Free Davidian Report by Dorothy B. Hughes Page A

tomorrow. Now. Let him decide if he’ll see me. You can believe it or not but if I don’t get to him fast, he’s in for trouble.”
    “Where you are, there is always trouble,” she stated.
    He hadn’t realized it but they were at the Fifth Street incline that led to Bunker Hill. Without warning she twisted her arm from his clutch. “Stay away from me. I have enough troubles.” She began to run up the hill.
    He could have followed her. But he didn’t. He’d given her enough to think about. She might not recognize it as truth but he had told her true; he had to see Davidian alone before either side moved in.
4
    On the long trolley run back to the hotel, he had time to think about Davidian. No matter how much Janni wanted to believe that Davidian had changed, Steve knew better. He was using Janni.
    The man could be yet hiding out in the battered old house where Janni lived. This Steve doubted. It would not have been safe for either of them. Wherever Davidian was, it must be a place where there was sufficient seclusion for him to work on his report. It would be a poor place, the old man’s purse strings wouldn’t pry any wider than small change. But not too isolated, Davidian wasn’t the recluse type; he’d be needing someone to smoke a cigarette with, to argue philosophy and politics and historical accidents with. He’d be needing a woman. Wherever he was, he’d make friends. Not caring that friends could be dangerous. For Davidian, danger was the norm.
    There was some pattern of communication worked out between the two. They wouldn’t risk letters. They would be wary of the telephone. Their good Americanization program would not as yet have erased the deep-rooted suspicion carried with them from Europe. They could meet accidentally, two strangers on a park bench, exchanging the hour; two strangers passing on the street. The solution was so obvious—the all-night movie. Where Janni could be found every night; where Davidian was only another shabby man buying a seat to rest his skinny bones. He could have been inside the grimy theater tonight while she led Steve away by his nose. He cursed her just above his breath. Goddamn little slut.
    If he’d been in a position to offer her a wad of dollars, she’d have sold him a ticket and personally ushered him to a seat beside the man he sought. Haig had the wad; all he needed was to offer her enough to overcome her repugnance at selling out to the police. Once he caught on to that, events would move fast enough Haig’s way. The worst of it was that Steve didn’t dare ask for extraordinary funds from the organization; he had to work cheap. While time closed in inexorably.
    The trolley trundled past the hotel and Steve jabbed the bell. He swung off at the next stop, annoyed at overriding his destination; it meant he was off key and he couldn’t afford that. It hadn’t to do with the physical actuality of Janni; he was through with that. He could touch her wrist, her arm, without his blood remembering.
    He walked back the two blocks. The lobby smoldered in its customary shadow, the nonexistent clerk posed behind the desk, the Philippine boy rode him silently to the fourth floor. He opened the door with his key, saw Reuben leaning against the bath door and then saw the upheaval of the room.
    “What the hell?”
    “Don’t jump me. I just got in.”
    There’d been so little to disturb, he and Rube traveled light. But that little was upside down on the dirty rug. They hadn’t taken his gun; it was a dull high light on the rug. Rube couldn’t help spotting it but he didn’t say a word.
    “The lousy bastards.” It wasn’t his side, they would have searched the place unobtrusively twelve hours ago. Leaving no traces. Nor would the F.B.I. leave a mess. Not unless they chose to. This was Haig Armour’s idea, more psychological unnerving. Steve tossed the gun into his valise. “Sorry.” He began to pick up the rest of the stuff.
    “You’re up to your neck in