"Don't," Billie said to me. "Jerry's all right."
The lawyer-looking thief called Jerry laughed.
"That's what all the girls say," he said and winked at me. "Jerry's all right."
I had to smile. He was a friend of mine.
"I'll bet they do. How are things law-wise?"
"Booming. Simply booming. They've set up a sort of half assed police station in the Okefenokee Arcade and the usual interrogation of anybody and everybody is well underway. I get it they'd like for you to show up for a minute or two." Jerry grinned again.
"Just the facts, mam. Just the grisly routine facts."
Billie looked up at me.
"Should I go with you, Thax?"
"Uh-uh. Why get involved? Go get ready for your show." I turned back to Jerry.
"The law going to let us open?"
"Sure. Everything but the Swamp Ride. Lieutenant Ferris, the dick in charge, was set to hold us closed. But Madame Cee came along and changed his mind for him." Jerry didn't wink again.
I figured he meant May when he said Madame Cee. I looked at Billie. There was nothing else to say. Not with Jerry the kid with the ears standing there.
"I'll see you later, Thax," she said.
I liked the way she looked at me when she said it. I said, "Sure. See you." Then I watched her walk away and it was something to look at-the way she handled that stern action. Jerry thought so too.
"Yeah," he said softly, his eyes following her.
I gave him an easy one in the ribs.
"Mine," I said. He looked at me, ready to smile.
"Think so?"
"I hope so," I told him. "C'mon."
I liked this Lieutenant Ferris right off. He was an old-time dick. I don't mean he was a daddy graybeard. I mean he looked like those violent men who came out of Prohibition and the Depression-the ones with the iron-eyed faces that might have belonged on either side of the law but couldn't possibly belong to any other strata of society. He was about fifty. A tired fifty.
"Sit anywhere," he told me.
There wasn't anywhere to sit, which didn't bother him because he was a stroller. He kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the floor and he strolled up and down while he talked. I pushed some cheap souvenir doodads to one side and parked myself on a counter.
"Name?"
"Thaxton."
He glanced at me. "Well, are you going to add to that or just let it sit there?"
"L. M. Thaxton."
"I'm still waiting."
"Leslie Thaxton for crysake."
He grinned. "You were right the first time." He dropped his grin with a bang. "How come you got into the act this morning?"
I told him about me and the tree house and about Freckles yelling down the roof.
"So you decided to be a big help and go in there and haul the stiff all over the Swamp Ride. Anybody ever mention to you you ain't supposed to touch anything till the law arrives?"
"The kid was pretty hysterical. I didn't know but what those gators were eating somebody alive."
"Not those gators. The bigshot, Lloyd Franks, tells me they're as safe as housepets."
"I didn't know that," I said. "I only walked on the lot yesterday."
Ferris strolled away from me, four paces and turn and four paces back, watching the floor.
"What was the kid doingout thereat that time of morning?"
"Part of his job, I suppose. Don't tell me you haven't questioned him yet?"
He took his eyes off the deck to give me an ironic look.
"You don't mind, do you, if we cross-examine his story?" Then he shrugged and took off on another short stroll.
"Yeah," he admitted, "the kid says it was his turn to show up early and try out the boats. Seems they do it every morning. That's one of the things that has me all ga-ga about this deal."
"What is?"
"Dumping Cochrane in there. I can't see any motive for it. He was killed by the shiv about two AM. He wouldn't be in there taking the Swamp Ride at that time of night, would he? No. So it follows he was killed somewhere else on this lot. So why haul the body in there? The gator wouldn't touch it, and the whole damn place ain't deep enough to hide a dead rat in."
"You mean the murderer must have known the body would be found right away in the Swamp Ride, so why not leave it where he had killed it?"
"Yeah. And here's another thing. How did he get it in there? You can't handle any of those swamp boats without power. And if the murderer had used one of them, somebody around here would have heard the motor." He turned and looked at me.
"You for instance. You were sleeping right over the boats."
