Love's lovely counterfeit - James M. Cain [1]
Only then did he greet his visitor, who had sat staring straight in front of him, obviously not entertained by the music. In a rough, high voice, though without any trace of accent, he said: "H'y, Benny."
"Hello, Sol."
"How they treating you?"
"O.K. so far."
"They got you in the draft yet?"
"No, I still got my football hernia."
"Oh that's right. What you got on tonight?"
"I guess you forgot. This is my day off."
"I said what you got on?"
"...Nothing I can think of now. Why?"
"Little job."
"What kind of a job?"
"Don't take it like that, Benny. You ought to know by now I don't call on you for any rough stuff. This is nothing to be worried about. Political meeting."
"And what's that?"
"Where the voters get together and pick out who's not going to be elected. Or so I hear. I never been to one."
"And where do I come in?"
"You look it over."
"I still don't get it."
"They got a Swede that's running for mayor. A lug that says he's out to get me. It's about time I found out what he's up to."
"You mean this milkman, Jansen?"
"That's him."
"How would I know what he's up to?"
"Maybe you don't get all the fine points, but you can see who's there. That's the main idea."
"I don't know any of these birds."
Mr. Caspar's eyes were the most arresting part of his face. In color they were dark brown, but each of them was ever so slightly out of line, so that when they focused on an object they looked like a pair of glass eyes. They focused now on Ben Grace, and presently shifted with a decidedly maniacal flicker. When Mr. Caspar spoke he shouted, his voice trembling with rage: "Listen, Ben, quit cracking dumb. You go to that meeting, and see you get there on time. If it's just voters, nuts. But if this guy's got friends, I got to know it. I got tipped today there's wise money back of him, that's figuring to knock me off. You know who they are, don't you?"
"I guess so."
"And you can see if they're there, can't you? If you want to you can find out what's going on, can't you?"
"O.K., Sol, but make it plain."
"And let me know."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"Where's the meeting?"
"Dewey High."
"All right, I'll be there."
"And take the bookies today."
"How do you get that way? Isn't it enough that I work tonight? Have I got to work all day too? This is supposed to be my day off."
Caspar's eyes fastened on Grace again, and he opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment Mrs. Caspar came in. She was a small, fat, bright-eyed Italian woman, leading a four-year-old boy, Franklin, by the hand. Grace jumped up when he saw her, and she nodded at him pleasantly, then began a report to Caspar, of the dentist's examination of Frankie's tooth. Ben, after giving Frankie a penny, started out. Caspar, however, hadn't forgotten him. "What do you say, Benny?"
"I say O.K."
In the big room, as Grace crossed it again, two men were sitting. One called himself Bugs Lenhardt, and sat reading a paper, near the door, where he could cover the slot with a minimum of effort. He was young, small, and vacant-eyed. The other, Lefty Gauss, had let Grace in, and now got up and walked out with him. He was of medium size and bandy-legged, with gray streaks in his hair and a frank, friendly air that suggested farms and other wholesome things. Actually he was a killer who had done considerable penal servitude, and the gray streaks in his hair came from operations in prisons, performed by doctors told off to get lead out of him, and not too particular how they did it. He and Grace stood silently in front of the elevators, then went down to the lobby, out to the street, and into a cocktail bar not far away with but a few glum words. It was only when they were settled in a dark corner that Ben began to talk and Gauss to listen.
Ben was full of grievances, some of them, such as his resentment that Caspar called him Benny, trivial, some of them, such as his dislike of