Уильям Макгиверн - Odds Against Tomorrow

Earl stepped out onto the sidewalk and entered the restaurant beside the hotel, taking a seat at the counter and ordering ham and eggs and coffee from a buxom pink-cheeked waitress. It was a quarter to, ten, and there were only two other customers in the restaurant; a truck driver working hungrily at breakfast, and a middle-aged man looking through a newspaper and sipping a cup of coffee. Burke would be along soon, Earl thought, checking his watch. He was stopping at a motel about a mile away, and after this morning’s contact would keep out of Crossroads. The colored man, Ingram, wasn’t due until tomorrow afternoon.

It was ten o’clock when Burke shouldered his way through the door, hands jammed in the pockets of his overcoat, and his big face whipped to the color of raw beef by the stinging wind. He took the stool beside Earl and pushed his hat up on his forehead. “Some weather, eh?” he said. “At six this morning I wouldn’t have bet against snow.”

“I guess it’s coming all right,” Earl said.

“You can say that again.” Burke grinned at the big, pink-cheeked waitress. “How about something substantial? Bacon and eggs, with some hashed browns on the side, okay?”

When she walked back to the kitchen Burke glanced at Earl. “I like this weather,” he said. There was a smell of whisky about him, mingling with the fragrance of a sweet after-shave lotion. “It’s good weather to work in. Makes you want to tackle anything.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Earl said.

They sat in silence until the other two customers buttoned up their coats and went out into the street. The restaurant was warm and comfortable, a haven against the cold, with the aroma of coffee and sugared buns mixing pleasantly in the air. From where Earl and Burke sat they had a view of the bank building and half a block of Crossroad’s main street.

“Pretty little town,” Burke said again.

The waitress brought his breakfast, and he sighed expansively and picked up a knife and fork. “That looks great,” he said.

“You want more coffee?” the waitress said to Earl.

“No, this is fine.”

“I’ll be back in the kitchen if you need anything else.”

“Sure.”

Burke buttered a piece of toast and stirred it around in egg yolk. “Yes, it’s a pretty little town,” he said.

“What did you want to see me about?”

“Oh.” Burke glanced toward the kitchen, then turned to Earl. “Novak stopped in the bank yesterday — a final check. And there’s been a change. They’ve got a Red Cross drive on, and the collecting table is in front of the gate that leads back to where the bank officers have their desks. You get the picture? You got to go around that table.”

“You made a trip just to tell me that?”

“A little thing out of place might upset you. You know what I mean? You’re expecting it to look one way, and bang! — it’s different. That could rattle a guy.”

“I’ll try to keep calm,” Earl said dryly. “Judas priest, I think Novak’s the guy getting rattled.”

“He just coppers all the bets. Don’t you worry about him.” Burke glanced out the window and something made him smile. “If you want to worry, worry about that guy. He’s the competition.”

In front of the entrance to the bank stood a tall, middle-aged man in a slate-gray police uniform and black leather puttees. The forty-five at his hip was buckled to a glossy Sam Browne belt, and despite the freezing weather his raw, big-knuckled hands were bare; leather gauntlets were tucked under the diagonal strap of the Sam Browne, neatly in place beside a book of traffic tickets, and a leather-encased pen- and-pencil set. He wore a trooper’s hat with a black chin strap, the wide brim shadowing his long angular face.

He was pretty big, Earl thought; better than six feet, with wide shoulders pushing at the seams of his whipcord jacket. Now as he turned to glance down the street, Earl saw deep-set serious eyes and a solid width of hard jaw line. He didn’t look smart, Earl thought; there was nothing quick or alert in his face, only a kind of stubborn watchfulness. The hair at his temples was streaked with gray, and his skin was brown and coarse, like leather that had been seasoned and toughened by exposure to all kinds of weather.

“There he is,” Burke said. “The law.”

“Well, so what?” The solid authority in the sheriff’s manner irritated and angered him. Staring up and down with his hands on his hips, like somebody’s tough old man... “He’s just a hick-town cop,” Earl said.

“Maybe,” Burke said, but his eyes narrowed as he watched the sheriff strolling down the block. “I’ll bet not a cat or dog dies in this town that he doesn’t know about it. He looks like a hunter, and that’s what makes a smart cop.”

“I hunted a lot,” Earl said. “It didn’t make me smart.”

“Did you like hunting?”

“It was something to do, that’s all.”

“Well, that’s not enough. This guy loves to hunt. Watch him.”

They saw the sheriff pause under the marquee of the movie theater, and then stroll into the lobby, bending over a bit, his eyes scanning the tiled flooring.

“What’s he looking for?” Earl said.

“Cigarettes, probably.”

Earl grinned. “Don’t they pay him enough to buy his own?”

“There’s a law in this state against smoking in movie theaters,” Burke said patiently. “If he finds butts, he’ll know somebody’s breaking the law.”

“Isn’t that brilliant,” Earl said.

“You’re missing the point. Tonight he’ll probably have a talk with the manager. He’ll stop trouble before it starts. That’s smart.” Burke sighed and looked down at the backs of his wide, puffy hands. “I was a cop for quite a while, you know. Almost eight years.”

“Did you like it?”

“I liked the gun and badge. That’s why kids want to be cops, I guess.” Burke glanced at Earl, a sheepish little smile on his lips. “You know something? I used to hang around gin-mills when I was off duty just hoping trouble would start. You know, punks getting fresh with a waitress or drunks noisy and looking for a fight.” He sighed again, but the little smile lingered on his lips. “I loved to watch their faces when I’d pull my coat back and let ’em see the gun.”

“If you liked being a cop, why didn’t you stick with it?”

“I liked good clothes and good liquor, too,” Burke said dryly. “I could get a new suit just by doing a guy a favor. It was easy.” He shrugged his soft shoulders. “The lieutenant gave me a break the first time I got caught. Next time he didn’t.” Burke wadded up his greasy paper napkin and dropped it on the plate. “That’s the whole story.”

“Well, here comes your hero again,” Earl said, looking out the window.

The sheriff was crossing the street at an angle, covering the ground with long efficient strides, but his manner was deliberate and there was no suggestion of haste or urgency in his movements.

Burke touched Earl’s elbow. “Now watch this,” he said.

The window framed the scene — the traffic, the bank building, and the tall sheriff angling swiftly across the street.

“Watch what?” Earl said.

“The kids at the corner,” Burke said.

Earl saw three teen-aged boys lounging at the intersection, fresh-faced youngsters in jeans and black leather jackets. They were grinning expectantly, staring at a young woman who was strolling casually toward them along the sidewalk. She hadn’t noticed them; she was minding her own business, occasionally pausing at shop windows, an attractive young woman in tweeds and brown leather loafers. She was quite obviously pregnant; this was what had caught the youngsters’ interest. One of them rubbed his stomach significantly; and his two companions began to laugh.