More Good Old Stuff

A Place to Live (“Oh, Give Me a Hearse!” Dime Detective, October 1947)

The red neon flickered, making bloody glints on the wet sidewalk. Sometimes the rain-filled wind paused for a moment, and he heard the hoarse chuffing of the switch engines in the freight yard. He walked endlessly, his raincoat belted tightly around him, his brown felt hat pulled low over his eyes, leaning into the gusts of wind. He shielded his cigarette from the swollen drops that would have hissed it out.

He was tired, exhausted — weary to the bone with the events of the past two weeks. Just a little while longer. Not even an hour now. And it could be turned over to someone else. The whole dirty burden could be flung to someone used to that sort of thing. And then he would have to look for a new place to live. The city of Amberton would be far too unfriendly. There would be people left around the town who would like to see him on his back in an alley with his eyes wide open. But until the train arrived...

He looked nervously behind him. The street was deserted. A taxi roared by, the springs and shocks smacking hard against the holes in the road. Holes in all the roads. Amberton was a stupid city. A fat, complacent, poorly run little city, full of bland, greedy politicians. The tax rate had climbed above fifty-five dollars a thousand, and factories stood idle along the river. New industry wouldn’t come in.

And still the politicians smiled, the citizens paid their taxes, the slum sections widened. The death of America, he thought. Right here in Amberton. And in the heart of every other fat little city where nobody cares — but the politicians. Well, he was doing what he could. And then it would be time to get out.

Time to get back to the station. He turned and began to walk more rapidly. He walked through the echoing station, across the dirty white marble, past the scarred wooden benches. He bought another pack of cigarettes at the newsstand and waited.

In ten minutes the train came in, and a few passengers walked listlessly out the gate toward the taxi line. Anxious to get to a bed. They looked crusted with sleep. All except one. A slim man who carried a briefcase.

Bill Davo walked over to him and said, “Berman?”

“Right. You’re Davo, hey? Where’s the sack?”

“Hotel Amberton. Half a block. One thing, though. They may grab me in the lobby. That’s okay with me — it just means I won’t be able to give you the dope until you can get to me tomorrow. Don’t try to make a fuss.”

Berman was slim, dark, alert. When he spoke he didn’t change expression. “That way, hey? Let’s go.”

They walked side by side diagonally across the street and up the block to the side entrance to the Amberton. Bill Davo felt so tense that he couldn’t manage to swing his arms naturally. In spite of his casual words to Berman, fear tensed the muscles of his stomach.

He stood near Berman while he registered, not daring to look around the lobby. They rode up together in the elevator. It was only when Berman tipped the hop and the door clicked shut as the boy left that Davo let his breath escape in a long sigh.

It was a bitter, antiseptic little room. Davo looked around and said, “Notice the smell of this shack? Dry rot and dust. Just like the rest of this town. Just like the rest of this stinking town.” He heard his own voice climb up and up.

Berman put a hand on his arm. “Take it easy, Davo. Relax. Hold it a minute, and I’ll get my pint out of the case. Yeah, there’s two glasses in the john.”

Bill Davo sat on the edge of the bed, the glass cupped in his hand, the bite of the liquor sharp in his throat. Berman sat at the small desk, a pad open, a pencil in his hand. He grinned at Davo. “Let’s have it, friend.”

“Okay. I’ll make it short and you can ask questions later. Two years ago I got out of the service and went to work as a junior engineer in the city engineer’s office here in Amberton. I used to live in Santon, a few miles up the river. I know a few people around, and this seemed like a good place to go to work.

“The work went okay until a month or so ago. I felt like an outsider, but I did what I was told. Then I made a survey and found out that a retaining wall that holds up a mile and a half of Western Boulevard ought to be condemned. I made a report in writing, had the girl in the office type it and sent it through my boss, Stanley Hoe, to Commissioner of Public Works Wescott. One other guy in the office, a fellow named Jim Danerra, son of the city treasurer, knew about it.

“Nothing happened. Then, three and a half weeks ago, I found out that a contract had been let to tear up and repave two miles of Western Boulevard. The low bid was put in by Benet Brothers Construction Company. Five hundred and ninety thousand. I went around and got hold of the specifications and couldn’t find out anything about the wall being fixed. Finally I went to Arthur Wescott and asked him what the hell. He told me to mind my own business, only he used bigger words than that.

“I don’t know whether you know anything about road construction, but it’s plain damn foolishness to put in a new road over that faulty wall. I couldn’t figure it out. It didn’t make sense. Then, two weeks ago, I went down on my own to see how Benet Brothers were making out. I figured maybe I could show them the wall. I found out that instead of doing the job they bid on, they’re just spreading a thin coat over the old road. It’s a four-lane job. Then I got the angle.

“Somebody from my office will approve it and they’ll finish the job at a cost of maybe a hundred and fifty thousand. It’ll be opened to traffic, and then the wall will be officially condemned and torn up again. This time, the second time, they’ll fix the wall. With the big profit on the first deal, Benet will be able to bid low on the second job, and thus cover their own tracks. They ought to make a clear profit of about three hundred and fifty thousand — at a minimum. I got mad. I went—”

Berman broke in. “Hold it a minute. Let me get this straight, Davo. What they’re doing is botching a job because they know it won’t have to stand wear. When they get it down, it’ll be torn up again within a few months?”

