Francis Nevins - Night and Fear

It hung by a thread, made his life miserable. Each time he was sent for, he was afraid it was coming down. Each time he came away again, like now, it meant he was spared for another two, three weeks. The summonses never came any more often than that. But of course to earn his new reprieve, to make sure of staying in good with the Boss that much longer, he’d have to carry out his orders to the letter tonight.

He was a simple soul, asking only to stay out of jail for something that he wasn’t even sure of having done, much less being able to tell what it was. “A technicality—” the sound of it froze him. Do just what he was told to, that was the only way to ward it off. Each time he came to a street crossing he took one hand out of his trouser and touched the enamel case in his coat pocket and the ten dollars wedged in his watch pocket to make sure they were both still there. Couldn’t carry out orders if he lost either one of them.

Once he reached out, wet his thumb, and touched a lamppost in passing; that was to bring him luck. This Miller, whom he had to be nice to tonight, and to whom he must never mention knowing the Boss, lived downtown with those friends of his in a big flashy hotel. Eddie had overheard a bellboy say once that they’d hired an entire floor, to keep other people at a respectable distance, and had made arrangements that only one elevator was ever to stop at that floor — and then only when one of Miller’s gang were using it.

Eddie couldn’t go up there, of course. But once in awhile they came down to the smaller of the two bars, especially late in the evening when there was no one much in it, and it was there he’d worked up a sort of speaking acquaintance with Miller. After they’d taken a good look at his face they’d laughed and let him stay in there with them when everyone else was sort of hinted out by the barmen. And the last time, when he’d warmed himself up to the point of inviting them all to a drink, it seemed to strike them very funny and they all spoke up and ordered milk and root beer, without, of course, drinking those things.

He turned off Lorillard into Franklin, which led straight down toward the hotel. It had been a little after eleven-thirty when he left the Boss’ place, but he still had plenty of time. When Miller came down at all, it was never until well past twelve. No use getting there too soon; he didn’t care enough about drinking to stand doing it by himself waiting for them to show up. The more he saved out of the ten-spot, the more he’d have for himself after he carried out the Boss’ instructions.

There was plenty of vacant lots this far out; the Boss’ place was in a sort of semi-detached suburb. Then after awhile as he went along it started to get more built-up. But it was already pretty late, the streets were dead even when he got down into the heart of town. Twelve o’clock tolled from some church steeple just as he was within two blocks of the hotel; he could already see it rearing up ahead of him in the darkness.

The cigar-store on the next-to-the-last corner was still lighted up inside, but the lights outside flicked out as he came abreast of it. What attracted his attention to it was a man standing outside the locked door pounding angrily on the wire-laced glass and gesticulating to the clerk who was still visible behind the counter. The clerk was shaking his head, wouldn’t make a move.

Eddie stopped to watch and the man turned and saw him.

“He couldn’t get away with this!” he said wrathfully. “I’m gonna get in there if I have to break the door down! If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to lock up, I coulda made it before twelve. He locked up ahead of time, five-to, and now look at him standing there doing nothing!”

The clerk callously snapped off the remaining light and disappeared toward the back. “Can’t it wait till the morning?” suggested Eddie mildly.

The man shoved his hat to the back of his head, turned from the door in despair. “I go crazy if I’m stuck like this without a cigarette — can’t go to sleep.” He jabbed his thumb at three lighted windows on the top floor of a Hat opposite. “I live right across the way there; we had company tonight and musta used them all up. Anyway I didn’t find I’d run out of cigarettes until five minutes ago. I beat it down here and he puts on the lock right under my nose—” He broke off short. “Say, you haven’t got one on you, have you? Just one’ll tide me over.”

Eddie had, for probably the first time in his life, or at least since he’d gotten the con up in jail. He hesitated just momentarily, but since Miller wasn’t there to see, there didn’t seem to be any danger of offending him by offering anyone else a cigarette ahead of him. Later, in Miller’s own presence, of course, he would make sure of giving him first pick, ahead of his friends, so as not to belittle him.

It is, incidentally, the hardest of all requests to refuse — and the anxious look on the man’s face showed he had the addiction pretty bad. Eddie took out the new case, pressed the lever, and a cigarette shot up at the end.

The man took it, stowed it in his breast pocket. “You’re a life saver,” he thanked him.

Eddie looked at him, pressed the lever a second time and another one showed up. “Take a couple with you,” he said, “one for the morning.” He’d seen how many were in it, there were more than enough left to go around; Miller never had more than four friends with him and Eddie himself didn’t smoke.

The second one went to join the first in the man’s upper pocket. He said good night, and Eddie watched him cross the street and disappear into the flat with the three lighted windows. He shook his head, put the case away in his pocket and went the rest of the way toward his destination.

They were in the bar already when he got there, Miller and his three cohorts. Everyone else had been switched to the larger bar across the lobby as usual, but Eddie stepped in unhesitatingly. The barman tried to head him off but Miller spoke up:

“Well if it ain’t Aloysius! That’s all right, let him stay, we need some comic relief in here.”

Eddie grinned sheepishly and said, “Good evening, gents. Uh-uh-uh-rye highball, but not too much rye.”

The laugh that went up drowned out the rest of it and he had to repeat himself so the barman could hear him. “And find out what the rest of the gents will have.”

Miller killed his drink, winked, and said, “Uh-uh-uh-sarsaparilla for me.” He banged his hand down. “I don’t care if I do get drunk!” Another roar went up.

Eddie went over and deliberately moved in next to him. Miller insolently snapped an imaginary grain of dust off his shoulder, said, “That’s all right, screwball, you’re all right at that!”

The man on the other side of Eddie coolly patted him all the way down one side, then down the other. Eddie hoisted his elbows, stood perfectly still till he was through.

“What’d you expect to find on him,” said Miller, “a water-pistol?”

They all had their drinks on Eddie, and when Miller saw him carefully stowing away the change from the ten-dollar-bill he asked curiously, “What do you do with yourself all day, punch-drunk?”

“N-nothing,” said Eddie, “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Mr. Miller.”

Miller said, “See my lawyer,” and turned his back on him.

They all ignored Eddie for awhile after that, and when they re-ordered left him out. Eddie waited for awhile, then took out his cigarette case, held it halfway toward Miller.

“Care for a smoke?” he said. Miller turned back toward him brusquely.

“Quit trying to play up to me,” he snapped. “It ain’t gonna get you a thing—” A cigarette popped up and he took it and put it in his mouth while he was speaking, “—make up your mind to that! Well, how about a light?” Eddie put the case down, struck a match, and Miller smothered his face in a puff of carefully aimed smoke. Eddie had a spasm of coughing that seemed to tear his chest in two; he choked down on it, afraid of antagonizing Miller.