Repeat Performance

The little man knew Ben had been murdered; the trouble was, Ben was still alive! Could the future be wrong—or merely a dress rehearsal?
The pounding at the door woke me up. I groped for the light. It flooded the room, erasing the glow of the afternoon sun through the drapes. The clock said three-thirty.
Come on, Benny! Open up! a gruff voice ordered.
I groaned as I recognized the voice. As I went to the door I hastily reviewed last night's activities. Two wallets on the subway that had netted seventeen bucks, one in an elevator at the Morrison that had added forty-five bucks. An all night crap game near the Wilson El that had nearly cleaned me....
Come in, Calahan, I said cheerfully to the cop. A social visit—I hope?
Calahan grinned mirthlessly at my little joke. I got dressed. An hour later I was shoved into line with a dozen others. We knew what to do. We walked single file onto the stage, then faced a screen. We couldn't see beyond it because it was dark there, and floodlights from the floor and the ceiling blinded us.
That's the man! a woman's voice said excitedly.
My stomach did a flip flop. Who did she mean? Me? I looked at the others in the line-up. Joey North was looking sick. The others just looked uneasy, like I felt. Poor Joey....
On the sidewalk outside the station I lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. I hated the whole system. They take you down in a car. You walk home. If you get out. Suddenly I was sick of Chicago, and when I get sick of Chicago I go somewhere.
Night found me at the counter in a drugstore in Evanston. I was beginning to feel better. I had a newspaper and a cup of coffee in front of me.
I'd read everything else, so I started reading the society stuff. A lot of it was Evanston. A bosom-type matron smirked at me from one of the pictures. Under the picture it said she was Mrs. Sarah Fish, Evanston society leader. I started to read more. Then this little guy came into the drugstore.
A package of Camels, he said to the cashier.