Joe said, “Good God, Ray, you’re exaggerating. A war may happen, sure, but it isn’t that inevitable. And if it does happen, hell, we lived through the last one.”

  “The last one was a lead pipe cinch, Joe, compared to what the next one would—will be. Oh, I know I’m being selfish about it—at least being selfish on Karl’s behalf if not my own.”

  “I don’t get it,” Joe said. “What’s selfish about wanting to go on living?”

  “Just this: it may lead to a better world, and I’d like to see a better world—even if I’m not here to see it, if you know what I mean. The two big systems, both of them rotten to the core, Joe, may destroy one another and whatever comes out may be better than either. In fact, it’s got to be, or it too will destroy itself. The only thing is that I wouldn’t take even odds on the chance of any one individual—you or Karl or me—surviving to see it. Let’s have one more drink.”

  “If it’s on me,” Joe said. He managed to get the bartender to take his money instead of taking from Ray’s change.

  Ray lifted his glass. “To you and Ellie, Joe. May you have a couple of happy years together before a wheel comes off.”

  Joe drank and then laughed. “I told you it wasn’t serious, damn it,” he said. “Not that I don’t like Ellie, but I don’t want to get married.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve—got other plans.”

  “What? To be a two-bit gangster? I’m sorry, Joe. Forget I said that.”

  It had hurt, somehow, because Ray had said that. Even though he had taken it back in the same breath. But there wasn’t any anger at Ray Lorgan. Just hurt. He said, “I didn’t even hear it,” and said it as lightly as he could.

  “One on me,” Ray said, “and we’d better get back and join the ladies.”

  Joe glanced at Ray and saw that his face was just a trifle flushed, and he’d already noticed that Ray’s tongue had thickened just a faint bit. So he said, “I don’t want another one, Ray. Let’s get back.”

  Ray nodded and they went out. It had started to drizzle, very slightly, but they had only a block and a half to go so it didn’t matter.

  They were halfway there before either spoke and then Joe remembered something that had puzzled him at the time.

  He said, “Ray, you said that what you think’s going to happen—and I still think you’re wrong about it—worried you because of Karl more than yourself. Not that it’s any of my damn business, but how come you didn’t rate Jeannie in there? I mean—hell, you and Jeannie aren’t splitting up or anything, are you? Don’t answer that if you don’t want to.”

  He thought Ray wasn’t going to. Ray didn’t say anything until they were almost at the door. And then Ray stopped walking. Joe was a step past before he realized; then he stopped and turned to look at Ray.

  Ray said, “I think I’ll answer that. Do you remember what I said—metaphorically—a few minutes ago about cancer not being a good subject of conversation if you’re talking to someone who has it? Well, don’t bring that subject up in conversation tonight, Joe.”

  Joe just stared at him.

  Ray said, “Yes, I mean Jeannie. We learned six weeks ago. She’s probably got less than a year. But for another month or two she can stay up, live a normal life, not let anybody know. We decided not to let anybody know for that long. She said she wants—for a little while—to pretend that she’s still—all right.”

  Joe said, “Oh, Christ, Ray.”

  “I—couldn’t help telling you. Maybe because you asked a question—why I didn’t rate Jeannie in there—that I couldn’t answer without telling you. For God’s sake don’t let Jeannie know I told you.” His lips twisted a little. “I told you I talk too much when I’ve had a couple of drinks. Can’t keep my God damn mouth shut. I had to pop off about the end of the world and get Jeannie worried about Karl living through—Let’s go up.”

  He stepped forward again and took Joe’s arm, but Joe hung back. He said, “Christ, Ray, I can’t go up this minute. I—I couldn’t act normal. I couldn’t look at Jeannie without giving away that I knew. You go up; I’m going to walk around the block once first. Tell them—tell them anything.”

  “I’ll go around the block with you.”

  They walked once around the block in the thin cool rain. They didn’t talk much. When they got back to the door Joe still didn’t want to go up but he realized they had to sooner or later so he said it was okay.

  Jeannie looked up as they came in and said, “Did you boys fall down a manhole?”