Davo grinned wryly. “Right,” he said. “Somebody got the idea when they read my recommendation to condemn the wall. I went back and saw Arthur Wescott and threw the whole thing in his face. He called me a damned visionary, an impractical dreamer. I made a few threats about spilling it all to the public and about not being a party to that kind of thing.

“When I went back to my desk, I was just in time to have Stanley Hoe find a bottle of liquor that had been planted in the drawer. There’s an old ordinance about liquor on city premises. I was out of a job and out of the building in twenty minutes. But not before I grabbed this. My copy of the original memo on the retaining wall, dated and with Jane Fay’s initials. She’s the girl in the office.”

Berman looked at it and frowned. “This won’t be much help with just your bare word, Davo.”

“What if she is willing to swear as to the date and the contents?”

“That makes it good. Does this Wescott know about the girl?”

“I hope not. But he knows I have this. I mailed it to myself, care of General Delivery. That same night some of the boys came around and beat me up, but good. They went through my room looking for it. Spoiled a lot of my private papers. I spent six days in bed. My ribs are still taped.”

Berman whistled. “They love you in Amberton, don’t they?”

Bill managed a twisted grin. “Looks that way. Anyhow, as soon as I got out of bed I paid a visit to the newspaper. Talked to the managing editor, a quiet little man named Johnson Vincens. He took me into his office, listened to the story, wept on my shoulder and told me that it would mean his job to mention it. The city political boss, an ex-brewer named Stobe Farner, owns fifty-one percent of the paper.

“Vincens told me that if I want to snitch, to get hold of you people at the state capital. And he told me not to let the machine know that he’d told me, or he’d be fresh out of business. That’s when I phoned and talked finally to you and we made the arrangements.”

Berman said, “Let me check now. Stanley Hoe and James Danerra in the city engineer’s office know of this deal. Also Wescott, Jane Fay and this editor fellow — Vincens. There are others, but you don’t know who.” He paused a minute, thinking. “How come this girl is willing to testify to back you up? A little gone on each other?”

Davo grinned. “I am. And I’d like to think she is... Hey, I forgot the most important thing, almost.”

Berman started as Davo pulled a small wad of fifty-dollar bills out of his side pocket. “This is a thousand dollars. I just happened to check my bank statement and found it had been deposited. The bank says somebody came in and deposited it in cash. These boys play safe. They figured I wouldn’t notice it maybe, or if I did I might keep quiet, thinking the bank had made some mistake. Then they could discredit me by making me explain where it came from. And here’s a photostat of the deposit slip. Typed. Maybe you can find out what machine it was typed on.”

Berman took the money, counted it and stuck it in his pocket. He made out a receipt in pencil and gave it to Davo. He lit a cigarette and stared at Bill Davo oddly.

At last he said, “Have you got any angle you’ve left out? What I mean to say is — what is your motive in all this? Why are you trying to buck these people?”

Davo studied the floor. He said, “It sounds silly, but I just guess they made me mad. First of all, they didn’t let me in on a thing for a long time. Then they insult my intelligence by letting that road contract without a word to me. Maybe I’m no more honest than the next guy. I think sometimes that if they’d buttered me up before they let the contract, I might be right in there with them, skimming off a little cream. But they didn’t. And when I yawped, they had me fired and then had me beat up.

“I’m just mad, that’s all. Besides, I hate to see a town taking the tossing that Amberton has been taking. This guy Stobe Farner has figured out a hundred variations of taking graft. I bet you this city could be run for half of what it’s costing. And if you could halve that tax rate, this town would start to come to life again instead of slowly drifting off the deep end.”

“Well, you’ve done your job, Davo. You better leave all this in my hands. Get out of town. It won’t be healthy for you here. I’ll get some men in and we’ll go to work quietly. If we make a fuss, Benet Brothers will get the tip and handle the present road job the way the contract reads instead of putting that thin coating on top. Then we won’t have anything to go on. Better let them think that they’ve scared you out of town. I imagine that Arthur K. Wescott is pretty astute.”

Bill Davo looked up from the floor and studied Berman for a moment. “Maybe you’re right. Of course, they won’t suspect you unless we’re seen together. You’ve never been in this town before, and you don’t know a soul in it.”

“Not a soul.”

“That’s odd.” Davo looked at Berman intently. As Berman looked up, Bill Davo put his shoulder behind a short right that smacked neatly against Berman’s jaw. The dark man bounded backward off the chair. His shoulders hit the floor and he moaned as he tried to lift his head.

Davo picked him up off the floor by the lapels and threw him on the bed. He held the man down and pulled a flat .38 out of a shoulder holster. Then he moved over and sat where Berman had been sitting. Davo was breathing hard. In a few seconds Berman sat up, his eyes narrowed. He felt his jaw with gentle fingertips.

Davo said, “If you’re really Berman, I’m going to be doghoused. But you’re a stranger to this town, and you came out with Wescott’s middle initial. You didn’t hear it from me. Empty your pockets and throw the stuff on the floor between us.”

Berman said, “Look here, Davo. This has gone far enough. You can’t—”

“Empty your pockets!”

Berman eyed the steady muzzle of the automatic. As he did so, Davo noticed that he tensed slightly. With quick comprehension, Davo worked the slide, jacking a shell into the chamber. Berman began throwing papers on the floor.

