the lady across the road. I’ll ask her to come stay with you until the doctor gets here—”
“No. I don’t want …her to see me—”
“Ma’am, your nose is broken. You could be bleeding inside. You’d better get tended for the boy’s sake.”
“She’s not hurt. She’s puttin’ on, like she always does.”
Corbin turned on the man. “Shut your mouth,” he snarled. “If I hear another word from you, I’ll take out this blackjack and do to you what you’ve done to her.”
Anger did to Corbin what running didn’t. He was breathing very fast. Even in his drunken condition, Otto Bloom knew he was in danger of being beaten with the blackjack. When the tall angry man grabbed his arm again, Otto scrambled to his feet and let himself be pushed out of the house, onto the porch and out into the yard.
“Mrs. Reynolds,” Corbin called from the front yard and waited for the woman and the boy to appear. “Will you stay with Mrs. Bloom until the doctor gets here? I’ll have the telephone operator send him down.”
“Doctor? I’m not payin’ no doctor,” Otto started to protest.
Only the wide frightened eyes of the boy stopped Corbin from hitting the drunk. With one hand he clamped Otto’s arm, fingers pinching so tightly the man yelled; with the other, Corbin patted the child on the head.
“Go on in and help your mama, boy. She needs to know that you’re all right and that there’s one real man in the family.”
The boy made a wide circle around his father and ran into the house. Mrs. Reynolds followed.
Corbin propelled Otto down the middle of the street. He debated about marching him down Main Street in full view of the Saturday night crowd but changed his mind and took him in the back door of the courthouse. Otto began to threaten.
“You’ll lose your job. Mr. Wood’s not going to like it.”
Corbin pushed him into a room that held only a cot and a slop jar. A dim light from the street came through a small window near the ceiling.
“You can’t leave me here,” Otto said, suddenly becoming aware of his situation.
Corbin didn’t bother to answer. He took the key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs.
“I’m … not staying here.”
Corbin went to the door without answering. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He closed it and twisted the key in the lock.
“Mr. Wood will fire you for this!” The yell reached the chief as he was walking up the stairs.
The next morning Amos Wood and Mrs. Bloom were waiting on the courthouse steps when Corbin came to check on his prisoner.
“We’re here to get Otto. Let him out,” Wood demanded without so much as a greeting.
“That’s up to Mrs. Bloom.” The pair followed Corbin down the stairs. At the door of the locked room, he turned and looked at the woman. Both her eyes were black, a strip of tape crossed her nose, her lips were puffed and her cheeks were bruised.
“Get on with it,” Wood snarled. “I’ve not got all day.”
“Look at her, goddammit!” Corbin snarled. “Don’t you care what this man did to his wife?”
“What happens between a man and his wife is no concern of mine … or yours.”
Corbin eyed him with contempt before turning to Mrs. Bloom and speaking to her gently.
“Ma’am, you’ve got a right to press charges against him for what he did to you.”
“I can’t. He was …drunk—”
“The next time he could hurt you real bad.”
“I can’t—” Came the whispered response.
“You heard her, Appleby. She’ll not press charges. She knows what side of the bread her butter’s on.”
“What’s your interest in this, Wood?”
“He works for me. I look out for the men who work for me,” Wood answered belligerently.
“How
“No. I don’t want …her to see me—”
“Ma’am, your nose is broken. You could be bleeding inside. You’d better get tended for the boy’s sake.”
“She’s not hurt. She’s puttin’ on, like she always does.”
Corbin turned on the man. “Shut your mouth,” he snarled. “If I hear another word from you, I’ll take out this blackjack and do to you what you’ve done to her.”
Anger did to Corbin what running didn’t. He was breathing very fast. Even in his drunken condition, Otto Bloom knew he was in danger of being beaten with the blackjack. When the tall angry man grabbed his arm again, Otto scrambled to his feet and let himself be pushed out of the house, onto the porch and out into the yard.
“Mrs. Reynolds,” Corbin called from the front yard and waited for the woman and the boy to appear. “Will you stay with Mrs. Bloom until the doctor gets here? I’ll have the telephone operator send him down.”
“Doctor? I’m not payin’ no doctor,” Otto started to protest.
Only the wide frightened eyes of the boy stopped Corbin from hitting the drunk. With one hand he clamped Otto’s arm, fingers pinching so tightly the man yelled; with the other, Corbin patted the child on the head.
“Go on in and help your mama, boy. She needs to know that you’re all right and that there’s one real man in the family.”
The boy made a wide circle around his father and ran into the house. Mrs. Reynolds followed.
Corbin propelled Otto down the middle of the street. He debated about marching him down Main Street in full view of the Saturday night crowd but changed his mind and took him in the back door of the courthouse. Otto began to threaten.
“You’ll lose your job. Mr. Wood’s not going to like it.”
Corbin pushed him into a room that held only a cot and a slop jar. A dim light from the street came through a small window near the ceiling.
“You can’t leave me here,” Otto said, suddenly becoming aware of his situation.
Corbin didn’t bother to answer. He took the key from his pocket and unlocked the handcuffs.
“I’m … not staying here.”
Corbin went to the door without answering. “I’ll be back in the morning.” He closed it and twisted the key in the lock.
“Mr. Wood will fire you for this!” The yell reached the chief as he was walking up the stairs.
The next morning Amos Wood and Mrs. Bloom were waiting on the courthouse steps when Corbin came to check on his prisoner.
“We’re here to get Otto. Let him out,” Wood demanded without so much as a greeting.
“That’s up to Mrs. Bloom.” The pair followed Corbin down the stairs. At the door of the locked room, he turned and looked at the woman. Both her eyes were black, a strip of tape crossed her nose, her lips were puffed and her cheeks were bruised.
“Get on with it,” Wood snarled. “I’ve not got all day.”
“Look at her, goddammit!” Corbin snarled. “Don’t you care what this man did to his wife?”
“What happens between a man and his wife is no concern of mine … or yours.”
Corbin eyed him with contempt before turning to Mrs. Bloom and speaking to her gently.
“Ma’am, you’ve got a right to press charges against him for what he did to you.”
“I can’t. He was …drunk—”
“The next time he could hurt you real bad.”
“I can’t—” Came the whispered response.
“You heard her, Appleby. She’ll not press charges. She knows what side of the bread her butter’s on.”
“What’s your interest in this, Wood?”
“He works for me. I look out for the men who work for me,” Wood answered belligerently.
“How
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