Savage Night by Jim Thompson Read Free Book Online Page A

bowl. I threw my arms around it, bracing myself, looking down at the wavering water in the faintly brown-stained porcelain. And then my whole body swelled and shook, and I heaved.
    The first one, the first heave, was the worst. It seemed to pull me two ways, forcing the stuff back and throwing it up at the same time. After that it was easier; the hard part was getting my breath, keeping from strangling. My heart pounded harder and harder. The sweat of weakness streamed down off my face, mixing with the blood and the vomit. I knew I was making a hell of a racket, but I didn’t care.
    There was a rap on the door, and Fay Winroy called, “Carl. Are you all right, Carl?” I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. And the door opened.
    “Carl! What in the world, honey—?”
    I gestured with one hand, not looking around. Gestured that I was all right, that I was sorry, to get the hell out.
    She said, “I’ll be right back, honey,” and I heard her hurrying back up the hall and down the stairs.
    I flushed the toilet, keeping my eyes closed.
    By the time she came back I’d got some cold water dabbed on my face and was sitting on the toilet seat. I was weak as all hell, but the sickness was gone.
    “Drink it down, baby,” she said. And I drank it down—a half a glass of straight whiskey. I gasped and shuddered, and she said, “Here. Take a deep drag.” And I took the cigarette she handed me, and dragged on it deeply.
    The whiskey stayed down, warming me and cooling me in all the places where I needed warming and cooling.
    “My God, honey!…” She was down on her knees in front of me; why she bothered to wear that nightgown I didn’t know, because it didn’t conceal anything. “You get that way very much, Carl?”
    I shook my head. “I haven’t had a spell like that since I was a kid. Don’t know what the hell brought it on.”
    “Well, gosh, I didn’t know what to think. You sounded worse than Jake does sometimes.”
    She was smiling, concerned for me. But there was a calculating look in the reddish brown eyes. Was I a sharp guy, a guy who could give her a lot of kicks? Or was I just a sick punk, someone good for a lousy fifteen a week and no laughs to go with it?
    Apparently she made up her mind. She stood up and locked her arms around mine, holding them. She said, “Mmmmmmmmph!” and kissed me open-mouthed. “You tough little bastard!” she whispered. “Oh, you tough little bastard! I’ve got half a notion to—”
    I didn’t want that. Yet. I wasn’t up to it. So I started a little rough-house, and that broke the mood.
    “Stinker!” she laughed, leaning against the wall of the hallway. “Don’t you dare, you naughty bad boy!”
    “Flag me down, then,” I said. “I only stop for red flags.”
    I looked at her standing there laughing, everything she had on view. And all the time telling me not to look, not to dare. I watched her, listened to her. I watched and listened to myself, standing outside myself. And it was like seeing a movie you’ve seen a thousand times before. And…and I guess there wasn’t anything strange about that.
    I shaved and took the bath I’d missed the night before. I got dressed, hurrying it up a little when she called up the stairs to me, and went down to the kitchen.
    She’d fixed bacon and eggs and toast, some sliced oranges and french fries. And she’d dirtied up about half the pans and dishes in the place to do it, but it was all well prepared. She sat across from me at the kitchen table, kidding and laughing, keeping my coffee cup filled. And I knew what she was—but I couldn’t help liking her.
    We finished eating, and I passed her a cigarette.
    “Carl—”
    “Yes?” I said.
    “About—about what we were talking about last night—”
    She waited. I didn’t say anything.
    “Oh, hell,” she said, finally. “Well, I suppose I’d better go downtown and see Jake. He can stay away as long as he wants to, but he’s got to give me some money.”
    “Too bad you