There was a knock on the door accompanied by the booming voice of Jim Wilson. "You in there! Ready for breakfast?"
Frank got up and walked toward the door. As he did so, the door to the bathroom closed.
Jim Wilson wore a two-day growth of beard and it didn't seem to bother him at all. As he entered the room he rubbed his hands together in great gusto. "Well, where'll we eat, folks? Let's pick the classiest restaurant in town. Nothing but the best for Minna here."
He winked broadly as Minna, expressionless and silent, followed him in exactly as a shadow would have followed him and sat primly down in a straight-backed chair by the wall.
"We'd better start moving south," Frank said, "and not bother about breakfast."
"Getting scared?" Jim Wilson asked.
"You're damn right I'm scared—now. We're right in the middle of a big no-man's-land."
"I don't get you."
At that moment the bathroom door opened and Nora came out. Jim Wilson forgot about the question he'd asked. He let forth a loud whistle of appreciation. Then he turned his eyes on Frank and his thought was crystal clear. He was envying Frank the night just passed.
A sudden irritation welled up in Frank Brooks, a distinct feeling of disgust. "Let's start worrying about important things—our lives. Or don't you consider your life very important?"
Jim Wilson seemed puzzled. "What the hell's got into you? Didn't you sleep good?"
"I went down the block this morning and found some teletype machines. I've just been reading the reports."
"What about that guy that tried to get into your room last night?"
"I didn't see him. I didn't see anybody. But I know why the city's been cleaned out." Frank went back to the window and picked up the sheaf on clips he had gone through. Jim Wilson sat down on the edge of the bed, frowning. Nora followed Frank and perched on the edge of the chair he dropped into.
"The city going to blow up?" Wilson asked.
"No. We've been invaded by some form of alien life."
"Is that what the papers said?"
"It was the biggest and fastest mass evacuation ever attempted. I pieced the reports together. There was hell popping around here during the two days we—we waited it out."
"Where did they all go?" Nora asked.
"South. They've evacuated a forty-mile strip from the lake west. The first Terran defense line is set up in northern Indiana."
"What do you mean—Terra."
"It's a word that means Earth—this planet. The invaders came from some other planet, they think—at least from no place on Earth."
"That's the silliest damn thing I ever heard of," Wilson said.
"A lot of people probably thought the same thing," Frank replied. "Flying saucers were pretty common. Nobody thought they were anything and nobody paid much attention. Then they hit—three days ago—and wiped out every living soul in three little southern Michigan towns. From there they began spreading out. They—"
Each of them heard the sound at the same time. A faint rumble, increasing swiftly into high thunder. They moved as one to the window and saw four jet planes, in formation, moving across the sky from the south.
"There they come," Frank said. "The fight's started. Up to now the army has been trying to get set, I suppose."
Nora said, "Is there any way we can hail them? Let them know—"
Her words were cut off by the horror of what happened. As they watched, the plane skimmed low across the Loop. At a point, approximately over Lake Street, Frank estimated, the planes were annihilated. There was a flash of blue fire coming in like jagged lightning to form four balls of fire around the planes. The fire balls turned, almost instantly, into globes of white smoke that drifted lazily away.
And that was all. But the planes vanished completely.
"What happened?" Wilson muttered. "Where'd they go?"
"It was as if they hit a wall," Nora said, her voice hushed with awe.
"I think that was what happened," Frank said. "The invaders have some kind of a weapon that holds us helpless. Otherwise the army wouldn't have established this no-man's-land and pulled out. The reports said we have them surrounded on all sides with the help of the lake. We're trying to keep them isolated."
Jim Wilson snorted. "It looks like we've got them right where they want us."
"Anyhow, we're damn fools to stick around here. We'd better head south."
Wilson looked wistfully about the room. "I guess so, but it's a shame—walking away from all this."
Nora was staring out the window, a small frown on her face. "I wonder who they are and where they came from?"
"The teletype releases were pretty vague on that."
She turned quickly. "There's something peculiar about them. Something really strange."
"What do you mean?"
"Last night when we were walking up the street. It must have been these invaders we heard. They must have been across the street. But they didn't act like invaders. They seemed—well, scared. I got the feeling they ran from us in panic. And they haven't been back."
Wilson said, "They may not have been there at all. Probably our imaginations."
"I don't think so," Frank cut in. "They were there and then they were gone. I'm sure of it."
