The Postman Always Rings Twice
that, and as soon as she had slid out on the running board, shot the car over."
          "That don't prove it."
          "Yes it does. The witness Wright says that the car was rolling over and over, down the gully, when he came around the bend, _but the woman was up on the road, waving to him for help!_"
          "Maybe she jumped."
          "If she jumped, it's funny she took her handbag with her, isn't it? Chambers, can a woman drive with a handbag in her hand? When she jumps, has she got time to pick it up? Chambers, it can't be done. It's impossible to jump from a sedan car that's turning over into a gully. She wasn't in the car when it went over! That proves it, doesn't it?"
          "I don't know."
          "What do you mean you don't know? Are you going to sign that complaint or not?"
          "No."
          "Listen, Chambers, it was no accident that car went over a second too soon. It was you or her, and she didn't mean it would be you."
          "Let me alone. I don't know what you're talking about."
          "Boy, it's still you or her. If you didn't have anything to do with this, you better sign this thing. Because if you don't, then I'll know. And so will the jury. And so will the judge. And so will the guy that springs the trap."
          He looked at me a minute, then went out, and came back with another guy. The guy sat down and made out a form with a fountain pen. Sackett brought it over to me. "Right here, Chambers."
          I signed. There was so much sweat on my hand the guy had to blot it off the paper.
     
     
    CHAPTER 10
     
          After he went, the cop came back and mumbled something about a blackjack. We played a few rounds, but I couldn't get my mind on it. I made out it got on my nerves to deal with one hand, and quit.
          "He kind of got to you, hey?"
          "Little bit."
          "He's tough, he is. He gets to them all. He looks like a preacher, all full of love for the human race, but he's got a heart like a stone."
          "Stone is right."
          "Only one guy in this town has got it on him."
          "Yeah?"
          "Guy named Katz. You've heard of him."
          "Sure, I heard of him."
          "Friend of mine."
          "It's the kind of a friend to have."
          "Say. You ain't supposed to have no lawyer yet. You ain't been arraigned, and you can't send for nobody. They can hold you forty-eight hours incommunicado, they call it. But if he shows up here, I got to let him see you, you get it? He might show up here, if I happened to be talking to him."
          "You mean you get a cut."
          "I mean he's a friend of mine. Well, if he didn't give me no cut, he wouldn't be no friend, would he? He's a great guy. He's the only one in this town can throw the headlock on Sackett."
          "You're on, kid. And the sooner the better."
          "I'll be back."
          He went out for a little while, and when he came back he gave me a wink. And pretty soon, sure enough, there came a knock on the door, and in came Katz. He was a little guy, about forty years old, with a leathery face and a black moustache, and the first thing he did when he came in was take out a bag of Bull Durham smoking tobacco and a pack of brown papers and roll himself a cigarette. When he lit it, it burned halfway up one side, and that was the last he did about it. It just hung there, out the side of his mouth, and if it was lit or out, or whether he was asleep or awake, I never found out. He just sat there, with his eyes half shut and one leg hung over the arm of the chair, and his hat on the back of his head, and that was all. You might think that was a poor sight to see, for a guy in my spot, but it wasn't. He might be asleep, but even asleep he looked like he knew more than most guys awake, and a kind of a lump came up in my throat. It was like the sweet chariot had swung low and was going to pick me up.
          The

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