"I just want to ask you a couple questions."
"Look, you silly bastard. You people have paid off the claim, you've slept with me for six months. Now get off my back."
He sat there another moment as if trying to think what to say. His gaze moved around from the mirror on the wall near the door to the low couch, the magazines piled on the end table, the telephone, anything but me.
"Suppose I told you that the company has paid off. That's their contract. They've done it. We investigated, gave them the best possible report and advised them to pay. Still, it bothers me."
"Why? What in hell is an insurance company but a gambling setup? You jerks bet that McAteer would never lose a hundred grand in a robbery, the old boy bet you that he would. He won. You boys had to pay off. You can't take it out of my hide."
"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Mr. Richards. Nobody wants to. It may be that you are the innocent party in this."
"Maybe?"
"All right. We could never prove any link between you and the thieves. Perhaps it was a diversionary action, learning your name, speaking it in the excitement of a robbery, and throwing us off their track on to yours. But just the same that man had to learn your name somewhere."
"Hell, he could have learned it anywhere. It was on the books. Somebody might have spoken it."
"No. Men smart enough to execute this robbery would never leave a detail like this to chance. That man made sure you were Jake, that you would be in that office, and that he would know you by sight."
It was chilly in the room and I shivered. I got up and walked into the bedroom, began to dress. He walked to the door. "You stand out in a crowd, all right," he said. "Ex-baseball player. As a group baseball players are the best looking men in the country."
"Sorry. This is my week for girls."
He did not smile. I stepped into my pants. "There had to be some reason he selected you," Sklute said. "He saw you a few times, say. So that's our first clue, our first break."
"You waited long enough to come up with it."
"It's just something that would not let me alone. You know. Now I'm an insurance investigator. That's my job. I work eight hours, or ten hours, or fourteen, and even when I go home at night I can't get my job off my mind. Something is wrong, it nags at me. So I get to thinking about this fellow who called you pal-"
"And cost me my job, my girl, and any shreds of my reputation that might have been left."
"You're an angry man, Richards."
"You're goddamn right I'm angry. I've had it, and nobody gives a damn. You boys bet and lost. You're hedged so you can pay off and go on smiling. Old McAteer hasn't lost a dime. The way I look at it, I been slugged and rolled in an alley, and you mugs are just as guilty as that smart slob that used me as a red herring to stink up the joint."
"I don't deny you have a right to anger. But what's it going to buy you?"
"Do I come around asking you questions?"
"Why don't you ask yourself?"
"All right. So anger buys me nothing. I've said it. I'm just as full of it as I was before."
I stood before the mirror and knotted my tie. It was getting dark outside my room. Here was a boy who had been ten hours on his job already today. What was he after? What did he expect to get? Maybe a gold watch when he retired.
His voice was soft from across the room. "You ought to vent your anger on the one that would do you some good to hate."
"Hell. Just hate everybody. Like scattershot. Shoot wild, you're bound to get somebody."
"No, Mr. Richards. It's like a bullet from a rifle. It must go straight and true. A man hurt you. He plucked out your eye and now you want his eye in vengeance. That's the way it is."
"Is this a new angle?" I turned, stared at him. "I told you. He wore a mask. He looked just like the other two."
"Yes. But have you stopped to think? You've been full of anger. It buys you nothing. Maybe you could find this man, or you could help me find him?"
"What would that buy me?"
"There's a ten per cent reward. I'd split it with you, no matter if I do all the work."
"Ten grand. Hell, I got twice that just for signing my name-"
"That was a long time ago, Mr. Richards. You won't get that much again. I'm offering you five thousand, just to help me."
"What you're doing is wasting our time."
"Five thousand dollars, and you see him behind bars."
I shook my head. "It won't work. I know nothing."
His voice cracked. "Get this straight, Mr. Richards. I'm accusing you of nothing. I agree, the man was masked, dressed sensibly, like a hundred other men. But there's got to be something. Like his build, Mr. Richards. Stop hating for a minute and think. What was his build? Slope of his shoulders, size of hips, length of legs, peculiar walk? Maybe you
do
remember him, without even knowing it."