"Those wailing noises. They were certainly signalling to each other. Do you suppose that's the only language they have?" Nora walked over and offered the silent Minna a cigarette. Minna refused with a shake of her head.
"I wish we knew what they looked like," Frank said. "But let's not sit here talking. Let's get going."
Jim Wilson was scowling. There was a marked sullenness in his manner. "Not Minna and me. I've changed my mind. I'm sticking here."
Frank blinked in surprise. "Are you crazy? We've run our luck out already. Did you see what happened to those planes?"
"The hell with the planes. We've got it good here. This I like. I like it a lot. We'll stay."
"Okay," Frank replied hotly, "but talk for yourself. You're not making Minna stay!"
Wilson's eyes narrowed. "I'm not? Look, buster—how about minding your own goddam business?"
The vague feelings of disgust Frank had had now crystallized into words. "I won't let you get away with it! You think I'm blind? Hauling her into the back room every ten minutes! Don't you think I know why? You're nothing but a damn sex maniac! You've got her terrorized until she's afraid to open her mouth. She goes with us!"
Jim Wilson was on his feet. His face blazed with rage. The urge to kill was written in the crouch of his body and the twist of his mouth. "You goddam nosey little squirt. I'll—"
Wilson charged across the short, intervening distance. His arms went out in a clutching motion.
But Frank Brooks wasn't full of knockout drops this time, and with a clear head he was no pushover. Blinded with rage, Jim Wilson was a pushover. Frank stepped in between his outstretched arms and slugged him squarely on top of the head with the telephone. Wilson went down like a felled steer.
The scream came from Minna as she sprang across the room. She had turned from a colorless rag doll into a tigress. She hit Frank square in the belly with small fists at the end of stiff, outstretched arms. The full force of her charge was behind the fists, and Frank went backward over the bed.
Minna did not follow up her attack. She dropped to the floor beside Jim Wilson and took his huge head in her lap. "You killed him," she sobbed. "You—you murderer! You killed him! You had no right!"
Frank sat wide-eyed. "Minna! For God's sake! I was helping you. I did it for you!"
"Why don't you mind your business? I didn't ask you to protect me? I don't need any protection—not from Jim."
"You mean you didn't mind the way he's treated you—"
"You've killed him—killed him—" Minna raised her head slowly. She looked at Frank as though she saw him for the first time. "You're a fool" she said dully. "A big fool. What right have you got to meddle with other people's affairs? Are you God or something, to run people's lives?"
"Minna—I—"
It was as though he hadn't spoken. "Do you know what it's like to have nobody? All your life to go on and grow older without anybody? I didn't have no one and then Jim came along and wanted me."
Frank walked close to her and bent down. She reacted like a tiger. "Leave him alone! Leave him alone! You've done enough!"
Nonplused, Frank backed away.
"People with big noses—always sticking them in. That's you. Was that any of your business what he wanted of me? Did I complain?"
"I'm sorry, Minna. I didn't know."
"I'd rather go into back rooms with him than stay in front rooms without nobody."
She began to cry now. Wordlessly—soundlessly, rocking back and forth with the huge man's bloody head in her lap. "Anytime," she crooned. "Anytime I would—"
The body in her arms stirred. She looked down through her tears and saw the small black eyes open. They were slightly crossed, unfocused as they were by the force of the blow. They straightened and Jim mumbled, "What the hell—what the hell—"
Minna's time for talking seemed over. She smiled—a smile hardly perceptible, as though it was for herself alone. "You're all right," she said. "That's good. You're all right."
Jim pushed her roughly away and staggered to his feet. He stood swaying for a moment, his head turning; for all the world like a bull blinded and tormented. Then his eyes focused on Frank.
"You hit me with the goddam phone."
"Yeah—I hit you."
"I'm gonna kill you."
"Look—I made a mistake." Frank picked up the phone and backed against the wall. "I hit you, but you were coming at me. I made a mistake and I'm sorry."
"I'll smash your goddam skull."
"Maybe you will," Frank said grimly. "But you'll work for it. It won't come easy."
A new voice bit across the room. "Cut it out. I'll do the killing. That's what I like best. Everybody quiet down."
They turned and saw a slim, pale-skinned young man in the open doorway. The door had opened quietly and no one had heard it. Now the pale young man was standing in the room with a small, nickle-plated revolver in his right hand.
