Home is the Sailor by Day Keene Read Free Book Online Page B

the rug and put it back in the Caddy for future disposal. I’d caved in the left side of Wolkowysk’s head. The right side didn’t look too bad. If I pulled his hat over his eyes he could pass for drunk. I put him in the right-hand front seat of the Buick and pulled his hat over his eyes.
    Corliss watched me in silence, her breasts rising and falling unnaturally fast.
    When I had Wolkowysk arranged to suit me, I motioned her under the wheel of the Caddy. “You drive. Follow me.”
    She whispered, “Where?”
    “To that turnoff where we parked.”
    She brushed my face with the tips of her fingers. “Whatever you say, Swede.”
    I slid behind the wheel of the Buick and eased it out onto the highway, back the way we had come, driving slowly now, making certain I dimmed my lights for every approaching car and observing what few stop signs there were. I didn’t want to be picked up for a traffic violation. Not with the cargo I was carrying.
    There was little traffic on the road. Nothing but trucks rolling north to L.A. and others rolling south to Dago, plus a few early-rising fishermen. Nearing the turnoff I slowed still more. When I reached it I turned off my lights. I hoped Corliss would think to do the same. I didn’t want any nosy highway cop investigating our headlights. At least, not until I’d got rid of Wolkowysk.
    The fog was thicker here. I drove through it slowly toward the top of the cliff and the cluster of wind-distorted trees under which Corliss and I had parked. When I figured I’d gone far enough, I stopped and set the hand brake. Then I got out of the car and paced the distance to the lip of the cliff. It was a little more than two hundred feet across level solid rock.
    I stood near the edge and looked down. The drop was as sheer as I remembered it. Three hundred feet down the waves pounded against a confusion of jagged rocks, the white water sucking in and out of the caves that the sea and time had worn in the base of the cliff.
    A cold hand touched mine. I jumped. Then I saw it was Corliss. She’d turned off her lights without being told. The Cadillac was parked a short distance back of the Buick. There was no one to hear her, but she whispered, her whisper almost carried away by the wind. “What are you going to do, Swede?”
    I said, “I’m not going to do anything. But Wolkowysk got stinking drunk in your bar last night. So drunk he drove his car off a cliff.”
    Corliss’ fingernails dug into my back as she kissed me. Her kiss was a prayer, a wish on a star. “What can I do, Swede?”
    I said, “Stand five feet from the edge of the cliff. As close to the path of the car as you dare.”
    She protested, “But I want to help.”
    Tension began to build in me like steam in a boiler, until I was afraid I’d blow my top any minute. “You will be helping,” I snarled. “When I’m even with you, I’ll jump. Take off your coat. That dress will show up better in the fog.”
    She dropped her coat and stood where I’d told her to stand. I walked back to the Buick, stiff-kneed, wishing that Wolkowysk hadn’t been such a cheap sonofabitch. If he’d laid out the extra money for Dynaflow, goosing the car over the cliff would be simple.
    Wolkowysk hadn’t gone for a walk. His smashed head still lolled on the seat back. I cursed him as I took the newspaper-wrapped rag from my pocket. I threw the paper away and used the rag to wipe my fingerprints off the wheel. When I was certain the wheel was clean I pulled his stiffening body under it and bent his fingers around the wheel.
    The fog was thicker now, a wall of gray between me and the lip of the cliff. I hoped I could see Corliss in time to jump. I made certain the car was in neutral. Then I released the emergency brake, turned on the ignition, and stepped on the accelerator.
    The car would idle fine. Finding a way to feed it gas was another matter. I solved the problem by wedging Wolkowysk’s right foot in such a way that when I pushed on his