Odds Against Tomorrow

by William P. McGivern

  “It’s plain enough for Christ’s sake. I could have saved up a few hundred dollars, say, and just plunked it on the table some afternoon. ‘Cut me in for that much,’ I’d have said. And they’d have done it.”

  “Why?”

  “They liked me, I tell you.”

  Ingram shook his head. “You got some funny ideas about the business world. You think smart guys go around saying, ‘Let’s cut this youngster in for a piece, and let’s give a chunk to the happy kid behind the bar.’ It just doesn’t work that way.”

  Ingram’s skepticism angered Earl. “What’s so funny about them guys liking me?”

  “I didn’t mean to joke about it,” Ingram said. “But look: just being around money doesn’t mean anything. Rich folks aren’t giving anything away—anymore than a twenty-year-old kid is going to give some bald old man his nice curly hair.” Ingram leaned forward earnestly. “Look here. Somebody wins a thousand dollars on a number. So all his friends get excited, acting like they won something, too. They get a big kick out of just being close to luck. Then the man gives the money to his wife or pays some debts, and it’s all over—the money’s gone and the people who crowded around it feel they’ve been cheated out of something. That’s what I mean—if you feel lucky-rich because you’re around some money, you’re in for a headache.”

  “But you didn’t know these guys,” Earl said stubbornly.

  “Well, maybe they were different. Maybe they’d have cut you in.”

  “Sure, they would,” Earl said.

  But he realized suddenly and bitterly that the Corley brothers would have smiled and shaken their heads at him.

  “It’s what you do yourself that counts,” Ingram said. “You plan something and you go ahead and do it. That makes you feel good. You can think about it later and get a kick out of it.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Earl said tiredly. “I used to think that in the Army. We were doing something we could remember later. But who in hell remembers?”

  “You do,” Ingram said.

  “It isn’t enough for one guy to remember it,” Earl said. He wasn’t sure of what he meant, but he felt he was getting at something important. “If a lot of guys do a thing together, and only one of them remembers it—well, there’s something wrong with that.”

  “It didn’t mean the same to everybody, that’s all.”

  “That could be it.” Earl nodded slowly, absorbing Ingram’s explanation. “Maybe you’re right.” He lighted a cigarette and flipped the match into the fireplace. “We’re going to have something to remember, Sambo. If we get out of this in one piece, we’re not going to forget it.”

  “Not if we have beards all the way to our knees.”

  “What did you use to do in your spare time, Sambo? I mean, did you go to ball games or what?”

  “I never was much interested in baseball. I slept days and worked nights. Maybe that’s why.”

  “Have you ever been to a ball game?”

  “Oh sure.”

  “And you didn’t like it?” Earl shook his head, exasperated for some reason. “You didn’t see anything pretty in a pickoff play? Or a long throw coming into the plate to cut off a run?”

  “Sure, that’s all interesting.” Sambo’s tone was politely enthusiastic; he didn’t really know or like baseball.

  “Interesting!” Earl said. “That’s like saying Marilyn Monroe is a girl!” He couldn’t understand his irritation and disappointment. “You come with me to a ball game, and I’ll show you what to look for.”

  “Fine,” Ingram said. “But let’s get out of here first.”

  Earl poured himself a little more whisky. Why was he thinking of taking Ingram to a ball game? He couldn’t take him to a restaurant or a bar, that was for sure. But they could sit together and talk at a ball game. Lots of colored people went to the ball parks. They would get bleacher tickets and sit in the sun and drink beer. And they could talk about this thing. What they’d done together was stupid and wrong, okay. But you couldn’t always pick your memories. If you never did anything good or smart, what in Christ’s name were you supposed to think about? You had the right to remember the wrong and stupid things if that’s all you’d ever known. Maybe they were important, anyway. He and Ingram had done something together and they had the right to keep it alive.

  “We’ll go to a ball game,” he said, nodding at him. “Don’t forget it.”

