Deadline at Dawn

“Graves, I’m talking about,” Quinn said. “Where you chewed the cigar to ribbons, remember? Seventieth Street.”

“Sixty-ninth,” the man quavered. “And he said his name was — I don’t remember what it is now myself. But it wasn’t Graves. He has the flat under me, and I only went down there and smoked a cigar with him for ten minutes because I was too nervous to stay by myself— If somebody killed him, it happened after I left there.”

The man’s face was stunned. It was like slow ripples spreading outward over it, and freezing as they went. He said, “I don’t like the way you’re talking. I’m going to get away from you.”

“You’re wrong about one of those two things,” Quinn said stonily. “You bet you don’t like the way I’m talking, but you’re not going to get away from me.”

This time the man got up off the bench, taking Quinn’s hand on his shoulder along with him. He tried to get rid of that, so Quinn came up after it, and put the other one on him, got a good tight hold on him with that.

“Get out of here, now,” the man kept panting hysterically. “Get out of here.”

They started to thresh around and stagger to and fro in a locked embrace. They hit the edge of the bench, and it squealed and jumped a little along the floor.

“It was you, wasn’t it,” Quinn said through his clenched teeth. “It was you, wasn’t it. Graves — Seventieth Street — I’ll get it out of you if I have to—”

“Haven’t I been through enough for one night— Look, see what you did? It’s starting in again, after I had it quieted down—”

A thin line of red started to edge down from under one nostril. The man wrenched one arm free, clawed at his pocket, brought out another fistful of paper tissue. He slapped it violently against his own face. Then he removed it again, looked at it. The sight of the red on it seemed to enrage him; he stopped being just passively resistant in Quinn’s grasp. He swung out at him violently, missed, followed it up with another panicky punch.

The door opened suddenly and a nurse stood glaring out at them. “Here! What’s going on out here?” she said sharply. “Stop it! What’s the matter with you two?”

They both became reluctantly quiescent, still hanging onto one another and breathing laboredly.

She gave them a black look of reproof. “The idea. I never heard of such a thing. Which one of you is Mr. Carter?”

“I am,” the bedraggled individual in Quinn’s grasp heaved. The red line had reached his chin now; a second one was beginning to venture downward parallel to it. His coat had been wrenched open by Quinn’s continuing hold on it. His thin, unclad stomach was going up and down like a bellows.

“I’ve got some news for you. Don’t you want to hear it?” she said disapprovingly.

“What is it?” he quailed.

“You’ve got a son.”

She turned quickly to Quinn. “You better hold that man up a minute. I think he’s going to faint. These prospective fathers give us more trouble than the mothers and the babies do put together.”

Chapter 7

“Where to, lady?” He swung the door open.

She closed the door again, remained outside. “I wonder if you can help me. Have you been on this corner all night?”

“From twelve, off and on. I come on at twelve every night. I haven’t been here steady, but this is my reg’lar stand. I start out from here and come back to it again each time.”

“Did you have a woman fare, by herself, from this corner anytime after twelve tonight?”

“Yeah, I did have one. A couple hours ago.” Then he asked, “What are ya trying, to find someone?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, if you tell me what she looked like, maybe I can help you.”

“I can’t tell you what she looked like.”

He shrugged, hitched the edges of his hands up off the wheel-rim, then back again. “Then how am I gonna help you, lady?” he demanded not unreasonably. He waited a moment. “Well, is it something serious? Why don’t you try the cops?”

“No, it’s nothing serious. Just a personal matter.” She thought a moment. “Look, when they pay you off, do you notice it pretty closely?”

He smiled cheerlessly. “When they pay me off, that’s all I do notice, mostly. Just how much, and just how much over.”

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean— You remember where you took her.”

“I remember where I took her.”

“And you remember what she paid you.”

“I remember what she paid me.”

“But when she did pay you, do you remember— Look, I’m her now, a minute. Just watch me like you did her. Did she pay you like this—?” She handed him an imaginary sum through the cab-opening with her right hand. “Or did she pay you like this?” She handed him an imaginary sum with her left hand.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “Try it again.”

She tried it again.

He shook his head. “All I saw was her hand. With the money on it. I picked up the money off it, and that left just her hand. I handed her back what was coming to her. And then she handed me back what was coming to me out of that. And that left just her hand again.”

“You don’t remember which side her thumb was on?”