turned his head and saw the old man come storming out of the house. He came down the front stoop and along the walk, his knobbly old hands closed up into fists. He came over to the car and bent forward and looked in the window and said, 'What are you doing here?'
'Hi, there, Joe. You over your mad?'
'Why are you parked in front of my house?' The old man was trembling all over, hands and head and voice. He looked as though any second he'd leap for Younger's throat.
Younger spread his hands, being innocent. 'I'm just taking it easy, Joe,' he said. 'Out on patrol a while, and then pull to the kerb and rest a few minutes.'
'You've been out here half an hour!'
'Joe, about that phone call the other day. I've been thinking it over, and if I said anything to offend you, I want you to know I'm sorry.'
'You can't keep this up for ever, Younger.'
'Joe, all I want in this world is for us to be friends. I told you all about my Army experiences because I want you to know about me, just like I want to know about you. Friends, Joe, that's all. Share our experiences.'
The old man closed his eyes. He was bent forward, his forearms on the car door, his head framed by the open window. With his eyes closed that way, he almost looked dead; lines of age mingled with lines of weariness and worry in his face, making it look like an overdone pencil sketch.
'Abner Younger and Joe Sheer,' Younger said thoughtfully. 'It sounds like one of those old-time vaudeville acts, doesn't it? You ever do any vaudeville, Joe?'
The old man's eyes were open again, staring at Younger.
'What did you say?'
'I asked you if you ever did any vaudeville.'
'What did you call me, you son of a bitch? What name did you say?'
Younger laughed and said, 'Oh, come on, Joe, we're pals, you don't have to put on the act for me. I've known your name from the beginning.'
The old man shook his head. He acted dazed now. He pushed away from the car, turned and started back for the house, walking as though he were drunk.
Younger let him get halfway to the stoop and then called, 'Sheer!' He put steel in his voice now, let all the familiarity and jollity drain out of it. 'Come back here!' he shouted, and it was the way a first sergeant shouts it.
Now was the moment of decision. At this point, the old man had to make up his mind for good and all; he couldn't wait and hope and let things ride any longer. He could choose to try a hopeless bluff, or he could choose to go into the house and lock the doors and break out whatever artillery he had in there for a last-ditch stand, or he could give in completely and come back and turn himself over to Younger for whatever Younger wanted with him.
Nearly a minute went by while the old man stood in front of his house, back to Younger, unmoving, making up his mind. When he finally made his decision, it was the only one he could have made, really, considering everything. He was too smart to try a hopeless bluff, and too old to try a last-ditch stand. He turned around and came back to Younger.
Younger said, 'Get in the car.' The steel was in his voice to stay; he was in command now, the free ride was over.
The old man got into the car, and sat there wordlessly.
Younger handed him the clipboard and a pen. 'In chronological order,' he said, 'I want you to write down every robbery you were ever in, what year it happened, and how much you got out of it. Not the whole take, just your cut.'
Hopeless, the old man whispered, 'What do you want from me?'
'I just told you. Now listen close. Do it in three columns, date first and then what city it was and then how much you got. You don't have to worry about the month or anything, just the year.'
The old man looked at the pen in his hand and the clipboard on his lap with the blank sheet of paper ready on it. With the same hopelessness in his voice, he said, 'I'm not sure I can remember everything.'
'You'll remember.'
It took nearly half an hour. Younger smoked a cigar and listened to the occasional calls on the radio and watched the little traffic on the street; he felt no impatience. Everything would come, everything in its time. He'd waited fifty-one years, he could wait a little longer.
Finally, the old man said, 'There. That's it.'
Younger took the list and studied it, and saw nothing listed for Cleveland in 1953. He shook his head and put the list down and smashed the old man backhanded across the face. 'Don't lie to me,' he said. 'Don't ever lie to me again, Sheer.' He ripped the top sheet off and handed the clipboard back. 'This time,' he said, 'do it right.'
The old man wordlessly started writing again. When he was done this time, there was an entry for Cleveland in 1953. Younger nodded and said, 'All right, Sheer, that's good. You can go on now.'
The old man looked at him in surprise. 'I can what?'
'Get out of the car. Go home.'
'For God's sake, Captain Younger, what do you want from me.