When the man’s pockets were empty, Bill Davo said, “Now stretch out on that bed. On your face. And don’t move.”

After a full minute, Davo said, “Okay, Vittano. Sit up. What did you do with Berman?”

Vittano grinned. “Go find out if you know so much. Berman decided to take a longer train ride than he thought. He talked a lot. Hell, I told him I was you.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have a little friend in the capital who gave us the tip. I went a hundred miles up the line on the train with Berman. Told him the thing had blown up and I was leaving town. Told him there was nothing to go on.” Vittano laughed, seeming to regain most of his poise. “He got off at Frereton, fifty miles up, and caught the limited back, sore as hell.”

Davo got up and paced the floor, careful to keep the gun ready even though Vittano showed little inclination to try anything. Checkmated. He cursed himself for not having the sense to exchange descriptions with Berman over the phone.

“Stobe Farner’s going to get a bang out of this,” Vittano said. “What’re you going to do now, chump? You better take my advice and leave town. You gave me all your ammunition on a silver platter. For example, that Fay woman.”

“Shut up!”

“And Stobe’ll be happy to know about Vincens. There isn’t much room around this town for guys like that.”

Davo whirled, raising the gun. Vittano shrugged his shoulders and said, “Go ahead, sucker. Slug me. What’ll it get you? You can’t keep me from reporting to the boys.”

“I can slow you down a little. Take off your necktie and roll over on your face.”

In three minutes Vittano was securely bound — his wrists were knotted behind him, his ankles tied with a strip of sheeting, a face towel crammed into his mouth and secured by another towel tied around his head. Davo picked him up easily, dropped him on the closet floor and shut the door. He slipped into his raincoat and shut the door to the room quietly behind him. Not much time. A few hours. No more.

It was raining again and the bars had closed. The neon had clicked off and the streets were dark, wet, soiled. The gun in the side pocket of his raincoat thumped against his thigh. He crossed the street and paused. The station was a few steps away. He had a thousand dollars in cash. Time to take any train. Anyplace. Time to get away. A new job somewhere else. Forget the whole dirty deal. A new start.

He waited and the rain whipped against his cheek. For a moment he wanted to laugh. Melodrama. Bill Davo stowing a gunman in a hotel closet. Bill Davo walking the night streets with a gun in his pocket. Somewhere Stobe Farner would be dreaming of large profits, sleek cars, imported liquor. And Jane Fay would be...

That thought stopped him. He suddenly knew that he couldn’t go — couldn’t leave Jane to the political wolves of Amberton. He walked to the station and startled a dozing cabdriver as he climbed in and slammed the door. He gave Jane’s address and settled back into the corner, his jaw set. The tires made a swishing sound on the wet pavement.

Davo climbed out of the cab and said, “Wait here.” His heels were loud on the wooden porch. He leaned on the bell and waited. Rang it again. At last lights clicked on in the hall and he saw her come down the stairs, a robe held around her, trying to see who was standing outside the door. Her blond hair was tousled and her makeup was off — but she looked good to him. Very good.

The porch lights snapped on and he saw the worried recognition. She unlocked the door and opened it. “Bill! What in the world?”

“I’ve got to talk to you. I’ve messed everything up.”

“Come on in.” She grinned crookedly. “At least they haven’t put you in bed again.”

They sat side by side on the couch in the darkened living room.

“This is worse than a beating,” Davo told her. “I reported the whole deal, including your willingness to testify, to a man from the Attorney General’s office. He turned out to be a plant. The real guy never showed up. I was a fool.”

She was silent for a long minute, not looking at him. She said softly, “I don’t care much for myself. I can always get work in some other city. But my mother owns this house. They won’t stop at driving me away. Her assessment will go up a few thousand. There’ll be building inspectors here, forcing her to make unnecessary repairs. They’ll find a dozen ordinances to make her life miserable.

“And they may do more than drive me away. There was a girl in the assessor’s office once. She tried to make a stink. They found two hundred dollars’ worth of office supplies in the back of her car. She went to the county jail for six months.”

He said hoarsely, “Okay, then! Tell me I’m a fool! Tell me I’ve ruined things for you! Tell me to get out of here!”

She reached over and her hand was warm against his. “It’s a little late for that, Bill. Maybe we can still fight.”

“How? Johnson Vincens is going to get it too. He’s right in the soup with us. Our only chance was surprise and I muffed it. Oh, I’ve done a great job. A wonderful job.”

She snatched her hand away. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Does Farner know yet?”

“No. I made like a tough guy and put the plant in a closet down at the Amberton. I don’t think he’ll get out until morning. I thought it would give us more time. More time to run.”

“I have a hunch that neither of us is the running type, Davo boy.”

“Any ideas?”

Jane said slowly, “There’s three of us in the soup. Right? Well, three heads are going to be better than two. You phone Johnson Vincens while I get dressed. Tell him we’re coming over. And phone a taxi.”

“Got one outside. All this doesn’t make much sense to me—”

“Can you think of anything better?”

“Go get dressed and stop needling me. Maybe the three of us can still make some kind of stink.”

She ran up the stairs. He went into the hall, looked up and dialed Vincens’ number. The phone rang six times before it clicked and he heard Vincens’ sleepy “Yeah?”

“Mr. Vincens, this is Bill Davo. I’m coming over to talk to you.”