The left hand was close down at his side. It was swathed generously in white bandage.
The young man chuckled. "The last four people in the world were in a room," he said, "and there was a knock on the door."
His chuckle deepened to one of pure merriment. "Only there wasn't a knock. A man just walked in with a gun that made him boss."
No one moved. No one spoke. The man waited, then went on: "My name is Leroy Davis. I lived out west and I always had a keeper because they said I wasn't quite right. They wanted me to pull out with the rest of them, but I slugged my keeper and here I am."
"Put down the gun and we'll talk it over," Frank said. "We're all in this together."
"No, we aren't. I've got a gun, so that makes me top man. You're all in it together, but I'm not. I'm the boss, and which one of you tried to cut my hand off last night."
"You tried to break in here yelling and screaming like a madman. I held the door. What else could I do?"
"It's all right. I'm not mad. My type—we may be nuts, but we never hold a grudge. I can't remember much about last night. I found some whisky in a place down the street and whisky drives me nuts. I don't know what I'm doing when I drink whisky. They say once about five years ago I got drunk and killed a little kid, but I don't remember."
Nobody spoke.
"I got out of it. They got me out some way. High priced lawyers got me out. Cost my dad a pile."
Hysteria had been piling up inside of Nora. She had held it back, but now a little of it spurted out from between her set teeth. "Do something, somebody. Isn't anybody going to do anything?"
Leroy Davis blinked at her. "There's nothing they can do, honey," he said in a kindly voice. "I've got the gun. They'd be crazy to try anything."
Nora's laugh was like the rattle of dry peas. She sat down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling and laughed. "It's crazy. It's all so crazy! We're sitting here in a doomed city with some kind of alien invaders all around us and we don't know what they look like. They haven't hurt us at all. We don't even know what they look like. We don't worry a bit about them because we're too busy trying to kill each other."
Frank Brooks took Nora by the arm. "Stop it! Quit laughing like that!"
Nora shook him off. "Maybe we need someone to take us over. It's all pretty crazy!"
"Stop it."
Nora's eyes dulled down as she looked at Frank. She dropped her head and seemed a little ashamed of herself. "I'm sorry. I'll be quiet."
Jim Wilson had been standing by the wall looking first at the newcomer, then back at Frank Brooks. Wilson seemed confused as to who his true enemy really was. Finally he took a step toward Leroy Davis.
Frank Brooks stopped him with a motion, but kept his eyes on Davis. "Have you seen anybody else?"
Davis regarded Frank with long, careful consideration. His eyes were bright and birdlike. They reminded Frank of a squirrel's eyes. Davis said, "I bumped into an old man out on Halstead Street. He wanted to know where everybody had gone. He asked me, but I didn't know."
"What happened to the old man?" Nora asked. She asked the question as though dreading to do it; but as though some compulsion forced her to speak.
"I shot him," Davis said cheerfully. "It was a favor, really. Here was this old man staggering down the street with nothing but a lot of wasted years to show for his efforts. He was no good alive, and he didn't have the courage to die." Davis stopped and cocked his head brightly. "You know—I think that's what's been wrong with the world. Too many people without the guts to die, and a law against killing them."
It had now dawned upon Jim Wilson that they were faced by a maniac. His eyes met those of Frank Brooks and they were—on this point at least—in complete agreement. A working procedure sprang up, unworded, between them. Jim Wilson took a slow, casual step toward the homicidal maniac.
"You didn't see anyone else?" Frank asked.
Davis ignored the question. "Look at it this way," he said. "In the old days they had Texas long horns. Thin stringy cattle that gave up meat as tough as leather. Do we have cattle like that today? No. Because we bred out the weak line."
Frank said, "There are some cigarettes on that table if you want one."
Jim Wilson took another slow step toward Davis.
Davis said, "We bred with intelligence, with a thought to what a steer was for and we produced a walking chunk of meat as wide as it is long."
"Uh-huh," Frank said.
"Get the point? See what I'm driving at? Humans are more important than cattle, but can we make them breed intelligently? Oh, no! That interferes with damn silly human liberties. You can't tell a man he can only have two kids. It's his God-given right to have twelve when the damn moron can't support three. Get what I mean?"
"Sure—sure, I get it."
"You better think it over, mister—and tell that fat bastard to quit sneaking up on me or I'll blow his brains all over the carpet!"
