Nothing More than Murder

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Book: Read Nothing More than Murder for Free Online
Authors: Jim Thompson
bed.”
    “We’ve got some talking to do first,” I said.
    “All right,” she said. “But just a little. I know you’re worn out.”
    I didn’t know why she blushed; why she didn’t want to talk. Not right then, I didn’t. I should have, sure, but you know how it is. You don’t think about water when you’re not thirsty.
    She sat on the edge of the bed while I undressed and lay down.
    “Now, what’s it all about?” I said.
    “I don’t know, Joe. It just seemed at the moment that it was the only thing to do.”
    “We don’t have to go through with this business,” I said. “Maybe we can think of something else.”
    “Do we have to think of something else, Joe?”
    “What—how do you mean?”
    She was leaning back on one elbow, her legs drawn up under her. She lifted her eyes and gave me a long, slow look. She didn’t answer.
    “Well—well, maybe we don’t have to,” I said. “Gosh, Elizabeth, I don’t know—I don’t know what to do or what not to do. I never have known.”
    “I know I’m terribly difficult,” she said. “No, I mean it. But I do hope you understand my intentions were good.”
    “Oh, sure,” I said. “I understand.”
    “I’m afraid you don’t,” she said and laughed, “but we’ll not argue about it. It’s no longer important now. I hope it will never become important again.”
    “Tell me something,” I said. “About what we were going to do. Did you feel like I did—like you wouldn’t want to have other people around you anymore? Like you’d be ashamed, not for yourself but for them?”
    “Well—”
    “I guess I’m not sure of what I mean myself,” I said. “It wasn’t the idea of breaking the law or not going to heaven. I didn’t really see how we were doing anything very wrong. If it was someone you knew it would be different. If it was someone that was, well, respectable and a valued citizen and all that, it would be different. But when it’s not— Well, if you can sacrifice— If three people can have happiness and go ahead and amount to something just by someone—someone that doesn’t stand a show of being anyone or doing anything—getting out of the way, why—”
    “I’ll tell you why you felt as you did,” said Elizabeth. “It was too simple.”
    “No, that wasn’t—” I hesitated. “I don’t think I get you, Elizabeth.”
    “We’re strong people, Joe. Stronger at least than many. Without being too flattering we can say that we have good minds, good bodies, a good financial position.”
    “Not good enough.”
    “There’s room for improvement,” said Elizabeth. “There usually is. And there comes a time when the improvement seems imperative. So what do we superior people do? How do we exercise our fine talents in the emergency? We don’t. We don’t use them at all. We do something that the first man could have done much better. Something that anyone could do. We—we push over someone who is more trusting or less strong than we are.”
    “Well,” I said, “it was the only thing we could think of.”
    “Yes, Joe. It was the only thing we could think of.”
    I frowned, and I suppose she thought I was getting mad.
    “You go to sleep now, dear,” she said. “We’ll talk more later.”
    She got up and pulled down the shades, and turned off the light. She came back and bent over me, her face flushed, looking more like a little girl than ever.
    “Think you can sleep, Joe?” she said.
    And before I could answer, she lay down by my side and pulled my head against her breast.
    We lay there for a long time. Long enough to give me every chance in the world. And I could feel her growing stiffer and older by the minute.
    She didn’t get mad.
    She just acted sorry and sort of resigned. She moved away from me, and stood up.
    “When was it, Joe?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
    “Was it before you came here—to me?”
    “Hell,” I said, “you knew how it was all along. You’ve known about it

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