Free Recoil by Jim Thompson Page B

came another smile, my reflection, thoughtful but reassuring.
    Hang on to yourself, Red. Hang on, or—
    A hand came down on my shoulder.
    “Better hang on to the bench, Red. You might fall in.”
    In one unthinking instant, I had lowered my shoulders, caught the arm and shifted my weight forward and upward. Luckily she yelled, and a reflex action set in against the first one. Otherwise, Myrtle Briscoe would have gone into the river instead of down on to the bench. And I, the chances are, would have gone with her with a bullet through my head.
    There was a highway patrol car parked near mine, and a state trooper was bounding up the slope, tugging at his holstered .45.
    He almost had it out when Myrtle Briscoe leaped up from the bench and waved her arms at him.
    “Hold it, Tony!” she gasped. Then she got her breath and yelled, “Dammit to hell, hold it!”
    The trooper paused. “You sure you’re all right, Miss Briscoe?”
    “Hell yes!” She let out a snort of laughter, and made brushing motions at her clothes. “Shook up but all together.”
    The trooper looked from me to her, an expression of sullen disappointment on his swarthy face. “You sure you don’t want me to—”
    “I want you to go back to the car and sit there!”
    He turned and went back. Myrtle sat down, shaking her head.
    “Don’t know why it is,” she said. “Give a guy a gun and he can’t wait to use it.”
    “I’ve noticed that,” I said, sitting down at her side. “I’m sorry if I startled you, Miss Briscoe.”
    “Oh, well. One good startle deserves another. What are you doing so far from town, Red?”
    “I didn’t think it was far.”
    “Aren’t you working?”
    “I still have my job,” I said. “I’m caught up for a few hours.”
    “Okay,” she said. “Now let me tell you something, Red. Tony and I gave you a long tail all the way from town. About an hour ago we lost you. We go on down the road about twenty miles and then we come back, and here you are. How do you explain that?”
    “You mean I was trying to shake you?” I said. “I didn’t even know you were following me.”
    “How come we didn’t see you or at least your car?”
    “That’s simple. For one thing, there were probably other cars between yours and mine. Mainly, however, you didn’t want to see me. You wanted to believe I was skipping out. You were so certain I was going to that you probably wouldn’t have seen me if I’d waved a red flag at you.”
    “Now, look, Red. You know doggone well what I’m talking about. What about that car?”
    “It belongs to the state. You know that, Miss Briscoe.”
    Her mouth dropped open and her eyes flashed. She jerked a paper from the pocket of her old-fashioned skirt, and thrust it at me.
    It was one of those small legal papers which list title transfers and mortgages and similar information. Myrtle Briscoe put her fingers on a red-circled item under Automobile Transfer:
    Capital Car Co. to Patrick M. Cosgrove
    ’42 Fd. Cp., $175
     “I suppose it’s another Cosgrove,” said Myrtle, sarcastically. “Go on, tell me it is.”
    I shook my head. I didn’t know what it was all about, but I knew it wouldn’t be another Cosgrove. It was all done too neatly.
    I’d drawn a check for $250. After allowing for a month’s expenses, I’d have a surplus of just about $175 to spend on a car. I hadn’t done it, but I wouldn’t dare tell Myrtle that. She’d never liked the idea of my being paroled to Doc. If she got the idea that he was using me, that there was something seriously wrong…
    I was in a trap, and I couldn’t go out by the door. That led back to Sandstone. I had to stay in until I found my own exit.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know it was a violation of my parole.”
    “Who said it was? What I want to know is why you bought it? That title was transferred yesterday, but the car was still on the sales lot this morning.”
    “I thought I’d pick it up over the week end,” I