Jordan had worked the coal out of the end of his cigarette and watched it smoke itself out in the tray on his table. The dead stub was in his mouth. Sandy asked Bass if he knew Schultz and when Bass answered no, he didn’t know any Schultz, Sandy explained he was interested in buying some bowling balls. This sounded like nonsense to Bass, coming from Sandy, but Bass didn’t feel detached enough to make anything of it. Then Meyer came back.
He had a newspaper in his hand and sat down where he had sat before.
“Business call?” said Bass.
“That was Sherman.” Meyer put the paper on top of his table. He looked down at it, and talked that way. “I don’t think you know Sherman. Just somebody runs errands for me.”
“How about it,” said Jordan. “We done?”
“He just called,” said Meyer, “I should look at the afternoon paper.”
He leafed through it and said, “Only page nineteen.”
Jordan got up and dropped his butt in the ashtray.
“I haven’t slept much,” he said.
“Sleep on this,” said Meyer. “Kemp’s alive.”
Chapter 12
“For a minute there,” said Bass, “I thought he was going to pass out.”
All three of them stood by their tables and looked out at the parking lot where Jordan was driving by and out to the highway.
“He just got pale,” said Sandy.
“But that pale.”
“You know, professional pride.”
“Let’s go to my office,” said Meyer and he took the paper along.
They still had the view like before but the room was smaller and Jordan was no longer there. It changed the mood between them—nothing to do with feeling better or worse—but a change from a big room to a small room, a change from four people to three, a change of sitting closer together now, all to one side of Meyer’s big desk. If there had been a stove, they might all have sat closely around it.
“What do you think?” said Bass and looked at Sandy. “I want to hear what’s in that paper.”
Meyer nodded and looked at it again. “He’s alive, in a hospital. Duncaster County Hospital, says the article.”
“Is that the county where that burg-something is located?”
“Sherman’s finding out. What it says here, somebody downstairs got riled by the radio blaring—Kemp somehow upset his radio maybe, when he wasn’t dead, and that radio kept blaring there on the floor.”
“Maybe Jordan had turned it up on account of the shot,” said Bass.
“No. He doesn’t do that,” said Sandy.
“I was saying,” and Meyer rattled his paper, “the guy from downstairs says he went up to Kemp’s door, after midnight sometime, and after knocking and knocking he tried the door and went in.”
“And?” said Bass.
“And what? He found Kemp there. What else?”
“How’d they know it was Kemp?”
“Yeah. That’s a nice one. Gunshot, so naturally cops. Just a minute,” and Meyer looked for a paragraph.
“Here: A search of the victim and his room offered no identifying information, and beyond the landlord’s contribution of his tenant’s name, nothing else could be learned about the victim. Only on the basis of a fingerprint check was the victim’s full identity established several hours . . .”
“He wouldn’t talk?” asked Bass.
“It says here he’s out. It says here—just a minute—it says he’s in critical condition and in a coma. And partial paralysis, one side.”
“Can he talk that way?”
They didn’t know. They thought maybe he would die and if he did not die, maybe he would still not be able to talk. They knew nothing else. Only that Jordan had missed.
“Anything about the other one?” Sandy wanted to know.
“No. Just that there must have been another occupant in the apartment. They’re looking for him.”
“I hope Jordan did him right.”
“He said two.”
“He also said Kemp was done and he isn’t.”
They sat and smoked. Meyer folded the paper and looked at the two others. Then he looked only at Sandy. “What’s he been like?”
“Like?” Sandy looked from one to the other and didn’t know how to say it. “You know . . . Just, I guess, normal.”
“What I mean is . . .”
“He’s never missed before, if that’s what you mean.”
“He shoots good, is that right?”
“Sure.”
“Then why not this time?”
Sandy did not know what to answer.
“Here Kemp was lying in bed. The article says, he fell out of bed. Here he’s in bed. Jordan walks in with his gun. No distance to worry about, nothing. He does a job and misses.”
“Maybe somebody walked by in the hall outside,” said Bass.
Sandy shook his head. “First of all, that wouldn’t throw him. Second of all, he wouldn’t fire.”
“Does he use a silencer?”
“So what? He can hold the gun in his foot and not miss.”
“All right,” said Meyer. “So it’s nothing like that.” He sucked air through his nose and then coughed it out. “So let me ask you this. The way he was acting before.”
“Getting pale?”
“No. That’s normal. Before that.”
“Professional pride.”
“Whatever. I mean before that. The way he talked all of a sudden.”
“He was tired. Like he said.”
“He ever been like that before?”
“No..”
“He ever been tired before?”
Sandy shrugged. He crossed one leg over the other and shrugged again.
“Ask him.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. I did and you heard how he got with me. Nasty.”
“And the gun in his belt, remember?” said Bass.
Sandy got out of his chair and went to the window. He looked at the view, put his hands in his pockets, took them out again. Then he turned around.
“Look. He’s an investment, you know? Think of it that way.”
“I’m thinking he’s maybe a liability.”
“Just give it a little time, will you?”
“Maybe Kemp will die,” said Bass, as if that made any difference.
