'Oh, no! I mean, oh, yes, of course, I'll do it!' She was almost tearful with relief at the abrupt warming of his attitude. 'I'll stay right here! That's a promise, Captain, and you can depend on it! I – I mean, you don't need to worry – '
'Of course, I don't, dear.' He gave her hand a paternal squeeze. 'I'm a lawyer, remember? I know a fine young woman when I see her.' He started to rise; hesitated. 'By the way, I'm afraid I was pretty brusque when I first spoke to you. I – well, my wife passed away a couple of weeks ago, and…'
'Oh, how terrible! I'm so sorry, Captain.'
'Thank you,' he said, with simple sincerity, adding that he was even now returning from his wife's funeral in the east. 'As I was about to say, however, I've noticed that I sometimes do become a little curt with people since her death, and if I did, in your case – '
But he hadn't been! Not in the least teensiest bit, Captain!
'Thank you, my dear,' he said. 'You're a dear, sweet girl.'
He left her, with a tip of his fine Fedora hat. Some twenty minutes later, after a time-killing stroll, he returned to the station.
True to her promise, she had remained exactly where he had left her. He resumed his seat at her side, smilingly pointing out that she had proved his merits as a judge of honest people. She squirmed pleasurably at the compliment, ducking her head with a little giggle. She started to return the watch, but he affably declined it. After all, there was more room in her purse than there was in his pockets, and women were much better at taking care of things than men were.
'Just don't see how you do it,' he declared in assumed amazement. 'Why, my wife can – ' He broke off; turned his head for a moment as though to dispel a tear. Then, softly, 'Isn't it strange? She was so much a part of me that I just can't believe she's gone.'
'Why, you poor thing!' she said; then abashed at her daring, 'Oh, excuse me, Captain! I – I – '
'Now, now, dear Anne. There's no rank between friends. Sorrow makes equals of us all.'
'Sorrow makes – I think that's the most beautiful thing I ever heard, Captain! So, uh, poetic kind of. D-do you like poetry, Captain?'
Critch confessed that it was a weakness of his, and that he sometimes wrote it. 'Perhaps you've heard one of my little efforts, _Roses Are Red And Violets Are Blue.'_
'Oh, my goodness, yes! My goodness! Have you written any others, Captain?'
Critch nodded indulgently, and gave her a couple of verses of burlesque-house pathos. She was so impressed, so awed, that only with an effort did he suppress the lurking imp within him and its insistent demand that he tell her about the old hermit named Dave, who had kept a dead whore in his cave.
'Well, now…' He stretched his legs, glancing at the octagon-faced station clock. 'A long wait until train time, isn't it? Well, over an hour yet. I think you and I shall just get us a good bite of dinner.'
She demurred. She really wasn't a bit hungry, and, uh, really she'd just rather stay where she was. Oh, no. It wasn't because of the money, but –
'Of course, it isn't. You'll be my guest, naturally. Now, you just go over there' – nodding toward the ladies room – 'and give yourself a good freshing up. You'll want to do that, I assume' – a kindly but critical look. 'Travel does so smear up a person.'
She arose reluctantly, started to reach for her two heavy bags. Critch grandly waved her away from them.
'I'll just check them through to your destination while you're gone. Did you know you could do that? Much safer than they would be with you, and you're saved a lot of trouble.'
'Well, uh, but – '
'Yes? Like to get something out of them first?'
'No, but – '
But nothing. She had the watch, didn't she? That solid, gold, diamond-studded watch.
'F-fine, Captain. Thanks very much. I'll hurry right back.'
'Oh, take your time, dear,' Critch smilingly urged her. 'Take your time. We'll be dining in a very nice place, and I want you to look your prettiest.'
She bobbed her head, moved away from him with her shyly stooped shoulders and timidly lowered face. Critch waited until she disappeared through the swinging doors of the restroom. Then, he carried her baggage out a side entrance, and down the street a few doors to a combination pawnshop-secondhand store.
Critch had learned of the place from other professionals on the criminal circuit. Between the right people, there was a ready exchange of such information. He had had no occasion to do business with the establishment's proprietor heretofore, but he had stopped by for a chat. And today the latter gestured Critch toward the back room, then joined him behind its curtained portals after a quick look up and down the street.
'No one following you, huh? Well, let's take a look at it.'
The contents of the two bags were of a type with the oddly-assorted stuff which the girl had been wearing. The kind of things which only ignorant unworldliness would allow. Or perhaps they had been wished on her by well-meaning relatives. They weren't intrinsically shoddy; someone, if not her, had laid out some bucks for them. They just weren't suitable; a lot of everything, but not one good everyday outfit. Why, hell, there were even a couple of party gowns! Did she think Fort Sill was West Point?
'Well…' The proprietor measured a gown against his own squatty body; shook his head dubiously. 'I dunno about the rags, but the luggage ain't bad. Call it thirty?'
'Call it forty.'
'Call me Santy Claus,' said the proprietor, and he counted out the forty.
And, meanwhile, in a stall of the women's restroom, Emma Allerton, alias Anne Anderson, stood naked from the waist up. Her shoulders thrown back, her abundant bosom rising and falling with the unaccustomed pleasure of deep breathing.
Christ, what a relief! What a relief to get out of that harness for a while and straighten up!
She stretched luxuriously, sucking her stomach in and out, pulling her chin in for a critical glance at her nakedness. _Bet I know what you'd like to have, she told it. And her groin prickled at the thought._ Then, her gaze fell on her right breast, at the rough furrow of teeth marks where once had been the nipple. And she cursed in silent fury.
The horny old bastard! Every time she saw that bub she got mad all over. Goddamn him! Goddamn her sister!
It was really Sis's fault, the overbearing slut! Sis should have given the guy the hatchet long before. But she'd been having too much fun in the next room, so Emma-Annie had got her tit chomped.
A hell of a sister, Sis was. But she'd paid for it, by Jesus. Oh, but she'd paid for it! Rather, Little Sis had paid herself, and just in time, too, from what she'd heard. The news hadn't hit the papers yet, but the grapevine had it that the law had either grabbed Sis or was just about to do it.
Anne patted the thick money belt which cinched her waist, eyes bright with malice as she thought of her sister. Absently, she allowed a hand to stray over the mutilated breast, and in her mind it became another's hand, and her expression softened dreamily.
Damn, it would be nice after all these weeks. Six weeks of running, crossing and crisscrossing the Midwest and Southwest, leaving a trail that was no trail, and then finally swinging down into the Territory. Six weeks of going around with her head ducked and her chest caved in, and looking like something the cat dug up.
No sport in all that time. And none that was really worth having before then. Sis had always taken on the good-looking guys, and forced the clodhoppers on her. Not once had she ever gotten a crack at a guy even half as cute and handsome as Captain Crittenden.
He remained in her mind as she reluctantly regarbed herself. Thinking what a damned shame it was that things were as bad as they were.
If she hadn't claimed to be married, practically a new bride –
If he hadn't just lost his wife –