Westlake Donald E by Killy v1 1 (txt)

Author:Killy v1,1 (txt) [Killy v1,1 (txt)]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

Pounding woke me. My eyes opened to pitch darkness, and I moved, hampered by the unexpected restriction around my middle. The pounding stopped, and then the doorknob rattled and then the pounding started again.

I was afraid. Before the beating, I would have been angry, bin now I was afraid. I cowered on the bed in the dark, thinking of the walls as fragile. The pounding stopped again, and a voice called, ‘Wake up in there!’

‘Who is it?’ But I whispered it, to myself.

The voice muttered, just barely loud enough for me to hear. ‘God damn it to hell.’ There was irritation in the voice, not men ace. The doorknob rattled angrily.

I got up slowly from the bed, as though afraid to make a sound, put on my glasses, and crept across the dark room to the door. The rattling had stopped, again, and now an aggravated silence awaited without. I leaned against the door, the side of my face pressed to the panel, and heard low murmurings in the wood. ‘Who is it?’ With a great effort, I could make the hoarse whisper loud. But it dried my throat again, and made me cough.

‘At last,’ said the voice. ‘It’s Fletcher. Open the door.’

‘Oh. Oh! Just a minute.’ I’d forgotten all about Fletcher. I pawed the wall beside the door, felt the light switch, clicked it on, and blinked in the sudden glare. Then I unlocked the door As I opened it, I realized I was still in shorts and T-shirt. But Fletcher was already coming into the room.

He was of medium height, around fifty years of age, stocky of body, well dressed and full-faced. He looked like a very busy and successful lawyer. He came in, looked around the room, and said, ‘Killy’s not released yet.’

‘No, sir.’

Then he glanced at me. ‘You didn’t say anything about all that,’ he said, and gestured at my face.

I touched my cheek, felt the bandages. ‘That happened since.’

‘Local toughs?’

‘Police.’

He grimaced. ‘Bad. That the reason for the voice?’

‘I - I guess so.’

‘Better close the door.’

‘Yes, sir.’ I closed it quickly, made sure the snap-lock was on. When I turned back to the room, Fletcher was seated in the armchair, opening his suit coat. ‘You’d better sit down,’ he told me. ‘You look pale.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What’s that? You’re taped up?’

‘Yes. Around my stomach.’

‘Anything broken?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Good.’

I lay down on the bed again, feeling weak. Then a sudden temporal panic struck me, and I sat up to say, ‘What time is it, do you know?’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Quarter past two. Would have been here earlier, but the car-rental people fouled up in Syracuse.’ The way he said it, it was plain he considered incompetence the greatest sin, total competence the only worthwhile goal. Such an attitude instilled confidence, and I lay back down pleased that my earlier confidence in him had been justified.

He brought out a flat silver cigarette case, and snapped it open. ‘I don’t suppose you feel like smoking right now.’

I shook my head. ‘No, thank you.

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