Kiss Me Hard. Thomas B. Dewey

then nothing for a while. I stood still, feeling my own heart beat, feeling Hazel’s panic as she stood, waiting.

      A thin light probed the clearing and I heard footsteps in the grass, a small, whispering sound. The light went here and there, playing over the convertible and on the trees that surrounded the clearing. It advanced slowly toward the car. I touched Hazel again and she stiffened away from me.

      My eyes worked, trying to blend the sharp flashlight beam with the moonlight, so I could see who it was. The moon was still bright enough to show that whoever had the light was big, was a man, but I couldn’t make out any definite shape or features. Then he got to the convertible, turned his back to us and leaned in, flashing the light into the seat. I recognized him then—the “big bastard,” the “pig,” the “gorilla” who sometimes hung around the tavern. The husband.

      I glanced at Hazel. She had opened her mouth wide. I reached over to cover it with my hand, but she twisted away and screamed. She screamed piercingly and in terror and the man at the convertible turned and flashed his light toward us.

      She ran, stumbling a little in her haste, screaming all the way—toward the convertible, toward her husband. Her unbuttoned dress spread out behind her.

      “Danny!” she screamed.

      I took a couple of steps after her, then stopped as the meaning of it sank in. I felt hollow in the pit of my stomach. The sound of her screaming went through me like shock waves. She threw herself on him, her hands clutching at his coat lapels. I heard her moan softly, “Oh, Danny. Thank God you came.”

      I stood there near the trees, thirty feet away from him across the clearing and I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. I stood there while he played the flashlight over me slowly. He took plenty of time about it and when he finally spoke, his voice was low and hard, edged with a kind of gloating anticipation.

      “Well, well,” he said. “It’s the piano player.”

      There wasn’t a hell of a lot for me to say. Hazel was sobbing hysterically against his chest, and he pushed her away with one hand.

      “This man give you some trouble, honey?” he said.

      He played the light over her.

      “Button up your dress,” he said.

      Obediently she did it. Her hands were steadier now. Bitterness drove words into my mouth.

      “What’s the matter, baby?” I said. “Lose your nerve?”

      The flashlight swung back to cover me.

      “Don’t listen to him, Danny,” she said. “Take me home. Please, now.”

      “Get in the car,” he said.

      She climbed into the convertible and slid behind the wheel. The flashlight beam was steady on me. His snotty voice came again.

      “There’s two ways to deal with this,” he said. “One is my way—personal. The other is with the law. I think I’ll give you some of both.”

      I still couldn’t think of anything to say.

      “Turn on the lights,” he said.

      “Please, Danny,” Hazel said. “Let’s just go home.”

      “Turn on the goddam lights!”

      She switched on the headlights. They threw bright light into the clearing. I was standing at the edge of the light circle and Danny Boy was a big black shadow beside the car. The flashlight went off and he tossed it onto the seat of the convertible. He started toward me across the clearing. The contrast in light and dark made his shadow loom like a skyscraper, only with those thick, sloping shoulders he was a top-heavy skyscraper. He moved slowly, his feet shuffling through the grass.

      I didn’t have any choice. I wasn’t brought up to be a fighter. I was brought up to play the piano. Besides, the only thing there had been to fight for was now cowering behind the wheel of a car, crying over her own spilt milk. I had nothing to do with this anymore. I was used to running. I was good at it. Even in the dark. Even in a strange countryside.

      So I turned and ran, straight back into the trees, away from the lights and the convertible, away from Hazel. I heard Danny curse behind me as I broke and then his feet, heavy, pounding through the brush after me. I ran with my hands out in front to ward off the branches of trees. The moon was shut out here and there was no way to tell where I was going or what might turn up in front of me. But I saw the steel fence in time to turn and follow it, stooping, along the edge of an open field. The trees were on my left, and between the fence and the trees was a path three or four feet wide that was easy going—but I knew it would be just as easy for Danny. My breath was loud now and my heart pounded in my head and I couldn’t tell whether he was behind me or not. If he knew about the fence he might have cut across to head me off.

      That pulled me up and I grabbed a strand of the fence and stopped long enough to listen and look back, panting for breath. He wasn’t behind me on the path. I sucked in air and strained, listening. For a while I didn’t hear anything. I guessed he had stopped too. Then there was the sound of his running again. It came from off to my left and behind me among the trees. So he did know about the fence.

      I started back slowly, walking carefully on the path, doubling back along the fence, listening as I went. The big ape went on, trying to head me off, and I slipped back along the fence, a little faster all the time, till I saw him come out of the trees to the fence. Then I ducked back into the woods myself and raced toward the clearing, where the headlights of the convertible still glowed. I hoped Danny Boy would thrash around long enough to give me three or four minutes.

      Hazel was sitting behind the wheel of the convertible, staring around. I was in deep shadow and I knew she couldn’t see me unless she turned out the car lights. Since her ever-loving husband had told her to turn them on, I doubted that she would dare to turn them off.

      I walked quietly toward the rear of the car, skirting the clearing to keep out of the light. My eyes were on the redhead at the wheel and she didn’t glance around. I moved faster, made a wide circle around the rear of the car and then approached it along the driver’s side, walking on tiptoe. By the time I had reached the door she still hadn’t looked around. But when I spoke her name softly she jumped straight up, jerked her head around and opened her mouth to scream. I clamped my hand over it, forcing her head back against the top of the seat.

      “Listen,” I said. “You wanted to run away. Now’s your chance. I’m going to get in and you’re going to drive.”

      Her eyes were wide. She moved her head, trying to get away from my hand over her mouth and I tightened the grip and pulled her around to face me again. I stuck my right hand in my coat pocket and pulled out the pint bottle.

      “The next sound you hear,” I said, “will be the top of this bottle breaking off. It won’t hurt you if you behave yourself.”

      I clenched my teeth and banged the top of the bottle on the metal frame of the car top. It splintered away and what was left of the whisky spilled onto the car and splashed on my hand. I held the jagged end up where she could see it.

      “Open the door,” I said.

      Her hand found the latch and it clicked. The door opened. I held the broken bottle two inches from her face and took my hand off her mouth.

      “Stand up,” I said.

      She got on her feet, bending over the wheel, holding it to steady herself.

      “I’m going to slide under you,” I said. “Don’t make me stab your beautiful behind with this bottle.”

      I slid onto the seat and across it to the other side. I put my hand on her arm and she sat down behind the wheel again.

      “Get going,” I said. “There’s time.”

      “Chris—”

      “Just get going.”

      She started the engine. She’d had it in