Read Online An Eye for an Eye by Leigh Brackett - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Leigh Brackett
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flight. Ernie hesitated briefly and then ran on the strip of hall carpet to the back of the building and the service stairs, concealed behind a frosted-glass door with a red sign over it that said FIRE EXIT.
He ran up the service stairs, stepping as quietly as he could on the scarred brown compo of the treads.
When he reached the top flight he became extremely careful. He made no sound at all, and when he opened the door onto the third floor he did it so gently that it slipped open as quietly, and as little, as a slitted eyelid.
Ben Forbes was talking to a woman in the doorway of an apartment not quite halfway down the hall on the right side. Just as Ernie saw him he stepped inside the apartment and the woman closed the door. But he got a good look at her. Young. Red hair, but beautiful, pulled into a thick pony tail that was all one springy curl. A pair of big beautiful knockers in a fancy sweater something like the one Ivy had, only Ivy did not look quite like this in it. A very flashy number, all dressed up for a date welcoming Ben Forbes in.
Ernie’s face became curiously cold and hard.
He verified the number of the apartment and then returned to the foyer. He wrote down the two names that appeared on the card above the mailbox for D-3, Mary Catherine Brewer and Lorene Guthrie. He placed the names in his wallet and walked back to his car.
For the second time that night he sat in it, thinking.
This is Ben, he told himself. Remember? You’ve known him all your life and he’s never been a chaser. Certainly not now of all times, with Carolyn missing. There could be a lot of reasons why he would have to come running to see this doll.
Name one. And explain why he acted so guilty about it.
Explain why he lied.
No immediate answer came except the obvious one, and that was the one Ernie didn’t want. A cop should not have friends, he thought. It makes things tougher. If this were just anybody, you would put the evidence together without passion and consider it in the same way. But this is Ben. You have a picture of Ben as you have observed him over the years and you know that this action does not fit the picture. You know that Ben would not do what you have just seen him do.
You do not want him to have done it. Because you like Ben and it is a hard thing to find out that someone you like is a louse.
Because you have a mind trained in the ways of suspicion, taught to believe the worst, and one thought never comes alone but brings a whole long line of others with it.
No. Knock it off. Let it rest. A tired man shouldn’t try to think.
All you really know at this point is that Ben has done something you don’t understand.
There was no point in hanging around any longer. Ernie drove home.
Ivy had a steak for him. While she broiled it he took off his shoes and had a beer. He was still able to see most of the fight. It was one of the off-Garden nights and the pickup was from one of the midwestern arenas. The main go featured middleweights, one of them a pretty fair boxer of the club-fighter type who always turned in a good clean performance. The other was a local boy hailed enthusiastically as a rapidly rising star. As far as Ernie could see this boy had never heard of boxing except as something you did to packages. All he could do was wrestle, butt, crowd, hold, and keep up a clumsy flailing like a woman beating rugs. But he was inexhaustible and he had a head made of cast iron. The boxer couldn’t seem to get going. It made Ernie mad. “Come on,” he kept telling the boxer, “get off the dime. You can take this clown.”
Ivy put the steak in front of him. “I don’t see why you watch the fights if they make you angry.”
“I like fights,” Ernie said, “when they are fights. This is a mess.”
The boxer lost. Ernie felt restless and dissatisfied. The wrong man won, but what were you going to do about it?
“For pity’s sake,” said Ivy, “what’s wrong with you?” She leaned over and kissed him.
He ran up the service stairs, stepping as quietly as he could on the scarred brown compo of the treads.
When he reached the top flight he became extremely careful. He made no sound at all, and when he opened the door onto the third floor he did it so gently that it slipped open as quietly, and as little, as a slitted eyelid.
Ben Forbes was talking to a woman in the doorway of an apartment not quite halfway down the hall on the right side. Just as Ernie saw him he stepped inside the apartment and the woman closed the door. But he got a good look at her. Young. Red hair, but beautiful, pulled into a thick pony tail that was all one springy curl. A pair of big beautiful knockers in a fancy sweater something like the one Ivy had, only Ivy did not look quite like this in it. A very flashy number, all dressed up for a date welcoming Ben Forbes in.
Ernie’s face became curiously cold and hard.
He verified the number of the apartment and then returned to the foyer. He wrote down the two names that appeared on the card above the mailbox for D-3, Mary Catherine Brewer and Lorene Guthrie. He placed the names in his wallet and walked back to his car.
For the second time that night he sat in it, thinking.
This is Ben, he told himself. Remember? You’ve known him all your life and he’s never been a chaser. Certainly not now of all times, with Carolyn missing. There could be a lot of reasons why he would have to come running to see this doll.
Name one. And explain why he acted so guilty about it.
Explain why he lied.
No immediate answer came except the obvious one, and that was the one Ernie didn’t want. A cop should not have friends, he thought. It makes things tougher. If this were just anybody, you would put the evidence together without passion and consider it in the same way. But this is Ben. You have a picture of Ben as you have observed him over the years and you know that this action does not fit the picture. You know that Ben would not do what you have just seen him do.
You do not want him to have done it. Because you like Ben and it is a hard thing to find out that someone you like is a louse.
Because you have a mind trained in the ways of suspicion, taught to believe the worst, and one thought never comes alone but brings a whole long line of others with it.
No. Knock it off. Let it rest. A tired man shouldn’t try to think.
All you really know at this point is that Ben has done something you don’t understand.
There was no point in hanging around any longer. Ernie drove home.
Ivy had a steak for him. While she broiled it he took off his shoes and had a beer. He was still able to see most of the fight. It was one of the off-Garden nights and the pickup was from one of the midwestern arenas. The main go featured middleweights, one of them a pretty fair boxer of the club-fighter type who always turned in a good clean performance. The other was a local boy hailed enthusiastically as a rapidly rising star. As far as Ernie could see this boy had never heard of boxing except as something you did to packages. All he could do was wrestle, butt, crowd, hold, and keep up a clumsy flailing like a woman beating rugs. But he was inexhaustible and he had a head made of cast iron. The boxer couldn’t seem to get going. It made Ernie mad. “Come on,” he kept telling the boxer, “get off the dime. You can take this clown.”
Ivy put the steak in front of him. “I don’t see why you watch the fights if they make you angry.”
“I like fights,” Ernie said, “when they are fights. This is a mess.”
The boxer lost. Ernie felt restless and dissatisfied. The wrong man won, but what were you going to do about it?
“For pity’s sake,” said Ivy, “what’s wrong with you?” She leaned over and kissed him.
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