If the situation hadn't been so grim it would have appeared ludicrous. Jim Wilson, feeling success almost in his grasp, was balanced on tiptoe for a lunge. He teetered, almost lost his balance and fell back against the wall.
"Take it easy," Frank said.
"I'll take it easy," Davis replied. "I'll kill every goddam one of you—" he pointed the gun at Jim Wilson "—starting with him."
"Now wait a minute," Frank said. "You're unreasonable. What right have you got to do that? What about the law of survival? You're standing there with a gun on us. You're going to kill us. Isn't it natural to try anything we can to save our own lives?"
A look of admiration brightened Davis' eyes. "Say! I like you. You're all right. You're logical. A man can talk to you. If there's anything I like it's talking to a logical man."
"Thanks."
"Too bad I'm going to have to kill you. We could sit down and have some nice long talks together."
"Why do you want to kill us?" Minna asked. She had not spoken before. In fact, she had spoken so seldom during the entire time they'd been together that her voice was a novelty to Frank. He was inclined to discount her tirade on the floor with Wilson's head in her lap. She had been a different person then. Now she had lapsed back into her old shell.
Davis regarded thoughtfully. "Must you have a reason?"
"You should have a reason to kill people."
Davis said, "All right, if it will make you any happier. I told you about killing my keeper when they tried to make me leave town. He got in the car, behind the wheel. I got into the back seat and split his skull with a tire iron."
"What's that got to do with us?"
"Just this. Tommy was a better person than anyone of you or all of you put together. If he had to die, what right have you got to live? Is that enough of a reason for you?"
"This is all too damn crazy," Jim Wilson roared. He was on the point of leaping at Davis and his gun.
At that moment, from the north, came a sudden crescendo of the weird invader wailings. It was louder than it had previously been but did not seem nearer.
The group froze, all ears trained upon the sound. "They're talking again," Nora whispered.
"Uh-huh," Frank replied. "But it's different this time. As if—"
"—as if they were getting ready for something," Nora said. "Do you suppose they're going to move south?"
Davis said, "I'm not going to kill you here. We're going down stairs."
The pivotal moment, hinged in Jim Wilson's mind, that could have changed the situation, had come and gone. The fine edge of additional madness that would make a man hurl himself at a loaded gun, was dulled. Leroy Davis motioned pre-emptorily toward Minna.
"You first—then the other babe. You walk side by side down the hall with the men behind you. Straight down to the lobby."
They complied without resistance. There was only Jim Wilson's scowl, Frank Brooks' clouded eyes, and the white, taut look of Nora.
Nora's mind was not on the gun. It was filled with thoughts of the pale maniac who held it. He was in command. Instinctively, she felt that maniacs in command have one of but two motivations—sex and murder. Her reaction to possible murder was secondary. But what if this man insisted upon laying his hands upon her. What if he forced her into the age old thing she had done so often? Nora shuddered. But it was also in her mind to question, and be surprised at the reason for her revulsion. She visualized the hands upon her body—the old familiar things, and the taste in her mouth was one of horror.
She had never experienced such shrinkings before. Why now. Had she herself changed? Had something happened during the night that made the past a time of shame? Or was it the madman himself? She did not know.
Nora returned from her musings to find herself standing in the empty lobby. Leroy Davis, speaking to Frank, was saying, "You look kind of tricky to me. Put your hands on your head. Lock your fingers together over your head and keep your hands there."
Jim Wilson was standing close to the mute Minna. She had followed all the orders without any show of anger, with no outward expression. Always she had kept her eyes on Jim Wilson. Obviously, whatever Jim ordered, she would have done without question.
Wilson leaned his head down toward her. He said, "Listen, baby, there's something I keep meaning to ask but I always forget it. What's your last name?"
"Trumble—Minna Trumble. I thought I told you."
"Maybe you did. Maybe I didn't get it."
Nora felt the hysteria welling again. "How long are you going to keep doing this?" she asked.
Leroy Davis cocked his head as he looked at her. "Doing what?"
"Play cat and mouse like this. Holding us on a pin like flies in an exhibit."
Leroy Davis smiled brightly. "Like a butterfly in your case, honey. A big, beautiful butterfly."
"What are you going to do," Frank Brooks snapped. "Whatever it is, let's get it over with?"