“Look, Davo. I need my sleep. It can wait until morning.”

“Maybe it can, but you can’t.”

A few seconds’ silence. Then: “What does that mean?”

“You may be out of a job in the morning.”

At last the weary voice said, “Come on over.”

Davo hung up.

When the cab pulled up in front of Vincens’ house, the downstairs lights were on. Vincens met them at the door, looking very small and very helpless in a gray robe that matched his gray hair.

“Come back to the kitchen. I’ve got some coffee on. You’re Miss Fay, aren’t you?”

They followed Vincens back through the house and sat around the kitchen table while Bill Davo told once more the story of the deception.

When he was through, Vincens said, “That was a broken promise, Davo. I don’t know why I trusted you. Should have kept my mouth shut... Well, it’s done now. I can see why you thought it wouldn’t go any further.”

They sat and looked at Vincens. His shoulders slumped and he stared down at the porcelain top of the table, his mouth slack. He murmured, “A long time ago I figured that I’d be a crusader. I’d use the power of the press to clean up the rotten spots in this fair land. Hah! Ended up as a hack dancing on the end of a string. Three kids. One in the first year of college. Come home, laddie. Daddy’s unemployed.”

Suddenly he balled his small fist and banged it on the table so hard that the cups danced. He looked up with a mad light in his eyes. “You know, damn it, I’m almost not sorry! I’ve been on the dirty end of the stick for so long that I began to think I belonged there. Then, after eight long years I make one little gesture of revolt and that’s the one that creams me. Hell, I’ll become one of those guys that clean out sewers with a long pole. It’ll be cleaner work... Run along home, kids. Let an old man lick his wounds.”

They didn’t move. Davo bit at dry lips.

Jane said softly, “How about really doing it, Mr. Vincens? How about going out in a blaze of glory? How about hitting this town tomorrow morning with a front page that’ll tear the heart out of the organization?”

For a moment, the fervor of her words got him, and he straightened up, a new light in his eyes. He slumped again and shrugged. “Grandstand stuff. What good will it do? Maybe if I get down on my knees in the morning and lick Stobe Farner’s shoes he’ll let me stay on. I’m too beat to do anything else.”

Jane leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. “Stobe doesn’t know about it yet. Bill locked up his man down in the Amberton. We still have time. Maybe the people of this town will come to life and lick Farner if they know the facts.”

“Look, lady. The morning edition is locked up, ready to roll. Stobe has got spies all over the place. And besides, the public wouldn’t give one single damn. Not in this town. The ones that vote throw it just the way Farner wants it thrown.”

Bill said, “But if you get tossed out in a blaze of glory trying to upset Mr. Big, won’t that give you a better rep to land a good job on a real paper? At least you would be taking a shot at killing the dragon.”

Vincens scuffed at the gray stubble on his chin with the edge of his thumb. “That’s not a bad thought, Davo. Hmmmmm. Not bad at all. But it’s going to be rough. Very rough.” He glanced up at the kitchen clock. “Nelly! Not much time.”

They heard him at the phone. “Sam, is she rolling? Not yet? Good! Unlock the first page. No, leave it as is. We’ll give ’em a bargain. Two first pages. Who cares? Wait till I get there.”

Vincens dressed in a matter of minutes. Davo had the cabdriver gun it on the way to the newspaper building. Vincens ran up the stairs ahead of them, filled with sudden and surprising energy. His gray cheeks were flushed and his voice had a new edge in it. He shucked off his coat and shoved Davo and Jane into a small office adjoining the newsroom.

“Miss Fay, you type out Bill’s statement and your own in detail. Put everything in you can. Names, places, times, people. Everything. I’ve got to yank some people out of bed and get them down here. Tonight we’re putting out a paper!”

Jane sat at the typewriter. Davo paced back and forth in front of her. He started: “Up until thirteen days ago I was employed in the city engineer’s office. The following story explains why I was fired, beaten up, threatened. It is a story of graft on a large scale. It is a story of little men who are planning to milk the public of hundreds of thousands of dollars...”

The typewriter rattled, and the words spread across the paper. Facts. Figures. Names. An indictment of all that was vicious in Amberton. And all that was sly and diseased in the hearts of Farner, Wescott, Danerra, Hoe...

The rain had stopped. The gray dawn touched the mists rising from the river. The specialists, giving Johnson Vincens odd, sidelong glances, had slipped into their coats and left. The trucks were lined up at the side entrance for the morning edition. The drivers were across in the bean wagon, drinking coffee. The building was shuddering with the thump and roar of the big presses. As the copies piled up, men slid them away from the press, tied them and slid them down the chute to the waiting trucks. The first truck was filled and roared away.

In the office of the managing editor, Davo and Jane Fay stood behind Vincens reading the new page one, the ink still damp.

Fat, wet headlines. Pictures of Farner and Wescott. Facts. Figures. A cut of Western Boulevard.

Vincens smacked his palm against the wet sheet and said, “I like it!” At that moment the presses stopped. They looked at each other. Vincens’ face suddenly acquired new lines. He led them in the crazy run down the stairs, down to the room where the presses stood silent. The pressmen stood in a small group. Two stocky men, their faces shadowed, stood by the presses, hands shoved deep in their pockets.

“What goes on here?” Vincens demanded.

