He waggled his head. “That twenty-five a month don’t hardly pay my taxes.”
“I can’t help that. I—”
“How’s your hand?”
“What?” I said. “Why, it’s all right.”
“Looks like a pretty bad burn. How’d you get it?”
“Oh, hell,” I said, without thinking. “When you’re working around motion-picture equipment you’re liable to—”
“Got it over to the show, huh?”
“Where else would I get it? Now, damnit, Andy get that sign—”
“You could have got it up to your house. Out there in the garage. There could have been something wrong with the machinery out there. Somethin’ that you let go without fixing an’ that started the fire.”
“And wouldn’t that tickle you pink?” I said. But my heart began to beat faster.
“You didn’t get that burn at the show, Joe.”
“The hell I didn’t!”
“Huh-uh. I saw you that night when you were hangin’ out around the front of the Barclay, and you didn’t have nothing wrong with your hand. But you did the next morning when I talked with you up at your house. Reckon you remember, all right. You told me then that you’d cut it on a bottle.”
“Well,” I said, “maybe I—” But what was the use lying about it? With my hand unwrapped anyone could see that it was a burn.
“Still want to take the sign down, Joe?”
I hesitated and shook my head. “To tell the truth, I don’t care either way. If anyone wants to try to compete with the Barclay in this rattrap they can hop to it.”
“I’ll take it down.”
“Suit yourself,” I said.
“I’ll take it down. I just wanted to see how you felt about things.” He pulled the sign loose from its tacks and crumpled it, grinning. “I reckon you and me had better have a good long talk, Joe. Private.”
“I’m busy,” I said. “I’ve got a lot of business to catch up with.”
“It ain’t as important as mine. Think it over, Joe.”
He let out a mean cackle and shuffled off down the street. And I let him go. I didn’t give him the horse laugh or tell him to go to hell, as I should have. I couldn’t. If you’re a poker player you know what I mean.
You’re holding, say, kings full in a big pot and everyone has laid down but you and one other guy, a guy with a big stack. And he gives your chips the once-over, counting ’em, and antes for exactly that amount. Well? You’d bet your right arm he couldn’t beat your full house, but they’re not taking right arms; just chips. And if you’re wrong you’re out of the game. So you lay down, and the other guy wins—with a pair of deuces.
I crossed over to the show and went up to the projection booth. Jimmie Nedry wasn’t there and neither was Hap, and the booth was messy as hell. There was even a reel of film left in the right projector. I ran it out, rewound it, and put it in the film cabinet. Then I went back downstairs and looked up and down the street for Jimmie. Show business gets you that way. No matter what else you got on your mind, you can’t forget the show.
Jimmie lived in a little dump over across the tracks, and he didn’t have a telephone. I was wondering whether I should drive over and see what was up when he and Blair came around the corner in Blair’s car. Blair pulled in a little toward the curb, and I went out to them.
“My deepest sympathy, Joe,” he said. “I hope you received our floral offering.”
“Yes, I did,” I said. “Thanks very much, Blair.”
“I was planning on bringing Jimmie and his wife to the obsequies, but they didn’t feel that they should attend.”
“Why? Why didn’t you, Jimmie?” I said. “The show was closed. You didn’t need an invitation.”
“We didn’t because we didn’t have any decent clothes to wear, that’s why!” Jimmie snarled.
“Well,” I said, “I know you wanted to, anyway. It’s the spirit that counts in these things.”
Blair threw back his head and laughed.
“Good old Joe,” he said. “Always right in there pitching,
“I can’t help that. I—”
“How’s your hand?”
“What?” I said. “Why, it’s all right.”
“Looks like a pretty bad burn. How’d you get it?”
“Oh, hell,” I said, without thinking. “When you’re working around motion-picture equipment you’re liable to—”
“Got it over to the show, huh?”
“Where else would I get it? Now, damnit, Andy get that sign—”
“You could have got it up to your house. Out there in the garage. There could have been something wrong with the machinery out there. Somethin’ that you let go without fixing an’ that started the fire.”
“And wouldn’t that tickle you pink?” I said. But my heart began to beat faster.
“You didn’t get that burn at the show, Joe.”
“The hell I didn’t!”
“Huh-uh. I saw you that night when you were hangin’ out around the front of the Barclay, and you didn’t have nothing wrong with your hand. But you did the next morning when I talked with you up at your house. Reckon you remember, all right. You told me then that you’d cut it on a bottle.”
“Well,” I said, “maybe I—” But what was the use lying about it? With my hand unwrapped anyone could see that it was a burn.
“Still want to take the sign down, Joe?”
I hesitated and shook my head. “To tell the truth, I don’t care either way. If anyone wants to try to compete with the Barclay in this rattrap they can hop to it.”
“I’ll take it down.”
“Suit yourself,” I said.
“I’ll take it down. I just wanted to see how you felt about things.” He pulled the sign loose from its tacks and crumpled it, grinning. “I reckon you and me had better have a good long talk, Joe. Private.”
“I’m busy,” I said. “I’ve got a lot of business to catch up with.”
“It ain’t as important as mine. Think it over, Joe.”
He let out a mean cackle and shuffled off down the street. And I let him go. I didn’t give him the horse laugh or tell him to go to hell, as I should have. I couldn’t. If you’re a poker player you know what I mean.
You’re holding, say, kings full in a big pot and everyone has laid down but you and one other guy, a guy with a big stack. And he gives your chips the once-over, counting ’em, and antes for exactly that amount. Well? You’d bet your right arm he couldn’t beat your full house, but they’re not taking right arms; just chips. And if you’re wrong you’re out of the game. So you lay down, and the other guy wins—with a pair of deuces.
I crossed over to the show and went up to the projection booth. Jimmie Nedry wasn’t there and neither was Hap, and the booth was messy as hell. There was even a reel of film left in the right projector. I ran it out, rewound it, and put it in the film cabinet. Then I went back downstairs and looked up and down the street for Jimmie. Show business gets you that way. No matter what else you got on your mind, you can’t forget the show.
Jimmie lived in a little dump over across the tracks, and he didn’t have a telephone. I was wondering whether I should drive over and see what was up when he and Blair came around the corner in Blair’s car. Blair pulled in a little toward the curb, and I went out to them.
“My deepest sympathy, Joe,” he said. “I hope you received our floral offering.”
“Yes, I did,” I said. “Thanks very much, Blair.”
“I was planning on bringing Jimmie and his wife to the obsequies, but they didn’t feel that they should attend.”
“Why? Why didn’t you, Jimmie?” I said. “The show was closed. You didn’t need an invitation.”
“We didn’t because we didn’t have any decent clothes to wear, that’s why!” Jimmie snarled.
“Well,” I said, “I know you wanted to, anyway. It’s the spirit that counts in these things.”
Blair threw back his head and laughed.
“Good old Joe,” he said. “Always right in there pitching,
Similar Books
