It was the sixth inning. The Reds led the Dodgers 9–1. Bucky Walters was pitching. Augie Galen had a three-run home run, and Grady Hatton had two doubles. For the Dodgers, Vic Lombardi had given way to Hank Behrman, who had been replaced by Clyde King. Jackie had a single and a stolen base. Burke was drinking Coca-Cola, watching the ever-hopeful Hilda Chester ring her cowbell from the outfield stands. A tall thin man with high shoulders came down the aisle and slid into the seat next to him.
“You want to talk with me?” he said.
“Cash,” Burke said.
“Okay, Burke, you know my name.”
Burke smiled a little.
“And you know mine,” he said.
“I’ve known yours for a long time, remember?”
“And now we’re even,” Burke said.
“Okay, we’re buddies,” Cash said. “What do you want?”
“You’re still with Paglia,” Burke said.
Cash nodded. His eyes were a very light blue. It made his face seem almost artificial.
“And you sent Richard and Chuck to kill Robinson,” Burke said.
Cash made no answer.
“Did you know they tried to break into his house?”
Cash didn’t speak.
“His wife was there.”
Cash shrugged.
“You think they wouldn’t have killed her too?”
Cash shrugged again.
It was the first half of the seventh inning. Frankie Baumholtz singled into right field on the ground between Jackie and Eddie Stanky.
“What makes you think I got anything to do with that?” Cash said.
“Richard told me.”
“And Chuck?”
“Chuck’s dead,” Burke said.
Cash nodded slowly.
“Where’s Richard?” he said.
“Out of town,” Burke said.
“I know why,” Cash said.
Eddie Miller hit into a double play. Cash gestured at a vendor as he came down the aisle toward them.
“You want another Coca-Cola?” Cash said.
“Sure.”
Cash held up two fingers, got the Coca-Colas, handed one to Burke, put the other one on the floor and paid the vendor. Then he picked up his drink and leaned back and put his feet up against the railing in front of him. He looked at the field.
“You think anybody ever hit that Abe Stark sign out there and got a free suit?”
“Only if the right fielder fell down,” Burke said.
Cash drank some of his Coke.
“Damn sign’s three feet off the ground,” Cash said.
Babe Young flied to Pete Reiser in left field, and the teams changed sides. Cash drank again. Then he took a package of Camels from his shirt pocket, offered one to Burke, took one for himself and lit Burke’s and his own with a silver Zippo. He took in a long drag and then spoke as he let the smoke out slowly.
“I didn’t know about the wife,” he said.
Burke sipped his soda.
“Hard to get good help,” Cash said. “Since the war.”
“You in it?” Burke said.
“North Africa,” Cash said. “You?”
“Guadalcanal.”
Gene Hermanski hit for King and singled.
“You ask me to meet you so we could swap war stories?” Cash said.
“We need to work this out,” Burke said. “I don’t want to have to keep shooting people.”
“We got plenty.”
“We need to work this out,” Burke said.
“You got a suggestion?”
“I need a little time,” Burke said.
“So?”
“I want you to give it to me.”
“Talk to Paglia,” Cash said. “I don’t call the shots.”
“I want to talk with Paglia, but not yet,” Burke said. “I need a week or so.”
“I work for Paglia,” Cash said.
“If Paglia wants something done he tells you and you take care of it.”
“Yeah.”
“So he wants to send somebody else after us, he’ll tell you and you stall it for a week,” Burke said.
“Why would I do that?”
“You put the wife in danger.”
“Yeah?”
“You broke the rules,” Burke said.
Cash smiled.
“I thought you didn’t care about anything,” Cash said.
“I do what I’m hired for.”
“Me too,” Cash said.
“Can you give me a week, I don’t have to be looking around every corner?”
Cash looked at him silently, nodding his head slowly. Eddie Stanky, on a 3–1 pitch, fouled out to Ray Lamanno. Cash grinned suddenly. There was a wolfish quality to the grin.
“Sure,” Cash said. “Why not?”