The Limping Goose

24

Johnny and Sam shook hands with the lawyer outside the courthouse in Peekskill. “A tremendous victory, gentlemen,” the attorney said enthusiastically. “I told you I could do it.”

“You call a five-hundred-dollar fine a victory?” asked Johnny cynically.

“For forgery, grand larceny, jail-breaking...”

“Cut it out,” shuddered Sam.

“A victory,” the lawyer said firmly. “If it wasn’t for the fact that the city prosecutor is my cousin and that I just happen to play golf with the judge, it would have been five years in the State penitentiary. Six months in the county jail, at the very least.”

“All right,” said Johnny. “Thanks. Thanks a million. You did a great job. The next time one of us gets arrested in Peekskill, we’ll give you our business.”

“You’ll be in good hands. And now, I must say good-bye to you, gentlemen. One of my, ah, clients has been charged with stealing a, ah, a bus. Ridiculous, of course, but I must do my duty by him. Good-bye, gentlemen.”

The attorney bustled away and Johnny and Sam walked toward the bus stop where they would get a bus that would take them back to Manhattan.

“I’m never going to come anywhere near Peekskill again,” said Sam solemnly.

“It’s a good thing Mr. Carmichael gave me that thousand dollars this morning. He didn’t really have to give it to me, you know. It was for finding Lester Smithson. And I never found him.”

“How could you find him when he was dead?”

Johnny suddenly snorted. “Imagine that lawyer — a thousand bucks! And cash he wanted, too. Before the trial.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. We’re just about broke again, aren’t we?”

“After we pay the bus fare we’ll have about seventy cents left over.” Johnny shook his head and sighed. “Well, that’s too bad. I was going to mail thirty-six dollars to Mr. Peabody — along with the pawn ticket for his suit. But now, I guess, I’ll just mail him the pawn ticket. That’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but don’t we owe some room rent again?”

“Sure, but what’s that? I’ll think of something. I always do.”