TWENTY
He had met most of the detectives before. They had talked to him at the hospital, visited him so often that they had become friendly, addressing him by his first name or nickname. But there was nothing friendly about them now. Curt and cold, they took turns at the questioning, asking the same questions over and over, making the same accusations over and over. Calling him you and bud and buster or, at best, Rhodes.
He sat on a hard chair under a brilliant light. Their voices lashed out from the shadows, impassive, relentless, untiring.
'Stop stalling…'
'We got you cold, bud…'
'Tell the truth and we'll make it easy on you…'
'Why did Tug want to see you? Come on, come on! you didn't have the loot stashed, why-'
'I told you!'
'Tell us again.'
'He – all I know is what he said when he called me. Just before I called you. He said he was broke, and he wanted me to help him and-'
'Sure he was broke. He'd left the dough with you, and you wouldn't give him his cut.'
'Why'd he come to you for money? What made him think you'd give him any?'
'Come on, come on!'
'I'm trying to tell you! He'd always been pretty nice to me, a lot of big tips, and I suppose he thought-'
'He was a pal of yours, wasn't he? You were like that. Ain't that right? AIN'T THAT RIGHT?'
'No! I mean he was nice to me, but-'
'Yeah. Cut you in on that robbery, didn't he? Made you his inside man, didn't he? Gave you the loot to stash, didn't he? Come on, why don't you admit it?'
'No! I didn't have anything to do with the robbery!'
'Why'd Tug want to see you then?'
'I told you why! I told you all I-'
'Tell us again…'
The door of the room burst open, and a man rushed in. 'We found it, guys! We found the dough! Right where we thought it would be!'
'Swell. Attaboy!' The detectives congratulated him, turned back to Dusty. 'Well, there you are, bud. Stalling won't get you anywhere now.'
'I'm not stalling! I just don't-'
'You heard what the man: said. They found the dough there at the hotel.'
'They couldn't have! I mean-'
'Yeah, we know.' Because you didn't stash it there. Tug thought
you did, but you'd sneaked it but.'
'I d-didn't!'
'Leave? him alone, you guys. Rhodes an' me understand each other… Now, look, kid (whispering), whyn't you and me make a little deal, huh? You just give me your word you'll take care of me, whatever you think's fair, and I'll make these jerks let you go. We can pick up the loot together, an'… What's the matter? Don't you trust me?'
'I don't know where it is! I didn't have anything to do with it! I--'
'Aaah, come on… Why did Tug want to see you, then?'
'I told you!'
'Tell us again.'
… They gave up on him at seven that morning. Around ten 'o'clock, he was taken out of his cell and driven to the courthouse. The two detectives escorting him asked no questions, seemed almost indifferent to him. While he sat down on a bench outside the county attorney's office, they wandered away to the water cooler, stood there chaffing and joking with a couple of deputy sheriffs.
Dusty looked down at the floor dismally, listening to them, half listening. He raised his head, startled, then casually moved down to the end of the bench. The door to the county attorney's office was slightly ajar. He could hear two men talking inside. Arguing. One of them sounded irritable and stubborn; the other – the one who apparently was winning the argument – as placatory and resigned.
'Now, you know I'm right, Jack. We both know that kid is guilty as hell. He had to be, and the fact that the money has been returned – '
'Every nickel of it, by mail, Bob. And there's no clue to the sender. Under the circumstances, and regardless of our personal feelings, we have no case. Our only chance of sticking Rhodes was in tying him up with the money. Now that it's been returned…'
Dusty blinked. The money returned? It must be some kind of trap. This conversation was for his benefit; they meant him to hear it, so that – -So that?
'He had an accomplice! When the accomplice saw Rhodes was in trouble, he-'
'But he wasn't in trouble at the time. The package was postmarked yesterday afternoon.'
'He mailed it himself, then. That's ill Tug was turning on the heat, and… and, uh…'
'You see, Bob? You're talking in circles. If Rhodes had had the money, he could have paid off. Tug wouldn't have been turning on the heat, as you put it.'
'But – but this just doesn't make sense, Jack; It leaves everything up in the air. Aside from the money, a man was murdered and – '
'You can't separate the one from the other, Bob. And who cares about that clerk, anyway? He was a crook a fugitive from justice.'
'Yes, but goddammit, Jack-'
'I know. There are a lot of loose ends. But they don't lead to Rhodes. They don't, and we can't make them.'
'Well…'
'The hotel is satisfied. So is the insurance company. As long as they don't want to prosecute, why should we knock ourselves out? We can't win. Ten to one, the thing would never go to trial. He'd get a dismissal before – '
'Yeah. Well (grudgingly), all right. But I'm telling you something, Jack. Maybe we can't stick him on this, but I'm telling you. If that bastard ever pulls anything else – if he even looks like he's going to pull anything else – he's a dead pigeon! I'll hang him, by God, if I have to pull the rope myself!'
'Sure, ha, ha, and I'll help you. I feel the same way.'
TWENTY-ONE
He no longer had a job. He did not have to be told that he could not return to the Manton. And he did not care particularly – he felt dead, inside, uncaring about everything. But the fact remained that he was now without income, and practically broke. As for that reward on Tug, well he grimaced at his foolishness in ever expecting to collect that reward. He had started to. mention it to that county attorney, just started to. And the guy had blown his top. He'd yelled for the other guy to have him thrown back in the can, to throw him in and throw the key away. And the other guy had jerked his head at the door, and told him to beat it while he was still able to.
'You're a lucky boy, Rhodes, but •don't lean on it too heavy. The next time we pick you up…'
So Dusty had got out of there fast and, now, a dozen blocks away from the courthouse, he was just slowing down. It was almost noon. The humid heat poured over him stickily. His shirt was sweat-stuck to his backhand his felt that he stank with the stench of the jail.
He walked two more blocks to the railroad station, and bathed in one of the.men's room showers. He got a shave in the station barber shop, and, afterwards, coffee and toast in the grille. The food stuck in his throat. He was hungry, but it seemed tasteless to him.
Leaving the grille, he moved out into the waiting room, stood
uncertainly in its vaulted dimness staring up at a bulletin board. Not
that he was going anywhere, of course. How could he? Where would he want to go? He simply stood there, staring blindly, looking not
out but inward, puzzled and pitying himself much.