  “After we get out of here, okay.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I got a hunch our luck is changing.” Earl smiled and took a pull on his drink. “That’s your influence. You know what they say about colored folks. Changing luck, I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Ingram said slowly.

  “It’s just an expression. I didn’t mean anything.”

  “That’s all right.” Ingram shrugged and smiled; Earl’s apology made him hot and cold all over, grateful but uneasy at the same time. “Do you feel up to eating? I put some soup on while you were asleep. That’s my real hobby. Cooking.”

  “No kidding?”

  “It’s a fact. I was the oldest boy, so I ran the house while my mother worked out. I got pretty good at it.”

  “Where was the old man?”

  “He took off when we were kids. There wasn’t any work. I guess it was all he could do.”

  “He could of stuck around,” Earl said. “But it’s six of one, half a dozen of the other. My old man stuck around, and I wished to God he hadn’t.”

  “Well, things turned out okay for us. We kept out of trouble. And after my brothers were married I set the old lady up in a nice apartment. I used to come over weekends and cook for her.” Ingram stood up and rubbed his chest with the palms of his hands. “This is the coldest place I’ve ever been in.”

  “You ought to take some whisky, I’m telling you.”

  “It just doesn’t set right with me. I’ll get your soup. It’s canned, but it smells good. Chicken and rice. You like that?”

  “Sounds fine.”

  When Ingram left, Earl settled himself cautiously back on the couch and lighted another cigarette. Dawn was pressing against the windows, but the trees bordering the fence line were almost lost in the heavy rolling mists. The ground was black and wet, and he could hear a lonely wind sweeping over the fields and veering away from the old stone walls of the house. Lorraine was still sleeping quietly. Earl felt the warmth of the whisky dulling the pain in his shoulder and lighting all of his thoughts with a glow of hope. They would have to leave in a few hours, of course, trusting themselves to the coldness and the night, and to the lonely, hostile roads. But now they were safe; the fog and rain were like friends hiding them from the police. Ingram was right; tonight they’d have a good chance. He felt a curious, tentative respect for Ingram. The man was smart, no doubt of that. He had been right about the Corley brothers. But Earl didn’t mind being wrong. What difference did it make?

  Ingram returned in a few minutes with a bowl of soup, and placed it on the table beside the sofa. “You get this inside you and you’ll feel a lot better.”

  “You better try some yourself,” Earl said.

  “I don’t feel hungry yet. I’m going upstairs and keep an eye on the road. If anybody comes poking around back here we want to know about it.”

  “You better take my overcoat. You’ll freeze.”

  “All right, thanks.”

  Earl patted the portable radio. “I’ll check the news. Maybe Russia declared war or something, and they’ve forgotten all about us.”

  “Well, our draft boards would be after us then,” Ingram said. “We just can’t win for losing, man.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  WHEN HE finished the soup Earl snapped on the radio. Music filtered through the static with a distant, unreal sound, and Lorraine stirred restlessly in her sleep. Earl cut the volume down but her eyes opened and she sat up glancing alertly about the room.

  “It’s all right, Lory. It’s just the radio. Try to get back to sleep.”
/>   She was still looking about the room. “Where is he?” she said quietly. This ability of hers to recover instantly from sleep always surprised him; she came awake with a clear head and clear eyes, her senses quick and responsive. No snuggling under the blankets or mumbled questions—like a machine when the switch was thrown, she began to hum immediately.

  “Where is he?” she said again, pushing the comforter aside.

  “Sambo? Upstairs keeping an eye on the road.”

  “Why didn’t he wake us?”

  “It’s too light. We’ve got to wait until it’s darker to travel.”

  Lorraine smoothed her long black hair and stepped into her pumps, wincing a little at the touch of the stiff leather against her feet.

  “He made me some soup,” Earl said. “There might be some left in the kitchen. That’ll warm you up.”

  “We’re going to spend the day here?”

  “There’s nothing to worry about. Ingram thinks we’ve got a good chance.”

