registration I’d found in
the glove compartment. As I stood there in my worn overalls,
jittery, impatient, a police car wound past outside with siren
wailing and moaning like the passionate shepherd. It may have been
a fire. It could be the police were going to a ball. But I was
certain all that hurry was for me.
“ Sure, go on, use the phone,” Canne
said. He wiped his nose, folded the registration, tossed it into a
desk drawer among odds and ends of papers.
I called the airport, which was only ten miles
away. Their next flight to Tampa, Florida, would be in a half hour.
Could I make a reservation? Certainly, no need, really, plenty of
space. Reserve me a seat, anyway. All right.
Next call: Western Union, charge Albert Canne.
Is this all right, Mr. Canne?
NORMA MEET ME DREW FIELD TWO O’CLOCK THIS
AFTERNOON
Yes, honey, it’s all right.
Next call: Send a cab right over to Canne’s
cars. What’s the address here, Mr. Canne? Two-ten Lee Street.
That’s right, right away.
Next call: Is this the Riverview Sanitarium?
Yes, Miss Watkins, speaking. She was excited, breathing hard, and I
could see, in my mind’s eye, her mashed-potato breasts heaving
beneath her uniform. Miss Watkins, would you tell Jim Phelby his
car is at Canne’s car lot? Tell him that—wait a minute, Miss
Watkins—tell him Eric Garth says he’ll see that two hundred dollars
plus expenses are wired to him by tomorrow morning. Yes, thank you.
I’m sorry, Miss Watkins, good-bye. She was having a
time.
“ Aren’t you James Phelby?” Mister
Canne said. The papers and pencils in his shirt pocket weighted it
down badly.
“ Certainly.”
“ Oh.”
I went out front to the walk. Pretty soon the
cab came along and I directed the driver to the airport. “And step
it up, will you?”
“ Sure thing.”
“ Stop right there, will you?” I
said three minutes later. “By that clothing store.”
The cab braked to a stop. “Only a minute,” I
said, climbing out. The driver yawned and scratched his neck.
“Listen,” I said, handing him a twenty-dollar bill, “while I’m in
here, go some place and buy me a fifth of whisky.”
“ What kind?”
“ Rye. Any kind.”
“ Done.”
I went on into the clothing store. We were on
the main business street in Sordell. As I entered the store, I
wondered vaguely what Leda had done with my car. It had been a new
car. Well, there were lots of new cars, but if I’d had it, I could
have had more money from Canne, and there wouldn’t have been any
possibility of Watkins tipping the police where I’d
been.
Because they’d trace the call, I was only
hoping for one thing. Jim would be with the police, hunting for me,
and Watkins wouldn’t be able to say I’d phoned. They wouldn’t be
able to trace me to Canne’s car lot until I was on the plane for
Tampa. Or maybe even in Tampa. That would be the thing I had to
hope for. Radio could stop me at Tampa plenty quick. I’d march off
the plane into the arms of Florida police. An escaped
lunatic.
I bought a cheap pair of pants with the cuffs
on, because I couldn’t wait for them to be altered. “I’ll need a
jacket,” I said. “A shirt, too.”
“ Yes, sir.”
They wondered why I was in a hurry. I didn’t
tell them. I bought a hat, too, something I’d never worn as a
civilian. Altogether, I looked exactly like somebody who was
running away from a sanitarium after I’d put the clothes
on.
“ You can keep the overalls and
shirt,” I said.
The clerk’s hair was marcelled, perfumed, and
he didn’t want to soil his fingers touching the
overalls.
“ Really,” he said. “We don’t want
them.”
“ That’s a shame,” I said. “Because
you’re stuck with ’em.”
“ But what ever will I do with
them?”
I told him an impolite way to rid himself of
them. He blushed madly and I went on outside in my new
duds.
I climbed aboard the plane with the fifth of
whisky under one arm. I felt like an escaped convict. Then I
the glove compartment. As I stood there in my worn overalls,
jittery, impatient, a police car wound past outside with siren
wailing and moaning like the passionate shepherd. It may have been
a fire. It could be the police were going to a ball. But I was
certain all that hurry was for me.
“ Sure, go on, use the phone,” Canne
said. He wiped his nose, folded the registration, tossed it into a
desk drawer among odds and ends of papers.
I called the airport, which was only ten miles
away. Their next flight to Tampa, Florida, would be in a half hour.
Could I make a reservation? Certainly, no need, really, plenty of
space. Reserve me a seat, anyway. All right.
Next call: Western Union, charge Albert Canne.
Is this all right, Mr. Canne?
NORMA MEET ME DREW FIELD TWO O’CLOCK THIS
AFTERNOON
Yes, honey, it’s all right.
Next call: Send a cab right over to Canne’s
cars. What’s the address here, Mr. Canne? Two-ten Lee Street.
That’s right, right away.
Next call: Is this the Riverview Sanitarium?
Yes, Miss Watkins, speaking. She was excited, breathing hard, and I
could see, in my mind’s eye, her mashed-potato breasts heaving
beneath her uniform. Miss Watkins, would you tell Jim Phelby his
car is at Canne’s car lot? Tell him that—wait a minute, Miss
Watkins—tell him Eric Garth says he’ll see that two hundred dollars
plus expenses are wired to him by tomorrow morning. Yes, thank you.
I’m sorry, Miss Watkins, good-bye. She was having a
time.
“ Aren’t you James Phelby?” Mister
Canne said. The papers and pencils in his shirt pocket weighted it
down badly.
“ Certainly.”
“ Oh.”
I went out front to the walk. Pretty soon the
cab came along and I directed the driver to the airport. “And step
it up, will you?”
“ Sure thing.”
“ Stop right there, will you?” I
said three minutes later. “By that clothing store.”
The cab braked to a stop. “Only a minute,” I
said, climbing out. The driver yawned and scratched his neck.
“Listen,” I said, handing him a twenty-dollar bill, “while I’m in
here, go some place and buy me a fifth of whisky.”
“ What kind?”
“ Rye. Any kind.”
“ Done.”
I went on into the clothing store. We were on
the main business street in Sordell. As I entered the store, I
wondered vaguely what Leda had done with my car. It had been a new
car. Well, there were lots of new cars, but if I’d had it, I could
have had more money from Canne, and there wouldn’t have been any
possibility of Watkins tipping the police where I’d
been.
Because they’d trace the call, I was only
hoping for one thing. Jim would be with the police, hunting for me,
and Watkins wouldn’t be able to say I’d phoned. They wouldn’t be
able to trace me to Canne’s car lot until I was on the plane for
Tampa. Or maybe even in Tampa. That would be the thing I had to
hope for. Radio could stop me at Tampa plenty quick. I’d march off
the plane into the arms of Florida police. An escaped
lunatic.
I bought a cheap pair of pants with the cuffs
on, because I couldn’t wait for them to be altered. “I’ll need a
jacket,” I said. “A shirt, too.”
“ Yes, sir.”
They wondered why I was in a hurry. I didn’t
tell them. I bought a hat, too, something I’d never worn as a
civilian. Altogether, I looked exactly like somebody who was
running away from a sanitarium after I’d put the clothes
on.
“ You can keep the overalls and
shirt,” I said.
The clerk’s hair was marcelled, perfumed, and
he didn’t want to soil his fingers touching the
overalls.
“ Really,” he said. “We don’t want
them.”
“ That’s a shame,” I said. “Because
you’re stuck with ’em.”
“ But what ever will I do with
them?”
I told him an impolite way to rid himself of
them. He blushed madly and I went on outside in my new
duds.
I climbed aboard the plane with the fifth of
whisky under one arm. I felt like an escaped convict. Then I
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