The Brat by Gil Brewer Read Free Book Online Page B

front lawn. A harness cop leaned against the door of a cruiser by the curb, talking and waving one arm. Two cops stood on the porch. As I watched from the shrubbery-shrouded alley across the street, I saw a plain-clothes man hurry out of the house, skip down the steps, and walk fast toward the curb.
    “Douse ‘em!”
    All the windows in the house showed lights. Suddenly the lights went out, fast. The cops on the porch turned the porch light off and the door closed from inside. The cops ran down the porch steps and around the side of the house. The cruisers out front drew away. I watched them. They drifted quietly down to the middle of the next block, and parked just around the corner. They had a fine view.
    A black and white cat moseyed across the front lawn from the house opposite and sat down on the front walk in a dry spot. The cat meowed plaintively, then began licking one paw.
    It was beautiful, silent, peaceful. Not a sound.
    All ripe and ready for Lee Sullivan.
    Waiting for me to come home.
    If I’d been a few minutes later …
    I wondered if that would have been better?
    I didn’t think along those lines for long. I had to find her and bring the money back. The only way I’d ever be clear was to find her. And I would, if it took me the rest of my life.
    Turning, I stepped carefully back down the alley, close in against garages and a tall hedge of Turk’s cap. Finally I made the convertible, climbed in and drove off.
    Suppose Ed Fowler talked her out of heading for her home in the ‘glades? What then? I started laughing, driving across town … then I thought for a minute I’d be sick, gagging with what was inside me.
    Wouldn’t that be sweet? They’d be gone by now. They could have taken a plane already. Taxi to Tampa International, and from there … anywhere you could guess—just name it. Canada. Rome. France. South America. South Africa. Some quiet little thatched-roof village in Southern England. Any place there was a comfortable bedroom. There didn’t have to be pillows. She didn’t need a pillow—not with what she had.
    Then when that part began to tame down a little—if ever—they could just travel.
    They had enough money.
    I wondered exactly how much?
    Only she would fight to go home—if I knew her at all. And I had to take that chance. God knew, I’d been wrong about a lot of things.
    I didn’t even have enough money for gas. I needed a different car, but wasn’t going to get one unless I stole it. So maybe that was how it works: one thing leads to another, until you are over your head, and don’t have a chance.
    Stopping at a candy store in the suburbs, I phoned Mrs. Timothy. There was the chance the cops had already reached her.
    “Yes?”
    “This is Lee.” I said that much and waited. There was no wild reaction, so it looked all right. The cops could be there, prompting her, I thought.
    “Yes, Lee?”
    “I got tied up. Couldn’t get back to the shop this afternoon. Wanted to thank you for closing.”
    “That’s all right. I know you’ve got troubles, Lee.”
    Her voice was kind. It was good to hear. It was good not to be battling with somebody for the moment.
    “I’ll need whatever cash we had on hand,” I said. “Did you take it home with you?”
    “Uh-huh. I thought I’d better.”
    “Swell. You did right. I hate to bother you—I know it’s getting late. All right if I stop by and pick it up? I need it right away.”
    “Certainly. There’s only fifty-six dollars, Lee. Some odd change. Thirty-two cents, I think it is. I’ll check.”
    “Never mind. I’ll be right over.”
    In the convertible, I drove toward the south side of town. I’d have to take the chance, and leave by the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, rather than go around by Tampa. Mrs. Timothy’s home wouldn’t lead me far from my route.
    On her street, I spotted the cruiser in the middle of the block. It was slowing in front of her house. I rode the brakes, pulling to the curb, and sat there. I had to have