Free The Getaway (Read a Great Movie) by Jim Thompson Page A

to do, except, of course, to make sure that she was seen coming and going by the elevator operator and desk clerk. That was all-more than enough. For a man of Beynon's prominence-the head of the state's pardon and parole board-to have the wife of a notorious criminal in his apartment for an all-night stay…
    Nothing else was necessary, so doubtless nothing else had taken place. As for the bribe money-well, as long as Beynon was stuck, there was no point in refusing a bit of salve.
    It all fitted, Doc thought. Yet piece by piece, item by item, he could knock it apart. His mind moved around and around in a circle, disbelieving each time it was on the point of believing.
    He was ready to admit that his shaky faith was a personal thing. As a professional criminal, he had schooled himself against placing complete trust in anyone. And as a criminal, he had learned to link infidelity with treachery. It revealed either a dangerous flaw in character, or an equally dangerous shift in loyalties. In any case, the woman was a bad risk in a game where no risk could be tolerated.
    So…
    Abruptly, Doc broke the agonizing circle of his thoughts. He stood off from himself, standing this fretful, teetering creature that he was now alongside the suave, sure and unshakable Doc McCoy; and the comparison made him squirm.
    Now, no more of this, he lectured himself; he smiled softly. No more, either now or later.
    Carol had mopped up the kitchen. Now she was at the oil stove, measuring coffee into an enamel pot. Doc walked over to her and put his arms around her. She turned hesitantly, a little fearfully, and looked up into his face.
    Doc kissed her enthusiastically. He said mock-seriously, "Madam, were you aware that you had a damn fool for a husband?"
    "Oh, Doc! Doc, honey!" She clung to him, burying her face against his chest. "It's my fault. I wanted to tell you the truth right back in the beginning but…"
    "But you were afraid I'd react exactly the way I did," Doc said. "That coffee smells good. How about some sandwiches to go with it?"
    "All right. But shouldn't we be beating it out of here, Doc?"
    "Well," Doc grinned wryly, "of course, I wouldn't recommend an indefinite stay. But there's no great rush that I can see." He sauntered over to the refrigerator, peered inside and lifted out a butt of baked ham. "Beynon wouldn't have known exactly when we'd show up. Therefore, he'd have made sure that no one else dropped in on him tonight."
    "I guess I shouldn't have killed him, should I, Doc? It's going to make things tough for us."
    Doc laid plates and silver on the table. He set out butter and bread. He said that Beynon's death was regrettable but unavoidable; when an accessory to a crime collapsed so completely, there was nothing to do but kill him. "I don't know just how tough it'll make things for us. Maybe not at all. But it certainly forces us to change our plans."
    Carol nodded, and lifted the coffee from the stove. "Want to put the cream on for me, honey?" she said; then, "Just how will it change them?"
    "Well, here's the way I add it up." Doc sat down at the table, and carved meat onto their plates. "Our car must have been spotted on the way up here. At least we have to assume that it was. Still playing it safe, we can't rule out the possibility that someone got a look at us. Maybe some kid stalking a rabbit near the road, or a nosy housewife with time on her hands and a pair of binoculars…"
    "It could happen," Carol agreed. "We change out of these duds, then. Leave our car here and take Beynon's."
    "Right. We try to make it appear that the three of us have gone off somewhere together, and that we'll be coming back. But-" Doc took a sip of his coffee. "Here's where the rub comes in. We don't know what Beynon's plans were, his appointments. For all we know he may have been due to see or call someone tomorrow morning, or someone may have been scheduled to see or call him here. Then there's the livestock- that's the real tip-off. When