He pulled out the shoe box from under his dresser and gave his already shiny shoes another lick with the polisher to make them shinier. The leather was a little cracked on one side. Well, after tonight he'd get new shoes and a couple of new suits. A few more jobs, and he'd get a new car like Butch's and scrap the old jalop'.
Then--although the door of his room was closed--he looked around carefully before he reached down into the very bottom of the shoe box and took out something which was carefully concealed by being wrapped in the old polishing cloth, the one that wasn't used any more.
It was a little nickel-plated thirty-two revolver, and he looked at it proudly. It didn't matter that the plating was worn off in a few spots. It was loaded and it would shoot all right.
Just yesterday Butch had given it to him. " 'Sall right, kid," Butch had said. "It'll do for this here job. There ain't gonna be no shootin' anyway. Just one bozo in the box office that'll fold up the minute he sees guns. Hell shell out without a squawk. And outa your share get yourself something good. A thirty-eight automatic like mine may-be, and a shoulder holster."
The gun in his hand felt comfortingly heavy. Good little gun, he told himself. And his. He'd sure keep it even after he'd got himself a better one.
He dropped it into his coat pocket before he went out into the living room. As he walked through the door, the revolver in his pocket hit the wooden door frame with a metallic clunk that the cloth of his coat muffled. He straightened up and buttoned his coat shut. He'd have to watch that. Good thing it happened the first time where it didn't matter.
Ma came in out of the kitchen. She smiled at him and he grinned back. "Hiya, Ma. Didn't think I'd drop off. Should have told you to wake me, but 'sall right. I got time."
Ma's smile faded. "Time for what, Eddie?"
He grinned at her. "Heavy date." The grin faded a bit. "What's the matter, Ma?"
"Must you go out, Eddie? I--I just got through the dishes and I thought maybe you'd play some double solitaire with me when you woke up."
It was her tone of voice that made him notice her face. It came to him, quite suddenly, that Ma looked old. He said, "Gee, Ma, I wish I could, but--" Gram's rocker creaked across the silence.
"Johnny was here, Eddie," said Gram's voice. "He said--"
Ma cut in quickly. She'd seen the puzzled look on Ed-die's face at the name "Johnny." He didn't know who Johnny was; and Gram thought Butch Everard was still little Johnny, who'd played out front in a red wagon--
"Johnny Murphy," said Ma, blanketing out whatever Gram was going to say. "He's--you don't know him, I guess. Just here on an errand." She tried to make it sound casual. She managed a smile again. "How about that double solitaire, Eddie boy? Just a game or two."
He shook his head. "Heavy date, Ma," he said again.
He really felt sorry he couldn't. Well, maybe from now on he'd be able to make it up to Ma. He could buy her things, and--well, if he really got up there he could buy a place out at the edge of town and put her and Gram in it, in style. Bigshots did things like that for their folks, didn't they?
Gram was walking out to the kitchen. Eddie's eyes fol-lowed her because they didn't quite want to meet Ma's eyes, and then Eddie remembered what Gram had started to say about some Johnny.
"Say," he said, "Johnny--Gram didn't mean Butch, did she? Was Butch here for me?"
Ma's eyes were on him squarely now, and he forced himself to meet them. She said, "Is your 'heavy date' with Butch, Eddie? Oh, Eddie, he's--" Her voice sounded a little choked.
"Butch is all right, Ma," he said with a touch of de-fiance. "He's a good guy, Butch is. He's--"
He broke off. Damn. He hated scenes.
"Eddie boy," Gram spoke from the kitchen doorway.
It was a welcome interruption. But she had a tablespoon of that awful sulphur and molasses of hers. Oh, well, good old Gram's goofy ideas were saving him from a scene this time. He crossed over and took the vile stuff off the spoon. "Thanks, Gram. 'Night, Ma. Don't wait up." He started for the door. But it wasn't that easy. She caught at his sleeve. "Eddie, please. Listen--"
Hell, it would be worse if he hung around and argued. He jerked his sleeve free and was out of the door before she could stop him again. He could have hung around for half an hour almost, but not if Ma was going to take on like that. He could sit in the jalop' till it was time to go meet the bunch.
Ma started for the door and then stopped. She put her hands up to her eyes, but she couldn't cry. If she could only bawl or-- But she couldn't talk to Gram. She couldn't share her troubles, even.
"You take your tonic, Elsie?"
"Yeah," said Ma dully. Slowly she went to the table and sat down before it. She took a deck of cards from its drawer and began to pile them for a game of solitaire. She knew there was no use her even thinking about trying to go to bed until Eddie came home. No matter how late it was.
Gram came back and went over to the window. Some-times she'd look out of that window for an hour at a time. When you're old it doesn't take much to fill in your time.
Ma looked at Gram and envied her. When you were old you didn't mind things, because you lived mostly in the past, and the present went over and around you like water off a duck's back.
Almost desperately, Ma tried to keep her mind on beating the solitaire game. There were other games you didn't know how to try to beat.
She failed. Then she played out a game. Then she was stuck without even an ace up. She dealt them out again.
She was putting a black ten on a red jack, and then her hand jerked as she heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Was Eddie coming back?
But no, not Eddie's footsteps. Ma glanced up at the clock before she turned back to the game. Ten-thirty. It was about Gram's bedtime.
The footsteps that weren't Eddie's were coming toward the door. They stopped outside. There was a heavy knock.
Ma's hand went to her heart. She didn't trust her legs to stand on. She said, "Come in."
A policeman came in and closed the door behind him. Ma saw only that uniform, but she heard Gram's voice:
"It's Dickie Wheeler. How are you, Dickie?"
The policeman smiled briefly at Gram. "Captain Wheel-er now, Gram," he said, "but I'm glad it's still Dickie to you."
Then his face changed as he turned to Ma. "Is Eddie here, Mrs. Murdock?"
Ma stood up slowly. "No--he--" But there wasn't any answer she could make that was as important as knowing. "Tell me! What?"
"Half hour ago," said Captain Wheeler, "four men held up the Bijou box office, just as it was closing. Squad car was going by, and--well, there was shooting. Two of the men were killed, and a third is dying. The other got away."
"Eddie-"
He shook his head. "We know the three. Butch Everard, Slim Ragoni, a guy named Walters. The fourth one--They were wearing masks. I hoped I'd find Eddie was home. We know he's been running with those men."
Ma stood up. "He was here at ten. He left just a few minutes ago. He--"
Wheeler put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't say that, Ma." He didn't call her Mrs. Murdock now, but neither of them noticed. "The man who got away was wounded, in the arm. If Eddie comes home sound, he won't need any alibi."
"Dickie," Gram said, and the rocker stopped creaking. "Eddie--he's a good boy. After tonight he'll be all right."
Captain Wheeler couldn't meet her eyes. After tonight --well, he hadn't told them quite all of it. One of the squad-car cops had been killed too. The man who got away would burn for that.
But Gram's voice prattled on. "He's just a little boy, Dickie. A little boy lost. You take him down to head-quarters and he'll get a scare. Show him the men who were killed. He needs a lesson, Dickie."