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offer to clean the windshield.
 Never mind, I said.  Just kiss me, and help me up.
I drove it around to a parking lot not too far from the bus station,
and put the bags in. It was one-thirty. The next stop was a
pawnshop. I picked up a second-hand portable typewriter, a pair of
7-by-50 binoculars, and a Colt .45 automatic. Then I stopped at a
sporting goods store, after thinking it over, and bought a box of
ammunition for the gun. I didn t like the idea, but this wasn t a
child s garde now: Stowing all this in the car, I looked up the
biggest store in town that specialized in sound and recording
equipment. I was there nearly two hours getting a thorough fill-in
on tape recorders and trying out the different models. When I left I
had a good one with a sensitive microphone designed for wide-
angle pickup. I caught a cab and went back to the lot with it. After
putting it in the trunk of the Chevy I walked out to the corner
again. A boy was calling the final edition of one of the afternoon
papers. I bought one and sat behind the wheel as I shuffled
through it. They had found Purvis.
  Private Investigator Slain, the second page story led off.  The
body of Winton L. Purvis, 38, private detective and former
insurance investigator, was discovered early this afternoon in his
apartment at 10325 Can line Street. He was apparently struck on
The Big Bite  35
the head with terrific force by some heavy object, though no trace
of the murder weapon was found at the scene. Police are as yet
without clue as to the identity of the assailant, but are convinced
he is a large man of great physical strength.
There wasn t much more. Apparently it had broken just in time
to get the bare essential facts in the last edition; there d be more
tomorrow. But there was enough here to start it rolling the
address and the fact they were looking for a big man. I hoped that
cabby wasn t sitting behind his wheel somewhere in the city as I
was, leafing through the paper.
Well, the ball had to bounce one way or the other. But I
couldn t sit here and waste time. I switched on the ignition and
rolled out into the river of traffic. Mrs. Cannon, here I come.
The Big Bite  36
5
Wayles . . .
I tried to remember it as I drove. It was a small town, a county
seat, built in the old style around a square and a brick courthouse
where pigeons cooed in the early mornings and made a mess of
the red walls with bird lime at all times of the day. I d lived, in
several just like it when I was a kid growing up; there are a
thousand of them in the south. Just driving through, you wouldn t
think there d be anybody in one of there who d be worth $300,000,
but it would fool you. There are always a few, the second and third
generations, the business families who made it in cotton and
timber and sometimes in oil or banks or real estate. I shook my
head impatiently, watching the headlights bore a tunnel in the
darkness. That didn t matter. I knew she had it. I was trying to
remember something about the town. I thought there was a hotel
at one end of the square. I hoped there was, for it was important.
It was odd now, to think I had been there for near five weeks and
was still this vague about the actual layout of the square, but I
hadn t lingered after I got out of the hospital. As soon as I was able
to drive I just got into the repaired Buick and shoved for Oklahoma
City. Wayles? I ve had Wayles, buster, and I give it to you. In
Oklahoma City I d had some more medics proofread the leg for
typographical errors and they said the local talent had done a good
job and that was as good as ever. It was there I d finally signed
clear with the insurance company.
There were two or three likely-looking motels with vacancy signs
out in the edge of town, but I passed them up. If I had to, I could
come back, but I wanted that hotel if it was where I thought it was.
The highway from Houston came in the southwest corner of the
square, ran along the south side, and then went on straight east. It
was after ten p.m. and few cars were on the street. I passed the
courthouse and slowed, and then I saw it on the east side of the
square, just where I vaguely remembered it and hoped it would be.
The sign said Hotel Enders.
The Big Bite  37
It was near the middle of the block. I turned and went up the
east side and slid into the loading zone. The entrance was through
a screen door between a dress shop and a jewelry store, both
closed now but throwing light out onto the walk from their display
windows. I went down a narrow corridor on cocoa matting. There
was a small lobby at the end and some stairs beyond the desk. A
bridge lamp was burning near the cigarette machine and to the
left was a wire rack of paperback books. An airplane type fan on a
standard was droning away in a corner, keeping the stale air in
circulation even if it didn t cool anything. A fat woman with short
gray hair and jowls like a bulldog was reading a magazine at the
desk. A colored boy about eight feet long was folded up and
stacked in one of the armchairs against the other wall, asleep, with
sections of arms and legs dangling out onto the floor. He wore an
old maroon jacket with an ROTC type collar, and shoes like
overnight bags. The woman looked up at me from her magazine
with the unwinking stare of one of the more haughty types of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]