The Criminal (1953) by Jim Thompson

Author:Jim Thompson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

9 Richard Yeoman

The d.a. locked the door on the kid, and handed

me a five. Two fifty for me and two fifty for

Charlie Alt. He said we should get our supper, and

not to take all night about it.

“And no gabbing, understand?” he said. “You

don’t know a thing about the Talbert boy.”

“What about him?” I said. “You want we should

bring him a sandwich or something?”

“No,” he said. “When he’s ready to eat, he can

say so.”

“We could bring him a malt or something,” I said.

“Something cold to drink maybe.”

“He can have something to drink,” he said,

“whenever he wants it.”

“Well, I was just asking,” I said.

“He can have anything he wants,” the d.a. said.

“Just as soon as he comes to his senses.”

Me and Charlie figured the Chinaman’s was the

best deal, being close and pretty reasonable and

all, so we went downstairs and headed across the

street. Charlie was kind of mumbling to himself

and counting on his fingers. Finally, he got it

figured out.

“Small steak, french fries, peas, pie, two cups of

coffee,” he said. “Two fifty exactly, Dick.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but what about the tip?”

“H–,” he said, “what you want to tip Chinamen

for? They got a lot more money than you have.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I guess maybe I

shouldn’t, but I always feel kind of funny. Don’t

you tip ‘em, Charlie?”

“Well, I ain’t going to tonight,” he said.

We got to the Chinaman’s and I told Charlie to go

on back and get us a booth. I had to give my old

lady a ring.

“I guess I ought to call my daughter, too,” he said,

giving me a kind of funny look. “You go ahead and

I’ll wait for you.”

“No, you better go get us a booth,” I said. “You

hold it until I’m through, and then I’ll hold it while

you’re talking.”

Well, H–,” he said. “There’s plenty of d–-d

booths.” But he went on back.

I called Kossy at his office but I didn’t get any

answer, and he wasn’t to home either. Finally, I got

him over at U.S. Federal where they was having a

night immigration hearing.

“Dick Yeoman, Mr. Kossmeyer,” I said. “Mr.

Kossmeyer, ain’t you counsel in the Talbert case?”

“Talbert?” he said. “Tal—oh, yeah. Sure, Dick.

They let the kid go.”

“No, they ain’t let him go,” I said. “It don’t look

like they’re going to either, if you know what I

mean. I was going to call you earlier, Mr.

Kossmeyer, but I didn’t have a chance and—”

“S— of a b–h!” he said. “I supposed he was

home in bed. I haven’t had a peep out of his folks.”

“I’ve been doing everything I can for that boy,

Mr. Kossmeyer,” I said. “But frankly that ain’t

very much. It ain’t something I got a lot of control

over, if you follow my meaning.”

“Sure,” he said, quickly. “I appreciate that, Dick.

You— stop by my office tomorrow. Where—”

“Oh, that’s not necessary” I said. “What time, Mr.

Kossmeyer?”

“Any time, any time!” he said. “Where’ve you got

him, Dick?”

“At county, Mr. Clinton’s office,” I said. “But I

kind of got a hunch we’re moving him.”

“J–s!” he said. “You know what the angle is,

Dick, why— Never mind. Where are you burying

him, any idea?”

“I honestly don’t know, Mr.

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