A waiter came in carrying a wine bucket, followed by another waiter carrying the soup.
“Well,” said Willoughby, “shall we monjay, as they say in France?”
“Oui, Monsieur,” said Olga.
“Sure,” said Joe, “I’m ready for the feedbag in any language.”
They sat down. One of the waiters poured the wine. Willoughby held his glass up to the light.
“I hope you like this stuff,” he said, “it’s out of my own cellar.”
“I’d like to sleep in that cellar,” said Olga.
“Well,” said Willoughby, “you have a standing invitation.”
They ate in silence for a moment, then Joe said:
“Say, Mr. Willoughby, what you suppose was the matter with that dame?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Oh, forget it, Joe,” said Olga, “she was probably full of hop.”
III
Willoughby passed the cigarettes and they all left the table. Joe went back to the lounge, Olga sat in one of the armchairs, and Willoughby pulled up an ottoman and sat facing her.
Willoughby hesitated before he said:
“Olga, when we going to take that little trip?”
“I don’t know,” said Olga.
“What little trip?” asked Joe, looking at Olga.
“Why, I got a cabin up in Wisconsin,” said Willoughby, “and I thought before it got cold it would be nice for Olga to go up and take a rest.”
“Yeah?” said Joe.
As soon as Willoughby lowered his eyes, Olga winked at Joe.
“Maybe I could pull it,” said Olga.
“Sure,” said Joe, “Olga works too hard, that’s a fact. A little rest wouldn’t hurt her none.”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” said Willoughby. “She could sure get a rest up there. I got a couple of nice motor boats and the fishing’s great.”
“Fishing!” said Olga, looking at Joe.
“Well,” Willoughby considered, “maybe you wouldn’t care for that, but there are any number of things you could do. Anyway, the air’s great, nothing like this Chicago muck.”
“Sounds good,” said Olga.
The waiters came to take away the table, but they were immediately followed by DeVoss, who motioned them out. There was something so strange about DeVoss’s actions that Joe sat up and stared at him. DeVoss said:
“Joe, there’s a couple of guys looking for you.”
“Yeah?” said Joe. “What kind of guys?”
“Bulls,” said DeVoss, “what you been up to?”
Olga got to her feet and stood staring at DeVoss. Willoughby exclaimed:
“What’s all this! What’s all this!”
Joe took an automatic from his hip pocket and put it in Olga’s dressing-table. Olga took hold of DeVoss’s arm and said:
“Tell them Joe ain’t here. Joe, honey, beat it. I’ll see if I can find out what it’s all about.”
Willoughby was staring stupefied at Joe. He pointed to the dressing-table.
“What do you carry that thing for?” he demanded.
Olga said:
“Oh, be quiet!”
Joe grinned at Willoughby.
“Just in case,” he said.
“Listen, Olga,” said DeVoss, “this is serious. I could tell the way they acted. I told them I didn’t think Joe was here, but they just laughed.”
Joe stood undecided.
“Joe,” DeVoss went on, “remember that time Mr. Rico was over here and a couple of bulls shadowed him? Well, the big one’s here.”
“Flaherty!” cried Joe.
Olga gave Joe a push.
“Beat it, Joe. You know them bulls. They’ll frame you.”
“OK, honey,” said Joe.
“Why, Joe,” said Willoughby, “you mean to tell me you’re in some kind of trouble?”
“Oh, be quiet,” said Olga.
Joe grabbed his hat from a chair and started for the door.
“Goodbye, honey,” he said to Olga, “you’ll hear from me.”
“Better face the music,” said Willoughby.
“Go out through the kitchen,” said DeVoss.
Joe opened the door, but closed it immediately and said:
“It’s all up. Here they come.”
He looked in agony at Olga. Wasn’t this just his goddamn luck! Penned up in a room three storeys above the pavement. He made a dash for the dressing-table, but Olga grabbed his arm.
“For God’s sake, Joe,” said DeVoss, “don’t cause no trouble in my place. I don’t know what they want you for and I don’t give a damn. I’ll get you a lawyer and see you through, but, for God’s sake, don’t do no shooting in my place.”
Willoughby, stunned, sat staring till his cigarette burned his fingers, then he said:
“Don’t worry, Joe. I’ll see you through, too.”
“Goddamn it,” cried Joe, “you think I’m gonna let ’em take me like I was a purse-snatcher on his first stand.”
He pushed Olga away from him and was pulling at the dressing-table drawer, when the door opened and Flaherty came in, followed by Spike Rieger. Flaherty had his right hand in his coat pocket.
“Joe,” said Flaherty, “step away from that drawer and make it snappy.”
Joe knew Flaherty’s reputation. That boy used his rod and argued afterwards. Joe moved away from the dressing-table and stood staring at the floor.
“What’s the idea, Flaherty?” he demanded.
“Well,” said Flaherty, “we got a big audience here and I ain’t much on embarrassing people, so you better just come along and we’ll have a nice little talk.”
“Aw, can that,” said Joe.
Willoughby walked over to Flaherty.
“My name’s Willoughby,” he said, “John C. Willoughby. I suppose you’ve heard of me. Say, what’s this all about, anyway? Why, I’ve known Joe for nearly a year and as far as I know he’s a nice young fellow.”
“Yeah,” said Flaherty, “Joe’s a pretty smooth young fellow, but we caught up with him.”
“Well,” said Willoughby, “I don’t know what he’s done, but I’m willing to go on his bail.”
Flaherty turned to Rieger.
“I don’t suppose there’ll be much talk about bail, do you, Spike?”
Rieger grinned and shook his head.
“No bail!” Willoughby exclaimed.
“Aw, it’s just one of their wise frame-ups, Mr. Willoughby,” said Joe, but his face was white.
“Well, we’ll see about this,” said Willoughby. “I’ll have my lawyer down in half an hour.”
“Listen,” said Flaherty, “there ain’t nobody gonna see this bird for twenty-four hours.”
Olga flung herself on the lounge and began to cry.
“And let me give you an earful, Mr. Willoughby,” said Flaherty; “for a guy of your class you sure ain’t very careful about who you mix up with. These two birds here are taking you, see, and if I was you I’d snap out of it and forget all about getting a lawyer.”
“If