I walked by him, out into the front room. I knew he followed me, a small man, seeing everything. I lit a cigarette, drew on it hard, staring out the window. The lights were strung along the street, and I saw cars moving down there. I thought about the man, the size of him. In my mind I saw him going from desk to desk scooping up that money.
I shook my head.
"Wait, Mr. Richards. Wait. How tall was he?"
I crushed out the cigarette. "You work hard for five thousand bucks, don't you?"
"With me it's something else. It won't let me alone. Try, Mr. Richards. Please. How tall?"
"I don't know. He was as tall as I am. Looked to be about as heavy, no heavier. Hell, they could have worn stuffing to change their looks."
"Perhaps. But we have this one thing. He was as tall as you."
I sat down in a chair. "That's all we've got"
"Now, he wore a gray felt hat, pulled down. You couldn't see his hair?"
"No."
"What kind of tie?"
"The three of them wore dark blue ties. They looked like Joe Smith, that's all."
He nodded. "I see. That doesn't leave us much. Now, one of them whispered to you, is that right?"
"You just love to hear this story. He whispered. A real stage whisper. Everybody heard him."
"But the other man? The leader? Think. He spoke. Aloud. In what must have been his natural tone. He said, 'Right on schedule, huh, Jake?' Was it a soft voice? Raspy?, Loud-mouthed? The kind who talks because he can't help it? Modulated?"
It was a judo crack across the neck. I sat tensely on the edge of that chair, remembering that voice.
Sklute was watching me. He said, "What kind of voice? Smooth? Deep? High-pitched?"
I swallowed hard. "I'm afraid I can't help you." My heart was slugging up against my ribs. I was afraid he was going to hear the beat of my heart. It was there. He had said it himself. Loud-mouthed. When he said that word it rushed back over me, the way he had spoken in the office. I had heard that voice before, all right, but for the moment it escaped me. All I wanted was to get Sklute out of there so I could think, remember where I'd heard that loudmouth.
"It ought to be easy," Sklute said.
I shook my head. It was just the beginning of an idea, but I played it cagey. "It ought to be," I said. "Sure wish I could help you. But I don't remember a thing."
***
I was too excited to sit still after I finally shoved Sklute out the front door and closed it behind him. At first maybe it was just what Sklute had said. If I found this guy, I had somebody to hate. Hell, I could peel his hide off and maybe that would make me feel better. Anyhow, I walked around my front room and it wasn't big enough to hold me. I wanted to find that joker.
It had hit me hard when Sklute mentioned that voice. In that instant I knew I had heard that voice before, not once, but often. Where? How? When?
I stood at the window and gazed down at the darkened street. Out there for six weeks little men had stood watching me, waiting for me to get in touch with three men I didn't even know. They had hounded me until there was nothing left in my mind but hatred. I hadn't been able to think. Now suddenly my mind was clear. It was as though somebody had turned on a water tap, full and cold.
I repeated those words that thief had spoken in McAteer's office. I said them over and over, putting in that loud-mouthed sound. But I was missing something. This boy had used his natural tone, all right. He was so sure of himself that he got kicks from letting us know he wasn't afraid of anything we could do.
But it wasn't only that this boy was a show-off and a loud-mouth. There was something more about his voice, something that made all the difference. It flitted around in my mind but I couldn't grab it. It was just as though when I saw the place where I had met this character, this other thing about him would be clear.
Where had I been in the past six months? I had spent a lot of time with Fran. But she and I were alone most of the time; that's the way it had been with us. We hadn't needed anybody else. I felt the anger rolling up again and cut it off sharp.
Where would I meet a loud-mouth who might pull a job like that?
I started with the bars. I had spent a lot of evenings in them, but not many different ones. I usually dropped in one of the places near my apartment before I went out to Fran's, or when I was on my way home. With three drinks in me, I didn't lie around sleepless.