"Can't you see what I'm doing?" Davis asked with genuine wonder. "Are you that stupid? I'm being the boss. I'm in command and I like it. I hold life and death over four people and I'm savoring the thrill of it. You're pretty stupid, mister, and if you use that 'can't get away with it' line, I'll put a bullet into your left ear and watch it come out your right one."
Jim Wilson's fists were doubled. He was again approaching the reckless point. And again it was dulled by the gradually increasing sound of a motor—not in the air, but from the street level to the south.
It was a sane, cheerful sound and was resented instantly by the insane mind of Leroy Davis.
He tightened even to the point that his face grew more pale from the tension. He backed to a window, looked out quickly, and turned back. "It's a jeep," he said. "They're going by the hotel. If anybody makes a move, or yells, they'll find four bodies in here and me gone. That's what I'm telling you and you know I'll do it."
They knew he would do it and they stood silent, trying to dredge up the nerve to make a move. The jeep's motor backfired a couple of times as it approached Madison Street. Each time, Leroy Davis' nerves reacted sharply and the four people kept their eyes trained on the gun in his hand.
The jeep came to the intersection and slowed down. There was a conference between its two occupants—helmeted soldiers in dark brown battle dress. Then the jeep moved on up Clark Street toward Lake.
A choked sigh escaped from Nora's throat. Frank Brooks turned toward her. "Take it easy," he said. "We're not dead yet. I don't think he wants to kill us."
The reply came from Minna. She spoke quietly. "I don't care. I can't stand any more of this. After all, we aren't animals. We're human beings and we have a right to live and die as we please."
Minna walked toward Leroy Davis. "I'm not afraid of your gun any more. All you can do with it is kill me. Go ahead and do it."
Minna walked up to Leroy Davis. He gaped at her and said, "You're crazy! Get back there. You're a crazy dame!"
He fired the gun twice and Minna died appreciating the incongruity of his words. She went out on a note of laughter and as she fell, Jim Wilson, with an echoing animal roar, lunged at Leroy Davis. His great hand closed completely over that of Davis, hiding the gun. There was a muffled explosion and the bullet cut unnoticed through Wilson's palm. Wilson jerked the gun from Davis' weak grasp and hurled it away. Then he killed Davis.
He did it slowly, a surprising thing for Wilson. He lifted Davis by his neck and held him with his feet off the floor. He squeezed Davis' neck, seeming to do it with great leisure as Davis made horrible noises and kicked his legs.
Nora turned her eyes away, buried them in Frank Brooks' shoulder, but she could not keep the sounds from reaching her ears. Frank held her close. "Take it easy," he said. "Take it easy." And he was probably not conscious of saying it.
"Tell him to hurry," Nora whispered. "Tell him to get it over with. It's like killing—killing an animal."
"That's what he is—an animal."
Frank Brooks stared in fascination at Leroy Davis' distorted, darkening face. It was beyond semblance of anything human now. The eyes bulged and the tongue came from his mouth as though frantically seeking relief.
The animal sounds quieted and died away. Nora heard the sound of the body falling to the floor—a limp, soft sound of finality. She turned and saw Jim Wilson with his hands still extended and cupped. The terrible hands from which the stench of a terrible life was drifting away into empty air.
Wilson looked down at his handiwork. "He's dead," Wilson said slowly. He turned to face Frank and Nora. There was a great disappointment in his face. "That's all there is to it," he said, dully. "He's just—dead." Without knowing it for what it was, Jim Wilson was full of the futile aftertaste of revenge.
He bent down to pick up Minna's body. There was a small blue hole in the right cheek and another one over the left eye. With a glance at Frank and Nora, Jim Wilson covered the wounds with his hand as though they were not decent. He picked her up in his arms and walked across the lobby and up the stairs with the slow, quiet tread of a weary man.
The sound of the jeep welled up again, but it was further away now. Frank Brooks took Nora's hand and they hurried out into the street. As they crossed the sidewalk, the sound of the jeep was drowned by a sudden swelling of the wailings to the northward.
On still a new note, they rose and fell on the still air. A note of panic, of new knowledge, it seemed, but Frank and Nora were not paying close attention. The sounds of the jeep motor had come from the west and they got within sight of the Madison-Well intersection in time to see the jeep hurtle southward at its maximum speed.
Frank yelled and waved his arms, but he knew he had been neither seen nor heard. They were given little time for disappointment however, because a new center of interest appeared to the northward. From around the corner of Washington Street, into Clark, moved three strange figures.
