He Won't Need it Now

     The smile on his face was hard. “You're holding back on me, baby, and you know it,” he said. “If I weren't in this as an accessory, I'd let it ride. I'm in this for two reasons. One, I'm in it, if you get pinched, and two, I've got a little score to settle with Morgan. I'm easy enough if you play ball, but I'll get goddam' hard if you don't.”

     She said suddenly in a sharp voice, “Let me out of here.”

     Duffy didn't move. “You're in a spot, sister,” he said, “there is only one way you can get out of here. You can open your pretty mouth and start squawking, and that'll bring the cops arunnin', asking questions. You'll have a sweet twenty minutes, explaining why you're here, and how you got the key to this joint. Then they'll start looking for Cattley, and suppose they find him, what then?”

     She looked at him thoughtfully, then a little smile broke on her lips. “All right,” she said, “if that's the way you feel, let's talk.”

     Duffy shook his head sadly. “My, my,” he said. “You're like an eel, ain't you? Tough one minute, then the soft pedal. It ain't getting you anywhere, sister. You came here to find something and you've found it. Okay, you and me are going to share it.”

     She swung herself on the table, so that her skirt rode above her knees. Duffy looked at them, and thought they were nice. “You know everything,” she said; “you're quite right, I did come here to find something. I suppose I'd better tell you all about it.”

     Duffy grinned. “And with perfect grace, she confessed the truth,” he said.

     “Well, I've been a fool,” she said, studying her nails; “naturally, I wanted to keep it to myself. You've guessed by now that I lied to you about writing a book?”

     Duffy said, “You'd be surprised how much I do know.”

     “Cattley was blackmailing me,” her voice was suddenly weary; “I've had to pay and pay. I did something crazy once and Cattley was there. My father would have been in a hopeless position to run for election if it got out, and Cattley was smart enough to know this. He put the screws on, and I had to pay. It's awful of me to say this, but his death was a great relief to me.”

     Duffy said, “You're giving me a grand motive for his killing.”

     She slid off the table and came over to him. “You know I didn't kill him,” she said, “you believe that, don't you?”

     “Go on,” he said, “it don't matter a damn what I think, it's what the jury would think that counts.”

     She moved away again, and began wandering round the room, fingering the furniture aimlessly as she moved. “Cattley was a brute. He made me visit him. He gave me the key of his apartment. I had to go to him whenever he called. I knew he had some proof of what I did, so when he was killed, I came down to find it. That's the truth, you do believe that?”

     “Sure,” Duffy beamed, “a hophead would believe it.”

     She sat down suddenly in the arm-chair and hid her face in her hands. “I'm so unhappy,” she said, her voice breaking; “please be kind to me.”

     Duffy came over and sat on the arm of her chair. “When you went into the Johnny just now,” he said casually, “you smuggled something in your pants or some place. You can now go right back to the Johnny and dig it out again. Then you can give it to me.”

     She took her hands from her face and leant back. Her face was set. “You've got no right to ask for that,” she said, “it is nothing to do with you. It is entirely personal.”

     Duffy put his arm round the back of the chair and patted her shoulder. “Go into the Johnny,” he said.

     She got out of the chair. Her eyes were very angry. Duffy thought she looked swell. “I've had enough of this,” she said, speaking very fast; “I've told you the truth, and I'm not giving you anything. Now, understand that.”

     Duffy still sat on the chair-arm. He looked her over slowly, his mouth pursed, and his eyebrows raised. “You don't seem to understand,” he said; “I want whatever you found in this joint, and I'm going to have it.”

     She started to say something, but he held up his hand. “Quiet,” he said, “if you don't like to give it to me, I'll take it, how's that?”

     Slowly, she began to back to the door. He could see that she was getting scared. He left his seat quickly as she reached the door, and swung her round. She struck him across his nose with her clenched fist. Duffy was quite hurt. He put his hand to his face, felt his nose gingerly, looked at his fingers to see if his nose was bleeding, then he grinned. “Well, of course,” he said, “if that's the way you want it.”

     She struck at him again, but he caught her wrist, then she closed with him, a kicking, biting, scratching handful of outraged loveliness. For a moment, Duffy was busy keeping her nails out of his eyes. He smothered her arms with difficulty, turned her. Crossing her arms across her chest, and holding them tightly by the wrists behind her, he ran into the bedroom and slammed her face down on the bed.

     “You Redhead,” he said, panting a little with his exertion. “You going to play ball, or do I have to get rough?”

     She said, her voice muffled, “Oh! How I hate you!”

     “Come on.”