The key clerk gave him his key without a word, and George smiled.
‘Bluffed ‘em out,’ he said.
But when lie opened his door he saw a man sitting by the window reading a magazine. His hand went involuntarily toward his armpit. The man stood up; he was big and had a tough, Irish face.
‘My name’s Geygan,’ said the man, turning back his coat. ‘I want to see you a minute. Your name’s Barber, ain’t it?’
‘Yeah,’ said George. ‘What’s the song, flatfoot?’
Geygan stared at him. ‘You talking to me, kid?’
‘There ain’t nobody else in the room that I see,’ said George.
‘Smart boy,’ said Geygan. ‘Come over till I fan you.’
‘You’ll fan nobody,’ said George. ‘What’s the game?’
Geygan came over to George, whirled him around, and patted his pockets; then he lifted George’s arms and felt his ribs; then he slapped his trouser legs. George was stupefied.
Geygan laughed. ‘I thought you Chicago birds packed rods,’ he said.
‘What would I do with a rod in this tank town!’ said George.
‘All right,’ said Geygan. ‘Now listen careful to what I say. Tonight you leave town. Get that? You birds can’t light here. That’s all. We’ve had some of you birds over here and we don’t like you, see? Beat it and no questions asked. You stick around here and we’ll put you away.’
George grinned. ‘Putting it on big, hunh?’
‘Yeah. You better not be in the city limits at twelve tonight or…’
‘Listen,’ said George, interrupting, ‘you hick bulls can’t bluff me that easy. Just try and do something, that’s all. Just try and do something. You ain’t got a thing on me.’
‘All right,’ said Geygan.
Geygan went out. George took off his overcoat and sat down in the chair by the window.
‘Can you beat that!’ he thought. ‘It’s a damn’ good thing I got my rods in the trunk. Why, that mug actually fanned me. Yeah. Say, what kind of a town is this, anyway? No wonder Chicago Red hit for home!’
He got up and unlocked his trunk. There was a false bottom in it where he kept his guns and his liquor. That was safe. Well, they didn’t have a thing on him. Let them try and put him out. All the same, he began to feel uneasy. But, hell, he couldn’t let these small-town cops scare him.
He was taking off his shoes when somebody knocked at the door.
’I wonder what the game is,’ he thought.
Then he went over and opened the door. Geygan and two other plainclothesmen stepped in.
‘There he is, chief. You talk to him. He won’t listen to me.’
‘Say,’ said the chief, a big grey-haired man, ‘they tell me you’ve decided to prolong your visit.’
‘Yeah,’ said George, ‘indefinitely.’
‘Well,’ said the chief, ‘if you want to stay here, why, I guess we can accommodate you. Fan him, Buck.’
‘Say,’ said George, ‘I been fanned so much I got calluses.’
‘That’s too bad,’ said the chief. ‘Go ahead, Buck.’
Buck whirled George around and gave him the same kind of search Geygan had given him, with this difference: he found a gun in his hip pocket, a small nickel-plated.32. George stared at the gun and began to sweat.
‘Geygan,’ said the chief, ‘you didn’t do a very good job.’
‘I guess not,’ said Geygan.
‘You never found that cap pistol on me,’ said George, staring hard at Buck.
‘Will you listen to that, Buck!’ said the chief. ‘He thinks you’re a magician.’
‘Why, you planted that gun on me,’ said George. ‘That’s a hell of a way to do.’
‘Well,’ said the chief, ‘when your case comes up, you can tell it all to the judge.’
‘My case!’ cried George.
‘Why, sure,’ said the chief. ‘We send ‘em up for carrying rods here.’
George stood looking at the floor. By God, they had him. Wasn’t that a break. Well, it was up to Chiggi now.
‘Listen,’ said the chief, ‘we ain’t looking for no trouble and we’re right guys, Barber. I’ll make you a little proposition. You pack up and take the next train back to Chicago and we’ll forget about the.32.’
‘He don’t want to go back to Chicago,’ said Geygan. ‘He told me.’
George walked over to the window and stood there looking down at the street.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’ll go.’
‘All right,’ said the chief. ‘Buck, you stick with the Chicago boy and see that he gets on the right train.’
‘All right, chief,’ said Buck.
Geygan and the chief went out. Buck sat down and began to read a newspaper.
Weinberg was sitting at his desk, smoking a big cigar, when George opened the door. Seeing George, he nearly dropped his cigar.
‘Hello, boss,’ said George.
‘By God, I thought you was a ghost,’ said Weinberg. ‘What’s wrong with your voice?’
‘I caught a cold over in Toledo.’
‘You been to Toledo and back already! Did you go by airplane?’
George grinned.
‘No, but I made a quick trip. What a hick town. You ought to go there once, and look it over.’
‘Chicago suits me,’ said Weinberg.
George sat down, and Weinberg poured him a drink. George didn’t say anything, but just sat there sipping his drink.
Pretty soon Weinberg said: ‘George, I was hoping you’d stay in Toledo for a while. Rocco was in the other night and he told me that The Spade was telling everybody that your number was up.’
George grinned.
‘Ain’t that funny!’
Weinberg didn’t think it was funny, but he laughed and poured himself another drink.
‘Yeah,’ said George, ‘that’s the best one I’ve heard this year.’