Nightfall by David Goodis Page B

from the Denver affair. Sam had been in Leadville, under the care of that doctor. Three men in the Seattle robbery. Three men in the Denver deal. He felt like rapping himself in the mouth. Now he had gone and done it. Now he was glued to Seattle as well as Denver. Now he had taken Sam's place in the line-up. He was only a substitute and yet at the same time he was the headline performer. He was the star, the stellar attraction, he was the goat, the ignoramus who deserved every rotten break he got. This phone call was just another major error in a long parade of major errors. He was kidding himself now and he had been kidding himself all along. He wasn't a criminal, he wasn't even an amateur criminal. He was a commercial artist, a grown man, an ordinary citizen who believed in law and order, a man who looked upon too much excitement as an unnatural, neurotic thing. He didn't belong in this muddle, this circle, that went round and round much too fast.
      The voice from Denver was there again. “Hello. Callahan?”
      “Still here.”
      “We're checking with Seattle. Can you hold on?”
      “I'll wait.”
      “Good. We won't be long.”
      Vanning put another cigarette in his mouth, had no desire to light it. He put his hand in front of his eyes, wondered why his fingers weren't shaking. Perhaps he had gone beyond that. Perhaps it was actually a bad sign, his steady fingers. He sat there, his head lowered, feeling sorry for himself, sorry for every poor devil who had ever stumbled into a spot like this. And then, gradually lifting his head, he gradually smiled. It was such a miserable state of affairs that it was almost comical. If people could see him now their reactions would be mixed. Some of them would have pity for him. Others would smile as he was smiling at this moment. Maybe some of them would laugh at him, as they would laugh at Charlie Chaplin in hot water somewhere up in the Klondike.
      He sighed. He thought of other men, thousands of them, hundreds of thousands, working in factories, in offices, and going back tonight to a home-cooked meal, sitting in parlors with their wives and kids, listening to Bob Hope, going to sleep at a decent hour, and really sleeping, with nothing to anticipate except another day of work and another evening at home with the family. That was all they looked forward to, and Vanning told himself he would give his right arm if that was all he could look forward to.
      “Callahan?”
      “Yes?”
      “Just stay there. Be with you in a jiffy. We're still talking to Seattle on another phone.”
      “Make it snappy, will you?”
      “Be right with you.”
      Vanning struck a match and applied it to the cigarette that waited in his mouth. He took in some smoke blew it out, turned his head and saw a girl waiting outside the phone booth. She seemed to be fed up with waiting, and her pose was typical, the hand on the hip, the head tilted to one side, the lips tightened sarcastically and saying, Go on, take all day, it's so silly to consider other people. He smiled sheepishly, and her expression changed, she glared at him. She looked very attractive, glaring. Pretty girl with an upsweep, pretty and slim and extremely Madison Avenue. It was getting on toward the cocktail hour and evidently she wanted to check on her date at Theodore's or the Drake and it was a shame he had to keep her waiting like this. It was really unfair. All she wanted to do was keep that date, and all he wanted to do was keep himself alive. Now her expression had changed again and she seemed really worried about getting to the phone. He was just a little annoyed at himself, because he was getting an eerie sort of satisfaction watching her frown in worriment. At least he wasn't the only worried individual in this world.
      The girl shifted her position, breathed in and out in an exasperated way.