“You want I should find her?”
“Yes. Just find her. When you do, don’t let her know. Just bring me the address. Got that? Just tell me where she is.”
“Okay,” said Joe. “She must of rolled you good.”
“That’s not your business, Joe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “You want I should start right off?”
“Yes. Make it quick, Joe.”
“Might be a little tough,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
“That’s up to you.”
“I’ll go to Watsonville this afternoon.”
“That’s good, Joe.”
She was thoughtful. He knew she was not finished and that she was wondering whether she should go on. She decided.
“Joe, did—did she do anything—well, peculiar—that day in court?”
“Hell, no. Said she was framed like they always do.”
And then something came back to him that he hadn’t noticed at the time. Out of his memory Ethel’s voice came, saying, “Judge, I got to see you alone. I got to tell you something.” He tried to bury his memory deep so that his face would not speak.
Kate said, “Well, what was it?”
He had been too late. His mind leaped for safety. “There’s something,” he said to gain time. “I’m trying to think.”
“Well, think!” Her voice was edged and anxious.
“Well—” He had it. “Well, I heard her tell the cops—let’s see—she said why couldn’t they let her go south. She said she had relatives in San Luis Obispo.”
Kate leaned quickly toward him. “Yes?”
“And the cops said it was too damn far.”
“You’re smart, Joe. Where will you go first?”
“Watsonville,” he said. “I got a friend in San Luis. He’ll look around for me. I’ll give him a ring.”
“Joe,” she said sharply. “I want this quiet.”
“For five hundred you’ll get it quiet and quick,” said Joe. He felt fine even though her eyes were suited and inspective again. Her next words jarred his stomach loose from his backbone.
“Joe, not to change the subject—does the name Venuta mean anything to you?”
He tried to answer before his throat tightened. “Not a thing,” he said.
“Come back as soon as you can,” Kate said. “Tell Helen to come in. She’ll take over for you.”
3
Joe packed his suitcase, went to the depot, and bought a ticket for Watsonville. At Castroville, the first station north, he got off and waited four hours for the Del Monte express from San Francisco to Monterey, which is at the end of a spur line. In Monterey he climbed the stairs of the Central Hotel, registered as John Vicker. He went downstairs and ate a steak at Pop Ernst’s, bought a bottle of whisky, and retired to his room.
He took off his shoes and his coat and vest, removed his collar and tie, and lay down on the bed. The whisky and a glass were on the table beside the brass bed. The overhead light shining in his face didn’t bother him. He didn’t notice it. Methodically he primed his brain with half a tumbler of whisky and then he crossed his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles and he brought out thoughts and impressions and perceptions and instincts and began matching them.
It had been a good job and he had thought he had her fooled. Well, he’d underrated her. But how in hell had she got onto it he was wanted? He thought he might go to Reno or maybe to Seattle. Seaport towns—always good. And then—now wait a minute. Think about it.
Ethel didn’t steal nothing. She had something. Kate was scared of Ethel. Five hundred was a lot of dough to dig out a beat-up whore. What Ethel wanted to tell the judge was, number one, true; and, number two, Kate was scared of it. Might be able to use that. Hell!—not with her holding that jailbreak over him. Joe wasn’t going to serve out the limit with penalties.
But no harm in thinking about it. Suppose he was to gamble four years against—well, let’s say ten grand. Was that a bad bet? No need to decide. She knew it before and didn’t turn him in. Suppose she thought he was a good dog.
Maybe Ethel might be a hole-card.
Now—wait—just think about it. Maybe it was the breaks. Maybe he ought to draw his hand and see. But she was so goddam smart. Joe wondered if he could play against her. But how, if he just played along?
Joe sat up and filled his glass full. He turned off his light and raised his shade. And as he drank his whisky he watched a skinny little woman in a bathrobe washing her stockings in a basin in a room on the other side of the air shaft. And the whisky muttered in his ears.
It might be the breaks. God knows, Joe had waited long enough. God knows, he hated the bitch with her sharp little teeth. No need to decide right now.
He raised his window quietly and threw the writing pen from the table against the window across the air shaft. He enjoyed the scene of fear and apprehension before the skinny dame yanked her shade down.
With the third glass of whisky the pint was empty. Joe felt a wish to go out in the street and look the town over. But then his discipline took over. He had made a rule, and kept to it, never to leave his room when he was drinking. That way a man never got in trouble. Trouble meant cops, and cops meant a check-up, and that would surely mean a trip across the bay to San Quentin and no road gang for good behavior this time. He put the street out of his mind.
Joe had another pleasure he saved for times when he was alone, and he was not aware it was a pleasure. He indulged it now. He lay on the brass bed and went back in time over his sullen and miserable childhood and his fretful and vicious growing up. No luck—he never got the breaks. The big shots got the breaks. A few snatch jobs he got away with, but the tray of pocketknives? Cops came right in his house and got him. Then he was on the books and they never let him alone. Guy in Daly City couldn’t shag a crate of strawberries off a truck without they’d pick up Joe. In school he didn’t have no luck neither. Teachers against him, principal against him. Guy couldn’t take that crap. Had to get out.
Out of his memory of bad luck a warm sadness grew, and he pushed it with more memories until the tears came to his eyes and his lips quivered with pity for the lonely lost boy he had been. And here he was now—look at him—a rap against him, working in a whorehouse when other men had homes and cars. They were safe and happy and at night their blinds were pulled down against Joe. He wept quietly until he fell asleep.