"Never heard a thing," I told him. "Slept like a baby."
Except for that time I thought I dreamed Cheeta came home, I thought. What had that little monkey Orme been up to?
A tough-faced harnessbull clomped into the arcade and handed Ferris a shoebox and a few grumbled words I couldn't catch. It must not have been big news to Ferris because he didn't start doing handsprings over it. He grunted and said okay and the storm trooper gave me a dirty look and clomped away.
Ferris opened the shoebox and took out a knife that could only be the murder weapon and he studied it for a minute like he was reading a list of instructions on how to stab.
He strolled over to me to let me marvel at it too.
"Recognize it?" he asked.
"I would if it was sticking in Cochrane's chest again."
"I mean do you recognize this kind of knife?"
"Um. Knife-thrower's. Perfect balance."
"Know who owns this particular one?"
I grinned at him. "The law does now. Before that I couldn't say. Might be anybody."
"Yeah. And whoever the anybody was he wore gloves. No prints. Unless-" His eyes took a stroll over me-"you wiped 'em off before you brought the body back to the dock."
"Try again," I suggested. "This whole deal doesn't mean a damn to me. I just work here. I'm not trying to cover up for anybody."
He waggled the blade absently, wearing a bemused expression.
"Is there a knife-throwing act on this lot?"
I was glad he phrased it that way. I wouldn't have to lie to him-unless you call an omission a lie.
"Not that I know of. But then I just-"
"Yeah, I know. You told me. You just started here." He looked sour for a minute. Then he grunted and almost smiled.
"You picked a hell of a swell time, didn't you?"
There was something in what he said, but it was too vague right then to mean anything. The timing was almost too coincidental.
"Well," I said, "it doesn't really matter, does it?"
I slid off the counter and told Ferris I had to see a man about my job. He didn't seem to care. I think he had already lost interest in me. When he told me to stick around in case he needed me, it sounded like he was saying it out of habit. I hoped so. I wanted a wide gap between myself and the law.
"Good luck," I told him. That was from habit too.
"Yeah," he said. The word didn't carry much conviction.
When I looked back he was still standing alone in the arcade, staring stonily at the floor.
Gabby had a stand set up for me. It was next door to Bill Duffy's bally platform. That was nice. Just a couple of old carny buddies working side by side. We looked at each other and looked away.
A shelf had been rigged behind my stand and it contained a vivid white orchid display.
"What's that for?" I asked Gabby. "I haven't turned pansy since you saw me last."
"The boss don't allow cash for cash gambling," Gabby told me. "We let the marks win an orchid. You're just here for the atmosphere. Didn't Rob explain that to you?"
"Yeah. But it only costs the mark a quarter a try. That's some deal, twobits for an orchid."
"Naw. These here are what they call saprophytic orchids. Don't have much value except for botanical purposes. Big old swamp a couple miles from here and the damn things grow wild in there
by the million. Rob hires a kid to collect 'em. They're a dime a dozen."
"Just like barkers," I said.
"How'sit?"
"Something Cochrane said to me last night."
A dull look came into Gabby's morose face.
"I'm gonna miss that old Irish bastard," he said quietly.
"A pretty good guy, wasn't he?"
"The best."
"Evidently somebody around here didn't think so," I said. "Who do you think had it in for him?"
Gabby gave me a challenging look.
"Who do you think for godsake?"
"Hell, I don't know. I just started here, remember?
"Come off it, Thax. I know about you and May. Word gets around."
"That's what everybody keeps telling me." I looked over at Bill Duff. He was up on his bally spieling.
"Duff's big mouth has been going, huh?"
Gabby shrugged. "Did I say so?"
"You didn't have to. Well, it doesn't matter. Let's back up a couple of sentences. So you know me and May. So what?"
"So I know what everybody else around here knows. She was a knife-thrower when she first came to this lot. Before she put the hooks in Rob and became Mrs. Big."