“Stobe Farner’s orders,” one of them said flatly. “No paper published today.”

Davo stood motionless as Vincens took a slow step toward the two men. And another. “There will be a paper today.”

“Not this one,” the nearest said, and spat on the top one of the pile by the press.

Vincens took another slow step toward them. His face was a gray mask, his eyes wild. His fists were clenched tight.

“Don’t get excited, mister. Back up. Back up, I said!”

Vincens took another step. He was five feet from the nearest one of the two. The man’s hand came out of his pocket, gray morning light glinting on the blued steel of the gun he held.

“Back up!” the man shouted.

Vincens reached for the gun, moved in close. The sound of the shot smashed hard against the concrete walls, the silent presses.

Vincens backed up then. He took two slow backward steps, holding both palms tightly against his stomach. He didn’t fall. He let himself down slowly and carefully, bracing with his elbows and knees. He went over onto his side and died with his eyes open, with his face suddenly washed into the cool and placid look, that familiar look — of the battlefield... or the morgue.

The man who fired the shot looked stupidly at the gun in his hand.

The other said, “You poor damn fool!”

The man with the gun wheeled and crashed two shots into the intricate gears of the press, walked with quick steps to the door. They left without a backward look.

Jane Fay sobbed then. She sobbed, turned and half ran from the room. Davo felt ill. One of the pressmen walked, as if in his sleep, toward the phone on the bench along the wall.

There hadn’t been time for Stobe Farner to have gotten a copy of the paper. Davo realized that somehow Vittano had gotten loose, had gone to Farner with his information. Farner had probably phoned Vincens’ home, found he was out and guessed at what had happened. Then he had moved fast, sending two men with instructions to find out what was being printed and stop the presses if they thought it necessary. It wasn’t the sort of job Farner would tackle himself. Not with the tough intelligence on his payroll.

The drivers had heard. They came in, gawped at Vincens’ body. Davo went to one of them. “Did a load of papers go out?”

“Huh? Yeah. One truck. Sammy Bart.”

“Do you know his schedule?”

“Sure. Residential stuff.”

“I want you to drive me after him in your truck.”

“Mister, I’m on company time. I don’t take any runs like that. I’ve got the sheets to deliver and—”

“Hold your hat, mister.”

The tires screamed as the man yanked the panel delivery around the first corner. The dawn streets were empty. A similar truck headed toward them, going back to the plant.

The driver said, “What the hell! That was Sammy! He hasn’t had time to drop his sheets.”

“Follow him.”

He spun the truck around in a roaring U-turn and caught Sammy’s truck just as it stopped near the delivery chute. Sammy Bart climbed out, another man beside him.

Davo hurried over and said, “What goes on?”

The stranger with Bart said, “Orders from Farner. These newspapers go back in.”

“That’s what the man says,” Bart sang out cheerfully.

Davo looked for a long moment at the narrow, silent face of the man with Bart, then turned and walked back into the plant.

The police were there. Somebody had thrown a worn blanket over Vincens’ body. Bart struggled past Davo with some bundles of papers. A stranger was standing near the press, giving orders. “Bring them all back in and round up two other drivers. These all get carted into the furnace room.”

Davo saw what was happening. All copies of the papers were being gathered in to be burned. Chief of Police Lanker was one of Farner’s men. The police were studiously taking no interest in the newspapers still standing on the shallow platform as they had fallen from the press. Of course they wouldn’t look at the newspapers. They had their instructions. They were concerned about the murder of Vincens. Motive unknown. Murderer unknown. Unexplained tragedy.

All the copies of the paper were taken away while he watched. Davo felt a deep amazement at the speed and efficiency with which the group had moved. They knew it was hot. And they sewed everything up. No opening.

He suddenly thought of Jane, and turned toward the stairs. Two of the policemen were walking toward him, angling in from two directions. When he turned away, they came toward him quickly.

“William Davo?”

“That’s right.”

“Come on along. There’s a warrant out for you. Assault. Sworn out by a fellow named Vittano.”

One of them slapped the side pocket of his trench coat and said, “My! My! You got a permit for this thing?”

“No.”

“Sort of unlucky this morning, aren’t you, Davo? Did you see Vincens shot? One of those guys over there pointed you out to me and said you saw it, that you and a girl came in here with Vincens just before he got it.”

“I saw him shot, by Farner’s man.”

“Farner’s man! Are you taking the stuff in the leg or sniffing it.”

“Don’t argue with him, Al,” the other one said.

“Okay, Junior. The county can for you. Material witness for now, and they’ll talk to you about the other stuff later.”

Davo sat in the back of the sedan beside the fatter of the two cops, who whistled tunelessly between his teeth all the way down to the county prison. Davo knew Marion Kelz, the sheriff.

“Got me out of bed for a welcoming committee, Bill,” Marion said.

He was a lean, pulpy man who looked as if he had been roughly constructed of rotting leather. Dave knew that Kelz cleared about thirty thousand a year on his percentage of upkeep of the prisoners. Of that thirty he turned back about ten to Farner, who kept some and split up the balance. The county allowed seventy cents a day per prisoner for food, and Kelz fed them on less than thirty cents.

“So I’m a guest,” Dave said bitterly.

“Don’t fuss about it, Bill. We’ll take this dough you got here and keep books on it. The boys’ll be glad to buy your food down the block.”

