Dark Passage by David Goodis Page B

was awful. He went into the ninth store and
it was a small establishment that seemed sincere, that also seemed
as if it was having a hard time staying on its feet. A man well
past seventy showed Parry a ring set with a rather small flame
opal, a sterling silver setting. The ring looked as if it had been
in the store since the store was founded, and the store looked as
if it had been founded a hundred years ago. But it was a flame opal
and Gert wanted a flame opal, and when the man said $97. 50 it
became a sale. Parry threw a milkshake down his throat and sprinted
back to the office. When he arrived at the office the headache was
taking his head apart and Wolcott was telling him this sort of
thing would never do, and besides his work lately had been anything
but satisfactory, and he had better wise up to himself before he
found himself out on the street looking for another job. When Parry
got home that night he tried to kiss Gert but she turned away from
him. He handed her the small package and said happy birthday. She
opened the small package and looked at the small flame opal. She
looked at it for a while and then she let it fall to the floor. She
put on her hat and coat. Parry asked her where she was going. She
didn't answer. She walked out of the apartment. Parry heard the
door slamming shut. He reached down, picked up the ring. He looked
at the closed door, then looked at the flame opal, then looked at
the closed door and then looked at the flame opal.
    CHAPTER 8
    Fellsinger tilted the bottle, poured rum
into the two glasses.
    “What time is it?” Parry asked.
    Fellsinger glanced at his wrist watch.
“One thirty.”
    “I better get going.” Parry downed the
rum.
    “When will you be back?”
    “I’d say around five or five thirty.”
Parry reached in his coat pocket, took out the key Fellsinger had
given him. “Got one for yourself?”
    “Yes. I’ve always kept two keys, although
I don't know why.”
    “Should I wake you up when I come in?”
Parry asked.
    Fellsinger grinned. “Do that. I want to
see what you look like.”
    “I’ll be all bandaged up. I'll be a
mess.”
    “Wake me up anyway,” Fellsinger
said.
    “I hate to walk out of here,” Parry said.
“I hate to go down that elevator and out on that
street.”
    “You don’t need to go. You can stay here.
I'm telling you you're better off if you stay. Once you walk
out—”
    “No. I’ll have to do it sooner or later
and I might as well do it now. Can you spare a pack of
cigarettes?”
    “Absolutely not.” Fellsinger took a pack
from the carton, took another pack and handed the two packs to
Parry. He was up from the davenport as Parry got up from the chair.
He hit Parry on the shoulder and said, “For Christ’s sake, Vince—be
careful.”
    “Careful,” Parry said. “Careful and lucky.
That’s what it's got to be. You better go to sleep now, George. You
got a day of work ahead of you tomorrow.”
    “Be careful, Vince, will you?” Fellsinger
walked Parry to the door. He put his hand on the knob. He tried to
keep his hand steady but his hand shook. He said, “Be careful,
Vince.”
    Parry opened the door and went down the
corridor. He pressed the elevator button and stood there waiting.
The elevator came up for him and just before he stepped in he
turned and saw Fellsinger standing beside the open door. Fellsinger
was smiling. Fellsinger was giving him a little wave of
encouragement. He smiled and waved back and entered the elevator.
As the elevator took him down he extracted the folded slip of paper
from his coat pocket. He looked at the name, Walter Coley, and the
address on Post street, and third floor—room 303. The elevator came
to a stop and Parry walked out of the apartment house, walked for
two blocks and saw a wide street that had car tracks. A streetcar
was approaching but he knew he couldn’t take a streetcar. He had to
depend on another taxi. He opened one of the cigarette packs,
realized he had no matches, put the pack back in his pocket. He
looked up and down the street and