Аврам Дэвидсон - Ellery Queen’s Double Dozen

The man’s hair was matted with sweat — not neatly combed back, as in the pictures — and his hairline mustache was almost obliterated in stubble: but it was him. There was no doubt about it. It was Ben Lomax.

The man wiped his wet face with a grease-smeared arm, bent over the engine again immediately. Obviously he hadn’t realized he’d been spotted. Charley Rosco, his heart thumping queerly, drove on, wondering what to do. And as he drove he saw another laundry truck ahead of him. This had to belong to Lew Livingston, whose route adjoined his own.

Charley blew his horn, waved Lew over to the curb, jumped out of his truck, and ran up to him.

Lew was a stocky sort of fellow, with a seamed face. If Charley ever got sorry for himself thinking over his own domestic troubles, he thought about Lew’s problems, and his own went away.

“Listen,” he said, panting a little bit.

“Whaddaya holding me up for, Charley? I gotta get back to the plant!”

“Listen, Lew — back there on Hargraves, near Poplar — there’s a guy trying to fix a car. I’m sure he’s Ben Lomax. Y’know—?”

For a moment Lew continued to scowl irritably. Then he made a long face, pushing out his mouth. “Benny the Bar ber? The... the bank robber?” Charley nodded quickly. “You sure?”

“Lew, I’m sure. What should I do, Lew? Huh? What’s your idea?”

Livingston didn’t hesitate. “My idea? Call the cops! Let them handle it. He killed a guy, that last bank he robbed, didn’t he? So let the cops take the risk. They get paid for it!”

A sudden idea seemed to strike Lew. He pulled his head back into the truck, turned the truck ponderously around, stuck his head out again.

“Stay here, Charley,” he said. “I’m gonna take a little ride — see if he’s still there, see if it’s really him... Wait here.”

What with the beer, the heat, and the excitement, Charley Rosco didn’t feel like moving, much, anyway. He stood in the shade of his truck and fanned himself with a bundle of laundry tickets. He had never taken any part in having anyone arrested, and he felt somewhat uncertain about the whole thing.

Charley Rosco had some vague idea that it would go like this: Lew Livingston returning, followed by several squad cars. You positive it’s Benny the Barber? the cops ask. Absolutely, says Charley. The cops exchange glances. Benny’s a hard man, one of them says. And a dangerous one, the other says. They reflect. Tell ya what we’re gonna do, one says at last. You — addressing Charley — you park your truck across the road at Linden. The cop turns to Lew Livingston. You do the same at Poplar. That’ll cut that block on Hargraves completely off, so he won’t be able to make a getaway in his car. You’re not scared, are you? the cop asks. Lew snorts. I’m not afraid a nothing, he says, tough. Charley’s reply has more dignity. I know my duty as a cit—

Charley looked up, his train of thought abruptly cut. Lew was back. Alone. He seemed annoyed.

“The cops picked him up,” he said.

“Then it was him?”

“How do I know? Think I tagged along? You crazy? I watched from two blocks away, through my rear mirror. They picked him up and they left his junk-heap sitting there in the street.” Lew hesitated, seemed about to say something else. He shook his head instead. Then he muttered, “Gotta get back to the damn plant,” and was off.

After a moment’s confused thought, Charley followed him.

After he got home and took a shower, he was about to tell his wife. But Marie put an envelope in front of him, then busied herself setting supper — cold cuts, pickles, delicatessen potato salad, iced tea — from commercially bottled concentrate — and supermarket cake. It had been too hot for cooking. Charley picked up the envelope, addressed in his daughter’s not-yet-firm script, and took the letter out.

Dear Mommy and Dady,

We went swimming and booting today it was lovely Johnny was bad

your loveing daugter

Underneath, in a string of wild print, up hill and down dale: Lier i was not Dear Momm and Dad pies send me dolar love Joh

A wormlike squiggle at the margin evidently did duty for the missing terminal. Charley said, “What the heck, they’re supposed to go swimming and boating every day, aren’t they?”

“They do,” Marie said, “but she loves it so much she just has to mention it.”

Her husband nodded. By severe saving and self-denial, and by borrowing on their insurance policies, they had managed to send both children to summer camp for the first time. Thinking of this made Charley think of something else.

“Uncle Eddie Aurelius in town today?” he asked. She nodded. It was her uncle who, by agreeing to take a second mortgage, had enabled them to buy the house: Uncle Eddie Aurelius, so-called to distinguish him from Uncle Eddie Jackson, who didn’t have a button to his name. “What did he say?”

“He said not to worry about it.”

The little knot in Charley’s stomach went away. He reached for a slice of head-cheese, dropped it, smacked his forehead.

“It’s those screens,” Marie said hopelessly. “The mosquitoes—”

“No, no! Listen, Marie, what do you think happened today?” And he told her.

When he was finished she said very quietly, “Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Why did you have to tell Lew anything? Why did you need Lew? You could have told the police yourself.”

“I don’t get you, Marie. What difference—”

“Charley. Are you the only person in town who doesn’t know that there’s a ten-thousand-dollar reward out for Benny Lomax?” Charley gaped. After a moment he said, “I forgot. Would you believe it? I forgot all about it. Yeah, I did know, but I—”

“Well, you can be sure Lew Liv ingston didn’t forget. You notice how quick he went to the police without coming back for you?”

Reflecting, Charley did notice. The more he thought, the more he thought he saw.

“The devil with it!” he said abruptly. “If that’s what he wanted — the reward — he can have it. You think I’d touch it?”

“Listen here!” Marie’s voice went shrill. “Don’t be so generous! ‘ He can have it’? Oh, no—”

Charley slammed his hand on the table. “Shut up!” His own voice went shrill. “You realize they could send this guy to the electric chair? How do you suppose I’m going to feel if that happens? If I’d stopped to think about it this afternoon, maybe I never would have done it. I never had anybody’s blood on my hands before! What do I need it for now?”

Very quietly she said, “He killed a man. If he wasn’t captured, maybe he would’ve killed a lot more.”

Her husband nodded. His fingers played with a piece of bread. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “Granted. I should have turned him in. It was my duty as a citizen. Okay. I had to do it But I don’t have to take blood money. Oh,” he went on, speaking more quickly, “I know what you’re going to say. There are so many things we could do with the money. There always is. The house. The kids. Sure. Suppose I take it. I pay off what we owe. I buy a piano. I buy bikes. And then one of the other kids says, ‘You bought this piano with blood money. They electrocuted a man so your dad could get the money for that bike.’ Huh? Sure they would. You know that.”

Marie looked down. Charley continued, “What am I breaking my back for, carrying bundles of laundry up and down stairs — just to keep a roof over their heads, just to send them to camp? Marie! I am trying,” he said doggedly, hitting each word hard, “I am trying to raise them up, and so are you, to be honest people. To know that you just don’t do something just to get money. That if a person can’t get money in a good and honest way, then they do without the money, and what it can buy. I—”