“But Wheels said—”
Borglund interrupted Carpenter’s vain protest. “We’re all in a jam,” he said. “Shifter has scrammed. Big Tom’s playing goody-goody. I’m laying low. Wheels is out of it. You get me, don’t you? We’ve been cleaned — and the only way out is to stage a comeback. Wheels can pull it, right here — if he has the chance. I’d take the rap, if they had me. Stick with us!”
Carpenter was contemplative. At last he faced Hooks Borglund with a determined look.
“Listen, Hooks,” he said, in a firm voice. “You saw my wife — just now.”
Hooks nodded.
Herbert Carpenter looked away toward the open window. His eyes roved along the floor, and he saw a long shadow that seemed to be a projection of the outer darkness. It stretched inward, an inky, accusing blotch of black. Carpenter blinked; then, realizing that Hooks Borglund was watching him, he faced the other man.
“A wife and two kids,” he said. “They’re my family — all I’ve got now. I’ll take the rap” — his face became determined — “take it for you fellows — but it’s up to you—”
“I get you,” nodded Hooks reassuringly. “Sure — we’ll look out for the wife and the kids. They can stay right here. All the bills paid. All the money they need. Wheels will come through. I’ll kitty in; so will Big Tom and Shifter. Count on us, old guy! You’re one of us—”
“I’m through, Hooks. This finishes me. But I shot square — and it’s up to you to do the same.”
“We’re with you, old man.”