Free Murder Your Darlings by J.J. Murphy Page A

her, could feel that he was now stalking quickly after her.
    “Evening, miss,” the policeman said. “Everything all right?”
    “Everything’s just jake.” She smiled and walked on. She didn’t want to give the man with the scar any reason to hurt the old cop.
    Just beyond was another stairway, leading back up to the center of Times Square. She scurried up the steps.
    Back on the busy sidewalk, she looked around. Above her were glowing signs and flashing billboards advertising Arrow Shirt Collars, Maxwell House Coffee, Squibb’s Dental Cream, Camel Cigarettes, Chevrolet, Coca-Cola, and countless others. The illuminated marquees of the multitude of theaters and dozens of hotels blazed at her. People called Broadway the Great White Way because of the millions of bright lights that turned the dark city night into day. But all that light only served to make Dorothy feel more conspicuous. She glanced around, looking for somewhere to hide. To disappear.
    Should she duck into one of the big theaters? If so, which one? The Rialto? The Bijou? The Lyric? The Gaiety? Or should she sneak into one of the small burlesque revues?
    Should she run into that all-night Automat? Or up those stairs to a smoky pool hall? At the next doorway, a huckster tempted tourists into a dance hall where men paid a dime per dance to women with tight dresses and loose morals. Over there was a corner cigar store she’d accompanied Benchley into a few times. Or she could scurry into that soda fountain and hide behind the magazine racks.
    She was paralyzed with so many ways to turn—and none offered any guarantee of safety.
    Then, above the din of traffic, she heard the whinny of a horse. An open carriage stood in front of the Hotel Astor. A happy-looking young couple was climbing in.
    Dorothy darted toward them. She sized up the young couple quickly: honeymooning out-of-towners, probably midwesterners, in New York for the first time.
    She hurried toward the carriage and climbed up after them. She plopped down and found herself sitting next to the startled husband. On his other side, the young bride looked surprised but not alarmed.
    “Welcome,” Dorothy said brightly. “I’m from the Manhattan Tourist Bureau. First time in New York?”
    “Y-yes,” stammered the young woman happily. The young man was too taken aback to answer.
    On the high bench seat in front, the driver, in a top hat and velvet cape, looked back at them.
    “Let’s be off, my good man,” Dorothy said.
    He turned around indifferently and snapped the reins. The old horse heaved forward and the carriage moved into traffic.
    “Just married?” Dorothy said.
    The young woman nodded eagerly. She smiled from ear to ear and squeezed the young man’s arm. “My better half! I can’t let him go for a moment.”
    There was a sudden jolt and the carriage stopped abruptly. Dorothy looked down and saw the man with the scar standing angrily beside the carriage.
    “Get out now!” he snarled at her.
    Dorothy turned to the young woman. “That’s my lesser half. He won’t let me go for a moment.”
    The woman looked shocked. “Oh, you poor thing.”
    “Out. Now!” The man reached into the pocket of his long coat.
    The driver cracked his whip. “Begone, you!”
    The man with the scar jerked away. His hand flew to his cheek and he staggered backward.
    The crack of the whip goaded the horse. The carriage jolted forward and moved at a brisk trot.
    Smiling, Dorothy turned back to the young bride as though nothing had happened. “On your honeymoon?”
    “Oh, yes.” The woman nodded eagerly. “We’re so happy.”
    “Ah, marriage,” Dorothy said, easing herself back in her seat. “What a wonderful institution.”
    “Isn’t it?” the young woman agreed.
    “Certainly,” Dorothy said drily, “if you want to be institutionalized.”

Chapter 9
    Inside Tony Soma’s speakeasy, Dorothy elbowed through the crowd and finally stood at the bar. The chase through Times Square had frazzled