Meyer didn’t bother to answer. He looked at Sandy and then he closed his eyes.
“What I’m saying is, you’re responsible.”
Sandy got annoyed and put his hands back into his pockets. He pushed them deep as if looking for a coin.
“I never liked the whole thing from the start, Meyer, I told you that. You don’t send a gun out doing his own casing and you don’t send ‘em out an hour after they come back from another job. I told you that, Meyer.”
“What’s so tough about casing?”
“How in hell do I know? All I’m saying is, you don’t . . .”
“He gets paid good, don’t he?”
“Yeah. He gets paid good,” said Sandy and then he did not say anything else because he did not know how.
Meyer got up, walked around the desk, leaned his rear against it.
“I’m sending a man down to check this thing out.”
Sandy put on his coat. “I’d leave it lie,” he said. “It’s too close to the time when they’re looking the hardest.”
“And give the fuzz all over that Penderburg the time of their lives running a hot trail?”
“Jordan doesn’t leave a trail,” Sandy said but felt foolish for having said it as soon as it was out. Nothing was quite so sure any more, about Jordan.
Meyer did not take it up. The point was too obvious. But he said, “There’s only two things which are the worst with the kind of operation we run. First, if a gun misses. Which has happened. Second, if he leaves a trail. Which I hope hasn’t happened. The first is bad enough because it leaves one too many who can talk his head off, and the second is worse because the trail leads to us. They catch one man, th
at’s one less man. They catch wind of an organization, that’s everything down the drain.” Meyer got up and sighed. “So I’ll handle that end. Penderburg. You check out Jordan.”
“I’ll look him over,” said Sandy and went to the door.
“And let me hear tonight.”
“What?” said Sandy. “Tonight what?”
“How he is. What you think.”
The trouble with Meyer and his kind, they handle things like there are no human beings in it. “He’ll sleep all afternoon,” said Sandy. “I’ll look him over tonight.”
“Your Wednesday afternoon routine can wait,” said Meyer. “You check Jordan out now and to hell with everything else.”
Sandy did not argue. Meyer was being a bastard about this, rushing things because he was nervous, and running it as if there were no human beings in it. Jordan wasn’t going to run amuck if unattended this afternoon, and Sandy’s own Wednesday routine also would not throw anything out of kilter.
“All right,” said Sandy. “Unless he’s asleep.”
“Check him out,” Meyer said again.
“All right.”
“Because if Kemp doesn’t go on his own, Jordan will have to finish it.”
Jordan was not asleep but sat in his room, by the window, and looked at the building opposite. He could see the flat roof line and the flat-line windows under that. On the windows he read Optic Supply Co., Central Dental Supply, and after a skip of one black window, J. S. Mackiewisznitz. What Mackiewisznitz sold Jordan did not know. This was time in between. Jordan sat and looked at the building opposite.
This was not time in between. Jinx job. There’s no time between jinx jobs because when the jinx hangs on the job’s never over . . . Maybe Kemp will die by himself?
Jordan took a small pair of scissors from the shelf over his sink and cut his nails. Then he put the scissors back, gave a twist to the faucet by the sink, sat down again.
This was clearly not time in between like the other times. I’m waiting too much for what will come next, he thought. It feels lousy. Talk to Sandy? No. He says less than I do. Jordan thought about Penderburg, then the girl, and could not keep the two apart. It made him feel irritable. He sat and looked at the building opposite and his mood jumped back and forth, from screamy to dull. He got up and twisted the faucet again, which hurt his hand. The two have nothing to do with each other. She, one thing that happened, finished and clean. The job, one thing that happened, not finished.
When the knock came on the door Jordan asked who it was and when he heard Sandy’s voice he opened the door. He had a brief moment when he knew that he did not want to see Sandy now but when that made no immediate sense, Jordan acted like always; quiet, wait what he says, and what might he like.
“Not sleeping, I see. How you feel, Sammy?”
“Why?”
That was not acting like always. Jordan knew it, but not till it happened, and Sandy knew it, but did not want to give it weight. He laughed and said, “Was a stupid question. You’re not sleeping because you’re not tired and that’s how you feel.”
Jordan nodded and closed the door. Screamy and dull, back and forth. But I slept good last night . . .
“Leave the door open,” said Sandy. “First off, we get your dough, okay?”
“First off?”
“Sure. You just got back and we’ll have a beer, huh?”
“Oh,” said Jordan. “Yes.”
“We’ll drive down to my place and you wait in the bar down the block and I run over and get the money.”
Jordan thought, yes, there it is again, and I almost forgot. There’s so much for you, Sam fellow, and no more. You don’t show your face here, and we don’t talk to you there, and with all the money you’re making, why kick?
In the meantime Jordan did not answer, though he always answered when Sandy said the usual things. That’s conversation. But he did not answer, this time, which was the first sign, and one which Sandy missed.
They drove to Sandy’s neighborhood and stopped at a corner. Sandy pointed and said, “You wait in the bar there while I run over and get the money.”
“That’s all right,” said Jordan and did not get out of the car.
