Masters was still alive and his heartbeat and breathing were as good as they’d been when we’d got to him. Feeble decided he’d better not try to move him. He went back to the police car and used the two-way radio to get an ambulance started our way and to report in to headquarters what had happened.
Feeble came back and said, “We’ll give you and your friend a lift into town as soon as the ambulance gets here. You’ll have to make and sign statements and stuff, but the chief says you can do that tomorrow; he knows both of you and says it’s all right that way.”
“That’s swell,” I said. “I’ve got to get back to the office as soon as I can. And as for Smiley here, his place is open and nobody there.” I had a sudden thought and said, “Say, Smiley, you don’t by any chance still have that pint that we had a nip out of in the car, do you?”
He shook his head. “What with turning off the lights and pushing you out and getting out myself——”
I sighed at the waste of good liquor. The other pint bottle, the one that had been in Bat Masters’ left coat pocket, hadn’t survived the crash. Still, Smiley had saved our lives, so I had to forgive him for abandoning the bottle he’d been holding.
The fire was dying down now, and I was getting a little sick at the barbecue odour and wished the ambulance would come so we could get away from here.
I suddenly remembered Carl and asked Feeble if there’d been any report on the police radio about a Carl Trenholm. He shook his head. He said, “There was a looney loose, though. Escaped from the county asylum. Must’ve been caught though; we had a cancellation on it later.”
That was good news, in a way. It meant that Yehudi hadn’t waited at my place after all. And somehow I’d hated the thought of having to put the guards on him while he was there. Insane or not, it didn’t seem like real hospitality to a guest.
And the fact that nothing had been on the police radio about Carl at least wasn’t discouraging.
A car came along from the opposite direction and stopped when its driver saw the smouldering wreckage and the state police car. It turned out to be a break for Smiley and me. The driver was a Watertown man whom Willie Feeble knew and who was on his way to Carmel City. When Feeble introduced us and vouched for us, he said he’d be glad to take Smiley and me into Carmel City with him.
I didn’t believe it at first when I saw by the clock dial on the instrument panel of the car that it was only a few minutes after ten o’clock as we entered Carmel City; it seemed incredible that so much had happened in the few hours—less than four—since I’d left the Clarion. But we passed a lighted clock in a store window and I saw that the clock in the car was right after all, within a few minutes, anyway. It was only a quarter after ten.
We were let off in front of Smiley’s. Across the street I could see lights were on at the Clarion, so Pete would be there. I thought I’d take a quick drink with Smiley, though, before I went to the office, so I went in with him.
The place was as we’d left it. If any customer had come in he’d got tired of waiting and had left.
Smiley went around back of the bar and poured us drinks while I went to the phone. I was going to call the hospital to find out about Carl Trenholm; then I decided to call Pete instead. He’d surely have called the hospital already. So I gave the Clarion number.
When Pete recognized my voice, he said, “Doc, where the hell have you been?”
“Tell you in a minute. Pete. First, have you got anything about Carl?”
“He’s all right. I don’t know yet what happened, but he’s okay. I called the hospital and they said he’d been treated and released. I tried to find out what the injuries had been and how they’d happened, but they said they couldn’t give out that information. I tried his home, but I guess he hadn’t got there yet; nobody answered.”
“Thanks, Pete,” I said. “That’s swell. Listen, there’s going to be plenty to write up. Carl’s accident, when we get in touch with him, and the escape and capture of the lunatic, and—something even bigger than either of those. So I guess we might as well do it tonight, if that’s okay by you.”
“Sure, Doc. I’d rather get it over with tonight. Where are you?”
“Over at Smiley’s. Come on over for a quick one—to celebrate Carl’s being okay. He can’t even be badly hurt if they released him that quickly.”
“Okay, Doc, I’ll have one. But where were you? And Smiley, too, for that matter? I looked in there on my way to the office—saw the lights weren’t on here, so I knew you weren’t here yet—and you and Smiley were both gone. I waited five or ten minutes and then I decided I’d better come across here in case of any phone calls and to start melting metal in the Linotype.”