“At double cost to me.”

“They got to make a living, Bill. Take him down to number eight, Jud.”

Number eight was a two-man cell, about eight by eight, lighted by one small, high window. The dampness was peeling the cheap white paint off the wall. There were sheets on the bunks, black from the previous occupants. The flat felt mattress stank.

Davo sat on the edge of the bunk and lit a cigarette. He was directly across the corridor from the women’s tank. There were eight or nine of them in there, ranging from about thirteen to fifty. They were dirty, noisy and, somehow, strangely alike. White brittle faces, ragged dyed hair. He noticed that they had access to lipstick, caked thick and red on their mouths.

They called across to him, thinking it a great joke.

He grinned wearily at them and said nothing.

“Toss over some butts, mister,” one of them yelled.

He took three cigarettes from his pack and threw the rest of the package across, through the bars of their large cell. One of the young ones grabbed it, and as she stooped she got a knee in her face that smashed her nose. She screamed and dropped back out of his sight. One of the older women shoved the pack down the front of her dress.

Davo sat on the edge of his bunk and thought how hopeless his position was. He had tried, but they had been too quick, too efficient, too merciless. He knew that he could look ahead to possibly two years in prison. They’d never call him as a witness in the death of Vincens. They’d let him rot on the basis of minor charges, and not take a chance on his bringing Farner’s name into the Vincens case.

He doubted that the editor’s murder would ever come to trial. It would be an unexplained death; and without a newspaper to whip up public interest, the citizens of Amberton would accept the mystery with the same dull, unthinking lethargy that they accepted everything else.

The proof was gone. He had no chance. All the papers destroyed. Vincens dead. Jane running. Running fast and far, he hoped.

He wondered that he felt so little anger, so little fear. His mind and his body felt numb, dead, unresisting. What was there to do? Sit and take it. The chance to fight was gone. He should have run while he had the chance.

Sure, there were people who would feel sorry for him, who would know that he had been framed — but they wouldn’t dare buck the system. It wasn’t healthy. It was better to smile when you met Stobe on the street and say, “Good morning, Mr. Farner,” accept his grunt graciously. Never mention that Davo guy. Never ask what happened to him. Davo might get a small paragraph on page eight of the paper, and he might get nothing.

He stood up and stretched, his fingertips touching the damp ceiling. Just relax and take it easy. Let the time go by — wait for the day when you can walk out of the cell and go away. Far away. Hell, they aren’t going to kill you, Davo. They’re just going to keep you a little while. Teach you a lesson. Teach you not to try to be a reformer. Teach you that when you see fraud, try to cut yourself a slice instead of ripping the lid off it.

Suddenly he heard steps in the corridor, heard a familiar voice. Marion Kelz came into sight. He held Jane Fay by the upper arm. There was a bruise across the left side of her face. Her expression was stiff, tight; her lips thin and straight. Her eyes were enormous and Davo felt the fear in her.

Kelz said, “Here’s your playmate, Bill.”

Davo jumped up off the bunk, held to the bars on the door, looked into Jane’s eyes. “She hasn’t done anything, Kelz. Nothing! What’s she here for?”

“Material witness in the death of Vincens, Bill.”

The one known as Jud came along with the keys and unlocked the door of the women’s tank. Davo said, “You can’t put her in there!”

Jud swung the door open. Kelz shoved Jane inside and the door clamped shut, the lock clicked. Kelz grinned at Davo and said, “She’s nice and close to you, Bill. You ought to like that.”

They went back up the hall. Jane stood looking across at Bill, her lips parted. Then, as she felt the women gather around her, she turned quickly, her back against the bars.

The big woman who had grabbed the cigarettes said, “You got ten bucks, angel?”

“What for?” Jane asked.

“Sort of an entrance fee, angel.”

“I haven’t got it.”

“Now that’s too bad, angel, because that means you got to work out the ten bucks. This place is filthy. You’ll clean it twice a day and get a dime a day until you’re paid up. Get to work, angel.”

The woman reached out, grabbed Jane’s wrist and yanked her back into the cell.

Kelz had left a few small bills in Davo’s pocket. Davo called across, “Hey, you with my cigarettes. I’ll pay her shot.”

He wadded up a five and five ones and threw them across. They disappeared into the same place the cigarettes had.

The big one said, “Now I’d call this a real sweet situation. We got a case of love here. Now you look close, mister, because we got a treat for you.” She turned her head. “Bring her up here.”

Somebody shoved Jane up close to the bars.

“What’s your name, angel?”

“Jane.”

“There’s a lot of wear and tear on clothes in this tank, angel, and they get sort of dirty. Seeing as how you’re fresh meat, you got to turn your clothes over to the ones who have been here longer. You’ll get clothes in exchange.

“Now, I wouldn’t fit into anything except maybe your stockings, so I’ll take those and you can have mine. Let me see now, you’re about the same size as Mabel. Get over next to her, Mabel. Let me see. Yeah. They’ll fit. Peel down, sister.”

Jane didn’t move.

The big one took a step closer to her and lowered her voice. “I’m the boss here, angel, and I told you to peel. Do it nice or we’ll give you a treatment that’ll make you wish you had that pretty face back in one piece.”

Jane gave Davo one despairing look, and slipped out of her suit coat, fumbling with the snaps on her blouse. She took the blouse off as Davo turned away, stood looking at the wall under the window.

