Meeting Evil by Thomas Berger Read Free Book Online

crackling response was heard from the appropriate driver. When the exchange was completed, she glanced up malevolently at John. “I thought I told you to get outa here.”
    “If you could just call my wife,” John pleaded. “It’s a good neighborhood, right up the hill. It’s right next to DeForest.” By which designation, taken from the name of a park, one of the most affluent sections of town was popularly known (nouveau-riche types used it as part of their addresses, though without official post-office authority).
    The fat woman won the stare. “The only call I’ll make is to the cops. Unless”—she reached under the desk, making the grunting noises elicited by the effort, and brought to view an aluminum baseball bat—“you’d rather take a damned good beating from me.”
    There was nothing John could do at the moment, but he planned to drop in when he was back in his blazer and embarrass her for shaming a fellow local businessperson. After all, he was in a position to throw some trade her way. New homeowners often asked for a list of reliable electricians, plumbers, lawn-maintenance services, and there were timeswhen anybody might need a cab—e.g., when leaving a lone family car for a change of oil.
    On emerging from the taxi office he was in the rare state of mind in which he could see with relief that Richie was still at hand—or at any rate, the little compact car was yet at the curb where it had been parked earlier. He limped up to the passenger’s side and saw the by now familiar red hair. He bent and said wryly, “Hi. I’m back.”
    Her head turned quickly, birdlike, to the open window. Nevertheless, her nonphysical responses seemed to have lost their previous edge. For an instant it did not look as though she recognized him.
    He chuckled mirthlessly. “I got thrown out of the cab office, believe it or not. I don’t have any money with me.” He bent more extremely, to look beyond her. Nobody was behind the steering wheel. “I guess I can use that ride after all. Where’d Richie go?”
    “He’s getting breakfast.” She nodded toward the doughnut shop across the street.
    That had been Richie’s mission before the accident. John asked, “Do you mind if I get in?” While saying nothing, she made a movement of the head that was hard to interpret, but John took it as permission. It seemed most sensible not to disturb her but rather to enter by way of the driver’s door, lowering the seat-back and climbing into the constricted rear compartment, where there was space for his legs only if he angled them, for lanky Richie had moved the front seat back as far as possible.
    Suddenly the red-haired woman came to life, swiveling her head. “I thought you were going to drive! Let’s get out of here while the getting’s good.”
    In all decency, John pointed out, “The guy’s own car was stolen, for God’s sake. I’m not going to strand him here whilehe’s buying doughnuts. I wouldn’t worry so much about him if I were you. He might be eccentric, but he’s harmless. I’ve known plenty of people like that.” Because his motives in saying such were of the highest virtue, he was not consciously aware that this was not at all true.
    “He stole that car. I’m begging you to drive. I’m not in any condition myself. I was stupid: I took something.”
    Obviously some sort of tranquilizer. Joanie occasionally took a pill when under certain strains, and he never failed to warn her against driving at such times.
    He leaned forward. “All right. When Richie gets back, I’ll do the driving, if that’s what you want.”
    “That will be too late.” She returned to her earlier state of torpor.
    John went ahead and climbed out and into the front seat, sliding it forward somewhat to accommodate his legs, which were shorter than Richie’s. At five-ten he was certainly no midget, but he really did regret not having reached six feet, for most of his forebears had been taller, though he was among the