I said, “Smiley and I had a little ride. I’ll tell you about it.”
“Okay, Doc. See you in a couple of minutes.”
I went back to the bar and when I reached for the shot Smiley had poured for me, my hand was shaking.
Smiley grinned and said, “Me too, Doc.” He held out his hand and I saw it wasn’t much steadier than mine.
“Well,” he said, “you got your story, Doc. What you were squawking about. Say, here’s your gun back.” He took out the short-barrelled thirty-eight and put it on the bar. “Good as new, except two bullets gone out of it. How’d’ you happen to have it with you, Doc?”
For some reason I didn’t want to tell him, or anyone, that the escaped lunatic had made such a sap out of me and had been a guest at my house. So I said, “I had to walk down here, and Pete had just phoned me there was a lunatic loose, so I stuck that in my pocket. Jittery, I guess.”
He looked at me and shook his head slowly. I know he was thinking about my having had that gun in my pocket all along during what we thought was our last ride, and never having even tried to use it. I’d been so scared that I’d completely forgotten about it until Smiley had said he wished he had a gun.
I grinned and said, “Smiley, you’re right in what you’re thinking. I’ve got no more business with a gun than a snake has with roller skates. Keep it.”
“Huh? You mean it, Doc? I’ve been thinking about getting one to keep under the bar.”
“Sure, I mean it,” I told him. “I’m afraid of the damn things and I’m safer without one.”
He hefted it appraisingly. “Nice gun. It’s worth something.”
I said, “So’s my life, Smiley. To me, anyway. And you saved it when you pushed me out of that car and over the edge tonight.”
“Forget it, Doc. I couldn’t have got out that door myself with you asleep in it. And getting out of the other side of the car wouldn’t have been such a hot idea. Well, if you really mean it, thanks for the gun.”
He put it out of sight under the bar and then poured us each a second drink. “Make it short,” I told him. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”
He glanced at his clock and it was only ten-thirty. He said, “Hell, Doc, the evening’s only a pup.”
I thought, but didn’t say, what a pup!
I wonder what I’d have thought if I’d even guessed that the pup hadn’t even been weaned yet.
Pete came in.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“It seems a shame,” the Walrus said,
“To play them such a trick,
After we’ve brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!”
NEITHER Smiley nor I had touched, as yet, the second drink he’d poured us, so there was time for Pete Corey to get in on the round; Smiley poured a drink for him.
He said, “Okay, Doc, now what’s this gag about Smiley and you going for a ride? You told me your car was laid up and Smiley doesn’t drive one.”
“Pete,” I said, “Smiley doesn’t have to be able to drive a car. He’s a gentleman of genius. He kills or captures killers. That’s what we were doing. Anyway, that’s what Smiley was doing. I went along, just for the ride.”
“Doc, you’re kidding me.”
I said, “If you don’t believe me, read tomor
row’s Clarion. Ever heard of Bat Masters?”
Pete shook his head. He reached for his drink.
“You will,” I told him. “In tomorrow’s Clarion. Ever heard of George?”
“George Who?”
I opened my mouth to say I didn’t know, but Smiley beat me to the punch by saying, “George Kramer.”
I stared at Smiley. “How’d you know his last name?”
“Saw it in a fact detective magazine. And his picture, too, and Bat Masters’. They’re members of the Gene Kelley mob.”
I stared harder at Smiley. “You recognized them? I mean, before I even came in here?”
“Sure,” Smiley said. “But it wouldn’t have been a good idea to phone the cops while they were here, so I was going to wait till they left, and then phone the state cops to pick ’em up between here and Chicago. That’s where they were heading. I listened to what they said, and it wasn’t much, but I did get that much out of it. Chicago. They had a date there tomorrow afternoon.”
“You’re not kidding, Smiley?” I asked him. “You really had them spotted before I came in here?”
