All the King's Men - Robert Penn Warren [157]
“Oh, you’re sorry! You’re sorry. You dug it all up, all the lies–for that man–for that Stark–for him–and you–you’re so sorry.” And she began to laugh again, and swung away, and was running down the pier, laughing and stumbling as she ran.
I ran after her.
I was just about to grab her, at the end of the pier, when the cop stepped out of the shadow of the warehouse, and said, “Hey, buddy!”
Just then, Anne stumbled and I grabbed her by the arm. She swayed in my grasp.
The cop approached. “What’s up?” he demanded. “What you runnen that dame fer?”
“She’s hysterical,” I said, talking fast, “I’m just trying to take care of her, she’s had a few drinks, just a couple, and she’s hysterical, she’s had a great shock, a grief–”
The cop, heavy, squat, hairy, took one waddling stride toward us, then leaned and whiffed her breath.
“–she’s had a sock, and it has upset her so she took a drink, and she’s hysterical. I’m trying to get her home.”
His beefy, black-jowled face swung toward me. “I’ll get you home,” he allowed, “in the wagon. If you ain’t careful.”
He was just talking. I knew he was just talking to hear himself, for it was late and he was bored and dull. I knew that, and should have said, respectfully, that I would be careful, or have said, laughing and perhaps winking, that sure, Captain, I’d get her home. But I didn’t say either thing. I was all keyed up, and she was swaying in my clutch, making a kind of sharp, broken noise with her breathing, and his God-damned beefy, black-jowled face was there in front of me. So I said, “The hell you will.”
His eyes bugged out a little at that, the jowls swelled with black blood, and he lunged one step closer, fingering his stick, saying, “The hell I won’t, I’m gonna right now, both of you, by God!”
Then he said, “Come on,” prodded me with the stick, and repeated, “Come on,” herding me toward the end of the pier, where no doubt, the box was he would use to call.
I took two or three steps forward, feeling the prod of the stick in the small of my back, dragging Anne, who hadn’t said a word. Then I remember, “Listen here, if you want to be on the force in the morning, you better listen to me.”
“Listen, hell,” he rejoined and jabbed my kidney a little harder.
“If it weren’t for the lady,” I said, “I’d let you go on and bust yourself. I don’t mind a ride to headquarters. But I’ll give you a chance.
“Chance,” he echoed, and spat from the side of his mouth, and jabbed again.
“I’m going to reach into my pocket,” I said, 2not for a gun, just for my wallet, so I can show you something. Did you ever hear of Willie Stark?”
“Sure,” he said. And jabbed.
“You ever hear of Jack Burden,” I asked, “the newspaper fellow who is a sort of secretary to Willie?”
He reflected a moment, still prodding me on. “Yeah,” he said then, grudgingly.
“Then maybe you’d like my card,” I said, and reached for the wallet.
“Naw, you don’t,” he said, and let the weight of the stick lie across my lifted forearm, “naw you don’t, I’m gitten it myself.”
He reached in for the wallet, took it, and started to open it. As a matter of principle.
“You open that,” I said, “and I’ll bust you anyway, call the wagon or not. Give ii here.”
He passed it over to me. I drew out a card, and handed it to him.
He studied it in the bad light. “Jeez,” he said, with a slight hissing sound like the air escaping from a child’s balloon, “how wuz I to know you wuz on the payroll?”
“You damned well better find out next time,” I said, before you get gay. Now call me a cab.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, hating me with the pig’s eyes out of the swollen face. “Yes, sir,” he said, and went to the box.
Suddenly Anne pulled herself loose from me, and I thought she was going to run. So I grabbed her again. “Oh, you’re so wonderful,” she said, in a harsh whisper, “so wonderful–you’re grand–you bully the bullies–you cop the cops–you’re wonderful–”
I stood there holding her, not listening, aware only of a weight in my middle like a cold stone.
“–you’re so wonderful–and