Street of No Return by David Goodis, Robert Polito Page B

began to work its way through the heavy downtown traffic.
At the railroad station he was in the waiting room and the big clock said five-fifty. He wondered what was keeping her. Then the clock said six-ten and he wondered if he should make a phone call. When the clock said six-twenty he got up from the bench and moved toward a phone booth.
He was in the phone booth, putting the coin in the slot, then starting to dial, and then for some unaccountable reason his finger wouldn't move the dial. It happened in the instant before he turned and looked and saw the man outside the booth.
The man was smiling at him. The man was a six-footer wearing a dark-brown beaver and a camel's-hair overcoat and smoking a cigar. The man had pleasant features and he was smiling softly and good-naturedly.
He'd never seen this man before, but without thinking about it, or trying to think, he knew it was Sharkey.
He opened the door of the booth and said, "Well? What is it?"
"Can we talk?"
"Sure," He stepped out of the booth. Well, he thought, here it comes. He told himself to take it calm and cool. Or at least try. His voice was steady as he said, "I guess it's better this way. She tell you about it?"
"No," Sharkey said. He widened the smile just a little. "I hadda find out for myself."
He gazed past Sharkey and he saw some people getting up from the benches and walking out of the waiting room. They were headed toward the stairway leading up to the platform. In a few minutes they'd be getting aboard the sixthirty southbound express. He thought of the two empty seats and it gave him an empty feeling inside.
Then he looked at Sharkey. 'All right," he said. "I'm listening."
Sharkey took a slow easy pull at the cigar. The smoke seeped from the corners of his lips. He said, "Coupla weeks ago. I got to thinking about it. She was staying out too late. A few times I checked with the stag parties and they said she'd left the place hours ago.
"I didn't ask her about it," Sharkey went on. "I just waited for her to tell me. Well, you know how it is, you get tired of waiting. So one night I followed her."
It was quiet for some moments and Sharkey pulled easily at the cigar, sort of guiding the smoke as it came out of his mouth. The smoke drifted lazily between them.
Then Sharkey said, "Next night I followed her again. And every night from then on." He shook his head slowly. "It wasn't fun, believe me. I was hoping it would end so I could check it off and forget about it. But every night there she is, meeting you in the taproom. And there I am, sitting in a rented car parked across the street.
"So you see it cost me money. Six bucks a night for the car. And a nickel for the newspaper to hold in front of my face."
"Why'd you do it that way? Why didn't you come into the taproom?"
Sharkey shrugged. "It would have been an argument. I don't like arguments. It always gives me indigestion."
From the platform upstairs there was the sound of the train coming in.
He heard Sharkey saying, "Well, that's the way it was. I'd be sitting there in the car and then I'd see you putting her in the cab. And the cab going away and you standing on the corner. Then I'd put the car in gear and step on the gas to get home before she did."
The sound of the train was louder, coming closer, and then there was the squealing sound of the train drawing to a stop at the platform.
And Sharkey was saying, "Every night the same routine. Until last night. When you got in the cab with her. And I knew I had to follow the cab.
"I swear I didn't want to follow that cab. I knew where it would go. Some cheap hotel with a clerk who doesn't ask questions. So that's the way it was. I'm in the car and it's parked near the hotel and I'm waiting an hour and then another hour and more hours. Finally she comes out and gets in a cab. When she comes home, I'm in bed. Today I told her I'd be away on business. I watch the house and I see her walking out with a hatbox and a suitcase. So then it's another cab and I'm in