Native Son - Richard Wright [68]
“The police?”
“Maybe.”
“What you do?”
“I’m planning to do it now.”
“But where you get that money?”
“Look, Bessie, if I had to leave town and wanted dough, would you help me if I split with you?”
“If you took me with you, you wouldn’t have to split.”
He was silent; he had not thought of Bessie’s being with him. A woman was a dangerous burden when a man was running away. He had read of how men had been caught because of women, and he did not want that to happen to him. But, if, yes, but if he told her, yes, just enough to get her to work with him?
“O.K.,” he said. “I’ll say this much. I’ll take you if you help me.”
“You really mean that?”
“Sure.”
“Then you going to tell me?”
Yes, he could dress the story up. Why even mention Jan? Why not tell it so that if she were ever questioned she would say the things that he wanted her to say, things that would help him? He lifted the glass and drained the liquor and set it down and leaned forward and toyed with the cigarette in his fingers. He spoke with bated breath.
“Listen, here’s the dope, see? The gal where I’m working, the daughter of the old man who’s rich, a millionaire, has done run off with a Red, see?”
“Eloped?”
“Hunh? Er…. Yeah; eloped.”
“With a Red?”
“Yeah; one of them Communists.”
“Oh! What’s wrong with her?”
“Aw; she’s crazy. Nobody don’t know she’s gone, so last night I took the money from her room, see?”
“Oh!”
“They don’t know where she is.”
“But what you going to do?”
“They don’t know where she is,” he said again.
“What you mean?”
He sucked his cigarette; he saw her looking at him, her black eyes wide with eager interest. He liked that look. In one way, he hated to tell her, because he wanted to keep her guessing. He wanted to take as long as possible in order to see that look of complete absorption upon her face. It made him feel alive and gave him a heightened sense of the value of himself.
“I got an idea,” he said.
“Oh, Bigger, tell me!”
“Don’t talk so loud!”
“Well, tell me!”
“They don’t know where the girl is. They might think she’s kidnapped, see?” His whole body was tense and as he spoke his lips trembled.
“Oh, that was what you was so excited about when I told you about Loeb and Leopold….”
“Well, what you think?”
“Would they really think she’s kidnapped?”
“We can make ’em think it.”
She looked into her empty glass. Bigger beckoned the waitress and ordered two more drinks. He took a deep swallow and said,
“The gal’s gone, see? They don’t know where she is. Don’t nobody know. But they might think somebody did if they was told, see?”
“You mean…. You mean we could say we did it? You mean write to ’em….”
“….and ask for money, sure,” he said. “And get it, too. You see, we cash in, ’cause nobody else is trying to.”
“But suppose she shows up?”
“She won’t.”
“How you know?”
“I just know she won’t.”
“Bigger, you know something about that girl. You know where she is?”
“That’s all right about where she is. I know we won’t have to worry about her showing up, see?”
“Oh, Bigger, this is crazy!”
“Then, hell, we won’t talk about it no more!”
“Oh, I don’t mean that.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I mean we got to be careful.”
“We can get ten thousand dollars.”
“How?”
“We can have ’em leave the money somewhere. They’ll think they can get the girl back….”
“Bigger, you know where that girl is?” she said, giving her voice a tone of half-question and half-statement.
“Naw.”
“Then it’ll be in the papers. She’ll show up.”
“She won’t.”
“How you know?”
“She just won’t.”
He saw her lips moving, then heard her speak softly, leaning toward him.
“Bigger, you ain’t done nothing to that girl, is you?”
He stiffened with fear. He felt suddenly that he wanted something in his hand, something solid and heavy: his gun, a knife, a brick.
“If you say that again, I’ll slap you back from this table!”
“Oh!”
“Come on, now. Don’t be a fool.”
“Bigger, you oughtn’t’ve done it….”
“You going to help me? Say yes or no.”
“Gee, Bigger….”
“You scared? You scared after letting me take that silver from Mrs.