The Crow Bar was on the corner. It was a long narrow room with jukebox, piano, skill-pool and pinball machines. Anything for a good time, the kind of good time you could have with beer and potato chips.
Carney was tending bar when I walked in. A beefy man with sparse blond hair, he was surprised to see me.
"Thought you moved away, Mr. Richards."
I sat down across the bar from him and he drew me a draft beer. "Did you, Carney? Or did you just think you'd have moved away if you got in a mess like I was in?"
"Now wait a minute, Mr. Richards. I didn't mean any offense."
"It's all right." I took the beer and walked over to the pin-ball machine. All I wanted was to get away from Carney's apologizing. What happened was that I walked into the answer to the whole thing.
It happened months ago. I couldn't even remember when. It was a rainy night and I dropped in on my way home. The place was rather quiet, the TV was shut off, nobody was bothering the piano. But there was the loudmouth trying to make a score with a little blonde named Betty.
When I came in, Betty came over and sat beside me. I saw she had been crying and had been out in the rain. Her clothes were damp.
"Why don't you go home and change into something warm?" I asked her.
"Yeah. That's what I asked her." This guy had moved onto the stool beside her, following her. I had seen him around the Crow Bar a few times, but never paid any attention to him. He was my height, fair-haired, getting beefy and always loud, always talking too much. And there was that other thing: he had an accent like corn pone dripping with molasses.
It turned out that Betty had been locked out at home and wanted a hotel room. But she didn't have the price. The three of us had a few drinks, and everybody was making Betty offers. Finally just before Carney closed the place at two A.M., Loud-mouth challenged me to a pinball game. The winner would take Betty home and get her dried out and comfortable. Betty had had a lot more to drink by then and she was giggling at the idea. She rooted for me and this angered the loud-mouth. He got louder, telling her that if she knew what he carried around with him, she'd change her yelling over to a man loaded. I outshot him by two million and he got so sore that it took the edge off the evening.
He threatened Betty if she went out of the place with anybody but him. Finally Carney's wife told Betty she could spend the night at their place and that broke it up. I was very weary of Loud-mouth and tried to avoid him as much as possible after that.
I couldn't remember if he had ever spoken to me by name but I supposed he had. Anyhow he had heard Carney and some of the others speak it. This was the boy, the loudmouth. That corn-pone accent was the clincher. What he had really said during the robbery was "Rat on schedyule, huah, Ja-yake?"
I went back to the bar, fast. "Carney. Remember that loud-mouth that challenged me to a fast game of pinball in here one night? It was raining and we were going to take Betty home."
Carney laughed. "Sure, Mr. Richards, we've laughed about that thing plenty of times. Little old Betty was squirming, hoping you'd win."
"Yeah. Sure. But this guy. He hung around here a lot, didn't he?"
Carney nodded, wiping at the bar. "Yeah. Used-car salesman. Named uh-oh, hell, Pooser, something. Marve Pooser? Wasn't that it?"
"Yeah," I said. "Marve Pooser. Real loud-mouth. That's him."
"Right out of the South, that boy. Deep South, that is. Funny you asking about him. I remember once, he asked what your name was. I was afraid he wanted to make trouble about Betty. I told him that and he had a fit laughing, he was just sure he'd seen you somewhere. I told him you'd pitched baseball and he said that was it."
"Not unless he's been out of the South longer than that accent says he has."
Carney shrugged. "Seemed friendly enough. Loud. But a used-car salesman has to be like that. Loud and friendly."
I drank deeply, trying to keep it casual. "Seen him lately?"
"No. Matter of fact I haven't. Not in the last three months or so."
People laughed in the rear of the bar. Two women were talking at a table behind me. I stood there, knowing I had the guy I was looking for, the guy I hated. A loud-mouthed guy named Marve Pooser. Only he hadn't been in here in the past three months. Sure, not since the robbery.