Part 2 (1/2)

In the car Morlock worried aloud. ”Suppose it got back to the college,” he said. ”I don't think Dean Gorham would stand for it.”

Dodson's somewhat pathetic bad-boyishness was increasing in direct ratio to their distance from Ludlow. ”Stand for what?” he snorted. ”We're just going to take a room in a hotel and go out for a good time. Even a teacher is ent.i.tled to a vacation.”

Morlock said uncertainly, ”It isn't just that. I mean if we got into any trouble. With the hotel, for instance.”

Dodson whooped delightedly and slapped Morlock's thigh. ”h.e.l.l,” he laughed, ”We're not staying at the Biltmore. The hotel we're going to doesn't care if you bring women up to your room. By G.o.d, if you haven't got one of your own they'll get one for you!”

Providence was twelve miles over the state line from Ludlow. Dodson drove the distance, not without skill, in less than half an hour and parked the old car in a public garage. ”We'll leave it,” he said, winking at Morlock. ”I don't want to be able to drive tonight. We'll use, cabs.”

The hotel to which he led Morlock was on a side street, a red brick building with bars on either side. The lobby smelled of antiseptic. It was, Morlock admitted, clean enough. Dodson said as they entered, ”Wait here, Al. I'll register for both of us. What will we get--two adjoining singles?”

Morlock agreed and watched Dodson head for the desk, extending his hand in greeting to the desk clerk like an old and valued customer. He failed to note any similar reaction on the part of the desk clerk who appeared more bored than enthusiastic. Dodson, he supposed, could not help--what was the expression?--making a production out of his simplest act. He wondered what whimsical destiny had made Dodson a teacher rather than a salesman, say, or a bartender.

Dodson returned, waving two keys triumphantly. ”All set,” he said happily. He glanced at Morlock's suitcase. ”Want me to get a bellhop?”

Morlock had seen no attendant in the lobby. He declined, and the two men rode the elevator to the third floor.

They ate in a small Italian restaurant on Federal Hill. ”You'll see what genuine Italian cooking is like,” Dodson had shouted, managing to convey contempt for all other cuisines. Actually the restaurant was dirty and smelly; the spaghetti flaccid and overcooked, its shortcomings poorly disguised with red, garlic-heavy sauce. Dodson ordered a bottle of Chianti with the meal. He seemed to enjoy playing the host, the worldly gourmet. He ate hungrily. Morlock ate little. He was amused by Dodson's a.s.sumption of the role of host, which seemed a little ridiculous since they had carefully agreed in the hotel room to share all costs evenly. Still, Morlock was gradually awakening to the promise of the evening.

They sought a bar after Dodson had tried to order cafe Espresso from the waitress who had never heard of it and who looked at Dodson as if she thought he were a little crazy.

The bar they found was one of twenty in an area of a few blocks. It outdid its neighbors in the matter of neon and there was a canvas canopy leading from the sidewalk to what was designated a Ladies Entrance. Dodson said confidently, ”In here, Al. I'll do the talking. You should have seen the chick I met here last time!”

Dodson, Morlock supposed, had a hundred expressions which could be defined as meaning women in various states of willingness and availability. ”Chick,” was no more irritating than ”stuff” or ”bag.” All three made him uncomfortable, affecting him in much the same manner as the advertis.e.m.e.nts for soup and cake mix and soda pop that made a fetish out of leaving the a and d out of the conjunction and in the unshakable conviction that this indicated the unqualified approval * of the children who were supposed to speak in such a manner. b.u.t.ter' n eggs! Chicks 'n stuff! He laughed at the thought, told himself not to be a stuffy d.a.m.n fool and followed Dodson into the bar entrance.

They stepped down into a low-ceilinged room with a stamped tin ceiling. The place featured low lights--the brightest glow in the room came from a pin ball machine that stood in a far corner. The bar itself took up half of one wall and was interrupted by a set of three stairs leading upward toward the dance floor which had its own bar.

