Way to Go, Doll Baby by William R. Cox

Author:William R. Cox [Cox, William R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: crime, Classic crime, corruption, murder, violence, noir, crime novel, crime story
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 2023-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

Ralph Gordon was cold and calm, stuffing the body of the girl into an oversize laundry bag. There was not enough blood to matter. It was all a question of luck and playing it right. He was very strong, and although Chrissy was especially heavy in death, he hoisted the bundle and got it balanced on his shoulder. For one moment panic gripped him but his strong sense of self-preservation saved him. He went out of his apartment and to the service elevator. He pressed the button and waited, praying that a neighbor would not see him.

A door opened down the hall and Mrs. Downey peered at Mm. She was a middle-aged widow, and he had experienced trouble with her on various occasions when she had pressed herself against Mm, alcohol on her breath, uttering banalities to assure him that he could have her any time he wanted.

She said, “Laundry at this hour on Sunday? What’s with you, big boy?”

“Friend of mine needs the work,” he told her. “I’m working tomorrow, so he opened up for this job.”

“You sure must’ve been up to dirty work, from the size of it.” She started toward him.

It was a chilling moment. He could think of nothing to do, nothing to say. Sweat started beneath his armpits, at the nape of his neck. He swallowed hard.

The telephone rang in the Downey apartment. She reluctantly .paused. “That’s my damn sister. See you in the funny papers, big boy.”

The elevator arrived. He stepped into it and pushed the button for the basement. He lowered the burden to the floor, wiped his face with his handkerchief. He was shaking in every bone and muscle.

In the basement he moved with speed. He put the body in the back of the car, glad that the top was down. He started the Continental and drove, with the greatest of care, out onto the street. He headed for the hills between Westwood and the Valley. He drove with one eye on the rear-vision mirror, wheeling as though on a roadway of thin ice. Anyone who knew him would have detected in a moment that he was not acting like himself. He usually drove with annoying carelessness, almost nervously, certain only that he was getting away with something, being a movie star, being a paper tiger. Now he was solemnly and fully intent because this meant his life, his salvation from complete and utter disaster.

And he was meeting the problem. He was executing. Right now it did not even occur to him to be proud of himself. He knew only that unseen under cover of darkness, at midnight or thereabouts, he must rid himself of the body of Chrissy Clay. He knew precisely what he had to do and how to do it. He had spent a long time figuring it out—and finding the courage for it.

He wound through Westwood and crossed over and eased down to Coldwater Canyon. His only worry at the moment was the white Continental, which might be recognized by any number of people.

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