The big one called over, “What’s the matter, mister? Don’t you want a good look?”

Davo neither answered nor turned. His ears burned with shame and he knotted his fists. He heard them giggling and making coarse comments about her. He tried not to listen, tried not to think of what they were doing to her.

At last Jane was dressed in the clothes Mabel had taken off — a sleazy crimson dress with a torn sleeve and food spots on the front of it. On her feet were broken, run-over black shoes, white cracks showing the cheap cardboard underneath the shiny surface. Her legs were bare.

The big one said, almost softly, “You did fine, angel. Here’s a cigarette. Light it for her, Penny. Now just don’t try to buck the system. Keep your mouth shut. You’ll sleep on the top deck there in the corner. Don’t yell, grab for food or argue with anybody. I got a hunch you’ll be here for a long time. The next girl comes in, maybe you’ll get some of her stuff. Now climb up into your bunk and stay there until I tell you that you can come down.”

Jane walked off without looking over at Davo. When she was out of sight, he climbed into his own bunk. He found that he was sweating heavily and there was a sour taste in his mouth. His hands trembled as he lit a cigarette. A cockroach scuttled across the floor. The morning traffic began to be heavy in the street outside. The rumble of trucks shook the ancient building. The women were quiet. He could hear the deadly sobbing of the young girl with the smashed nose.

Jud came in to see Davo just before noon. He stood laughing against the bars, grinning cheerfully at his prisoner. “Get you something to eat, Davo?” he asked finally.

“Sure. Not much. And get a lunch for Miss Fay over across the way.”

Jud grinned. “She won’t get any of it, chump, unless you buy for all of them, and she may not get any even then. Those dames can eat like horses.”

“I want to talk with Miss Fay, Jud. Suppose you bring her over into this cell when you come back with the food.”

“That’s against the rules, Davo. No can do.”

“Just a few minutes. Just — say, twenty bucks’ worth of time for us to talk.”

“With twenty bucks, mister, you can make your own rules. We run this place honest. We got your dough out front, and when I take twenty, I’ll make the debit on your sheet. You don’t have to worry about me taking more than the twenty.”

“Sure. You don’t want the place to get a bad name.”

He was back in forty minutes with the watery soup and hash for the women’s tank, and with two hamburgs and coffee for a dollar for Davo. He said, “Now?”

“Yes, as soon as she eats.”

Jane had been listening. “I couldn’t eat, Bill.”

Davo said, “Now, then. Bring her over.”

Jud leered at Davo, shut her in with Davo. The whole front of the little cell wasn’t a door. There was a small part of it cement, forming a corner where Davo and the girl could get out of sight. She came quickly and quietly into his arms and her body was trembling. The women across the way made such a howling, jeering racket that he couldn’t talk to her. He stepped to the doorway, looked across at the big woman and said loudly, “How about a break?”

The woman shut them up and Davo went back to Jane. The dress they had given her smelled soiled. The bruise on her face was purple.

“Who hit you, darling?”

“It was my fault. They caught me in a phone booth in an all-night drugstore. I tried to get away.”

“I can’t tell you that everything is okay. Things couldn’t be worse.”

She looked up at him quietly. “I know that, Bill. I’ve always tried to talk a good game. The hard little gal in the politics business. I don’t feel hard now. I feel all soft inside.”

“Don’t let it lick you, Jane.”

“It won’t lick me.” Her arms tightened around him, and she leaned her unbruised cheek against his chest.

He said, “I should have told you before that I love you. This is going to be a long engagement. That is — if you want an engagement.” He tried to say it in a joking manner but his voice was too hoarse.

“I want it, Bill,” she said.

“You’ll get out before I do. You’ll probably be here for at least six months.”

“When I get out, I’ll get you out,” she said fiercely.

“Take it easy. We’ve got to do this time like the boys tell us to do it. After it’s over we’ll go away.”

“Bill, maybe we’ll—” She stopped.

“We’ll what?”

“Forget it.”

“What were you going to say?”

“I was going to dream out loud.” She tried to laugh. “This isn’t a good place for dreams, is it, Bill?”

“As good as any,” he said bitterly.

Jud looked in. “Okay, kids. Back home for you, girlie.”

She was gone and he was alone again. He ate the cold hamburgs, forcing the food down, drank the chilled coffee.

They came in at five o’clock, Kelz and Jud. They were grim and silent. They took Davo out of his cell. Kelz turned to the big woman. “Where’s the girl’s clothes, Annie?”

“She give ’em away.”

“Get them back on her, quick!”

“Who says?”

“I say it. Unless she’s got her own clothes on in three minutes, I’ll take you downstairs myself and work you over with a hunk of pipe.”

Jane changed in a dark corner of the big cell. One of the girls tripped her as she walked to the door.

They were steered to Kelz’s office, a big room with golden oak furniture and brilliant maps on the walls.

A pimply girl sat by the window, chewing gum, her waiting fingers resting on the keys of a stenotype. A dark, sullen man in immaculate tweeds sat behind Kelz’s desk. Davo recognized him as John Kroydon, the district attorney. The chief of police, Walter Lanker, was there. He sat with a fat hip on the corner of the desk, his thumbs in his lower vest pockets, a damp cigar butt clenched in his teeth.