Dodson led the way to the bar in the low room, asking generously, ”What will you have, Al?” which was unnecessary. They had already agreed to drink draught beer. (”Until we get a chance to look around and see what's loose,” Dodson had said.) Morlock, looking around him, saw half a dozen men seated on the high stools that lined the bar. They seemed friendly enough, as one or two nodded; but there was a withdrawal common to such occasions. The men at the bar were regulars or they had established their worth by having been in the place for an hour or more and having spent an appropriate amount of money. Morlock and Dodson were new and therefore strangers.

The bartender served their gla.s.ses. Dodson drank his quickly and noisily. Morlock could feel the Chianti warming his stomach. He told himself again not to be stuffy and drank his beer. They ordered more and Dodson, who was speaking louder, began a conversation with the man next to him. He dragged Morlock into the discussion. ”This is a friend of mine,” he said pompously. ”A professor. Al, this is--what did you say your name was?”

The man said, ”Snapper,” and signaled for drinks. ”Glad to know you, Professor.”

Morlock could feel his own natural reserve melting, dissolving in a tide of beer. He protested--it was not more than a token protest--that he was not really a professor but managed to leave the implication that he could be if he wanted to. And he signaled for a round himself, knowing that he was on the verge of drunkenness. The man who called himself Snapper was of his own age, with thinning light hair and a scar running from his cheekbone to the point of his jaw. He fingered the scar continually.

”Got this in an accident a month ago,” he explained. ”We were going down to Attleboro at two o'clock in the morning drunk as a hoot owl. I just got my car back yesterday.”

In the s.p.a.ce of two hours Snapper became their friend. Dodson proclaimed this with great and solemn conviction. Morlock, in a golden haze himself, recognized that Dodson was quite drunk and forgave him for it in the same moment. A rare tolerance had come upon him, and he did not resent Dodson even when he loudly explained to Snapper that they were footloose and anxious for company.

Snapper--he was drinking whisky instead of beer by this time--nodded his head wisely. ”You came to the right place,” he congratulated them. ”In half an hour or so when the band comes in there'll be so many in there you'll have to beat them off with a club.”

They waited for the band to arrive. The waiting reminded Morlock of other days, high school dances, the few others he had been able to go to when the youths would hang around outside the auditorium waiting for the music to start and pretending to be tremendously bored with it all and all the time yearning for the pretty girls inside the building. When the music started in the next room he and Dodson hung back for another drink so that Snapper would not think them eager. Except that now it was no longer simply a matter of pretty girls....

Prosecution Attorney Gurney: Your name is Gino Fangio?

Fangio: It is.

Gurney: You are known as Snapper, are you not?

Fangio: They call me that sometimes.

Gurney: When did you first meet the accused?

Fangio: Sometime before Christmas.

Gurney: I'll refresh your memory. It was December 22, Thursday, wasn't it?

Fangio: I guess so, if you say so.

Gurney: In a barroom?

Fangio: Yes.

Gurney: Was he drunk at the time?

Liebman: Objection.

Cameron: Sustained.

Gurney: Was he drinking at the time you met him?

Fangio: A few, I guess. He and that other guy were out for a good time. n.o.body was going to get hurt.

Gurney: Were you with Morlock for the rest of the evening?

Fangio: Well, about that time, he and the other guy-- Gurney: Mr. Dodson.

Fangio: Yeah, Dodson. He and Morlock went into the dance hall. I stayed out at the bar.

Gurney: Did they state their purpose in going into the dance hall?

Fangio: They wanted women. Dodson was-- Liebman: Your Honor, that is speculative.

Cameron: The last statement will be stricken. Do you wish to take an exception, Mr. Gurney?

Gurney: No, Your Honor. Snapper--Mr. Fangio--you stated that you stayed at the bar. Isn't it true that if you wished to meet an unescorted woman you would have gone with them into the dance hall?

Fangio: Yes.

Gurney:. Women frequented the place?

Fangio: A lot of them came there.

Gurney: Without escorts?

Fangio: A lot of them came stag.

Gurney: In other words, it was a good place for a man to meet a woman without the usual conventions. Did you tell the accused that it was such a place?