The kids on the bench giggled.
When I told him about losing the cigarette case he continued to roll the pencil backwards and forwards. Then he suddenly looked up and his pig eyes went over me with the intensity of a blowtorch.
‘You a stranger here?’ he asked. His voice was husky as if worn out with shouting.
I said I was a stranger here, that I had just arrived, that I was going to work with Miss Baxter, the welfare officer.
He pushed his cap to the back of his head, stared at his stub of pencil, sighed and produced a form. He told me to fill it in, then he continued to roll the pencil.
I filled in the form and returned it to him. Under the heading of ‘Value of article stolen’ I had put $1,500.
He read what I had written, then I saw his massive face tighten and pushing the form back to me, placing a dirty finger on the ‘Value of article stolen’ column, he demanded in his husky voice, ‘What’s this?’
‘That’s what the cigarette case is worth,’ I said.
He muttered something under his breath, stared at me, then at the form.
‘My jacket was slashed by a razor blade,’ I said.
‘That right? Your jacket worth fifteen hundred bucks too?’
‘The suit cost three hundred dollars.’
He released a snorting breath down his thick nostrils.
‘You got a description of the kid?’
‘Around nine years of age, dark, bushy hair, black shirt and jeans,’ I said.
‘See him there?’
I turned and looked at the row of kids. Most of them were dark with bushy hair: most of them were wearing black shirts and jeans.
‘Could be any one of them,’ I said.
‘Yeah.’ He stared at me. ‘You’re sure about the value of the case?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Yeah.’ He rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, then put the form on the top of a pile of similar forms. ‘If we find it you’ll hear from us.’ A pause, then, ‘Staying long?’
‘Two or three months.’
‘With Miss Baxter?’
‘That’s the idea.’
He studied me for a brief moment, then a slow smile of contempt chased across his face.
‘Some idea.’
‘Don’t you think I’ll last that long?’
He sniffed, then began rolling the pencil again.
‘If we find it you’ll hear. Fifteen hundred bucks, huh?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded, then suddenly in a voice like a clap of thunder, he bawled, ‘Sit still, you little bastards, or I’ll get amongst you!’
I walked out, and as I reached the door I heard him say to another cop who was propping up one of the dirty walls, ‘Another nutter.’
It was now twenty after 13.00. I went in search of a restaurant, but there didn’t seem to be any restaurants in Main Street. I finally settled for a greasy hamburger in a bar, crowded with sweaty, dirt-smelling men who looked suspiciously at me and then away.
I then took a walk. Luceville had nothing to offer except dust and poverty. I walked around the district marked on Jenny’s map as section No. 5. I found myself in a world that I didn’t suspect existed. After Paradise City, this seemed to me to be a trip into Dante’s Inferno. I was immediately spotted as a stranger on every street. People moved away from me and some looked back and whispered about me. Kids whistled after me, and some made what is known as a loud rude noise. I walked until 16.00 and then made my way back to Jenny’s office. By that time I decided she must be quite a woman. To have spent two years in this hellhole and still be able to produce that warm, friendly smile was an achievement.
I found her at the desk, scribbling on a yellow form, and she looked up and there was the warm, friendly smile.
‘That’s better, Larry,’ she said, surveying me. ‘Lots better. Sit down and I’ll explain what I jokingly call my filing system. Can you handle a typewriter?’
‘I can.’ I sat down. I wondered if I should tell her about the cigarette case but decided not to. She had, according to her, plenty of problems without listening to mine.
We spent the next hour while she explained the system, showed me her reports and the card index and while this was going on the telephone bell rang ceaselessly.
A little after 17.00 she grabbed some forms and a couple of biros and said she had to go.
‘Shut up at six o’clock,’ she said. ‘If you could type out those three reports before you go...’
‘Sure. Where are you off to?’
‘The hospital. I have three old dears to visit. We open at nine in the morning. I may not be able to get in before midday. It’s my day for visiting the prison. Play it by ear, Larry. Don’t let them faze you. Don’t let them con you either. Give them nothing but advice. If they want anything tell them you will talk it over with me.’ With a wave of her hand she was gone.
I typed out the reports, broke them down and put them on cards, then filed them away. I was surprised and a little disappointed the telephone bell didn’t ring: it was as if it knew Jenny wouldn’t be there to answer it.
The evening lay before me. I had nothing to do except return to the hotel, so I decided I might as well stay on and get the filing system up-to-date. I have to admit I didn’t do much work. When I began to read the cards I got engrossed. The cards gave me a vivid picture of crime, misery, despair and pressure for money that held me like a top class crime novel. I began to realise what went on in section No. 5 in this smog-ridden town. When it got dark I turned on the desk light and went on reading. Time ceased to exist. I was so engrossed I didn’t hear the door open. Even if I hadn’t been so engrossed I still mightn’t have heard it open. It was opened with stealth, inch by inch, and it was only when a shadow fell across the desk that I knew someone was in the room.
I was startled. That was, of course, the idea. With my nerves the way they were, I must have jumped six inches. I looked up, feeling my belly muscles tighten. I dropped the biro I was holding and it rolled under the desk.
I will always remember my first sight of Spooky Jinx. I didn’t know it was Spooky, but after I had described him to Jenny the following morning she told me that’s who it was.
Imagine a tall, very lean youth around twenty-two years of age. His shoulder length hair was dark, matted and greasy. His thin face was the colour of cold mutton fat. His eyes, like tiny black beads, dwelt closely either side of a thin, narrow nose. His lips were loose and red and carried a jeering little smile. He wore a yellow, dirty shirt and a pair of those way-out trousers with cat’s fur stuck to the thighs and around the bottoms. His lean but muscular arms were covered with tattoo designs. Across the back of each hand were obscene legends. Around his almost non-existent waist he wore a seven-inch wide belt, studded with sharp, brass nails: a terrible weapon if whipped across a face. From him came the acrid smell of dirt. I felt if he shook his head, lice would drop on to the desk.
I was surprised how quickly I got over my fright. I pushed back my chair so I could get to my feet. I found my heart was thumping, but I was in control of myself. My mind flashed back to the conversation I had with Jenny when she had warned me the kids in this district were vicious and extremely dangerous.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Do you want something?’
‘You the new hand?’ His voice was surprisingly deep which added to his menace.
‘That’s right. I’ve just arrived. Something I can do for you?’
He eyed me over. Beyond him I saw movement and I realised he wasn’t alone.
‘Bring your friends in unless they are shy,’ I said.
‘They’re fine as they are,’ he said. ‘You’ve been to the cop house, haven’t you, Cheapie?’