Love's lovely counterfeit - James M. Cain [6]
"Yeah? How?"
"Them guys. That you seen with Jansen."
"Oh? You know who they were?"
"I had that license checked. The one you give me last night. I sent a special wire to Chicago, and I just now got a reply. You know who that car belonged to?"
"I got no idea."
"Frankie Horizon."
"Well, say—and he looked like another Swede."
"How many times I got to tell you, you can't go by their looks. Frankie Horizon—and him and Delany are just like that."
Sol held up two fingers to indicate a close degree of intimacy, as Ben stared incredulously. Compassionately, then, Sol shook his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do about you, Ben."
"How you mean, Sol?"
"Them Illinois plates. Didn't they mean nothing to you?"
"Well—plenty people live in Illinois."
"Wise money has generally got Illinois plates."
"I'll try to remember?'
"It's O.K.—if you could remember something you wouldn't be driving a car, for me or anybody. And, you found out what I wanted, so take tomorrow off."
"Well, gee, thanks, Sol."
"That's a promise. Go on, make a date."
In the big room, however, Lefty seemed even more dejected, if that were possible, than he had been yesterday. He sat tipping one key of the piano, and when Ben presently asked him to cut it out, he announced: "He's going to die."
"Who's going to die?"
"That kid. That got it at Castleton yesterday."
"How you know he's going to die?"
"That doc, the look on his face."
"Where's the kid shot?"
"In the hip."
"Did the doc get the bullet out?"
"It came in and went out. The guard, before they got out of the bank, had time to grab his rifle, and it was with that that the kid got it, just a little hole that went right through. He's not in any pain. He thinks he's going to be moving soon. But the other three, they can see him behind, where he's turning black. They're getting jittery. They're getting worse than I am."
The shrug that Ben gave was perhaps more indifferent than one would expect, on a warm afternoon, at a piece of news of at least average quality, with nothing else to talk about. It was matched by the yawn he gave next morning, when Lefty arrived at the Lucas before he was up, and sat on the edge of the bed, and furnished a few more details. "His temperature's up, Ben. He's beginning to rave. And the other three, I don't know what they'll pull. They're liable to conk him to make him shut up or something. They're not old-timers. They're just kids. They don't know what to do when a guy gets it. And the hotel, they're turning on the heat."
"Can't you get him out of there?"
"Where to?"
It was at this point that Ben yawned, and Lefty went on: "What am I going to do, Ben? He's going to die, and what am I going to do with him? I can't serve no more time. I can't take it. I was already stir crazy, a little bit..."
"Dogged if I know what to tell you."
When Lefty went, Ben got up, held the door on a crack, and peeped down the hall, to make sure he was really gone. Then, on his outside phone, he dialed a number and asked for Miss Lyons—Miss June Lyons.
A girl slowing down as a man held up a newspaper, the man climbing into the car she was driving, the two of them going on at the change of the light—it looked casual enough, yet it had been planned by Ben, and carried out by her, in such fashion as to make it impossible that they should be followed. She was driving Mr. Jansen's big green sedan, and for a few moments they studied each other. Then he laughed. "Hey, cut that out. Smile. Relax."
"You mean the frown?"
"It's just terrible."
"That's what my mother always says."
"You must have had it a long time if she's always saying."
"It comes from taking things seriously."
"What things?"
"Oh—this and that."
"Not Jansen?"
"Well, why not Jansen?"
"I wouldn't think he'd appeal to you. Fact of the matter, ever since I heard you make that speech the other night, I've been wondering why you're hooked up with him. You look serious enough, but