“That one,” said Sandy. “Don’t you want a drink?”
“You got a bar in your alley,” said Jordan. “I’ll have a drink there.”
“You mean, go along?”
“And to get my money.”
“Sammy, I think . . .”
“You think what?”
Now, of course, it was clear. The boy should be asleep, thought Sandy. Natural, to get irritated. And if I push this fast and he goes home to sleep, it won’t ruin the afternoon’s routine. Meanwhile, better keep him in harness.
Sandy stopped in front of his bowling alley and said, “You’re not going in with me. That’s just sense.”
“Nobody knows me here any more,” Jordan said. “That’s just sense,” and he got out of the car and walked into the building.
Sandy watched Jordan go in and did nothing. He was not sure if there might not be a scene. But after this, starting right now in private, I’ll have to show that son of a bitch how to get back in harness. He went after Jordan who was waiting for him at the counter with the cigars.
“The office,” said Sandy, and went to the back of the counter.
There was a man doing paper work in the office and Sandy told him to get out for a minute. Jordan closed the door after the man and Sandy went to the small safe. He didn’t open it but turned around.
“Give me that gun, Sam.”
“I’m not carrying a gun,” said Jordan.
He looked at Sandy and Sandy looked Jordan up and down. He walked up to him when Jordan took one step back. The desk touched him from behind and Jordan sat down on it.
“I’m not carrying a gun,” he said again and then he smiled. “And if I were, Sandy, do you think you could frisk me?”
He’s playing games. The bastard is playing games with me, as if he and I didn’t know each other!
“Sandy,” said Jordan. He wasn’t smiling any more and his voice was low. “I don’t want to act like you and I don’t know each other. I’m just, it’s just that kind of time. Coming back like this, the deal sour . . .” and he opened his coat so that Sandy could see there was no gun anywhere. “Okay, Sandy?” he said. “Okay?”
But Sandy missed it. The switch was too fast for him, and the afternoon ruined for him, and Jordan better get back into harness.
“Don’t pull a trick like that on me again,” he said and turned away.
“Come over here and get your dough.”
He kneeled by the safe, opened it, took out a green box which he put on the floor. He hadn’t heard Jordan’s steps but then he saw his shoes next to the box. He didn’t see Jordan’s face and didn’t know that Jordan had almost said, I don’t want the money, and when he did hear Jordan talk it was games again.
“Are you in a great hurry?” Jordan said.
Sandy missed the tone because he was tense. “Yeh,” he said. “That guy outside is my auditor and I pay him by the hour.” Then he opened the green box.
Jordan went down on one knee and Sandy counted out fifties and hundreds. He put them on the floor next to the box and snapped the box shut again.
“Pick it up,” he said. “Come on.”
“That was four,” said Jordan. “I get eight.”
And if he’s edgy there’s one way to remind him what this is all about. “Kemp isn’t dead yet,” he said.
“One of them is.”
“He doesn’t count. You know that.”
“Kemp’s almost dead,” said Jordan. “Or as good as dead.”
“Don’t argue with me. Take the four gee.”
But Jordan was not interested in the money. He was interested in arguing.
“It was eight.”
Sandy hitched himself around and leaned on one hand. “He isn’t dead yet. But he will be. Like you said. Now listen. If he doesn�
��t go by himself,” Sandy watched Jordan and thought his face tightened up, “then you go back there and get done with the job.”
At first Jordan did not answer. He looked down and watched his hands fold the bills double and then he put the bills into his pocket. He rubbed his left eye with one finger.
“Who said that?”
“Meyer.”
“And you?”
“Me too.”
“And all that brings the other four gee?”
“Right. Like I said.”
Sandy locked the box back into the safe and the two men got up. “Clear now?” said Sandy.
Jordan brushed at his knees.
“You got all of this clear the way it’s going to be?”
“We’ll see,” said Jordan.
Sandy said nothing. He had heard Jordan give wrong answers, or no answers at all, but he had not seen Jordan be cagey before. The pressure gets all of them different. This one argues. Nasty talk. Bound to happen with an unfinished job. Best thing will be, he goes back to that Pender-place, gets it done, puts some vinegar in it. Did the job cold and not liking it, that was the trouble. Sandy sighed.
“Well, what are you going to do with all that dough, Sam?”
“I think I’ll spend it. Wouldn’t you?”
Now it’s glib. Whole afternoon shot and it’s talk on top of that. I’m a grease monkey and this bastard is engine trouble. Overheated engine trouble.
“Let’s go and have this beer,” said Sandy.
“That won’t cost much.”
“You want the beer or don’t you want the beer?”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“Huh?”
“Worried. Who might see you with me, and in the daytime.”
“Jeesis Christ, Sam, will you lay off that idiot talk?”
Jordan laughed. Sandy did not like that either, not that sound, the way Jordan was doing it, but the case was a clear case of nerves and maybe the whole thing would solve itself if Jordan felt he should go home and to bed. But Jordan did not want that. He wanted the beer they had been talking about and to relax in the meantime, talking. That’s what it did for him, he said. It relaxed him to be talking.
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