  Joe made himself grin at her. “Well, it was this way, Jeannie; we met these two broads on Wells Street and—”

  An hour or so later he took Ellie home in a cab; it was raining fairly hard by then. He put his arm around her in the taxi and felt very tender toward her. In the downstairs hallway of her rooming house he kissed her goodnight very gently and didn’t even suggest that he drop into her room for a minute. A possibility he’d had in mind earlier in the evening didn’t seem—well, right. Not tonight anyway.

  Ellie said, “I like your friends a lot, Joe.”

  “Yeah. They’re swell people. Well, ’night Ellie.”

  “Joe—”

  He turned back. “Yeah?”

  “I—don’t like to tell you this, Joe, but it would be better if you didn’t see me at the restaurant.”

  “Huh?” Then he got it. “Oh. Your Uncle Mike, you mean? He doesn’t like your going with me?”

  “Yes, Joe. I’m sorry, but he doesn’t like it. Not that he can forbid me to go with you or anything. I’m of age and he’s not my guardian. But—it’s just unpleasant, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, I can see how you’d feel about it, if he feels that way. What does he say about me? What does he think I am?”

  “Nothing really bad, Joe. But he knows you used to sell policy tickets and—”

  “He ought to,” Joe said. “He used to buy ’em from me. Is it any worse to sell them than to buy them?”

  “And he keeps asking me how you’re making a living now, Joe, and—well, it’s embarrassing that I can’t tell him. You can understand that, can’t you?”

  “Sure,” he said unhappily. He thought, I’ll either have to quit seeing her or tell her—well, tell her about Mitch’s plans and what I’m waiting for. Then if she objects to that and doesn’t want to go with me when she knows I’m going to work in a gambling house, that’s that.

  “I hated to spoil our goodnight, Joe, by mentioning it, but—well, I thought it would be better if you didn’t drop in tomorrow or the next day. If you think we should talk about it any, we can talk Sunday evening. You’re coming here for dinner, don’t forget.”

  “Okay, Ellie. I guess we’d better do a little talking, but it can wait till then.”

  “What time do you want to eat?”

  “Any time you say, but how’s about my picking you up around two o’clock, like last Sunday, and we can go to the beach or somewhere in the afternoon before we eat.”

  “I don’t think we’d better, Joe. I want to make some Italian spaghetti for us, and it takes a long time; you’ve got to simmer the sauce for hours, so I’ll have to be here. Tell you what, though; don’t eat a big lunch and we’ll plan to eat about five. Then there’ll be plenty of time afterwards. We’ll have time to talk a while, and still time to go somewhere in the evening, if you want to.”

  “Fine,” Joe said. “Okay, Ellie. I’ll see you at five Sunday.”

  He kissed her goodnight again, and left.

  State Street is a good street for catching cabs inbound, but he didn’t wait or even watch for one, in spite of the rain. His suit needed pressing anyway, he told himself.

  Death walked with him, Jeannie’s death. It didn’t seem possible to believe that Jeannie Lorgan had less than a year to live, less than a few months before she’d be in a hospital waiting to die. That was the horrible part—knowing, waiting.

  Horrible for Ray, too. He tried to think how it would be to be married to—well, to Ellie and to know that she was under sentence of death. To sleep beside her, knowing that inside her body was a monstrous thing, incurable, eating away at her life—

  But he wasn’t going to marry Ellie. Damn it, he wasn’t going to marry anyone. Tic himself down like that? Never.

  Sunday evening would probably end it, anyway. And that would be to the good. She was messing up his life—making him want two different things that were incompatible. Or were they, really? Well, he’d find out soon enough.

  But for tonight he knew he’d have to get his mind off things before he could go to sleep. Luckily there was a drugstore still open on Wells Street and he found a science fiction magazine that he hadn’t read yet, so he took it home with him.

  In his room, he remembered that he hadn’t been practicing the draw with the thirty-eight as Dixie had told him to do. He took off his wet suit but left his shirt on and strapped on the shoulder holster. He practiced a few minutes, but it felt silly—and looked even sillier in the mirror—to be wearing a shoulder-holstered gun with his pants off. He took off the gun, finished undressing, and lay down on the bed to read.

