“Ain’t it!” said Joe.
The turnkey went away. Joe threw himself down on his bunk. Yeah, now it was coming. That goddamn peroxide dame had sure put the skids under him. Well, there you was! Can’t tell how things are going to break. If he’d’ve been wise, he’d’ve sent Olga to see the Big Boy or Rico. But then there’s no use letting a dame get too familiar with everything. Anyway, he had an alibi. But Flaherty was a rough agent and you could never tell what he would pull. Joe felt mechanically for his absent cigarette case.
“Hell,” he said, “I lost my head! I lost my head! Rico ought to put a hunk of lead in me. As long as I been in the game and then don’t know no better. God, but I was dumb.”
He turned over irritably and sat up. He heard the keys clanking down the corridor. A policeman stopped in front of his door and called:
“All right, dago.”
Joe got up. The turnkey unlocked the door. There were two policemen and a plainclothes man standing a little way down the corridor. When Joe came out one of the policemen said:
“There’s the guy that plugged Courtney.”
They stared at him. Joe felt sick at his stomach.
“Yeah,” said the plainclothes man, “they won’t do much to that bird.”
The turnkey took Joe by the arm.
“All right, kid,” he said.
Joe walked between the turnkey and the policeman, who had called him. They took him into a big room where there were three policemen and about a dozen prisoners. Joe saw Bugs Liska, Steve Gollancz’s lieutenant. They exchanged a glance.
A police sergeant got to his feet and shouted:
“All right, you birds, let’s go.”
The turnkey pushed Joe into line. A big door was swung open and he saw a small, brilliantly lighted room with a crowd of people lining the walls. Joe looked for the peroxide blonde. There she was, pale and hardboiled, between two bulls. Joe startled. God, he had her now. She was standing side of Courtney when he dropped. Joe began to sweat.
The line in single file was herded in. Bugs Liska, who was in front of Joe, whispered:
“Say, what’s this all about?”
The sergeant heard him and leaping across the room grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Any more of that,” said the sergeant, “and some of you bad eggs is gonna get cracked.”
“Drop dead,” said Liska.
Joe found himself face to face with the blonde. She stared at him. Flaherty walked along the line and examined the prisoners. When he got to Joe, Joe looked away.
“How’s that bath?” asked Flaherty.
“OK,” said Joe.
Liska said:
“Say, Irish, what’s this all about?”
“Shut your dirty mouth,” said Flaherty.
A man Joe had never seen before, a big husky man with curly grey hair, went over to the blonde and said:
“Is he in that bunch, Mrs. Weil?”
The blonde nodded.
“Well, Mrs. Weil, this is a very serious matter so don’t make any mistakes. Now if you’re sure he’s in that bunch, point him out.”
The blonde compressed her lips and walked over to Joe.
“There he is. There’s the dirty skunk.”
“Jesus,” said Liska, glancing at Joe, “it’s your funeral, huh?”
The blonde stood glaring at Joe.
“I hope they hang you,” she cried, “shooting a guy like Jim Courtney.”
“I never shot him,” said Joe.
“Shut up,” said Flaherty. “All right, sergeant, march ’em out.”
In the big room Liska said:
“Joe, it sure looks tough for you.”
“They can’t prove nothing,” said Joe.
The sergeant rushed at them.
“Where do you birds think you’re at!” he cried.
Stepping back, he struck Joe a hard blow with his fist. Mechanically Joe set himself and raised his hands, then, coming to himself, he dropped his hands and stood looking at the floor. Liska said: “Say, sergeant, I guess I can go home, can’t I? My old mother’ll be worried to death.”
The sergeant stared at Liska, then he laughed.
“I’m gonna hang on to you just for fun,” he said.
“Yeah?” said Liska. “Well not long, cause Steve’s gonna spring me.”
The sergeant motioned for the turnkey.
“Lock the dago up,” he said; “you plant yourself over there in a chair, Bugs.”
Joe lay down and tried to sleep. Over his head the barred window began to get grey. Morning sure was slow in coming.
Suddenly he thought of Red Gus. He got to his feet and began to walk back and forth. Yeah, they sure put the rope on old Gus, and there wasn’t a tougher guy in the world. Yeah, he was so tough he didn’t die right away and kept kicking. Cops fainted and all that stuff. Joe climbed up on his bunk and stood tiptoe to look out the window. Morning was coming. He saw a milk wagon passing the jail. How come he had to think of Red Gus?
He thought he heard a noise and turned around. There were two cops standing in front of his cell, looking at him. Joe felt uneasy. “Want me?” he called.
They didn’t say anything; they just stood there looking, then went away.
Joe got down from the window and sat on his bunk. No use trying to sleep. Down the corridor someone began to scream. The turnkey passed his cell on the run. Joe felt his hair stirring and sweat stood out on his forehead.
“Christ,” he said, “it’s only that dope.”
In a minute, the turnkey came back and stopped at Joe’s door.
“Couple of guys coming back to take a look at you,” he said.
“Yeah?” said Joe; “say, what was all the noise?”
“The dope blew his top again,” said the turnkey; “the Doc’s gonna give him a shot pretty soon.”
The big man with the curly grey hair, Flaherty, and two policemen came down the corridor.
“All right,” said Flaherty, “let him out.”
The turnkey unlocked the door and pushed Joe into the corridor. They all stood staring at Joe; nobody said anything.
Finally, the grey-haired man said:
“Well, it’s too bad. Nice-looking boy.”
“Yeah,” said Flaherty, “but he’s hell with a gun.”
Joe didn’t say anything. But Flaherty said:
“Joe, I never thought you was
