Stay out of here on your time off.”
“O.K.,” I said.
“We’re not interested in winning back your wages. And if you get a hot streak, get it somewhere else.”
I thanked him and walked back to the bus station. After calling half a dozen rooming houses I finally found a place to stay and walked across town carrying the bags. It was a shabby, two-story mansion a little down on its luck. I paid a week’s rent, and after the landlady had brought me up to date on all the other tenants I managed to get away from her long enough to locate the bathroom. I took a shower and scraped off three days’ growth of beard. The cut on my face where Bolton had hit me had healed pretty well, and most of the puffiness was gone from my hand.
It was a stage set for a boardinghouse room. I sat down on the slab of a bed and lit a cigarette and stared out the window. It was night now, but I could see snow eddying silently in the darkness beyond the glass and farther away the reflected neon bonfire of Virginia Street. I tried to remember if I’d eaten anything lately, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. Nothing did. After a while I got into pajamas and turned out the light.
I’d been riding too long and the bed rocked the same way the bus had. I couldn’t go to sleep. I was empty and washed out and beyond caring about anything, but I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. They’d fly open and I’d be thinking about things, but the crazy part of it was that none of them seemed to make any difference. They didn’t matter in the slightest. The police were looking for me. I was practically broke. I’d never find Lachlan now. Who cared? I was through with her at last, once and for all, wasn’t I? After twenty-three years I’d got the last of her out of my system and she could go to hell, or Donnelly could use her for a clay pigeon, or she could find somebody else to double-cross.
So I’d been afraid Charlie would pull a fast one on her and take it all. I wanted to laugh, but there didn’t seem to be any laughs in me either. I was going to protect her from Charlie, because Charlie was a crook. It was a shame about the laughs, because there might never be another masterpiece like that. It was a classic. Nobody would ever top it. Charlie, I suspect you of being dishonest, so unhand our little Nell. And tell her to give you back your arm.
I’ll come by and pick you up at noon, dear, in my little Cadillac. But don’t hold your breath.
I cursed and threw the blankets off and got up and dressed. The snow was slackening a little as I walked across town toward the lights. I remembered a little bar on a side street off Virginia and went in and sat down on a stool. A couple of shills nursed drinks at the blackjack table, the girl at the roulette wheel dribbled chips through her fingers, and a half-dozen people were shooting craps. Down at the other end of the bar four divorcees in slacks and fur coats were chattering over their drinks.
The barman remembered me, and nodded as he mopped the bar. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“I’ve been away,” I said.
He studied me. “Let’s see. Bourbon, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “With plain water.” I always drank Scotch, but it wasn’t worth the effort.
He peered down the bar toward the covey of quail and shook his head. He hated women in bars. “One Planter’s Punch, one Golden Fizz, one Orange Blossom, and one Alexander. And you know what?”
“No,” I said. I knew what, because I’d heard it before, but maybe I’d get my drink sooner if I went along with him.
“Every damn one of ‘em will pay for her own drink. With a fifty-dollar bill.”
“It’s tough,” I said. I sat for a long time with the drink and then had another, but they seemed to have no effect on me at all. If anything, I felt worse. I got up and walked over to the table to watch the crapshooters. They were mostly women, making two or three passes in a row and betting fifty cents each
“O.K.,” I said.
“We’re not interested in winning back your wages. And if you get a hot streak, get it somewhere else.”
I thanked him and walked back to the bus station. After calling half a dozen rooming houses I finally found a place to stay and walked across town carrying the bags. It was a shabby, two-story mansion a little down on its luck. I paid a week’s rent, and after the landlady had brought me up to date on all the other tenants I managed to get away from her long enough to locate the bathroom. I took a shower and scraped off three days’ growth of beard. The cut on my face where Bolton had hit me had healed pretty well, and most of the puffiness was gone from my hand.
It was a stage set for a boardinghouse room. I sat down on the slab of a bed and lit a cigarette and stared out the window. It was night now, but I could see snow eddying silently in the darkness beyond the glass and farther away the reflected neon bonfire of Virginia Street. I tried to remember if I’d eaten anything lately, but it didn’t seem to make much difference. Nothing did. After a while I got into pajamas and turned out the light.
I’d been riding too long and the bed rocked the same way the bus had. I couldn’t go to sleep. I was empty and washed out and beyond caring about anything, but I couldn’t keep my eyes closed. They’d fly open and I’d be thinking about things, but the crazy part of it was that none of them seemed to make any difference. They didn’t matter in the slightest. The police were looking for me. I was practically broke. I’d never find Lachlan now. Who cared? I was through with her at last, once and for all, wasn’t I? After twenty-three years I’d got the last of her out of my system and she could go to hell, or Donnelly could use her for a clay pigeon, or she could find somebody else to double-cross.
So I’d been afraid Charlie would pull a fast one on her and take it all. I wanted to laugh, but there didn’t seem to be any laughs in me either. I was going to protect her from Charlie, because Charlie was a crook. It was a shame about the laughs, because there might never be another masterpiece like that. It was a classic. Nobody would ever top it. Charlie, I suspect you of being dishonest, so unhand our little Nell. And tell her to give you back your arm.
I’ll come by and pick you up at noon, dear, in my little Cadillac. But don’t hold your breath.
I cursed and threw the blankets off and got up and dressed. The snow was slackening a little as I walked across town toward the lights. I remembered a little bar on a side street off Virginia and went in and sat down on a stool. A couple of shills nursed drinks at the blackjack table, the girl at the roulette wheel dribbled chips through her fingers, and a half-dozen people were shooting craps. Down at the other end of the bar four divorcees in slacks and fur coats were chattering over their drinks.
The barman remembered me, and nodded as he mopped the bar. “Haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“I’ve been away,” I said.
He studied me. “Let’s see. Bourbon, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “With plain water.” I always drank Scotch, but it wasn’t worth the effort.
He peered down the bar toward the covey of quail and shook his head. He hated women in bars. “One Planter’s Punch, one Golden Fizz, one Orange Blossom, and one Alexander. And you know what?”
“No,” I said. I knew what, because I’d heard it before, but maybe I’d get my drink sooner if I went along with him.
“Every damn one of ‘em will pay for her own drink. With a fifty-dollar bill.”
“It’s tough,” I said. I sat for a long time with the drink and then had another, but they seemed to have no effect on me at all. If anything, I felt worse. I got up and walked over to the table to watch the crapshooters. They were mostly women, making two or three passes in a row and betting fifty cents each
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