The Followed Man by Thomas Williams Read Free Book Online

Somehow he had
chosen her, and that choice could not be amended. One practical
reason was that he would find out more about her husband from Mike
Rizzo and Jimmo McLeod, who he would see again tomorrow at noon.
    The hotel switchboard dialed her
number, which rang once, twice, far away across seething Manhattan,
across the hazy terra incognita of the Bronx.
    "Hello?" said a
breathless woman from over there.
    "Mrs. Rutherford?" His
voice trembled.
    "Yuh."
    "My name is Luke Carr, and
I'm doing a magazine article on the tragic accident that took your
husband's life. I wonder if I might talk to you sometime."
    God, what horrible words to hear
coming from his own mouth.
    "Magazine article?"
She seemed surprised, not suspicious but confused. Her voice was low,
breathy, with a city accent: magizine aatikle, he spelled in
his head.
    "Yes, for Gentleman magazine. It's a follow-up story on the acci­dent. If you'd
like to check on it, you can call the editorial offices of Gentleman and ask them about me."
    "Lewkah?"
    "Luke, Carr—C-a-r-r.
Two names. "
    "Okay, but you better let
me call you back. I got two kids in the tub."
    "All right. I'm at the
Biltmore, Room 1040. The hotel's number is Murray Hill 7-7000. But
you might want to check with Gentle­man. The editor is
Martin Troup. You could ask for him."
    "Just a second while I
write that number down. Them kids are splashing all over the place. I
can hear . . . Marcia! Mickey! You stop that splashing!" Her
shouting was dimmer, her hand no doubt partly over the mouthpiece. He
expected to have to give her the information again, but after a
moment she said, "Okay, I'll call you back in a little while."
    "Thank you," he said.
    "Good-bye now."
    He put the phone down. Now that
the first part of it was over he felt great relief, as though he had
done something admirable. But the relief could hardly last; if
Marjorie Rutherford did call back it would mean that she would see
him and then he would have to talk to her. Where? In her home, of
course, so that he could run his judging eyes over her possessions
and come to all sorts of easy sociological conclusions. He could do
that so well. He had done it so many times before and probably much
of it was true, but a chill waited for him here. Now it would be a
widow, young enough to have two kids splashing in the bathtub. What
had she ever done to deserve the cool regard of the readership of Gentleman ?
    A knock on the door. It was
Robin Flash, straps and boxes, glinting clothes, disheveled blond
hair. To Luke's nose, love's sweet effluent seemed a bit sour as
Robin passed beneath it. Sour but nostalgic, if nostalgia did not
mean the recreation of desire but only its recollection. He did
remember the desire to pump himself into a woman's sweet receptive
bulk, there where she was broadest and deepest. Whether or not he
would ever feel that way again did not seem terribly important, and
that was only sad.
    Robin half-strutted into the
room, talking and seeming athletic in his wiry, moist way. He wiped
his brow with the back of his hand. "Cool in here! Better.
Jesus, it was hot in that goddam Toronado. Sweating brown and white
meat all over the upholstery—I'll bet we looked like a turkey
roll." He put down his equipment and from a leather box took a
cellophane package containing a new pair of jockey shorts. "It's
funny, you know. She took a dislike to me—that was obvious—and
when we went at it, she's glaring at me all the time. Some way, that
made it even sexier, even if she could have squashed me like a lead
soldier if she wanted to put a scissors on me. But you know that
glare I mean? Those brown eyes bugging out? I mean, you know that
devil-god mothering mammy-glare? And she wouldn't say a word. Not one
goddam word!"
    While he spoke he pulled off his
clothes, his hairy, muscular body almost the miniature of a grown
man's. "I mean, I know she does it for money, and Ruiz would cut
her ass if she didn't do what he said, but still . . ." He