Paul Madvig’s mother was a tall gaunt woman whose blondness had been faded not quite white by her seventy-some years. Her eyes were as blue and clear and young as her son’s–younger than her son’s when she looked up at Ned Beaumont entering the room. She deepened the lines in her forehead, however, and said: “So here you are at last. You’re a worthless boy to neglect an old woman like this.”
Ned Beaumont grinned impudently at her and said: “Aw, Mom, I’m a big boy now and I’ve got my work to look after.” He flirted a hand at Madvig. “‘Lo, Paul.”
Madvig said: “Sit down and June’11 scrape you up something to eat.”
Ned Beaumont was bending to kiss the scrawny hand Mrs. Madvig had held out to him, She jerked it away and scolded him: “Wherever do you learn such tricks?”
“I told you I was getting to be a big boy now.” He addressed Madvig: “Thanks, I’m only a few minutes past breakfast.” He looked at the vacant chair. “Where’s Opal?”
Mrs. Madvig replied: “She’s laying down. She’s not feeling good.”
Ned Beaumont nodded, waited a moment, and asked politely: “Nothing serious?” He was looking at Madvig.
Madvig shook his head. “Headache or something. I think the kid dances too much.”
Mrs. Madvig said: “You certainly are a fine father not to know when your daughter has headaches.”
Skin crinkled around Madvig’s eyes. “Now, Mom, don’t be indecent,” he said and turned to Ned Beaumont. “What’s the good word?”
Ned Beaumont went around Mrs. Madvig to the vacant chair. He sat down and said: “Bernie Despain blew town last night with my winnings on Peggy O’Toole.”
The blond man opened his eyes.
Ned Beaumont said: “He left behind him twelve hundred dollars’ worth of Taylor Henry’s I 0 Us.”
The blond man’s eyes jerked narrow.
Ned Beaumont said: “Lee says he called Taylor Friday and gave him three days to make good.”
Madvig touched his chin with the back of a hand. “Who’s Lee?”
“Bernie’s girl.”
“Oh.” Then, when Ned Beaumont said nothing, Madvig asked: “What’d he say he was going to do about it if Taylor didn’t come across?”
“I didn’t hear.” Ned Beaumont put a forearm on the table and leaned over it towards the blond man. “Have me made a deputy sheriff or something, Paul.”
“For Christ’s sake!” Madvig exclaimed, blinking. “What do you want anything like that for?”
“It’ll make it easier for me. I’m going after this guy and having a buzzer may keep me from getting in a jam.”
Madvig looked through worried eyes at the younger man. “What’s got you all steamed up?” he asked slowly.
“Thirty-two hundred and fifty dollars.”
“That’s all right,” Madvig said, still speaking slowly, “but something was itching you last night before you knew you’d been welshed on.”
Ned Beaumont moved an impatient arm. “Do you expect me to stumble over corpses without batting an eye?” he asked. “But forget that. That doesn’t count now. This does. I’ve got to get this guy. I’ve got to.” His face was pale, set hard, and his voice was desperately earnest. “Listen, Paul: it’s not only the money, though thirty-two hundred is a lot, but it would be the same if it was five bucks. I go two months without winning a bet and that gets me down. What good am I if my luck’s gone? Then I cop, or think I do, and I’m all right again. I can take my tail out from between my legs and feel that I’m a person again and not just something that’s being kicked around. The money’s important enough, but it’s not the real thing. It’s what losing and losing and losing does to me. Can you get that? It’s getting me licked. And then, when I think I’ve worn out the jinx, this guy takes a Mickey Finn on me. I can’t stand for it. If I stand for it I’m licked, my nerve’s gone. I’m not going to stand for it. I’m going after him. I’m going regardless, but you can smooth the way a lot by fixing me up.”
Madvig put out a big open hand and roughly pushed Ned Beaumont’s drawn face. “Oh, hell, Ned!” he said, “sure I’ll fix you up. The only thing is I don’t like you getting mixed up in things, but–hell!–if it’s like that–I guess the best shot would be to make you a special investigator in the District Attorney’s office. That way you’ll be under Farr and he won’t be poking his nose in.”