There was a mixture of belligerence and distress in their actions. They carried odd looking weapons and seemed interested in using them upon something or someone, but they apparently lacked the energy to raise them although they appeared to be rather light.
The creatures themselves were humanoid, Frank thought. He tightened his grip on Nora's hand. "They've seen us."
"Let's not run," Nora said. "I'm tired of running. All it's gotten us is trouble. Let's just stand here."
"Don't be foolish."
"I'm not running. You can if you want to."
Frank turned his attention back to the three strange creatures. He allowed natural curiosity full reign. Thoughts of flight vanished from his mind.
"They're so thin—so fragile," Nora said.
"But their weapons aren't."
"It's hard to believe, even seeing them, that they're from another planet."
"How so? They certainly don't look much like us."
"I mean with the talk, for so long, about flying saucers and space flight and things like that. Here they are, but it doesn't seem possible."
"There's something wrong with them."
This was true. Two of the strange beings had fallen to the sidewalk. The third came doggedly on, dragging one foot after the other until he went to his hands and knees. He remained motionless for a long time, his head hanging limply. Then he too, sank to the cement and lay still.
The wailings from the north now took on a tone of intense agony—great desperation. After that came a yawning silence.
* * *
"They defeated themselves," the military man said. "Or rather, natural forces defeated them. We certainly had little to do with it."
Nora, Frank, and Jim Wilson stood at the curb beside a motorcycle. The man on the cycle supported it with a leg propped against the curb as he talked.
"We saw three of them die up the street," Frank said.
"Our scouting party saw the same thing happen. That's why we moved in. It's about over now. We'll know a lot more about them and where they came from in twenty-four hours."
They had nothing further to say. The military man regarded them thoughtfully. "I don't know about you three. If you ignored the evacuation through no fault of your own and can prove it—"
"There were four of us," Jim Wilson said. "Then we met another man. He's inside on the floor. I killed him."
"Murder?" the military man said sharply.
"He killed a woman who was with us," Frank said. "He was a maniac. When he's identified I'm pretty sure he'll have a past record."
"Where is the woman's body?"
"On a bed upstairs," Wilson said.
"I'll have to hold all of you. Martial law exists in this area. You're in the hands of the army."
* * *
The streets were full of people now, going about their business, pushing and jostling, eating in the restaurants, making electricity for the lights, generating power for the telephones.
Nora, Frank, and Jim Wilson sat in a restaurant on Clark Street. "We're all different people now," Nora said. "No one could go through what we've been through and be the same."
Jim Wilson took her statement listlessly. "Did they find out what it was about our atmosphere that killed them?"
"They're still working on that, I think." Frank Brooks stirred his coffee, raised a spoonful and let it drip back into the cup.
"I'm going up to the Chicago Avenue police station," Wilson said.
Frank and Nora looked up in surprise. Frank asked, "Why? The military court missed it—the fact you escaped from jail."
"They didn't miss it I don't think. I don't think they cared much. I'm going back anyway."
"It won't be much of a rap."
"No, a pretty small one. I want to get it over with."
He got up from his chair. "So long. Maybe I'll see you around."
"So long."
"Goodbye."
Frank said, "I think I'll beat it too. I've got a job in a factory up north. Maybe they're operating again." He got to his feet and stood awkwardly by the table. "Besides—I've got some pay coming."
Nora didn't say anything.
Frank said, "Well—so long. Maybe I'll see you around."
"Maybe. Goodbye."
* * *
Frank Brooks walked north on Clark Street. He was glad to get away from the restaurant. Nora was a good kid but hell—you didn't take up with a hooker. A guy played around, but you didn't stick with them.
But it made a guy think. He was past the kid stage. It was time for him to find a girl and settle down. A guy didn't want to knock around all his life.
* * *
Nora walked west on Madison Street. Then she remembered the Halstead Street slums were in that direction and turned south on Wells. She had nine dollars in her bag and that worried her. You couldn't get along on nine dollars in Chicago very long.
There was a tavern on Jackson near Wells. Nora went inside. The barkeep didn't frown at her. That was good. She went to the bar and ordered a beer and was served.
After a while a man came in. A middle aged man who might have just come into Chicago—whose bags might still be at the LaSalle Street Station down the block. The man looked at Nora, then away. After a while looked at her again.
Nora smiled.
No comments:
Post a Comment