“I’ll show you the magazine, Doc, with their pictures in it. Pictures of all the Gene Kelley mob.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Smiley shrugged his big shoulders. “You didn’t ask. Why didn’t you tell me you had a gun in your pocket? If you coulda slipped it to me in the car, we’d have polished ’em off sooner. It would have been a cinch; it was so dark in that back seat after we got out of town, George Kramer wouldn’t of seen you pass it.”
He laughed as though he’d said something funny. Maybe he had.
Pete was looking from one to the other of us. He said, “Listen, if this is a gag, you guys are going a long way for it. What the hell happened?”
Neither of us paid any attention to Pete. I said, “Smiley, where is that fact detective magazine? Can you get it?”
“Sure, it’s upstairs. Why? Don’t you believe me?”
“Smiley,” I said. “I’d believe you if you told me you were lying. No, what I had in mind is that that magazine will save me a lot of grief. It’ll have background stuff on the boys we were playing cops and robbers with tonight. I thought I’d have to phone to Chicago and get it from cops there. But if there’s a whole article on the Gene Kelley mob in that mag, I’ll have enough without that.”
“Get it right away, Doc.” Smiley went through the door that led upstairs.
I took pity on Pete and gave him a quick sketch of our experience with the gangsters. It was fun to watch his mouth drop open and to think that a lot of other mouths in Carmel City would do that same thing tomorrow when the Clarion was distributed.
Smiley came back down with the magazine and I put it in my pocket and went to the phone again. I still had to have the details about what had happened to Carl, for the paper. I still wanted it for my own information too, but that wasn’t so important as long as he wasn’t seriously hurt.
I tried the hospital first but they gave me the same runaround they’d given Pete; sorry, but since Mr. Trenholm had been discharged, they could give out no information. I thanked them. I tried Carl’s own phone and got no answer, so I went back to Pete and Smiley.
Smiley happened to be staring out the window. He said, “Somebody just went in your office, Doc. Looked like Clyde Andrews.”
Pete turned to look, too, but was too late. He said, “Guess that’s who it must’ve been. Forgot to tell you, Doc; he phoned about twenty minutes ago while I was waiting for you over at the office. I told him I expected you any minute.”
“You didn’t lock the door, did you, Pete?” I asked. He shook his head.
I waited a minute to give the banker time to get up the stairs and into the office and then I went back to the phone and called the Clarion number. It rang several times while Clyde, apparently, was making up his mind whether to answer it or not. Finally he did.
“This is Doc, Clyde,” I said. “How’s the boy?”
“He’s all right, Doc. He’s fine. And I want to thank you again for what you did and—I want to talk to you about something. Are you on your way here?”
“I’m across the street at Smiley’s. How about dropping over here if you want to talk?”
He hesitated. “Can’t you come here?” he asked.
I grinned to myself. Clyde Andrews is not only a strict temperance advocate; he’s head of a local chapter (a small one, thank God) of the Anti-Saloon League. He’d probably never been in a tavern in his life.
I said, “I’m afraid I can’t, Clyde.” I made my voice very grave. “I’m afraid if you want to talk to me, it will have to be here at Smiley’s.”
He got me, all right. He said stiffly, “I’ll be there.”
I sauntered back to the bar. I said, “Clyde Andrews is coming here, Smiley. Chalk up a first.”
Smiley stared at me. “I don’t believe it,” he said. He laughed.
“Watch,” I told him.
Solemnly I went around behind the bar and got a bottle and two glasses and took them to a table—the one in the far corner farthest from the bar. I liked the way Pete and Smiley stared at me.
I filled both the glasses and sat down. Pete and Smiley stared some more. Then they turned and stared the other way as Clyde came in, walking stiffly. He said, “Good evening, Mr. Corey,” to Pete and “Good evening, Mr. Wheeler” to Smiley, and then came back to where I was sitting.
I said, “Sit down Clyde,” and he sat down.
I looked at him. I said sternly, “Clyde, I don’t like—in advance—what you’re going to ask me.”
“But, Doc,” he said earnestly, almost pleadingly, “must you print what happened? Harvey didn’t mean to——”
“That’s what I meant,” I said. “What makes you think I’d even think of printing a word about it?”
