The kill-off by Jim Thompson

Author:Jim Thompson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Detective, Mystery, Crime & mystery, Mystery & Detective, Fiction - Mystery, Hard-Boiled, 20th Century American Novel And Short Story, General, Suspense, Mystery & Detective - Hard-Boiled, Thrillers, Crime & Thriller, Fiction
ISBN: 9780375700354
Publisher: Vintage Books
Published: 1999-06-01T23:22:25.685000+00:00

8: LUANE DEVORE

It was Monday night. The dance pavilion is closed for business that night, but of course Ralph still has things to do there. Or things to do somewhere.

It was a little after eight, a little after dark. I heard the front door open quietly.

I hadn't heard Ralph's car, but I naturally assumed it was Ralph. The house is well-insulated. If he had driven up the old lane from the rear—as he sometimes does—I wouldn't have heard the car.

I turned around slightly in the bed. I waited a second, listening, and then I called, "Ralph?"

There wasn't any answer. I called again, and there still wasn't any. I made myself smile, forced a laugh into my voice.

Ralph is such a tease, you know. He's always playing funny little jokes, doing things to make you laugh. I suppose he seems pretty dull and stodgy to most people, but he's really worlds of fun. And it's always that sweet, silly puppyish kind. Even while you're laughing, you get a lump in your throat and you want to take him in your arms and pet him.

Oh, I can understand his attraction for women. His looks and youthfulness are only part of it. Mostly, it's because you enjoy being around him. Because he's so funny and sweet and simple and . . .

"Ralph!" I called. "You answer me now, you bad, bad boy. Luane will be terribly angry with you, if you don't."

He didn't answer. He—whoever it was—didn't. But I heard the floor creak. I heard more creaks, coming nearer, moving slowly up the stairs.

Just the creaks, sounds; not footsteps. Nothing I could identify.

I called one more time. Then, I swung my feet out of bed and . . . and sat there motionless. Half paralyzed with fear, helpless even if I was not so badly frightened.

The phone was out of order. As he—this person— doubtless knew. It was useless to yell. And if I locked the door, well, it could be forced. And then I would be trapped in here, in this one crowded, cluttered room, with even less chance of saving myself than I had now.

I got up, took an uncertain step toward the door. I hesitated, stared slowly around the room. And suddenly I was almost calm.

Save myself! I thought. Save myself!

Now, surely I should know how to do that.

Kossy came to see me the first Sunday of the season. I had called him, indicating that there was something I wanted to talk to him about when he had the time— strictly at his own convenience. And he raced right over. He didn't hurry on my account, of course. Catch one of those people doing anything for you unless there's a dollar in it. Probably he thought Ralph would be here, and he could load up on a lot of free eggs and fruit and vegetables.

Oh, well. I suppose I am exaggerating a little. Kossy really doesn't seem to care about money; he'll treat you just about the same way, whether he's getting a fat fee or nothing.

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