I was surprised when he said that much. As a rule carny people never show any interest in a crime that happens in their backyard. They become deaf and dumb. They pointedly keep their noses out of it and volunteer nothing. It's the law's worry not theirs. And Gabby was not a talkative man.
"You don't like May much, huh?" I prompted.
"Name me somebody here that does."
"Cochrane must have."
"Rob was easy. He liked everyone. He was a pushover for her."
"So now this word that gets around so fast has it that May turned the trick, huh?"
Gabby made a noise in his throat. "She's a cinch for it."
Could be. But what did it mean to me-except that I didn't like May and had liked her husband? It still wasn't any of my business. I just worked there. That was all.
Gabby took me around back to a little tented area and handed me my working togs-the flowered vest, the plastic bow tie, the derby and bally stick, and a final admonition.
"Remember, Thax. Atmosphere only. Don't send away any sore loser. May can afford the orchids."
That's right, I thought. It's May now. The whole kit and caboodle belongs to the little girl who came from the she house on D Street.
"I'll work out a routine," I promised him.
I arranged the three walnut shells and the little ivory pea just so and made a couple of practice passes to see if my hand was still in. The shell game has long been abandoned in favor of more ingenious and less discreditable methods of robbery, but it still holds a certain degree of fascination for today's so-called sophisticated marks. I started drumming up trade.
"Here we are, ladies and gentlemen! Carnival croquet, the preacher's pastime. Who'll risk a quarter to win an orchid? A bee-utiful laelia flower shipped from the Brazilian jungles at great expense to the management."
I grinned at the marks to show them I was just kidding.
"Step up and take a trip on the rolling ivory. It's a healthy sport, a clean game it's good for young and old! A child can understand it."
The marks were starting to gather. I gave them a free treat and made three passes with the shells, so rapid that even a missile-tracker couldn't have figured out where in hell that pea was.
The girls giggled and the young men grinned and hated my guts while they were grinning. You see a real pro do something that you couldn't hope to do in a million years and it's natural you should hate him even if you admire him. Especially if your girl is with you. Fall on your face, you showoff bastard, you silently pray.
"Gimme a quarter, hon," a cute little thing said to her boyfriend.
I smiled at the cute little thing and made a slow pass-left over right and middle under left and finished a figure eight. Sightless Sam could have followed the pass. The cute little thing didn't. She unerringly chose an empty. I had to thumb my spare pea into it to help her win.
"The little lady wins and the gambler loses," I announced and I handed her an orchid. "Now then, we're off on another journey. Who'll ride with me this time?"
I always let them win, sooner or later. Every so often a smart ass would give me some lip service and I'd hit him for sixbits before I'd donate an orchid to his girl. Working a shell game for fun can get to be a drag after a while, but it was good practice. And what the hell, it was a job.
"Three walnut igloos and an educated pill! Here we go again. Shoot a quarter, men, and win your girl or wife or secretary a priceless oncidium orchid straight from the wilds of the West Indies. A mere quarter. The fourth part of an overtaxed dollar."
There was a blonde thing who looked like she would have trouble spelling cat, and she thought I was the nuts. Every time I'd make a mildly naughty remark she'd come unstitched with the giggles. Her boyfriend was a sailor and he didn't think I was the nuts at all.
"We got a guy aboard ship who can do that better," he said in a quarterdeck voice. "All you need to beat him is a good eye."
It might cost me my job but it was worth it.
"Step aside, folks," I said. "Let the sailor see the pea." Barnacle Bill rolled up and gave me a one-cornered smirk.
"Go ahead," he said. "Shove 'em around."
I showed him the pea. I placed it under the middle shell. I shoved them around. His eyes followed like magnets.
"Slower," he ordered. "Like you do it for the bitches."
That sailorboy was simply begging for it. I raised one of the shells and let him see the pea again, and then I made a nice slow figure-eight pass. I practically had a signpost on the pea shell.
Quick as a wink he tapped the right one. I took the shell between my thumb and forefinger and made an imperceptible forward motion as I turned it over and palmed the little pea betweeen my third and fourth finger.
