Free Nightfall by David Goodis Page B

room. Pete stood there, near the bed, rubbing his hands and smiling at Vanning. Quiet streamed through the room and became thick in the middle of the room. Finally John looked at Vanning.
      “Hurt much?” John said.
      “Inside of my mouth. Cut up.”
      “Lose any teeth?”
      “I don't know. I don't care.”
      “Let me work on him alone,” Pete said again.
      John looked at Pete and said, “Get the hell out of here.”
      Pete shrugged and walked out of the room and John took a revolver from his shoulder holster and played with it for a while. He sighed a few times, frowned a few times, twisted his face as if he was trying to get a fly off it, and then he stood up and went to the wall and leaned there, looking at Vanning.
      The quiet came back and settled in the center of the room. Vanning collected some blood in his mouth, spat it onto the floor. He took out a handkerchief and dabbed it against his mouth and looked at the blood, bright against white linen. He looked at John, and John was there against the wall, looking back at him, and it went on that way for several minutes, and then the door opened and Sam came in with a glass of water.
      Vanning took the glass, and without looking at it he lifted it to his mouth, sent the water into his mouth, choked on the water, pegged the glass at Sam's face. The glass hit Sam on the side of his face, broke there, and some glass got through Sam's flesh. Sam threw a hand inside his lapel.
      “No,” John said.
      “Yes. Let me.” Sam's eyes were blank.
      “What did you put in the water?” John said.
      “Nothing,” Sam said.
      “Salt,” Vanning said. “Try tasting salt water when your mouth is all cut up.”
      John walked over to Sam, gestured with the revolver, and Sam walked out of the room. John turned and faced Vanning and said, “You see the way it is? They like this. They get a kick out of it. That's what you're up against. Every few minutes they'll get a new idea and they'll want to try it on you.”
      “I feel sorry for myself,” Vanning said, “but I can't do anything about it.”
      “I'll let you in on something,” John said. “If you think I'm enjoying this, you're crazy.”
      “Then why don't you stop it?”
      “The cash.”
      “Suppose you were in my place,” Vanning said. “Suppose you knew you were going to go out the hard way if you didn't talk. Would you talk?”
      “Sure,” John said. “I'm no fool. I'd save myself a lot of grief. Money means a lot to me, but it doesn't mean that much.”
      “Do you think it means that much to me?”
      “I think you're sore, that's all. You're so burned up that it's got the best of you. Either that or you're one of these morons who thinks it's the trend to be brave.”
      “You're way off,” Vanning said. “I'm too mature for the Rover Boy act. I'm too scared to be angry. And I have enough common sense to realize that eventually I'll be dead if I don't tell you where that money is. That's why it's such a rough situation. I don't know where it is and there's no way I can convince you of the fact.”
      John sighed again. He said, “I've been in this game a long time. I was sent up once for seven years. When they let me out I made up my mind to play level. It lasted for a while. I worked for a brewing outfit in Seattle. I met a girl. I don't remember, maybe I was happy. Anyway, my health was good, I had an appetite, I hardly ever took a drink. Then I began to see things. The way so many people let themselves wide open for a smart play. Even the big people. So you can figure out what happened to me. I went back to the old game. Just jockeying around at first. A few gasoline stations, a store now and then. Then a small bank in Spokane. And then a bigger bank in Portland. Finally the