Night Extra

But Karsh was lost to him. “Old college songs, Sam, that’s the spirit of the evening. There’s one from the ole U. of Peiping—” He laughed as an ad lib struck him. “The University of Peiping Tom, actually. It goes: On Godiva, on Godiva, on right through ’at town. You got to say ‘ ’at’ town; it shows you is a real ole southern boy.”

Karsh’s son joined them and said easily, “Dad, we’ve got to peel off. I didn’t get a chance to tell you during the game, but we’re driving up to Skyport tonight.” Young Karsh was tall, dark and his manners were impeccably casual.

“Now wait a minute.” Karsh looked puzzled and hurt. “You’re staying in town. All of you. I’ve got suites lined up for you, one for boys, one for girls. We’ll have a champagne breakfast in the morning and then we’ll all drive over to Skyport.”

“I’m sorry, Dad, but the mob has a timetable. We’re late now.” Terrell had the feeling that the boy’s indifferent poise was being severely tried; beneath his negligent manner he was probably sweating like any teen-ager caught in an embarrassing scene before friends. “We’ll all take a raincheck, if we may,” he said, smiling and touching Karsh’s arm. “Thanks for a very gay day.”

“That’s all right,” Karsh said. He patted the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t mention it. Sorry you have to be on your way. I missed a briefing, I guess. I thought this was to be a real holiday. Well, have a nightcap anyway. And a bite of something to eat. Make your friends live it up a bit.”

When Karsh turned back to Terrell his manner had changed; the boozy good fellowship was gone, and his eyes were empty and cold. “I go on kidding myself,” he said. “Thinking there’s something besides work. But there’s nothing.” He shook his head quickly. “The girl is gone, eh? When did this happen?”

“Around ten this morning, I think.”

“How important is she to your story?”

“She’s it. But I can start without her.”

“Are you sure Cellars picked her up? She worked for him, you said. Maybe she’s still working for him.”

“No, she’s on the level. I know, Mike.”

“It’s a question of how far we can trust her. She may have walked out on you — keep that in mind. Scribbled a note and walked out. There’s no proof that Cellars grabbed her. Is there, Sam?”

Terrell hesitated, frowning faintly at Karsh. “How did you know she left a note?” he said.

“Clairvoyance, pure and simple. They all leave notes. Now look. Wait for me in my bedroom while I make another call. I’ll put the call through out here and say good-bye to the boy. Then we’ll go to work. Could you get everything together in two or three hours? For the Night Extra?”

“I’m ready now,” Terrell said.

“Good.” Karsh winked at him and walked briskly to a telephone on a table beside the record player. The room was noisy with talk and music, and when he lifted the receiver a girl sitting cross-legged on the floor looked questioningly at him and pantomimed turning off the machine. Karsh smiled and shook his head. “Like noise,” he said. Terrell could read the words on his lips. “Blame all mistakes on it.”

When the connection was made and Karsh was speaking, Terrell turned and walked into Karsh’s bedroom. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, hearing the hard, laboring stroke of his heart. The music from the living room poured around him but he was aware only of the reactions of his body; the beat of his heart, the tight, cold feeling in his stomach, and then something in his mouth that was like an essence of fear and betrayal and death.

The extension telephone was on a table beside Karsh’s long, wide bed — just a foot or so from Terrell’s hand. He looked down at the smooth, black receiver, and a little shudder went through his body. If he lifted the phone he would destroy something in himself; certain kinds of suspicions were too destructive to be entertained casually or cheaply. That much he was certain of. But his feelings were only a small part of what was involved. He knew that, too.

Terrell’s hand moved slowly, almost of its own volition, raising the receiver to his ear. He heard music first, a noisy background sound from the record player, and then he heard Karsh’s voice, sharp and hard over the music, and insistent to the point of desperation.

“—it can’t be covered up, Ike. I’m telling you, it’s impossible. Be reasonable, man.”

The music beat strongly in Terrell’s ear, a pulsing rhythm that matched the quick beat of his heart. And then he heard Ike Cellars’ voice, bigger than Karsh’s, thick with convulsive anger.

“Don’t tell me anything, understand! You keep it out of your paper.”

“But Terrell’s got everything.”

“You keep them from printing it. That’s your job. Don’t worry about anything else.”