voice somewhere behind me took over the floor. It was familiar, and still it wasn’t. I turned. It was Pearl Talley, sitting with his back towards me, telling one of his interminable stories.
“. . . So the first man says, “”Look, Morris, we know by you it’s a sickness already, it should happen to Hitler, but, Morris, we’re only asking would you please—”
“Tobacco Road Yiddish,” Ollie said. “He also does a good southern Swede.”
“It’s not bad,” I said thoughtfully, still looking at Pearl.
“Oh, sometimes when he gets wound up he’ll go on all night with those half-witted dialects.”
“Maybe he even speaks English?” I said.
Ollie grinned and shook his head. “I’ve never heard him try.”
“Well, I’ll see you,” I said, and started to turn away.
“Anything I can do for you?” he asked. “Run you in to a doc if you haven’t got a car.”
”I’m all right, thanks. I’ve just got to find Mrs. Langston.” And get out of sight within the next five or ten minutes, I thought, if I wanted to see tomorrow’s sunrise. I went out the door, and looked across the road. Her station wagon was parked in front of the office. Nothing surprised me any more. I broke into a run, and was almost hit by a car. The driver called me something unprintable and sped on. I ran into the lobby and could hear her moving around in the living-room. She turned as I shoved through the curtains. She was still dressed exactly as she had been at dinner, and as far as I could see she was unharmed. She looked at my face and gasped, and then, is if we’d been rehearsing it for a week, she was in my arms.
“I’ve been so worried,” she said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Bill, what happened?”
“No time now,” I said. “We’ve got to get out of here. Fast.”
She grasped the urgency in my voice and asked no questions. Running into the bedroom, she came out with her purse and a pair of flat shoes. We hurried out. She locked the front door. It occurred to me the back one was probably broken open, but it didn’t seem very important.
“Where does Talley live?” I asked, as I hit the starter. “I mean, east of town, or west?”
“West,” she said. “On the other side of the river, and then south four or five miles.”
We’d risk it, I thought. I had no plan of any kind except to get off the highway and out of sight, but once we were committed we’d never get back through town or across that bridge. In a few minutes everything was going to be closed to us.
I whirled around and shot onto the highway, headed towards town. And almost at the same instant I heard the siren wailing up ahead of us. It was too late to turn now. I kept going straight ahead, holding my breath. The Sheriff’s car shot past us, doing sixty. He hadn’t seen us. They were still looking for me in their cruiser.
“Watch him,” I said, opening up as much as I dared. “Is he turning in?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “What is it, Bill?”
They’d find their cruiser across the street, and then they’d be looking for this station wagon. “In a few minutes,” I said. “If we get through town.”
I went through as if I were driving on eggs. The streets were quiet now, with not enough traffic to cover us. I felt naked. Nobody paid any attention to us. We came onto the bridge at River Street and I was tied in knots expecting to hear the growl of a siren open up behind us. Nothing happened. Breath escaped from me in a long sigh. I eased in on the throttle and was doing fifty by the time we were across the river. “Where do we turn?” I asked.
“A little over a mile,” she said. “There’s a service station.”
I prayed he’d be closed, but he wasn’t. However, he was busy waiting on a customer as we made the turn and I didn’t think he saw us. I straightened out and hit the throttle again. It was a gravel road running through timber and there were no other cars in sight. I slammed on the brakes.
“Look,” I said, “you can still get out. If I’m not with you, they can’t stop you. Go back to the highway and head east.”
“Are you in trouble?” she asked quietly.
“Serious trouble. And you will be too, if you’re caught with me.”