  The lead story was an atomic blowup story and he skipped it without consciously figuring out why. He read all of the rest of the magazine and by that time it was two o’clock and he was sleepy enough to go right to sleep after he turned out the light.

  If he dreamed, he didn’t remember his dreams.

  12

  He went into the tavern earlier than usual, not much after noon, because he didn’t want to take any chance on missing Mitch, if Mitch came in. He had a little less than three dollars left, which would see him through till tomorrow if it had to, but he always felt uncomfortable when cash on hand was low. That was a hangover from the days when he and his mother had had to live on her slender earnings as a waitress. Her small salary usually went for rent or other major items and, from day to day, they lived on the tips she got, which weren’t many in most of the restaurants she’d worked in. He didn’t like, now, to think back about those times. Of course they hadn’t been so bad after he was in high school; he’d been able to earn money after school most of the time, at least enough so that he had a little spending money. But there’s nothing like a dose of poverty to make one appreciate how wonderful money—big money, like Mitch had—would be.

  He sat in one of the booths by himself, because he didn’t want Krasno to start talking to him as he had a few days ago. There were a few customers at the bar, but they might happen to leave all at once and then he’d be stuck there, alone, and Krasno might start talking to him.

  Joe sat facing the window. Just before two he saw the blue convertible pull in to the curb. Mitch got out; Joe was glad to see that he was alone. If he’d come in with somebody, Joe couldn’t very well have reminded him about the money, and Mitch might not have remembered.

  Mitch came in and saw Joe sitting there right away. He said, “Hi, kid. How’re things?”

  “Fine,” Joe said.

  Mitch came to the booth as though he was going to sit down across from Joe and then changed his mind and said, “Let’s go in the back room to talk, Joe.”

  It sounded serious, the way Mitch said it. Joe hoped it didn’t have anything to do, negatively, with the forty dollars he had coming.

  He got up from the booth. Mitch had turned around and caught Krasno’s eye; he was holding up two fingers for Krasno to make two drinks. He jerked his head toward the back to show Krasno where to bring them.

  Joe followed him into the card room at the back. Mitch sat down as he had the last time, with his feet up on the table. He said, “This is kind of private, Joe. Let’s wait till Krazzy has come and gone. You know I’m getting fed up with that old bastard. He talks too much. You don’t talk, Joe. That’s something I like about you. I can say something to you and I know it won’t go any farther.”

  “Sure,” Joe said.

  “By the way, you lined up for the party tomorrow night? Got yourself a dame, I mean?”

  Joe nodded. His best out on that party would be to call at the last minute and say his date had fallen through. Then he wouldn’t have to come. Mitch would understand that he wouldn’t want to come alone.

  “Good,” Mitch said.

  Then there were Krasno’s footsteps shuffling toward the door and they both waited until he’d come in and put the drinks down on the table between them. Mitch had to put his feet down to reach his drink; then he put them up again as he sat back, but a little to one side so he could watch Joe’s face.

  When the door had closed and Krasno had walked away from it, Mitch said, “Joe, how’d you like to be a partner in The Gold Mine?”

  “‘The what?”

  “The Gold Mine—that’s what I’m calling the place I’m going to open in Waukesha County. Good name, huh? Makes the marks think they can come in and mine gold. Well, a few of them will. Most of them will leave some of their own instead.”

  “It’s a swell name,” Joe said. “But you’re kidding me about being a partner. What’d I buy in with? Two dollars and seventy-five cents?”

  Mitch chuckled. “Take a little more than that, but we can get it.” He stared at Joe speculatively and then said, “Dixie tells me you’re getting good, Joe. Or rather, that you’re a natural with guns. If you weren’t, it’d take you plenty long. And what’s a hell of a lot more important, he thinks—like I thought already—that you’ve got guts and that you’re shooting for the big time. Are we right, Joe?”

  Joe nodded slowly. His throat felt a little tight.

  “I knew it,” Mitch said. “Okay, Joe, here’s the deal. There are four of us going to raise the dough we’ll need. Me and Dixie and you and a guy you don’t know yet, in Chicago. He knows the game, even better than Dixie does.”

