Nemesis

Then he was holding her close and she was crying, her face buried into his chest.

“Don’t, honey,” he said.

“It was all my fault. If I hadn’t acted like I did you wouldn’t be here now. Oh, darling, what are they keeping you for? They wouldn’t tell me a thing.”

“Sit down here,” he said. He sat beside her on the cot and held both her hands. “I’m in trouble, honey. How bad I don’t know. Until about fifteen minutes I wasn’t sure of my name. I was lost. I was dead. I thought I was insane.” He squeezed her hands and met her eyes steadily. “I’m not much better now. A little, but not much. I’m thinking now. It’s not getting me anywhere, but it’s a start. The most important thing, darling, is that you believe me. No matter what you’re told or how screwy my story sounds. You’ve got to believe me.”

“Oh, I do, darling.”

“You haven’t heard the story yet. Last night I had a few drinks. I’m not going to tell you what a fool I was for storming out last night. Some day I will.”

“Don’t, darling,” she whispered.

“After a few drinks I met a girl. I had one drink with her and it was doped. I passed out. I woke up this morning in bed with her and she was dead. That is the God’s honest truth. That’s all there is. But you’ve got to believe me.”

Her eyes were widened with horror.

“Oh, my darling,” she murmured.

“And here’s the twist. They can’t find her body. Not a trace of her. Not one thing to prove I’m not just lying.”

“But, darling, are you sure?”

“Dead sure. They almost talked me out of it. Had me convinced I was dreaming or crazy. But I know I’m not. Somewhere in this town there is a dead girl. And somebody is covering up her murder for some reason.”

“Darling, it just doesn’t make sense.”

“I know it doesn’t.” He looked at her and then down at her hands. “The only alternative,” he said slowly, “is that I’m insane. That’s why I won’t admit it.”

Fran put her head against his shoulder and murmured, “I believe you, darling. That makes me crazy, too, doesn’t it?”

He smiled at her. Not much of a smile but it was the first time he’d felt like smiling since last night.

“Crazy as a coot,” he said.

They sat close together without talking much for the next hour. The copper in the corridor had turned an elaborately indifferent back to them, and was engrossed in a paper.

They sat there until six o’clock.

And then Meyers came back. He opened the door and frowned at Larry.

“The verdict is in,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Get the hell out of here. You’re nuts!”

He walked away, a puzzled, angry man, with gray clothes, graying hair and a gray soul.

“Somebody tried to frame me, Fran. Why, I don’t know. I wouldn’t know him if I passed him on the street, but he can hold this thing over my head like a rock. He can crush me anytime he feels like it. That’s why I can’t just sit around and do nothing.”

They were sitting in their kitchen over empty coffee cups. He lit another cigarette and went on:

“I’ve got to know all about what happened last night or I’ll go insane. I can’t live with this thing on my mind.”

“Darling,” Fran said, “there’s nothing you can do.” She tried to make her voice soothing, but she couldn’t eliminate the note of strain and tenseness. She put her hand over his and held it tightly. “You’re out of it now, darling, you’re in the clear. It could have been horrible, but by some miracle it’s turned out all right. Please don’t try and stir up anything.”

“I’ve got to,” Larry said. “This morning I woke up with a murdered girl beside me. Can I forget that? Can I go back to the office as if nothing had happened? I’ve got to find out who murdered her and why it was done.”

“What are you going to do?” Fran asked. She drew her hand away from his and her voice was despairing.

“I’ll start at the beginning,” Larry said. “At the Kicking Horse.” He put his cigarette out and stood up. “Call the office tomorrow morning and tell them I have a cold. Or anything.”

Fran sat with her hands in her lap as he straightened his tie.

“When will you be back?” she said.

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

“As soon as I can, honey. You get to bed and try and sleep.”

She buried her face in his sleeve and said, “darling, be careful.”

“I will,” he promised.

It was nine o’clock. Madison street was crowded and noisy. The lights were on and music blared from loudspeakers. The blinking neon signs advertised bars, cafes, dance halls and burlesque shows.

Larry stopped in front of the Kicking Horse.

He felt cold and afraid. He wasn’t the heroic type. He was just an ordinary guy. His throat was dry and the fear he felt was something he could taste.

The trouble he was in had started here, and now he was walking back in, without any authority, without any backing, without even a clear idea of what he wanted, and it was like sticking his head into a noose. But it was something he had to do. He was old enough to know that you had to do the tough things by yourself.