So she was dead!
Verne Baird crushed the newspaper between his big, powerful hands. His pale eyes ranged over the noisy saloon, packed with people, cloudy with cigarette smoke and strident with voices, laughter and the jangle of a juke-box. No one was looking his way, and he dropped the newspaper on the floor, kicking it out of sight under the booth seat.
Damn her! he thought savagely. To have died like that! It wasn’t as if he had hit her more than once.
A broken neck! It was unbelievable!
He would have to get out of town now. Olin would be certain to pick on him. What a fool he had been to waste a precious hour in this saloon! He should have gone as soon as he had got his get away stake from Rico. Now it wasn’t going to be easy to get out. Every cop in town would be looking for him.
He signalled to the Negro bartender, who came over, his face glistening with sweat.
‘Another beer with a shot of rye,’ Baird said, ‘and snap it up.’
While the Negro went back to the bar, Baird lit a cigarette. He had no qualms about killing this woman. This wasn’t the first time he had killed. The act of taking a life was of no consequence to him. If someone got in his way, he killed them. Even his own life was of no value to him. He knew, sooner or later, the police would corner him, and it would be his turn to die. But so long as he had life in him, he would rage against any interference, any break in his planned routine, and this woman’s death was going to upset his plans. He wouldn’t be free to wander the streets or sit in a saloon or drive the battered Ford along the highway when the mood was in him to escape from the noise and the congestion of the city’s streets. He would have to watch his step. He couldn’t walk into a saloon now until he had carefully checked what exits there were, if a copper was lurking inside, if someone was planning to reach for a telephone the moment he was seen.
He drew his thin lips off his teeth in an angry snarl. Damn her! To have a neck as brittle as that!
He became aware that the Negro was whispering to the barman as he levered beer into a pint glass.