Everybody's Watching Me

entrance outside. Maybe two. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to me and I didn’t care if they did or not.

I waited for a Main Street bus, took it down about a half mile, got off at the darkened supermarket and started up the road. You get the creeps in places like that. It was an area where some optimist had started a factory and ran it until the swamp crept in. When the footings gave and the walls cracked, they moved out, and now the black skeletons of the buildings were all that were left, with gaping holes for eyes and a mouth that seemed to breathe out a fetid swamp odor. But there were still people there. The dozen or so company houses that were propped against the invading swamp showed dull yellow lights, and the garbage smell of unwanted humanity fought the swamp odor. You could hear them, too, knowing that they watched you from the shadows of their porches. You could feel them stirring in their jungle shacks and catch the pungency of the alcohol they brewed out of anything they could find.

There was a low moan of a train from the south side and its single eye picked out the trestle across the bay and followed it. The freight lumbered up, slowed for the curve that ran through the swamps and I heard the bindle stiffs yelling as they hopped off, looking for the single hard topped road that took them to their quarters for the night.

The circus sign was on the board fence. In the darkness it was nothing but a bleached white square, but when I lit a cigarette I could see the faint orange impressions that used to be supposedly wild animals. The match went out and I lit another, got the smoke fired up and stood there a minute in the dark.

The voice was low. A soft, quiet voice more inaudible than a whisper. “One is back at the corner. There’s another a hundred feet down.”

“I know,” I said.

“You got nerve.”

“Let’s not kid me. I got your message. Sorry I had to cut it short, but a pair of paid-for ears were listening in.”

“Sony Renzo gave you a hard time.”

“So am I. The others did better by me.”

Somebody coughed down the road and I flattened against the boards away from the white sign. It came again, further away this time and I felt better. I said, “What gives?”

“You had a cop at your place this morning.”

“I spotted him.”

“There’s a regular parade behind you.” A pause, then, “What did you tell them?”

I dragged in on the smoke, watched it curl up against the fence. “I told them he was big. Tough. I didn’t see his face too well. What did you expect me to tell them?”

I had a feeling like he smiled.

“They aren’t happy,” he said.

I grinned too. “Vetter. They hate the name. It scares them.” I pulled on the butt again. “It scares me too when I think of it too much.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Thanks.”

“Keep playing it smart. You know what they’re after?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Cooley comes into it someplace. It was something he knew.”

“Smart lad. I knew you were a smart lad the first time I saw you. Yes, it was Cooley.”

“Who was he?” I asked.

Nothing for a moment. I could hear him breathing and his feet moved but that was all. The red light on the tail of the caboose winked at me and I knew it would have to be short.

“An adventurer, son. A romantic adventurer who went where the hunting was profitable and the odds long. He liked long odds. He found how they were slipping narcotics in through a new door and tapped them for a sweet haul. They say four million. It was a paid-for shipment and he got away with it. Now the boys have to make good.”

The caboose was almost past now. He said, “I’ll call you if I want you.”

I flipped the butt away, watching it bounce sparks across the dirt. I went on a little bit further where I could watch the fires from the jungles and when I had enough of it I started back.

At the tree the guy who had been waiting there said, “You weren’t thinking of hopping that freight, were you, kid?”

I didn’t jump like I was supposed to. I said, “When I want to leave, I’ll leave.”

“Be sure to tell Mr. Carboy first, huh?”

“I’ll tell him,” I said.

He stayed there, not following me. I passed the buildings again, then felt better when I saw the single street light on the corner of Main. There was nobody there that I could see, but that didn’t count. He was around someplace.

I had to wait ten minutes for a bus. It seemed longer than it was. I stayed drenched in the yellow light and thought of the voice behind the fence and what it had to say. When the bus pulled up I got on, stayed there until I reached the lights again and got off. By that time a lot of things were making sense, falling into a recognizable pattern. I walked down the street to an all night drug store, had a drink at the counter then went back to the phone booth.

I dialed the police number and asked for Gonzales, Sergeant Gonzales. There was a series of clicks as the call was switched and the cop said, “Gonzales speaking.”

“This is Joe, copper. Remember me?”

“Don’t get too fresh, sonny,” he said. His voice had a knife in it.

“Phil Carboy paid me some big money to finger Vetter. He’s got men tailing me.”

His pencil kept up a steady tapping against the side of the phone. Finally he said, “I was wondering when you’d call it in. You were real lucky, Joe. For a while I thought I was going to have to persuade you a little to cooperate. You were real lucky. Keep me posted.”

I heard the click in my ear as he hung up and I spat out the things into the dead phone I felt like telling him to his face. Then I fished out another coin, dropped it in and dialed the same number. This time I asked for Captain Gerot. The guy at the switchboard said he had left about six but that he could probably be reached at his club. He gave me the number and I checked it through. The attendant who answered said he had left about an hour ago but would probably call back to see if there were any messages for him and were there? I told him to get the number so I could put the call through myself and hung up.

It took me a little longer to find Bucky Edwards. He had stewed in his own juices too long and he was almost all gone. I said, “Bucky, I need something bad. I want Jack Cooley’s last address. You remember that much?”

He hummed a little bit. “Rooming house. Between Wells and Capitol. It’s all white, Joe. Only white house.”

“Thanks, Bucky.”

“You in trouble, Joe?”

“Not yet.”

“You will be. Now you will be.” That was all. He put the phone back so easily I didn’t hear it go. Damn, I thought, he knows the score but he won’t talk. He’s got all the scoop and he clams up.

I had another drink at the counter, picked up a deck of smokes and stood outside while I lit one. The street was quieting down. Both curbs were lined with parked heaps, dead things that rested until morning when they’d be whipped alive again.

Not all of them though. I was sure of that. I thought I caught a movement across the street in a doorway. It was hard to tell. I turned north and walked fast until I reached Benson Road, then cut down it to the used car lot.

Now was when they’d have a hard time. Now was when they were playing games in my back yard and if they didn’t know every inch of the way somebody was going to get hurt. They weren’t kids, these guys. They had played the game themselves and they’d know all the angles. Almost all, anyway. They’d know when I tried to get out of