Free Savage Night by Jim Thompson Page B

“Didn’t say there was any reason, did I? Maybe you better tell me if you can think of any.”
    I didn’t even bother to answer him.
    He cleared his throat, uncomfortably. After a moment, his glance wavered and he gave me a sheepish grin. “Pshaw,” he mumbled. “Now how the heck did I ever get started talkin’ to you that-a-way? Must be I had to hold in the good news I had for you so long it kinda clabbered on me. Ever have that happen to you? You got somethin’ nice to pass on to a fella, and when you can’t find him—”
    “Good news?” I said. “What good news?”
    “The answers to them wires I sent to Arizona. Don’t know when I’ve seen so many good things said about a man. Looked like the judge an’ the chief o’ police was trying to outdo each other.”
    “They’re very fine gentlemen,” I said.
    “Must be. Don’t see how they could be anything else,” he nodded firmly. “And with two high-placed people like that speakin’ up for you, I don’t see—”
    “Yes?” I said.
    “Nothin’. Just sort of talkin’ to myself, more or less. Kind of a bad habit of mine.” He stood up, slapping his hat against the side of his pants. “Let’s see, now. You was saying you planned on running into the city this weekend?”
    “Tomorrow or Saturday,” I said. “If it’s all right.”
    “Sure, sure it’s all right. You just go right ahead.”
    He put out his hand, and gave mine a firm hard grip.
    I went upstairs and my head had hardly touched the pillows before Fay Winroy slipped into the room.
    “Carl. Was it—what did he want?”
    “Nothing much.” I moved over on the bed to let her sit down. “Just came to tell me that I’d gotten a clean bill from Arizona.”
    “Oh? But he acted so strange, Carl. I thought—”
    “How about it?” I said. “You didn’t give him a bad time when he came here looking for me.”
    “N-no.” She hesitated. “I mean, naturally I don’t like cops hanging around with their cars parked in front of the house, but—well, I’m sure I didn’t say anything out of the way.”
    I wouldn’t have bet money on it. “I don’t imagine Kendall liked having him come to the bakery, either,” I said. “That must have been the trouble. The guy had his feelings hurt.”
    “You can’t think of anything else?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know what it would be. How did you make out with Jake?”
    Her eyes flashed. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
    “Neither do I,” I yawned. “In fact, I’d just as soon not talk at all. I think I’ll take a nap.”
    “Well,” she laughed, getting up. “Here’s my hat, what’s my hurry, huh? But it’s almost dinnertime, honey.”
    “I’m not hungry,” I said.
    “You could have something up here. Would you like to have me bring you up a tray in about an hour?”
    “Well—” I frowned.
    “It’ll be all right. Kendall will be gone back to the bakery—you’d think the guy would move his bed over there—and Ruth will have plenty to keep her busy in the kitchen. I’ll see that she does.”
    I nodded. “In about an hour, then.”
    She left. I closed my eyes and tried to forget about Kendall, and the sheriff, and The Man and Fruit Jar and…
    I was still trying an hour later when she pushed the door open and came in with the tray.
    She had a glass half full of whiskey on it, covered up with a napkin. I drank it down, and began to feel hungry.
    It was a good dinner—a beef stew with vegetables, and apple pie for dessert. Fay lay back on the bed while I ate, her hands clasped under the back of her head.
    I drank the last of my coffee. I lay down crosswise on the bed with her, pulling her around in my arms.
    “Carl—”
    “That’s me,” I said.
    “Did you really mean what you said this morning? About us—me—going into New York?”
    I reached the wallet out of my pocket, and took out two twenties. I tucked them into the front of her brassiere.
    “Oh, Carl, honey,” she sighed. “I can hardly