  She studied the marks of pain in his face with appraising eyes, as if they were factors in an equation she was pondering thoughtfully and privately; the suggestion of compassion in her mouth was a truant reflex eluding her tightly disciplined emotions. “How do you feel?” she asked him. “How far do you think you could travel without resting?”

  “I’m okay. Once we start you won’t have to stop for me.”

  She sat down beside him and lighted a cigarette, her expression composed and thoughtful. The radio music bounced brightly around the cold room, as empty and pointless as an idiot’s laughter.

  “How about that soup, Lory?”

  “Not just now.”

  “You’re quite a girl.” Something in her silence and manner made him uneasy; she seemed miles from him, absorbed in her own thoughts. He rubbed her thin flat shoulder blades with the palm of his hand. “No tears, no yelling—most women would go up like skyrockets in a spot like this.”

  “This is the easy part. The tough part is ahead. Don’t you realize that?”

  “Sure, but we’ve got a good chance. Ingram in the trunk of the car, you and me up front. Why should they stop us?”

  “That’s how he figured it out?”

  “What other way is there?”

  “That’s what I’ve been thinking about,” she said. “You’d better think about it, too.”

  “I don’t understand you, Lory.”

  “Just think, that’s all. About me. About you. Nobody else. Do you understand?”

  Earl felt a tiny, unnatural chill go through him. “We can’t dump Sambo,” he said. “We can’t, honey.”

  “Even if it’s his safety or ours? His life or ours?”

  “But it’s not like that.” He tried to smile. “There’s no point talking about ‘ifs.’ We’re in this together.”

  “I’m in it with you. Nobody else.” She tightened her fingers in the sleeve of his jacket, watching him with eyes that looked as hard and cold as marbles. “I threw away everything to come here,” she said. “I stood in our apartment tonight and said good-by to it. The furniture I bought, the refrigerator, the television set, the Venetian blinds, my job at the store, the bonus I was getting next month—that’s all gone. I threw it away, do you hear me? I gave all of that up for you. Not for some colored man I never saw before in my life.”

  “I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

  “But you did—you did drag me into it,” she said softly. “It’s no good saying you didn’t want to. You played on the fact that I love you.”

  “I didn’t want you to come here,” Earl said with weary, restless anger. “I wasn’t even thinking of that—all I wanted was a car.”

  “But you knew I’d come. You couldn’t have lived with me and not known that. You’ve got to think of me first now—you owe me that, Earl. I begged you not to do this thing, you can’t deny it. I’ll go to jail if we’re caught. Haven’t you thought of that?”

  “Honey, I can’t think—I’m just living from minute to minute. But you come first, I swear it.”

  “I’ve made plans,” she said, speaking in a low, tense voice. “We’ll go to California, traveling by night and sleeping days. We can go into Mexico without passports. My driver’s license is enough. I can get a job there. A friend of mine works in a big department store in Mexico City. She’s asked me to come down a dozen times. They’re desperate for people who know bookkeeping and American techniques. I’ve shown you the letters from Marge Lederer. You remember, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sure,” he said vaguely.

  “We can get identity cards, live in Mexico as long as we want. We’ll have everything we’ve lost—a home, a life together, all the things we want.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said tiredly. “It sounds great. I’m lucky you’re doing the thinking. But we don’t have to worry about Ingram. The cops don’t even want him. He’s in the clear.”

  “The doctor may notify the police. You know that.”

  “Well, maybe he won’t. Ingram saved the guy’s life, practically. The doctor may give him a break.”

  “You’re talking like a fool. A stubborn fool.”

  “Stop riding me, Lory. He dragged me out of the gutter and got me here. He kidnaped a doctor to patch me up—those are things you got to remember.”

  “Remember it then,” she said in a sharp, rising voice. “I’ll remember I was safe and free last night—and that now I’m going to jail.”

