A World of Thieves

No traffic in sight in either direction.

I rinsed her wound with booze and bandaged it with my handkerchief. She flinched and sucked hard breaths between her teeth but didn’t cry out.

“That’ll have to do for now,” I said.

“He was gonna shoot you, Sonny!”

I blew out a long breath.

“He was,” she said.

“That’s his brother dead back there, for Christ’s sake!”

“I know that,” she said softly. “It’s no reason.”

I stared out at the empty road ahead. I thought of saying, Of course it is—except I wasn’t sure what that meant. How could I explain to her what I couldn’t explain to myself? It couldn’t be explained. You knew it or you didn’t.

I forced myself to think clearly. Odessa was at least seventy-five miles away. And we’d have to go through Midland to get there—which would slow us down even more. But Bubber said Gustafson had an office in Blackpatch. A nurse there even when Gustafson wasn’t around. And there was that shortcut he’d mentioned—running from an old water tower on the Rankin highway. Fifteen rough miles, he’d said, but it was a hell of a lot closer than Odessa.

I put the roadster in gear and got us going, heading for the Rankin road.

“He gonna live?” Belle said.

“If I get him to a doctor fast enough, maybe.”

“Think he’s gonna feel any different if he does?”

I didn’t know how to even try to answer that. And I wasn’t aware of my tears until she reached over and wiped at them.

The sun was almost out of sight behind the distant mountains when I finally spotted the water tower and then found the junction of the old wagon trace on the other side of the rail tracks. The route was as rough as Bubber had said. We’d gone about seven miles and were into the last of the twilight when the right rear tire blew.

By the time I finished putting on the spare, the sky had clouded over and swallowed the crescent moon and stars and we were in full darkness. Russell’s coat bandage had darkened with blood. I couldn’t make out his face but I could hear his ragged breathing. I would’ve preferred to have him in the cab but the handling necessary to move him would only have worsened his bleeding. Belle got in the rumble seat with him and held him close to cushion him against the jarring of the car and keep the bandage pressed tight against the wound.

“You never been shot, have you?” she said.

“Not yet,” I said. Sometimes I had no idea at all of what was going on in her head.

We pushed on. The wind picked up and a low rumble of thunder came out of the east. A few miles farther on the left rear tire blew. There was nothing to do but keep riding on it, the roadster at a sag. I could’ve jogged almost as fast as we were moving now, but we had to take it easy or risk losing a wheel or breaking an axle.

Russell now and then muttered unintelligibly but never really came awake. It wasn’t the sock on the jaw holding him down now, it was pain and loss of blood. When we finally spied the lights of Blackpatch up ahead we’d blown the left front tire too and the car was listing like a foundering boat. The storm was closing in behind us, the rolling thunder growing louder—and the only thing we knew for sure about Russell’s condition was that he was still alive.

The nearest spot to the Wildcat Dance Club I could find to park the car was in an alley a block away. The first rush of raindrops spattered on the ragtop. Lightning was showing in the east, thunderclaps following a few seconds behind every flash. I put my coat on and slid the .380 under my belt. Belle was still holding Russell’s bandage in place but the wound had been seeping steadily and the coat was sopped with blood. I told her I’d be right back and went down the alley and across the street and up to the back door of the Wildcat.

I was hoping the door wasn’t locked and it wasn’t, but when I stepped inside I nearly bumped into a big galoot sitting on a stool and leafing through a movie magazine in the weak hallway light. He stood up like he meant to throw me out and I put my hand to the .380—and then we recognized each other from the time I’d been to the club before. He was one of Mona’s bouncers, a Swede named Max. I said I had to see Mona right away and he said she’d gone into her office with Bubber and they probably didn’t want to be disturbed. I said I’d take the chance and he shrugged and said, “Your funeral.”

Mona’s office was near the end of the hallway, which formed a corner junction with a shorter hall to the left that contained the stairway and, a few feet further on, opened onto the main parlor. Muted music and laughter came from around the corner, the faint smell of cigarette smoke and booze and perfume. I tried the door but it was locked, so I banged on it with the heel of my fist. I looked back at Max and saw him shake his head—and heard Bubber say from behind the door, “This place better be on fire!”

The lock clacked and the door swung open. “What the hell you think—” Bubber said, his face hard as a fist, and then he recognized me and his aspect eased. He was in his undershirt and holding up his unbelted and unbuttoned pants. “Sonny! What the hell…?” Behind him Mona Holiday was sitting on the edge of a bed, looking at me and hugging her removed blouse to her breasts.

He ushered me into the room and did up his pants while I gave him a fast rundown of the break attempt. Mona stood up and turned her back and put her blouse on. Rain was clattering against the panes of the curtained window. When I told them Buck was dead, Bubber’s face creased up and he muttered, “Ah, shit,” and slumped against the dresser and rubbed his face like he was suddenly exhausted. Mona came over and put an arm around him. But they got a move on when I told about Belle and Russell. Mona ran off to alert Doc Gustafson, and Bubber put his shirt on and followed me down the hall.

He said we were lucky the doc was still in town. “He come to give the girls their checkups,” he said, “but there’s a rumor been going around the Rangers are about to make a raid. Gus figured maybe he oughta get back to Odessa ruther than risk any of that. Then we seen this storm brewing and, hell, ain’t gonna be no raid on a night like this. He’s up there with a girl.”

He told Max to come with us and we went out into a hard rain blowing sideways. Max was the only one wearing a hat and he lost it to the wind as we ran across the street. A bright branch of lightning was followed two seconds later by a prolonged crackle of thunder.

In the rumble seat of the tilted roadster Russell and Belle looked like castaways. Russell was still unconscious. I helped Belle down from the rumble seat and then swung up into it and lugged Russell upright and eased him down to Bubber and Max. They carried him to the Wildcat through the blowing rain with Belle and me right behind them. We followed them through the back door and down the hall, but as they took Russell around to the stairway I steered her into Mona’s office. I inspected the handkerchief bandage on her arm and saw that it was holding all right, then told her to stay put and hurried out to the stairs.

The second-floor landing was at the end of a long hall lined with rooms to either side. Bubber and Max were coming out of a room at the far end, followed by Mona and another woman. The woman carried a small black bag and shut the door behind her. Some of the girls were peeking out of their rooms and Mona ordered them to mind their own business and get back to work. There was some muttered cursing and laughter but as Mona came down the hall they all ducked back inside with a staccato of door slams.

Bubber said Gustafson was doing all he could for Russell and didn’t want anybody in there and getting in his way. He introduced the woman with the bag as Nurse Rose. She was longfaced and bony and sharp-eyed, and she came downstairs with us to tend to Belle.