He looked at me and his face changed. “Doc! You’re not going to?”
“Of course not.” I leaned forward. “Listen, Clyde, I’ll make you a bet—or I would if you were a betting man. I’ll bet I know exactly the amount of money the kid had in his pocket when he was leaving—and, no, I didn’t look in his pockets. I’ll bet he had a savings account—he’s been working summers several years now, hasn’t he?—and he was running away. And he knew damn well you wouldn’t let him draw his own money and that he couldn’t draw it without your knowing it. Whether he had twenty dollars or a thousand, I’ll bet you it was the exact amount of his own account.”
He took a deep breath. “You’re right. Exactly right. And—thanks for thinking that, before you knew it. I was going to tell you.”
“For a fifteen-year-old, Harvey’s a good kid, Clyde. Now listen, you’ll admit I did the right thing tonight calling you instead of calling the sheriff? And in keeping the story out of the paper?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in a saloon, Clyde. A den of iniquity. You should have said, ‘Hell, yes.’ But I don’t suppose it would sound natural if you did, so I won’t insist on it. But, Clyde, how much thinking have you been doing about why the boy was running away? Has he told you that yet?”
He shook his head slowly. “He’s all right now, in bed, asleep. Dr. Minton gave him a sedative, but told me Harvey had better not do any talking till tomorrow.”
“I’ll tell you right now,” I said, “that he won’t have any very coherent story about it. Maybe he’ll say he was running away to join the army or to go on the stage or—or almost anything. But it won’t be the truth, even if he thinks it is. Clyde, whether he knows it or not, he was running away. Not toward.”
“Away from what?”
“From you,” I said.
For a second I thought he was going to get angry and I’m glad he didn’t, because then I might have got angry too and that would have spoiled the whole thing.
Instead, he slumped a little. He said, “Go on, Doc.”
I hated to, then, but I had to strike while the striking was good. I said, “Listen, Clyde, get up an
d walk out any time you want to; I’m going to give it to you straight. You’ve been a lousy father.” At any other time he’d have walked out on me on that one. I could tell by his face that, even now, he didn’t like it. But at any other time he wouldn’t have been sitting at a back table in Smiley’s tavern, either.
I said, “You’re a good man, Clyde, but you work at it too hard. You’re rigid, unyielding, righteous. Nobody can love a ramrod. There’s nothing wrong with your being religious, if you want to. Some men are religious. But you’ve got to realize that everybody who doesn’t think as you do isn’t necessarily wrong.”
I said, “Take alcohol—literally, if you wish; there’s a glass of whisky in front of you. But take it figuratively, anyway. It’s been a solace to the human race, one of the things that can make life tolerable, since—damn it, since before the human race was even human. True, there are a few people who can’t handle it—but that’s no reason to try to legislate it away from the people who can handle it, and whose enjoyment of life is increased by its moderate use—or even by its occasional immoderate use, providing it doesn’t make them pugnacious or otherwise objectionable.
“But—let’s skip alcohol. My point is that a man can be a good man without trying to interfere with his neighbour’s life too much. Or with his son’s. Boys are human, Clyde. People in general are human; people are more human than anybody.”
He didn’t say anything, and that was a hopeful sign. Maybe a tenth of it was sinking in.
I said, “Tomorrow, when you can talk with the kid, Clyde, what are you going to say?”
“I—I don’t know, Doc.”
I said, “Don’t say anything. Above all, don’t ask him any questions. Not a damn question. And let him keep that money, in cash, so he can run away any time he decides to. Then maybe he won’t. If you change your attitude toward him.
“But, damn it, Clyde, you can’t change your attitude toward him, and unbend, without unbending in general toward the human race. The kid’s a human being, too. And you could be, if you wanted to. Maybe you think it will cost you your immortal soul to be one—I don’t think so, myself, and I think there are a great many truly religious people who don’t think so either—but if you persist in not being one, then you’re going to lose your son.”
Night of the Jabberwock Page 8