecturing another guy about Amy? He was no good, a crook and a grafter. She’d been a sweet clean