A stranger, a meek little man with silvered hair and rimless glasses, stood by the windows, looking at one of the maps on the wall. A muscular young man in a sloppy sports jacket and gabardine slacks leaned against the far wall, a small smile on his lips, his hands shoved deeply in his pockets.

Jud took two of the chairs from the far wall and placed them squarely in front of the oak desk. He motioned Davo and Jane to sit down.

Kroydon turned to the pimply girl. “Get all this, Miss Arkle.” He looked at Davo. “You first, Davo. Tell this whole thing from the beginning.”

The keys of the stenotype began to click as Davo started to talk, the ribbon unwinding from the machine. In a flat voice, Davo told it from the beginning, told of Western Boulevard, Arthur Wescott, Danerra, Vittano, Benet Brothers Construction, being beaten up, the newspaper, the death of Vincens — every detail of the whole affair. He limited himself to facts.

He finished. Kroydon said, “Thank you. And now you, Miss Fay.”

She told it rapidly and well. Davo knew all of it right up to the death of Vincens. Then as she went on, he turned in amazement and looked at her.

Jane said, “I was sick when I went back upstairs. I know that somehow they had caught on and the paper wouldn’t be printed. I knew they would destroy every copy. I wanted to run away. Then I saw the copy Mr. Vincens had brought upstairs. It still had a mark on it where he had touched the wet ink, smearing it.

“I took the paper, folded it and got it into a large envelope I found in Vincens’ office. I found stamps, and after I looked in the phone book, I addressed it to the local office of the Collector of Internal Revenue. I marked it special delivery. I sneaked out the side door to the office and mailed it in the corner box. Then I went to an all-night drugstore and called the state capital.

“I got the number of Mr. Berman’s home, called him and told him what had happened. I told him he had better get down here fast with help. Then I phoned Mr. Lord at his home. He’s in charge of the local office of the Internal Revenue Service. He said he would contact the FBI. The police found me in the phone booth and cut off the call when they yanked me out of the booth. I tried to twist away and fell. They brought me here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all this?” Davo demanded.

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I thought that nothing might come of it. They brought me here and put me in a dirty cell where the women took ten dollars and my clothes and—”

Kelz said angrily, “He don’t want to hear about that.”

District Attorney Kroydon said, “Shut up, Kelz. We’ll make this jail and the conditions here part of the record.”

Dave and Jane added statements about the county prison. Just as they had finished, the office door opened so violently that it banged against the wall. Farner strode in, followed by two men. His wide, beefy face was sullen and dangerous.

He snapped at Kroydon, “What the hell goes on here, John?”

“I’m getting statements from these people,” Kroydon said quietly.

“Why? You’ve had your orders.”

“Orders? Orders? What do you mean, Mr. Farner?... There are two men here in the room you haven’t met, Mr. Farner. That man by the window is Mr. Berman of the State Comptroller’s office. And the young man over there, Mr. Feldman, is with the FBI.

“For your information, Mr. Farner, I am asking Chief Lanker to pick you up along with Arthur Wescott, Stanley Hoe, the officials of Benet Brothers Construction, Vittano, Danerra and as many of your personal strong-arm men as we can find.”

Farner spun on the chief of police. “Are you in this too, Walter? Damn it, man, I can prove you’re part of my organization! And you too, John. If you try to crucify me, you’ll go right down with me.”

Lanker didn’t answer. He looked toward the windows.

Kroydon said, “I’ve told these gentlemen that you would probably try to implicate the two of us, even though, as you know, we have no connection with you, Mr. Farner.”

“You lie, John!”

“There is no connection. There are no written records to involve us. Good day, Mr. Farner. Walter, you might pick him up right now. Tell your men out in the prowl car.”

Farner, with a speed amazing for his bulk, kicked the door shut and pulled a short, heavy revolver out of the side pocket of his overcoat.

His face was twisted. “Rats leaving a sinking ship! This is warning that the ship isn’t sinking. I’ll get you two if it’s the last thing I do.” He turned and spoke to the two dark quiet men with him. “Cover me, you guys. This setup stinks to me. I’m leaving.”

One of them said, “Too big, Stobe. This is federal stuff. You’re all by yourself.”

The other one nodded agreement. They both drifted away from him. Everyone in the room was silent, all eyes watching Farner. The sweat beaded his cheeks under his eyes. He looked at Kroydon’s impassive face, at the small smile on the lips of Feldman.

“Don’t be a chump,” Chief Lanker said gently.

Farner put the gun on the edge of the oak desk. He seemed to deflate, to sink in on himself, to suddenly become very much older.

District Attorney Kroydon smiled at Davo and Jane. “You can rest assured that there will be no charges against you. This was an unfortunate error. You are free to go where you wish. We’ll be in touch with you.”

Davo stood up and walked with Jane to the door. He pulled it shut behind them, and they walked out past the front desk and across the long corridor, out into the dusk.

“I’m starved,” Jane said.

Davo grinned. “The upkeep on you is going to be expensive, lady.”

They walked along, side by side, toward the restaurant down the street. His fingers touched the bills that had been given back to him.

He laughed.

She said, “What is it, darling? What could possibly be funny?”

“I was thinking, Jane. We were talking about going away. You know, I have a hunch this might turn into a pretty fair town in which to live.”

She took his arm. “Anything you say, but let’s talk about it after we eat. I’m starved!”