King Blood(12)

'Oh, no! I mean, oh, yes, of course, I'll do it!' She was almost tearful with relief at the abrupt warming of his attitude. 'I'll stay right here! That's a promise, Captain, and you can depend on it! I – I mean, you don't need to worry – '

'Of course, I don't, dear.' He gave her hand a paternal squeeze. 'I'm a lawyer, remember? I know a fine young woman when I see her.' He started to rise; hesitated. 'By the way, I'm afraid I was pretty brusque when I first spoke to you. I – well, my wife passed away a couple of weeks ago, and…'

'Oh, how terrible! I'm so sorry, Captain.'

'Thank you,' he said, with simple sincerity, adding that he was even now returning from his wife's funeral in the east. 'As I was about to say, however, I've noticed that I sometimes do become a little curt with people since her death, and if I did, in your case – '

But he hadn't been! Not in the least teensiest bit, Captain!

'Thank you, my dear,' he said. 'You're a dear, sweet girl.'

He left her, with a tip of his fine Fedora hat. Some twenty minutes later, after a time-killing stroll, he returned to the station.

True to her promise, she had remained exactly where he had left her. He resumed his seat at her side, smilingly pointing out that she had proved his merits as a judge of honest people. She squirmed pleasurably at the compliment, ducking her head with a little giggle. She started to return the watch, but he affably declined it. After all, there was more room in her purse than there was in his pockets, and women were much better at taking care of things than men were.

'Just don't see how you do it,' he declared in assumed amazement. 'Why, my wife can – ' He broke off; turned his head for a moment as though to dispel a tear. Then, softly, 'Isn't it strange? She was so much a part of me that I just can't believe she's gone.'

'Why, you poor thing!' she said; then abashed at her daring, 'Oh, excuse me, Captain! I – I – '

'Now, now, dear Anne. There's no rank between friends. Sorrow makes equals of us all.'

'Sorrow makes – I think that's the most beautiful thing I ever heard, Captain! So, uh, poetic kind of. D-do you like poetry, Captain?'

Critch confessed that it was a weakness of his, and that he sometimes wrote it. 'Perhaps you've heard one of my little efforts, _Roses Are Red And Violets Are Blue.'_

'Oh, my goodness, yes! My goodness! Have you written any others, Captain?'

Critch nodded indulgently, and gave her a couple of verses of burlesque-house pathos. She was so impressed, so awed, that only with an effort did he suppress the lurking imp within him and its insistent demand that he tell her about the old hermit named Dave, who had kept a dead whore in his cave.

'Well, now…' He stretched his legs, glancing at the octagon-faced station clock. 'A long wait until train time, isn't it? Well, over an hour yet. I think you and I shall just get us a good bite of dinner.'

She demurred. She really wasn't a bit hungry, and, uh, really she'd just rather stay where she was. Oh, no. It wasn't because of the money, but –

'Of course, it isn't. You'll be my guest, naturally. Now, you just go over there' – nodding toward the ladies room – 'and give yourself a good freshing up. You'll want to do that, I assume' – a kindly but critical look. 'Travel does so smear up a person.'

She arose reluctantly, started to reach for her two heavy bags. Critch grandly waved her away from them.

'I'll just check them through to your destination while you're gone. Did you know you could do that? Much safer than they would be with you, and you're saved a lot of trouble.'

'Well, uh, but – '

'Yes? Like to get something out of them first?'

'No, but – '

But nothing. She had the watch, didn't she? That solid, gold, diamond-studded watch.

'F-fine, Captain. Thanks very much. I'll hurry right back.'

'Oh, take your time, dear,' Critch smilingly urged her. 'Take your time. We'll be dining in a very nice place, and I want you to look your prettiest.'

She bobbed her head, moved away from him with her shyly stooped shoulders and timidly lowered face. Critch waited until she disappeared through the swinging doors of the restroom. Then, he carried her baggage out a side entrance, and down the street a few doors to a combination pawnshop-secondhand store.

Critch had learned of the place from other professionals on the criminal circuit. Between the right people, there was a ready exchange of such information. He had had no occasion to do business with the establishment's proprietor heretofore, but he had stopped by for a chat. And today the latter gestured Critch toward the back room, then joined him behind its curtained portals after a quick look up and down the street.

'No one following you, huh? Well, let's take a look at it.'

The contents of the two bags were of a type with the oddly-assorted stuff which the girl had been wearing. The kind of things which only ignorant unworldliness would allow. Or perhaps they had been wished on her by well-meaning relatives. They weren't intrinsically shoddy; someone, if not her, had laid out some bucks for them. They just weren't suitable; a lot of everything, but not one good everyday outfit. Why, hell, there were even a couple of party gowns! Did she think Fort Sill was West Point?