“And when the job’s over?”
I’d been dreading that question. I said, “I’ll probably have something else tossed into my lap.”
“And you’re not going to ask me what I know about Pug?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t plan this so I’d spill what I knew?”
“No.”
“And it’s because you didn’t want to take something under false pretenses that you’ve told—”
I nodded.
“And has it occurred to you that you’ve never even kissed me?”
“Naturally,” I said.
Her eyes were on mine now, and there was a steady, shining light I hadn’t seen in them before. She said, “I guess this is where we hit the jackpot, Donald.”
Chapter Fourteen
About two o’clock in the afternoon I found Louie. He was sitting at a table in the back room of one of the cheaper side street places. A bottle half full of bar whisky was on the table in front of him. The knuckles of the hand which held the glass were skinned and bleeding. His eyes were heavily glazed and staring with fixed intensity. He was mumbling as I came up to the table.
He looked up at me. “Oh, there you are,” he said thickly.
I pushed the bottle of whisky to one side. “How about coming home, Louie?”
He frowned. “Say, thash right. I got a home, ain’t I? I— Oh, my God.” He stood up and plunged his hand into his trousers pocket, brought out two one-dollar bills and some chicken feed.
“You know what I done, buddy?” he asked, his glazed eyes surveying me with that fixed glassy stare. “I shpent that money you gave me — all that was left from the groceries ’cept this — booze. That’s my failin’. I feel the cravin’ comin’ on every so often, and when it hits me, I can’t—”
“Who was it you socked, Louie?” I asked.
He looked down at his knuckles and scowled. “Now thash funny. I thought I hit somebody, and then I thought it was jusht sort of an idea a man’ll get when he’s been drinkin’. It might ‘a’ been the last time. Wait a minute. Let me think.
“I’ll tell you who it was. It was Sid Jannix. Was in line for a title once. A good boy — plenty good, but I give him the old one-two. Lemme show you how it goes, the old Hazen shift. I won the championship in the Navy — it must have been the championship — sure, it was in Honolulu inlet me see now. Was it—”
“Come on, Louie, we’re going home.”
“You ain’t sore about that money, kid?”
“No.”
“You understand how it is?”
“Sure.”
“You’re the besh pal a guy ever had. The first time I socked you, I knew I liked you, jush like shakin’ hands with a guy, shock him on the jaw an — awrigh’, let’s go home.”
I got him out to the sidewalk, steadied him down the street, and into the jalopy. Halfway out to the cabin, the enormity of his embezzlement struck him. He wanted to get out of the car. “Lemme out, buddy. I ain’t fit to ride in the same car with you. I can’t face Miss Helen. Know what I did? I stole your money. I knew you didn’t have much, too — just some money you’d saved up — an’ I stole it. I wanna get out — serves me right if I hit my head and die. I ain’t no good. I been hit too much anyway. I ain’t got no — ain’ got no self-control.”
I put my hand on the arm that was over on the side nearest the door. His hand was fumbling with the catch. “Forget it, Louie,” I said, driving the rattling car with one hand. “We aren’t any of us perfect. I’ve got my faults, too.”
“You mean you forgive me?”
“Sure.”
“No hard feelings?”
“No hard feelings.”
He started to cry, then, and was immersed in lachrymose repentance when I got him to the cabin. Helen and I put him to bed. “Well,” she said, after we’d tucked him in and put a big pitcher of water beside the bed, “now what?”
“I’ll stay with him,” I told her. “You take the car, go uptown, and get your hair fixed at that beauty shop you were talking about.”
She looked at me, hesitated a moment.
I said, “I’ll have to give you a traveler’s check. I—”
She laughed up at me. “Forget it. I’ve got money.”
“All you need?”
“Sure. I lit out with Pug’s bank roll. And listen, Donald, if you get short, I can stake you. I know you’re paying for this show, and I know you’re going to come out on it all right when you’ve finished up, but in case you find the shoe pinching, just let me know.”
“Thanks, I will.”
“ ’By,” she said.
“Be seeing you.”
She started for the door, turned back to me, took my face in her hands, looked down into my eyes, and then kissed me. “The landlord was over while you were gone,” she said casually. “He was calling me Mrs. Lam. So don’t destroy his illusions. By-by.”
She breezed out of the door. I sat down at the kitchen table, took a telephone directory, and made up a list of the places I wanted to call. I found some old magazines, read for a while, and then began to feel the effects of my unaccustomed exercise. I dozed off into a light sleep, waking occasionally just enough to realize that I should go in and see how Louie was getting along. But getting up out of the comfortable chair seemed too great an effort, and I’d drift off to sleep again.
I finally woke up enough to look in on Louie. He heard the door open. He opened bloodshot eyes, looked up at me and said, “Hello, buddy, how about some water?”
“In that pitcher right by your bed.”
He picked up the pitcher, disdained the glass, and drank about half of the contents.
“You know I’m a heel,” he said, putting down the pitcher and avoiding my eyes. “An’ I know I’m a heel.”
“You’re all right.”
“I wish you wouldn’t be so damn nice about it.”
“Forget it.”
“I’d like to do some little thing for you, buddy — like a murder or something.”
I grinned down at him. “How’s the head?” I asked. “Aching?”
“It always aches. I guess that’s why I take up the booze. I’ve had a headache so long now I’m used to it. I always tried to give the customers a run for their money. I’d stay in there and swap punches when I should have been down on the canvas, listenin’ to the birdies. And now here I am, a drunken bum with a headache all the time.”
“You’ll feel better after a while. Want to go back to sleep again?”
“No. I’m goin’ to get up and drink lots of water. What happened to the rest of that bottle of whisky?”
“I left it in there.”
“It was paid for,” he said regretfully.
“It’s better in the saloon than in you.”
“You’re right,” he said, “if I can get my mind off’n it, but I’m afraid I’ll be thinkin’ of that half bottle of whisky — you’d better kick me out, pal, before I get you in a spot. I ain’t worth it.”
“Snap out of it. You’ll feel better when you get your stomach back into shape.”
His bloodshot eyes stared up at me. “Tell you one thing,” he said, “I’m going to teach you everything I know, every little trick of the ring. I’m going to make you a fighter.”
“Okay. Now listen, I’m going to take a walk. Helen’s in town. She’ll be back in a couple of hours. You feel like keeping an eye on the place?”