He knew the word would have gone out by now, and the streets would be death traps. But what was he to do? He was short of money, and he thought longingly of the five hundred dollars he had in his room. He dared not go back there to collect the money. His room would be the first place they would go to, and one of them would be waiting for him at this very moment.
He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his trousers pocket and checked them. He had fifteen dollars and a few cents. He hadn’t even a car. The railroad depot would be watched. If only he knew of some place where he could hole up for a few days! Without money he was helpless.
He shifted his mind away from his immediate troubles and thought of Frances. He had gone after her when she had run away from him, but he had quickly lost himself in the maze, and lost her, too. He had run on and on blindly until suddenly he had found himself at the exit. He had had no intention of getting out. He had wanted to kill Moe, but instead he had found himself out among a vast crowd that instantly hemmed him in as they gaped at the arriving police who swarmed up the walls of the maze and spread out, guns in hand.
Pete had heard the shooting, and had stood in the crowd, waiting, sure Moe had killed Frances. It wasn’t until he had seen an ambulance arrive and watched Moe’s dead body loaded on board and had seen Frances carried to a waiting police car that he had thought of his own safety.
He got away from the amusement park as quickly as he could, and knowing how quickly the mob swung into action, he had taken refuge in Sam’s saloon.
The odds were he had only a few hours longer to live. The moment he showed himself on the streets he would be done for. He knew the technique well enough. A fast-moving car would pass him, and he would go down under a hail of bullets.
He lit a cigarette, drank a little of the whisky and wiped his sweating face with the back of his hand. He couldn’t stay in the saloon all day. If only he could find somewhere to hide until darkness came! It was just possible, under the cloak of darkness, he might get out of town, but in broad daylight with this accursed birth-mark to give him away, he wouldn’t last ten minutes before they were on to him.
A shadow fell across the table, and he felt his heart leap in his chest. His right hand remained as if paralysed on the table, although his mind was frantically willing it to flash to his gun. He looked up.
A young girl, corn-coloured hair piled high on top of her head, wearing a red sweater and a white skirt, smiled down at him.
“Hello, bright eyes,” she said, leaning forward, her hands on the table and her breasts heavy against the thin casing of her sweater. “Want a little company?”