Popeye the sailor man stared at the empty shell.
"Every now and then the gambler wins a little," I said as I placed his quarter in my vest.
"You palmed it," he said, real mean.
I said nothing. I placed the empty shell down on the board and opened my hand, widespread. With my other hand I raised the far right shell and let him gaze at the pea.
"Around and around it goes, where it stops God only knows. Just an innocent little ivory ballbearing, friends. But it needs oil. Who's next to grease it or fleece it with a quarter?"
A goodnatured Pa-type mark started to make with a coin, but the sailor wasn't having any of that. He elbowed the Pa aside.
"Let's try that again." A very deadly Alan Ladd voice.
"You've forgotten something, haven't you, brother?" I suggested. I was egging him to grandstand. He did. He tossed a five dollar bill on the board.
"Match it."
I pretended I was stupid. "I'll have to give you your four seventyfive in quarters, friend."
"I didn't say nothing about change. I said match it."
I leaned over the board to confide in him.
"Sorry. This is only a quarter game. I'm not supposed to-"
"No guts, huh?" he sneered.
I pretended to think about it. "Very well, sir. If these other good people have no objection we'll call it an off the record sidebet. One Abe Lincoln it is."
I showed him the pea. I covered it. I made a pass like molasses in January. His eyes rode on the correct shell from beginning to end. Quick as a shot he covered the shell with a protecting palm. I looked at him. He grinned at me.
"This one," he said.
"Well, well," I said. "The groans of the gambler is sweet music in the winner's ear."
"Ain't it though?" He was getting a big kick out of my discomfort. "Care to double up?"
"No. I don't think I'd better."
"No," he sneered, "I didn't think you would. Better start counting out five bucks in quarters."
He turned the shell over. I didn't have to look
to see that it was empty. I'd made sure of that before I let him cover it with his hand.
"Every now and then the gambler wins a little," I said as I gravely pocketed his five. Then I handed the giggly, placidfaced blonde an orchid. "Compliments of the management," I said.
The sailor was about to make something out of it, but I gave one of the lot guards the highsign and he came over and took care of it. During a lull Bill Duff stepped down from his bally stand and strolled over to see me.
"Hello, Bill." I didn't work up much enthusiasm.
He said, "Thax." Then he said, "You'll lose your job real quick if somebody registers a bitch about that little trick you just turned. Cash for cash gambling's taboo around here. You're supposed to work on wages, not on take."
"Good old Bill," I said. "Always sticking your beak in my business. No, on second thought I guess it wasn't your beak you stuck in. Or was it?"
Bill started to get red. "I'm just telling you is all. That oldtime reaming don't go here. Old man Cochrane won't.. He stopped. I guess he just remembered that old man Cochrane no longer had a thing to say about Neverland.
"That was yesterday, Bill," I said. "Today all I have to do to square it is tip May fifty percent of the take."
Duff shook his head at me as if he couldn't understand how anyone as simple-minded as I appeared to be could go around without a keeper.
"You never did understand May, Thax. Lived with her for what was it-six years? And still you thought all she was after was the buck. When that wasn't it at all."
"Naw, naw. Not May. May's all heart. All out for her friends. Anybody knows that. Just ask 'em."
"Go ahead and laugh, Thax, you know so goddam much. But I'll say this for May-she offered me a hand when I showed up here down on my luck."
Which shows how much Duff knew about May and Robert Cochrane.
"Yes," I said, "I can't deny she was good to you, Bill. You've certainly made a big success of it."
He looked puzzled and then he started to get mad, but I had already spotted Billie heading for the nautch show and I dodged around the stand and went after her.
"Billie."
She looked back and saw me and smiled and came to a stop.
"Hi, Thax."
Funny thing. Standing there in the middle of Neverland with hundreds of loud-mouthed people milling around us, it still seemed like we were alone in a little world all of our own. Falling in love does that to you. It seems to surround you and the one you love in a shimmering crystal ball. The millions of people outside the ball are all mundane nonentities.
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