The Bitch by Gil Brewer Page A

you think of Hornell?”
    “He was a steady-going guy. A good man—only he’d run into a lot of tough luck.”
    “Now, ain’t that the truth?” Schroeder said.
    He stalked over to Sam’s desk without looking at him and grabbed his plastic raincoat up. He balled it into a wet, sticky wad and shoved it under his arm and stood there staring at the office door.
    “You’re through,” he said. “That’s all there is to it. You’re through in this town—or any other town. You’re washed up.”
    Nobody spoke. Schroeder left the room. We heard him pause in the waiting room.
    “Anything you hear, let me know—pronto.” He laughed to himself and stumped on out and the door slammed.
    Sam stood there, leaning against his desk, staring at the floor.

CHAPTER 10
    “Why didn’t you tell him?”
    Sam still watched the floor, leaning against his desk.
    “Why didn’t you?” I asked again.
    “You know why.”
    “All right. But tell me.”
    “You did this thing, didn’t you, Tate? Didn’t you?”
    I didn’t answer him.
    “It’s sure swell,” he said. “It’s just great. I know you did, boy—because it was inside all the way. Why do you think Schroeder talked like that? You think he’s a fool? I’ll explain it carefully. He’s not a fool—he’s a damned smart guy—and he knows it was inside. Anybody knows that!”
    “What do you know about that?”
    “Oh, Christ,” he said. “Good Christ.”
    I was sorry I’d spoken that way, but what good did it do now? He got under my skin and made me talk that way. I couldn’t help that.
    I was fogged with everything that had happened. Especially what Janet had said about only wanting to “spur me on.” That tore it—it was the end. Here I was with two hundred thousand dollars, and I’d gone through with the whole thing just because of something in my own mind.
    Somehow I couldn’t believe all that. Somehow I couldn’t see how I’d been so wrong.
    “You going to tell me about it?” Sam said.
    “Schroeder told you.”
    Sam stood away from the desk, looking at me. He took hold of the buckle on the trenchcoat and ripped it loose, and slipped out of the coat and walked across the room and hung it on a hanger, and hung the whole thing on the coat rack. He straightened his tie, then turned and looked at me again. You could see the butt of his gun winking from the shoulder holster at the opening of his gray jacket.
    All of the feeling about the security and pleasure of the office was gone now. The atmosphere was there, all right, but it no longer reached me.
    “What are you going to do about what you think?” I said. “You just going to keep on talking? You think that’ll get you anywhere?”
    “Just keep talking,” Sam said. “That’s all I want you to do. It’ll come out, because you can’t help yourself. I never saw such a fool before. How in hell do you live with yourself? Did you kill Hornell?”
    “No.”
    “Who was the other man?”
    I turned my chair around and looked out the window. It was quite a sight, over the city, only right now was no time to look at it and enjoy it. I couldn’t, anyway—not with the way things were. I wondered how little old Thelma was doing on her loving couch, by now? I was willing to bet she’d hit the sauce and got all lushed up in anticipation of the pay-off. She would be in a fine state by now. I wondered if that’s where Johnny Morrell was? I had to see Morrell. I was as lost as you can get, because I didn’t know what to do.
    Morrell wasn’t going to sit around and do nothing, knowing I had all that boodle. It would tear the hell out of him, and even if he decided to take it easy for the rest of the night, Thelma wouldn’t let him. She’d froth at the mouth, the way she was. She’d banked a hell of a lot on this. It meant getting out from under old Zachary. And remembering him was something too. He trusted me, and I’d let him down flat. He’d been notified by now. Maybe the police were out there