Read Online The Lime Pit by Jonathan Valin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jonathan Valin
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the strict sense of the word?"
I laughed. "No. Just a contact I picked up over
the years. Working with the D.A. and Pinkerton and so on."
"All right. What next?"
"They've got Cindy Ann. That gives them the hole
card as far as we're concerned."
"The whole deck," Hugo said glumly.
I shook my head. "Uh-uh. We've got the shoe box.
That's the joker. From what I learned today, the Jellicoes don't want
photographs like the ones you've got in circulation. Don't ask me
why, because I don't know that yet. But, if I can convince them that
those pictures of yours are valuable, maybe I can work a trade--what
I know and what you know for Cindy Ann."
Hugo sipped meditatively at his beer. "When I
was in the Corps they used to run us through a little exercise 'bout
once every other day. They'd station a machine gun up on a little
rise. And this gun would spray live ammo across a field. And in this
field there'd be rocks and logs and mud and standing water. And what
we was supposed to do was crawl across it whilst this machine gun was
firing over our fannies. It took a real nice sense of judgment to
know when to lift up and when to duck down. Too high and you'd get
your britches blown off. Too low and you'd just get stuck there
whilst the rest of your huddles crawled on by. Strikes me that what
you're proposing is a little like that exercise. You aim to convince
the Jellicoes that those photographs are valuable. Strikes me that
value can mean different things to different folks. You make 'em seem
too valuable and that tree of Laurie's is likely to topple over on
you. You make 'em seem not valuable enough and they're just likely to
brush you off like a fly."
I smiled at him. "You should've been a
detective, Hugo."
"I'd have been a good one."
"Yep."
"So where do I fit into this scheme of yours?"
I took a swallow of beer and said, "You don't."
At first, he didn't say anything at all. Just stared
off into space--cogitating, digesting it. After a second he turned in
the booth seat and looked me in the eye. "I want you to tell me
the truth. If you want me out of the way 'cause I'd just be in it
every other second, that's one thing. If you're trying to get rid of
me 'cause you're worried about something happening to me, that's
another. Now, which is it?"
"I work alone, Hugo. That's what I get paid for.
I'm not saying that you're less of a man than I am or that you can't
take care of yourself. But, with the stakes so high, I do it my way
Or I don't do it at all. And my way means you clear out. You go off
to Dayton and visit your son."
"For how long?"
"Until I need you to come back."
Hugo took a deep breath. "All right, Harry. I'll
leave tomorrow."
"Good," I said. "And no tricks, Hugo."
"Why, Harry!" he said. "Whatever made
you say a thing like that?"
We had another round of beers. Hugo seemed too damn
cheerful, and I began to wonder just how seriously he'd taken my
point. Around twelve, he said, "I been out too late." So I
stood up and took the check up to the bar. I was standing next to the
cash register when someone shoved me so hard that I knocked over a
couple of beer glasses.
I turned around and saw the back of Big Mike's head.
He was a fair-sized gent, Big Mike. My height, but a good fifty
pounds heavier than I was and at least a fifth drunker. Maybe it was
Terry and Morris Rich; maybe it was Abel Jones and the Jellicoes;
maybe it was Cindy Ann; or maybe it was the beer and the talk and the
sneaking suspicion that Hugo hadn't heard a word that I'd said. But
that angry little man inside of me had had his fill of nastiness for
one day. "I'm taking over," he said. And I was just too
tired and dejected to say, "No."
I tapped Mike on the shoulder and he turned slowly
around. He was in his cups, all right. But he was one of those mean,
deceptive drunks. His square, porcine face was flushed and sweaty;
but the liquor hadn't gotten into his eyes yet. And those eyes were
just aching for trouble.
"Hey, Mike!" I said, clapping him on
I laughed. "No. Just a contact I picked up over
the years. Working with the D.A. and Pinkerton and so on."
"All right. What next?"
"They've got Cindy Ann. That gives them the hole
card as far as we're concerned."
"The whole deck," Hugo said glumly.
I shook my head. "Uh-uh. We've got the shoe box.
That's the joker. From what I learned today, the Jellicoes don't want
photographs like the ones you've got in circulation. Don't ask me
why, because I don't know that yet. But, if I can convince them that
those pictures of yours are valuable, maybe I can work a trade--what
I know and what you know for Cindy Ann."
Hugo sipped meditatively at his beer. "When I
was in the Corps they used to run us through a little exercise 'bout
once every other day. They'd station a machine gun up on a little
rise. And this gun would spray live ammo across a field. And in this
field there'd be rocks and logs and mud and standing water. And what
we was supposed to do was crawl across it whilst this machine gun was
firing over our fannies. It took a real nice sense of judgment to
know when to lift up and when to duck down. Too high and you'd get
your britches blown off. Too low and you'd just get stuck there
whilst the rest of your huddles crawled on by. Strikes me that what
you're proposing is a little like that exercise. You aim to convince
the Jellicoes that those photographs are valuable. Strikes me that
value can mean different things to different folks. You make 'em seem
too valuable and that tree of Laurie's is likely to topple over on
you. You make 'em seem not valuable enough and they're just likely to
brush you off like a fly."
I smiled at him. "You should've been a
detective, Hugo."
"I'd have been a good one."
"Yep."
"So where do I fit into this scheme of yours?"
I took a swallow of beer and said, "You don't."
At first, he didn't say anything at all. Just stared
off into space--cogitating, digesting it. After a second he turned in
the booth seat and looked me in the eye. "I want you to tell me
the truth. If you want me out of the way 'cause I'd just be in it
every other second, that's one thing. If you're trying to get rid of
me 'cause you're worried about something happening to me, that's
another. Now, which is it?"
"I work alone, Hugo. That's what I get paid for.
I'm not saying that you're less of a man than I am or that you can't
take care of yourself. But, with the stakes so high, I do it my way
Or I don't do it at all. And my way means you clear out. You go off
to Dayton and visit your son."
"For how long?"
"Until I need you to come back."
Hugo took a deep breath. "All right, Harry. I'll
leave tomorrow."
"Good," I said. "And no tricks, Hugo."
"Why, Harry!" he said. "Whatever made
you say a thing like that?"
We had another round of beers. Hugo seemed too damn
cheerful, and I began to wonder just how seriously he'd taken my
point. Around twelve, he said, "I been out too late." So I
stood up and took the check up to the bar. I was standing next to the
cash register when someone shoved me so hard that I knocked over a
couple of beer glasses.
I turned around and saw the back of Big Mike's head.
He was a fair-sized gent, Big Mike. My height, but a good fifty
pounds heavier than I was and at least a fifth drunker. Maybe it was
Terry and Morris Rich; maybe it was Abel Jones and the Jellicoes;
maybe it was Cindy Ann; or maybe it was the beer and the talk and the
sneaking suspicion that Hugo hadn't heard a word that I'd said. But
that angry little man inside of me had had his fill of nastiness for
one day. "I'm taking over," he said. And I was just too
tired and dejected to say, "No."
I tapped Mike on the shoulder and he turned slowly
around. He was in his cups, all right. But he was one of those mean,
deceptive drunks. His square, porcine face was flushed and sweaty;
but the liquor hadn't gotten into his eyes yet. And those eyes were
just aching for trouble.
"Hey, Mike!" I said, clapping him on
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