  “Which game?” Joe asked. “Running the gambling joint or raising the money to get it?”

  “You’re a smart kid, Joe. The way to raise the dough, sure. I’m going to be the big wheel in running the joint, once it’s going. And listen, Joe, I want you to understand one thing—I don’t mean you’re in for a full fourth or anything like that. An eighth, maybe. It’s the others of us that have the experience and know what we’re doing.”

  Mitch put his feet down and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Here’s the way it stands, Joe. You don’t need to worry about what fractions the others of us are getting, only your own. Right? Well, there’s a slight difference of opinion. Chicago thinks you ought to settle for a tenth interest and a tenth of the take. I said an eighth. It’s one or the other and it depends on how you do. By the time the moolah is raised, we know. But it’ll be anyway a tenth and—well, I can’t name a figure exactly but it’ll be from three hundred a week up, depending. A joint that doesn’t net three grand a week isn’t in business. If you get an eighth, it should run you about four hundred.”

  Joe’s lips were dry and he licked them. Three or four hundred dollars a week. That was money. That was blue convertibles and good apartments and girls like Francine. That was everything you could want.

  Mitch said, “You’re interested, Joe?”

  Joe nodded.

  “Then I’ll tell you how you happen to be in on this. I liked you ever since you started working for me—and I figured you were a guy I could count on in a pinch, that you had guts and you weren’t going to be a punk all your life. That’s why I kept you going—the few bucks a week I fed you weren’t going to break me, and I wouldn’t lose you. Right away, when the heat went on over that policy business in the Sixth Ward, I figured it wouldn’t last long. And I’d been doing all right, Joe. Don’t tell the income tax department, but I made myself somewhere around forty grand last year, and more than half that much up to the time the heat went on in July this year.

  “And I was figuring on getting you ready to handle things for me, Joe, whenever I wanted to go out of town a while. To spend a month in Florida, maybe, or follow the tracks a little. So while I thought the heat wouldn’t last long, I kept you going. Worth it to me to keep you. But I finally figured that the heat’s going to stay on a long time. That God damn John Doe investigation’s just getting started and it may run a year. And meanwhile the cops are afraid to shake hands with their best friends for fear someone will see it and think money’s passing.”

  Joe nodded again. “I figured it’d be on a long time, too. That’s why I was going to tell you last week maybe I’d better take a job or something.”

  “So I got in with Dixie and this other guy and figured this deal. I thought you’d want in on it—I figured you had nerve and ambition enough, kid. But Dixie and the other guy said nix, not unless they had a say in it. That’s one reason Dixie’s been taking you out, see? The other guy said he’d take Dixie’s word. And Dix says you’re okay, kid, so you’re in. Right?”

  “Right,” Joe said.

  “But not too sudden, Joe. I know this is new to you and I don’t want a snap decision. You think it over and give me an answer tomorrow. night at the party and that answer goes. I don’t want you in, Joe, unless you’re sure.”

  Joe thought about three hundred dollars a week. He said, “I’m sure now, Mitch.”

  “Won’t take a yes now. Because when you say it, kid, you’re in. You’re not going to back out on us, understand? Tomorrow night, if you still think so, I’ll give you some of the details—at least the first job we plan.” His face changed. “It’ll be too late then, Joe.”

  “I’m sure,” Joe said. “I’m sure now.”

  “Need money?”

  “Well, I’m a little low.”

  Mitch took out his wallet and put a ten dollar bill on the table. “That be enough to tide you over till tomorrow night?”

  “Sure, Mitch.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you some more tomorrow night—if you still feel the same about it. If you don’t, if you want to chicken out, that’s your chance. And I’m going to tempt you to do it, even, this far: If you do, we’re even. I’ve given you—let’s see—counting that, somewhere around two and a quarter—”

  “Two hundred and thirty,” Joe said.

  “All right, two thirty. But if you don’t want to go in with us, that’s washed off anyway. I gambled that much on you and lost; that’s all. I don’t want you to come in, if you’re chicken, just because you figure you owe me money. Fair enough?” He waited for Joe’s nod. “And if you come in, you don’t pull out. Fair enough on that?”

 

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