“Of course, the first thing I think you should do is go home.”
The smile faded. “Home?”
“To see your father.”
“Oh. Oh, I don’t know about that…”
“You ought to set things straight with him. You owe him that much. And you owe it to yourself.”
“I wouldn’t want to see him alone.”
“Who says you’d be alone?”
“You’d go with me?”
“Sure. Right there by your side.”
“Then I’ll think about it,” she said. Snuggling closer.
I was helping her; I knew I was helping her. But I still felt like a dyed-in-the-wool bastard. For all my soft soap about setting things straight with her father, I knew damn well she’d do just fine never seeing the old boy again; I just wanted to deliver her and collect that thousand bucks.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to tell her the truth—but what if I did, only to have her take a powder? That would be that grand her father promised me, you’d see going out the door with her.
And/or she might spill to Ma Barker and Helen Nelson and the rest of the mamas, some of whom were pistol- packing, and that wouldn’t fit in with my plans.
So at four I was on the road with Ma Barker, one last time, for one final round of Burma Shave readings, hymn humming and the eternal quest to find hillbilly music on the Auburn’s radio.
Ma, with a freshly curled head of Shirley Temple hair, interrupted those three favorite pastimes of hers now and again for some actual conversation.
“Big responsibility,” she said, kidding me, “havin’ a whole houseful of women to look after….”
“I figure they can look after me, Ma,” I said, smiling at her.
She smiled back, that oddly attractive smile that found its occasional way out of her homely countenance, saying, “You’re gonna treat that little gal right, aren’t you?”
“Lulu, you mean? Sure.”
“Got a good little gal, there. Don’t let ’er get away.”
“I’ll try not, Ma.”
But conversation was the exception not the rule, as most of the time she devoted herself to her usual interests, and I was grateful. Because my mind was going faster than the Auburn. Racing ahead to things I had to do…
I parked the Auburn in an open space in front of the big brick three-story on Pine Grove, where the real Jimmy Lawrence once lived. Shortly after, Dolores pulled in half a block down. I glanced at my watch: five-fifteen. The Hoover pickup was set for ten till seven. Plenty of time.
I carried the girls’ bags in for them, and they all pitched in (except for Ma, of course) and it was around five- thirty when everybody’s things had been deposited in an appropriate bedroom.
The last of these was one Ma showed Louise and me into, a small room decorated in shades of blue; there was a double bed with a baby-blue spread. Sounds romantic, but there was also a picture of Jesus over a doily-strewn dresser.
“You kids can bunk in here,” she said.
Louise said, “Thanks, Ma—you’re a saint.”
I thanked Ma, too; I couldn’t quite go the rest of the way, Jesus picture or not.
Ma said, “Jimmy, I know you’re supposed to stick by us, ’specially this afternoon…but I need some things.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Come with me.”
I followed her, Louise in tow.
We ended up in a big white modern kitchen. Ma opened the Frigidaire for me to see mostly empty shelves.
Ma spread her arms like an angel its wings. “What am I going to cook for supper, if you don’t go to the store for me?”
What, indeed.
“If you make me out a list, Ma,” I said, “I’ll go shopping before the stores close.”
She sat and scribbled a list.
I’d been planning to make my own excuse to leave, saying I needed to go to my apartment to pick up a few things for the duration of my stay; but she was saving me the trouble. Karpis had asked that I stay close to the phone all afternoon and evening, just in case the need for some sort of backup developed. But now I had Ma, who this very moment was handing me her grocery list, to cover for me.
“Come on, Louise,” I said, holding my arm out to her, “keep me company.”
“Sure,” she said, taking the arm.
Ma wasn’t sure about that. “Now, Alvin and Arthur said the girls was to stay around home, today.”
