“What can I get for you?” Rick asked.
“You see a girl come in here, about this tall, brown hair, wearing a blue dress?” the man said. He was carrying a pistol in a holster under his suit jacket.
Some of the patrons had turned to watch. Rick was sure they’d all seen Helen enter. They were waiting to see how he’d answer.
“No,” he said. “Haven’t seen her. She the kind of girl who’d come into a place like this by herself?”
“Yeah. I think she is.”
“We’re past last call. I doubt she’ll come in this late. But you’re welcome to wait.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Can I get you something?”
“Tonic water.”
Rick poured the drink and accepted his coins. The guy didn’t tip.
Patrons drifted out as closing time approached, and the heavyset man continued watching the door. He kept his right hand free and his jacket open, giving ready access to the holster. And if he did see Helen walk through the door, would he shoot her then and there? Was he that crazy?
Rick wondered what Helen had done.
When they were the only two left in the bar, Rick said, “I have to close up now, sir. I’m sorry your girl isn’t here.”
“She’s not my girl.”
“Well. Whoever she is, she isn’t here. You’ll have to go.”
The man looked at him. “What were you in the war, kid?”
“4-F,” Rick said.
He was used to the look the guy gave him. 4-F—medical deferment. Rick appeared to be a fit and able-bodied man in the prime of his life. He must have pulled a fast one on the draft board to get out of the service, and that made him a cheat as well as a coward. He let the assumptions pass by; he’d outlive them all.
“If you don’t mind me asking . . .” the guy prompted.
“I’m allergic to sunlight.” It was the excuse he’d given throughout the war.
“Huh. Whoever heard of such a thing?” Rick shrugged in response. “You know what I was? Infantry. In Italy. I got shot twice, kid. But I gave more than I got. I’m a hell of a lot tougher than I look.”
“I don’t doubt it, sir.”
The guy wasn’t drunk—he smelled of sweat, unlaundered clothes, and aftershave, not alcohol. But he might have been a little bit crazy. He looked like he was waiting for Rick to start a fight.
“If I see this girl, you want me to tell her you’re looking for her?” Rick said.
“No. I’m sure she hasn’t been anywhere near here.” He slid off the stool and tugged his hat more firmly on his head. “You take care, kid.”
“You too, sir.”
Finally, he left, and Rick locked the door.
He wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d returned to the storeroom and found Helen gone—fled, for whatever reason. But she was still there, sitting on the crate in the corner, her knees pulled up to her chest, hugging herself.
“Someone was here looking for you,” Rick said.
She jerked, startled—he’d entered too quietly. Even so, she looked like someone who had a man with a gun looking for her.
“Who was he? What’d he look like?” she asked, and Rick described him. Her gaze grew anguished, despairing. “It’s Blake. I don’t know what to do.” She sniffed, wiping her nose as she started crying again. “He’ll kill me if he finds me, he’ll kill me.”
“If you don’t mind your coffee bitter, we can finish off what’s in the pot and you can tell me all about it.” He put persuasion into his voice, to set her at her ease. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“I don’t want to get you involved, Rick.”
“Then why did you come here?”
She didn’t have an answer for that.
He poured a cup of coffee for her, pressed it into her hands, and waited for her to start.
“I got this job, right? It’s a good job, good pay. But sometimes . . . well. I make deliveries. I’m not supposed to ask what’s in the packages, I just go where they tell me to go and I don’t ask any questions.”
“You told me you got a job in a typing pool.”
“What was I supposed to do, tell you the truth?”
“No, you’re right. It wasn’t any of my business. Go on.”
“There’s a garage out east on Champa—”
“Rough neighborhood.”
“I’ve never had any trouble. Usually I just walk in, set the bag on the shelf, and walk right back out. Today I heard gunshots. I turned around and there’s Blake, he’d just shot Mikey—the guy from the garage who picks up the drops—and two other guys with him. He’s holding this gun, it’s still smoking. He shot them. I didn’t know what else to do; there’s a back door, so I ran for it, and he saw me, I know he saw me—”
He crouched beside her, took the coffee cup away, and pressed her hands together; they were icy. He didn’t have much of his own heat to help warm her with.
“Now he wants to tie off the loose ends,” Rick said.
“Of all the stupid timing; if I’d been five minutes earlier I’d have been fine, I wouldn’t have seen anything.”
Rick might argue that—she’d still be working as a runner for some kind of crime syndicate.
“Have you thought about going to the police? They could probably protect you. If they can lock Blake up you won’t have anything to worry about.”
“You think it really works like that? I can’t go to the cops. They’d arrest me just as fast as they’d arrest him.”
“So leave town,” Rick said.
“And go where? Do what? With what money?”
“I can give you money,” Rick said.
“On a bartender’s salary? That’ll get me to where, Colorado Springs? No, Rick, I’m not going to ask you for money.”
He ducked to hide a smile. Poor kid, thinking she was the only one with big secrets. “But you’ll ask me for a place to hide.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just I didn’t know where to go, I don’t have any other friends here. And now I’ve dragged you into it and if Blake finds out he’ll go after you, too.”
“Helen, don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” He squeezed her hands, trying to impart some calm. She didn’t have any other friends here—that he believed.
“You probably hate me now.”
He shrugged. “Not much point to that.”
She tilted her head, a gesture of curiosity. “You’re different, you know that?”
“Yeah. I do. Look, I know a place where Blake absolutely won’t find you. You can stay there for a couple of days. Maybe this’ll blow over. Maybe they’ll catch Blake. In the meantime, you can make plans. How does that sound?”
“Thanks, Rick. Thanks.”
“It’s no trouble at all.”
ONE OF THE UNIFORMED OFFICERS CAME INTO THE LIVING ROOM TO HAND Hardin a paper cup of coffee. Rick declined the offer of a cup for him.
“So she had a criminal background,” Hardin said. “Did she do any time?”
“No,” Rick said. “She was a runner, a messenger. Never anything more serious than that.”
“Prostitution?”
“No, I don’t think so.” He was pretty sure he would have known if she had. But he couldn’t honestly say what