  “Lory, you’re stewing about things that haven’t happened,” he said. “You think we’ve got to rat out on Ingram to save our skins, but that isn’t true. He’s in better shape than we are, if you want to know. We might need him to—”

  The music faded and an announcer’s voice said crisply, “Good morning, everyone, Derby O’Neill with a bit of cheerful breakfast music, and of course your morning news. We have a bulletin from the State Police in connection with the attempted holdup of the National Bank in Crossroads. In the confusion it wasn’t established until early this morning that…”

  Lorraine quickly twisted down the volume until the announcer’s voice became tiny and distant, blurring out and merging with the cracklings of static.

  “Hey, what’s the idea!” Earl said.

  “Keep still!” Lorraine glanced at the ceiling, then leaned forward and put her ear close to the radio.

  “…the third bandit has been identified as John Ingram, a Negro in his middle thirties. Ingram, who gained access to the bank in a waiter’s uniform, was mistaken by employees for the regular delivery boy. It is further reported that Doctor Walter Taylor of Avondale was taken at gun point, along with his sixteen-year-old daughter Carol to perform an emergency operation on the man wounded in the holdup. There are no details on this report just now, but it is known that both Doctor Taylor and his daughter have been questioned at length by agents of the FBI. It’s a big story, and we’ll have details for you as soon as they come off the wire. Meanwhile, let’s return to the music—”

  Lorraine snapped off the radio and stared at Earl in the sudden silence, her features pale and expressionless. “Do you suppose he could hear that?”

  “Sambo, you mean? Don’t worry about him. You wouldn’t think it, but he’s got guts.”

  “You fool. Don’t you understand?”

  “Understand what?”

  “The police want him now. Not only for the bank but for kidnaping. You heard. The FBI is here! They execute everyone connected with a kidnaping!”

  “Sambo took the guy back home,” Earl said anxiously. “We didn’t hold him for ransom or anything, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Earl, listen to me.” Lorraine took his face in her hands, forced him to meet her eyes. “We can’t tell him about this broadcast. Do you understand?” She was fighting to control her voice, speaking with the desperate clarity of a mother giving life-and-death instructions to a helplessly trapped child. “We must get away from him. The police are searching for a black man and a white man—we’ve got to leave him. We
couldn’t go into a restaurant or a hotel or a drugstore with him. Even stopping for gas would be dangerous. We’d be stared at, talked about, questioned. People would remember a colored man traveling with a white couple. Don’t you understand that?”

  “But there’s just one car. You expect him to make it on foot?”

  “I don’t care, I don’t care. Just so we’re rid of him.”

  “You can’t expect him to buy that deal.” Lorraine shook him roughly. “Will you listen? He will if he doesn’t know about that broadcast—if he thinks he’s still in the clear.”

  “Good God, we can’t do that! The cops want him. We got to tell him that much for his own protection.”

  “If you do he’ll stick to us like a plaster,” she said in a vicious whisper. “Tell him you heard the broadcast. Tell him the police aren’t looking for him—just you. Don’t say anything about the doctor. Maybe he’ll think the doctor gave him a break. You said the doctor might—you said that yourself.”

  “You think he’ll believe me? He’s no fool, Lory.”

  “You’ve got to make him believe it. Darling, darling, how can I get this into your head? We’re not taking the easy way out. There is no easy way. For him or us. If he travels with us we’ll be caught—all of us. Maybe he can make it on his own, get to his own people and find someone to help him. And maybe we can reach Mexico. We have a chance. But if we stick together, there’s no hope at all.”

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Earl said slowly. He rubbed his hand up and down his leg, trying to force some heat into his body. “I hadn’t thought of that, Lory.”

  With a movement that caught him completely by surprise, she stood and picked up the radio. “Tell him he’s still in the clear. Tell him he can go on alone.” She raised the radio high above her head, then let it drop to the iron-hard floor.

  The plastic case cracked with a sound like splintering ice, and shining screws spun around his feet in giddy little circles.

  “You tell him he’s safe,” she said. “Tell him you heard that just before I stumbled against the table and knocked over the radio. Do you understand?”