Then she pulled her knife from his throat, and cleaned it assiduously on the policeman’s jacket, and she was smiling at him, in the dim light from the street. The flashlight was broken, lying beside the policeman.
“You — you killed him,” Erwin mumbled, and he knew he should throw the bomb now, but why?
She took his arm, led him away a step, then stopped.
She went back, got the revolver and tucked it into Erwin’s coat pocket. “That’s right. I’ve been trying to get up enough nerve to speak to you for over a week. I knew we were right for each other when I first saw you.”
Erwin’s mind tumbled and backed up and sputtered like an old car he had owned in 1928. But he could not understand what was happening.
She walked him down the streets of the Village, and after a while they went into Rienzi’s and talked over a pair of cappuccinos with lots of cinnamon.
“You. You’re the one they call the Slasher,” Erwin said softly, marveling. “You’ve bad as many press notices as I’ve had, the last few years.” He could not help but marvel at her. So old and so tired-looking, yet she was so well-known.
“That’s right. And I’ve read about you, too.”
“Well, I’m — I’m pleased to meet you. And I’d like to thank you for what you did back there.”
She waved it off, smiling a tender little smile, and Erwin felt a strange lump form inside him, he hadn’t felt that way since Ellen had died thirty-five years before.
“Where do you live?” he asked, and she told him.
Finally, they knew they would like to see more of each other, and perhaps, well, no one was that old, that a little fine, high-class companionship would not be pleasant.
“You know what they say,” Erwin philosophized, as he magnanimously paid the check and helped her on with her nice green coat, “opposites do attract.”
As they walked out onto the sidewalk, visitors from uptown — obviously tourists — sitting by the window of Rienzi’s, remarked to one another, “Aren’t they lovely. So old and yet so much in love.”
And Erwin turned to the flower lady — whose name was Martha — and he smiled. “Though we use different forms of expression, I’m sure we’ll get along beautifully, and with your check, and with mine, we’re sure to do nicely.”
They walked a little bit, and then Martha added confidentially, “And with that nasty policeman’s gun, well, we can always experiment, Erwin … and perhaps find some common ground.”
Erwin smiled back. Oh, it was compatibility, he could tell that right off.
Six: Toe the Line
The cell door clanged into the wall, and the turnkey motioned Eddie Cappen to step out. Cappen winked at his cellmate, picked up the handkerchief full of odds and ends he bad collected during the past two years, and started toward the guard, saying, “So long, Willie, see you never, buddy!”
The little rat-faced man still in the cell laughed, gibed back, “See me never, hell! You’ll be back before I can grow a beard!”
Eddie Cappen waved an amused, disgusted goodbye, and stepped onto the cell block ledge with its steel railing. The guard signaled to the end of the line, and the lever was thrown. The cell door slowly slid back into place, closed, and Eddie Cappen knew now — for certain — he was getting out.
The guard hustled Eddie ahead of him, across the upper tier catwalk, and down the stairs at the end of the line. They walked quickly to the locker rooms, where the guard handed Eddie a package.
Cappen opened it and saw the cheap suit. He laughed. The first thing he would burn, when he was out, was this bit of charity from the State. He would be wearing three hundred dollar suits soon enough. He laughed inside, and put on the suit
“This way,” the guard said, leading Eddie down the corridor, past the administration offices of the prison. They stopped before the office that had WARDEN A. H. FELLOWS blocked in black letters on its glass.
They entered the anteroom, and the guard motioned at Eddie, saying to the receptionist, “Tell Warden Fellows number 118022, Cappen, is here.”
The girl nodded and flicked on her intercom, repeating the information. A gruff voice answered from the box, “Send him in.”
Eddie entered the Warden’s office for the second time since he and the Joint had said their hellos. The first time had been on his arrival, when the Warden had thoughtfully warned him to “toe the line and stay out of trouble.” It seemed to be one of the Warden’s pet phrases; Eddie had heard other cons laughing about it, but he had considered it good advice; and he had done as the Warden had suggested.
That was one of the reasons why his parole had come through early; he had been a model prisoner.
He had to be, to get out. And he had to get out, because his time in the Joint hadn’t been wasted: he had figured out the foolproof system.
“Sit down, Eddie,” the Warden said.
He was a big, blocky man, with an almost bald head, a few strands of brown hair combed studiedly back over the bald areas. His face was long, but fleshy. He had a nervous, cigarette cough. He was a rough man to deal with. Almost alone he had queued a riot a year before, using nothing but a bullhorn and a firmly pointing finger. Eddie respected Fellows, and more, never underestimated the man.
The Warden closed a folder, tapping it gently on the desk top to align the papers inside. He looked up at Eddie, and his expression was so severe Eddie was certain the Warden wanted to smile, but would not.
“So you’re leaving us, Eddie.”
It was a statement, so Eddie just nodded, letting a reserved, lopsided bit of a grin cross his face.
“Well, you probably know what I’m going to say then.”
Cappen decided to play the part to the hilt. Sincerely, he said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d say it anyhow, Warden. I haven’t exactly enjoyed my stay here, but I think I’ve, well, learned my lesson.”
The Warden’s face reflected pleasure, though there was no real, concrete evidence of it. “That’s good, Eddie.
“Many men come out of here bitter and disillusioned. A few can make it just even with the world, and even less can come out ahead. You seem to be one of the latter. You’ve been a good prisoner, Eddie.”
Eddie knew that; he’d planned it just that way.
“But more than that, Eddie,” the Warden continued, “you seem honestly interested in making a good life for yourself. Now you haven’t got as big a row to hoe as some of the men who come out of here; your time was for auto theft.”
Eddie decided he should point out one fact. “Yeah, but it was my third conviction, Warden; that makes it pretty rough. I got to watch myself real close.” It was always wisest to acknowledge the fact than pretend it didn’t exist.
“Well, Eddie, you’re right in that, but with a little perseverance you can lead a good, healthy life, become a valuable member of society. All you have to do is toe that line …”
There it was!
That was the phrase. That was what had started Eddie thinking. The Warden had said that two years ago when he had entered the Joint, and the words had stuck with Eddie, till they had become a catchphrase in his mind, till the sound of the words had altered their spelling, and finally Eddie had hit the perfect, the ultimate, the foolproof method of auto hi-jacking.
“… and you’ll be okay, boy.” The Warden finished, almost beaming, convinced he had produced one good man from all the filth in his cells. Convinced he had salvaged one soul.
He gave Eddie his possessions, taken from him when first he had come to the prison, and his two years’ wages — pitifully small amount — and the instructions about keeping in touch with his parole officer.