The Postman Always Rings Twice - James M. Cain [9]
"You know I do."
"We can't go back, you know. We can't start up again, like it was before. You know that. You've got to come."
"I told you I wasn't really a bum, Frank. I don't feel like no gypsy. I don't feel like nothing, only ashamed, that I'm out here asking for a ride."
"I told you. We're getting a car in to the city."
"And then what?"
"Then we're there. Then we get going."
"No we don't. We spend one night in a hotel, and then we start looking for a job. And living in a dump."
"Isn't that a dump? What you just left?"
"It's different."
"Cora, you going to let it get your goat?"
"It's got it, Frank. I can't go on. Goodbye."
"Will you listen to me a minute?"
"Goodbye, Frank. I'm going back."
She kept tugging at the hatbox. I tried to hold on to it, anyway to carry it back for her, but she got it. She started back with it. She had looked nice when she started out, with a little blue suit and blue hat, but now she. looked all battered, and her shoes were dusty, and she couldn't even walk right, from crying. All of a sudden, I found out I was crying too.
CHAPTER 6
I caught a ride to San Bernardino. It's a railroad town, and I was going to hop a freight east. But I didn't do it. I ran into a guy in a poolroom, and began playing him one ball in the side. He was the greatest job in the way of a sucker that God ever turned out, because he had a friend that could really play. The only trouble with him was, he couldn't play good enough. I hung around with the pair of them a couple of weeks, and took $250 off them, all they had, and then I had to beat it out of town quick.
I caught a truck for Mexicali, and then I got to thinking about my $250, and how with that much money we could go to the beach and sell hot dogs or something until we got a stake to take a crack at something bigger. So I dropped off, and caught a ride back to Glendale. I began hanging around the market where they bought their stuff, hoping I would bump into her. I even called her up a couple of times, but the Greek answered and I had to make out it was a wrong number. In between walking around the market, I hung around a poolroom, about a block down the street, One day a guy was practicing shots alone on one of the tables. You could tell he was new at it from the way he held his cue. I began practicing shots on the next table. I figured if $250 was enough for a hot dog stand, $350 would leave us sitting pretty.
"How you say to a little one ball in the side?"
"I never played that game much."
"Nothing to it. Just the one ball in the side pocket."
"Anyhow, you look too good for me."
"Me? I'm just a punk."
"Oh well. If it's just a friendly game."
We started to play, and I let him take three or four, just to feel good. I kept shaking my head, like I couldn't understand it.
"Too good for you, hey. Well, that's a joke. But I swear, I'm really better than this. I can't seem to get going. How you say we put $1 on it, just to make it lively?"
"Oh well. I can't lose much at a dollar."
We made it $1 a game, and I let him take four or five, maybe more. I shot like I was pretty nervous, and in between shots I would wipe off the palm of my hand with a handkerchief, like I must be sweating.
"Well, it looks like I'm not doing so good. How about making it $5, so I can get my money back, and then we'll go have a drink?"
"Oh well. It's just a friendly game, and I don't want your money. Sure. We'll make it $5, and then we'll quit."
I let him take four or five more, and from the way I was acting, you would have thought I had heart failure and a couple more things besides. I was plenty blue around the gills.
"Look. I got sense enough to know when I'm out of my class all right, but let's make it $25, so I can break even, and then we'll go have that drink."
"That's pretty high for me."
"What the hell? You're playing on my money, aren't you?"
"Oh well. All right. Make it $25."
Then was when I really started to shoot. I made shots that Hoppe couldn't make. I banked them in from three cushions, I made billiard shots, I had