I’LL KILL HIM

“Where were you last night?” Foxy asked. Pam hesitated for a moment. “I told you. I went over to Mickey’s,” she said uneasily, avoiding his eyes. “I offered to help him and Clay. They’ve got a big math project due at the end of vacation.”

“Oh. I didn’t remember.” Foxy stared at her thoughtfully, pulling at the neck of his blue sweater. “Are you okay, Pam?”

“Yeah. Fine,” she lied, forcing a smile. She squeezed his arm tenderly, reassuring him.

He knows me too well, she thought. He can tell that something is troubling me. If only I could tell him. But I won’t. No way. No way I want to get him involved.

It was Tuesday night. Pam’s parents were out grocery shopping, and she and Foxy were sitting on the living-room couch. Some sitcom was on the TV across the room, but neither of them was paying any attention to it.

“How’s work?” Pam asked, trying to change the subject, trying to get Foxy to stop studying her so intently.

He shrugged. “Not bad. It has its enjoyable moments,” he said. “How come you’ve been hanging out with Clay and Mickey so much?”

She smiled at him, trying to cover up her uneasiness. “Foxy, you’re not the jealous type, are you?” she asked, taking his big hand between hers.

“Maybe,” he replied, returning her smile.

“It’s just that you’ve been so busy,” she told him, trying not to sound defensive.

He started to say something, but the phone rang.

She got up, crossed the room to turn down the sound on the TV, then picked up the phone from the low table near the hallway.

She recognized the gruff voice immediately.

“I want my share,” he whispered in her ear.

He knows where I live! Pam thought. He knows who I am!

She glanced across the room at Foxy, who was watching her, who must have seen the horror on her face.

“I want ten thousand dollars or I’m telling the police,” the voice rasped.

“What do you mean?” Pam asked, her voice trembling. She turned toward the wall, hoping Foxy wouldn’t hear.

“I saw you,” the voice said. “I saw you kill the guard. I saw everything.”

“No—we didn’t!” Pam shrieked. “We didn’t do it!”

Across the room Foxy jumped to his feet.

The caller ignored Pam’s outburst. “I want ten thousand dollars to keep quiet,” he rasped. “I’ll be coming for it soon.”

“But we don’t have any money!” Pam cried.

She was talking to a dead phone line. He had already clicked off.

“Pam—”

She was startled to discover that Foxy was standing right behind her.

“Pam—what is it? Who was that?”

“Oh, Foxy!” she cried and fell into his arms.

He hugged her close. “What? What? Tell me,” he insisted.

“I’m so scared,” she confessed, her head against his chest. “So scared.”

“Who was that?” he repeated. “What’s happening, Pam?”

She had to tell him. She was too frightened to hold it in any longer.

He led her back to the couch, and they sat down. He held her hands tightly. “Foxy, you’re not going to like this,” she began and then told him the whole story.

She started with the night at Mickey’s when Clay revealed his plan for robbing Dalby’s. With a trembling voice she told him about the robbery, how it went wrong, how the guard was shot, how they fled and just narrowly escaped before the police arrived.

Even though they were alone in the house, she whispered, leaning in close to him. All the time she talked she studied his face for the disapproval she knew would be there.

But Foxy’s face revealed only concern, concern mixed with disbelief. He listened to the whole story in silence. Then, when she finished telling him about the raspy voice demanding ten thousand dollars, he let go of her, his expression changed, his dark eyebrows lowered over his dark eyes.

“Pam,” he said, “I-I’m so—sorry.”

She had managed to hold herself together till then. But now her shoulders heaved, and she began to sob.

Foxy reached out to comfort her, but she pushed him away. She wanted to cry. She wanted to sob and scream and kick. She’d been holding it in too long, much too long.

But to Pam’s surprise, the feeling passed quickly. She dried her cheeks with her hands. She smiled guiltily at Foxy and apologized.

“I didn’t want you to know any of this,” she admitted. “I wasn’t going to tell you.”

“I’m not surprised about Clay,” Foxy said thoughtfully. “But you and Mickey—”

“I just got so tired of being poor!” Pam cried. “And so—so jealous of Reva, I guess. I don’t know, Foxy. I mean, I have no excuse. I was stupid. I went along with it.”

She stood up suddenly, gripped by one thought. “What am I going to do now? This creep who just called—he knows where I live. He—he’s very frightening, Foxy.”

“You have to go to the police. Tell them everything. Just what you told me,” Foxy said.

“No, I can’t!” she shouted. “Don’t you see? The police won’t believe us! I’m amazed that you do!”

“But, Pam—”

“No!” She cut him off firmly. “We can’t tell the police that we were there but didn’t kill the guard or take the money. They wouldn’t believe us in a million years. Besides, Clay would never agree to go to the police.”

Foxy got up off the couch and grabbed Pam’s hand. “Let’s go see Clay,” he said.

A few minutes later they were in her mother’s car, driving toward Mickey’s house, where Clay and Mickey were hanging out as usual. Earlier in the day the snow had started to melt. Then the temperature dropped again and the roads froze over.

Foxy gripped the passenger door handle tightly as the car slipped across the ice. “Can’t you drive a little slower?” he asked nervously.

“I’m only going fifteen,” Pam told him, “and I’m still sliding all over. It’s really treacherous. Maybe we should turn around and go back.”

“No,” he insisted. “We’re almost there. We’ve got to talk to Clay and Mickey and figure out what you’re going to do about this... blackmailer.”

“You’re being very understanding about this whole thing,” Pam said, pulling out of a skid.

“I’m a saint—remember?” Foxy cracked, holding on to the door handle for dear life.

They slid most of the way to Mickey’s house where Pam parked by the curb. To walk up to the front door, they had to lean into the frigid north wind.

Mickey was surprised when he saw Foxy. “Hi, how’s it going?” he asked Foxy, staring at Pam.

“He knows,” Pam told Mickey. “I told him all about it.”

“Let us in. It’s freezing out here!” Foxy cried.

“It isn’t much warmer in here,” Mickey said, shaking his head. “I don’t think Dad paid the heating bill.”

They stepped into the small living room. “Yo, join the party,” Clay said glumly.

“Clay, I got another phone call,” Pam said anxiously, the words spilling out of her. “The same guy with the croaky voice. He says he wants ten thousand dollars. He says he saw us in the store. He says he’s coming for his ten thousand real soon.”

Clay didn’t react at first, just stared intently at the window. Then he looked up at Pam and in a low, calm voice said, “Whoever he is, I’ll kill him.”

The quiet way Clay said that frightened Pam as much as anything that had happened. It was something people said all the time. “I’ll kill him. I swear, I’ll kill him.” It was something said in anger. An empty expression. People never really meant it.

With Clay it was different. Clay didn’t say things he didn’t mean. It was one of the scary things about him.

“Clay—you’re kidding, right?” Pam said, more of a plea than a question. “Please—promise me you’re kidding.”

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20