Chapter Twelve. JOHNNY ran out into the studio looking for Joe

JOHNNY ran out into the studio looking for Joe. He wasn't there. The studio was empty—nothing but the cases, standing around ready for shipment.

He ran down to the saloon on the corner. Joe was there, one foot on the rail, a glass of beer in his hand.

Joe took one look at Johnny's face and put the beer down on the bar. "What's up?" he asked.

"The roof's falling in," Johnny answered tersely. "Come on back to the office."

Joe started to walk to the door with Johnny, then he stopped. "Wait a minute," he said. He went back to the bar and picked up his glass of beer and drained it. Then, wiping his lips, he joined Johnny.

On the way back to the studio Johnny explained what had happened.

"That does it." Joe's face was long as they entered the studio. "We're cooked now for sure."

"Not if we can get out tonight," Johnny said.

"Tonight?" Joe snorted. "You're crazy. We'll never make it."

"We gotta," Johnny insisted stubbornly.

"There may not be a train out tonight," Joe said dourly, "and if there is, we may not be able to get tickets." He sat down on a chair and stared at the floor. "We might as well throw in the towel. We can't lick the buggers, they're too big for us."

Johnny looked at him steadily. His voice was hard and flat. "You quittin' on me, Joe?"

Joe looked up at him. His gaze met Johnny's levelly. "You know better than to say that, kid. I was agin this fool idea in the first place, but when you got Peter to do it, I came along with yuh, didn't I? I spent the whole summer on my butt stickin' with yuh.

But now you're tryin' to do the impossible. The chances are a million to one against our gettin' away with it. Even you must see it. Your luck's run out, Johnny, yuh pushed it just about as far as it could go."

Johnny let him finish speaking. His voice was cold as he repeated his question: "You quittin' on me, Joe?"

Joe sprang to his feet. "No," he shouted, "no, I ain't quittin' on yuh. But, so help me God, when this is over I'm goin' tuh kick your butt aroun' the block!"

Johnny smiled slowly. Some of the tenseness seeped out of him. He put his hand on Joe's shoulder. "If we get away with this, Joe," he said softly, "it'll be a pleasure to let yuh do it."

He went over to his desk and took out the tickets. He held them out to Joe. "Now hop down to the station an' see if you can change these for tonight. If there's no train to where we're going, you get tickets to any place out of the state. We can worry about getting to California from there!"

Joe took the tickets silently and started for the door. "And call me back as soon as you know," Johnny shouted after him.

He sat down at his desk and called Peter's home. Esther answered the phone.

'Where's Peter?" Johnny asked.

She was surprised. "I don't know. Isn't he with you?"

"No, he isn't," Johnny answered.

"I can't understand it," she said. "He left this morning to go to the studio."

Johnny was silent for a moment.

"What's the matter?" she asked quickly. "Anything wrong?"

"Plenty," Johnny said. "We gotta get out of town tonight. Can you make it?"

"I'll try," she answered. "But what about Peter?"

"I'll try to find him," Johnny answered. "But if he calls you before I can locate him, have him call me."

"All right," she answered, and hung up. She didn't waste time in asking questions. If Johnny said they had to get out, there must be a reason for it.

Johnny called the express company and they agreed to send out two wagons right away. An hour later Joe called back and said there was a train going out, but there weren't any sleeper accommodations on it.

"Are there any coach tickets?" Johnny asked.

"Sure," Joe answered.

"Then what the hell are you waiting for?" Johnny yelled. "Get them. If we have to sit all the way to California we're go­ing on that train tonight!"

"All right," Joe said. "I'll come right back to the office with them."

"No!" Johnny yelled. "Start callin' your people and make sure they're at the train. Then go home and pack our stuff. I'll see you at the train tonight."

As the last wagon pulled away from in front of the door, the phone began to ring. Johnny picked it up.

"This is Borden. Is Peter there yet?"

"No," Johnny answered.

"Then keep him away from the studio. The combine just got that judgment and they're planning to serve it on Peter this afternoon."

"How can I keep him away from here if I don't know where he is?" Johnny was frantic.

"I don't know where he is," Borden answered. "When I saw him this morning I thought he was going to the studio."

"You saw him?" Johnny shouted. "Where?"

"At shool" Borden replied, "the synagogue where we go every morning."

"Oh." Johnny was disappointed. He knew the place, Peter wouldn't be there all day.

"And, Johnny, I found something out," Borden said.

"What?"

"Somebody tipped off the combine that you were going out on Friday, but I couldn't find out who it was."

"The stinker," Johnny said bitterly. A phone on the other desk began to ring. "Bill, the other phone's ringing," Johnny said. "It might be Peter. I'll try to call you later."

He hung up the phone and went over to the other desk. It was Joe.

"What do yuh want?" he asked.

"I couldn't get hold of Craig," Joe said.

"Forget him," Johnny replied. "I'll call Sharpe. You go home and pack."

He called Sharpe. "Somebody tipped off the combine and

we got to get out of town tonight," he told him. "Can you get Craig?"

"Don't worry, Johnny," Sam said. "I'll bring him to the train myself."

The day wore on. He couldn't sit still. Cigarette after ciga­rette was ground under his heel as he lit one from the butt of the other. Where the hell was Peter? He took out his watch. Four o'clock. Only three hours to train time. He prayed si­lently. "Peter, Peter, wherever you are, call in. Call Esther. But for God's sake call somebody and let us know where you are."

In seeming answer to his prayer the phone began to ring. He snatched it up. "Peter?" he shouted into the mouthpiece.

"Isn't he there yet?" came the reply. It was Esther.

He slumped in his chair. "No," he answered.

"Everything's ready Johnny. The storage men were here and we're ready to leave," she said.

Slowly he straightened up. "All right, then, go down to the station. Joe will be there and I'll meet you there later."

"But, Johnny," her voice sounded perilously close to tears, "what are we going to do? We can't find him. Maybe something happened to him."

"Now stop worrying," he said calmly, trying to soothe her. "He was all right when Borden saw him in synagogue this morning."

There was a silence at her end of the phone. Her voice came through incredulously. "Willie saw him in shool this morning?"

"Yeanh," Johnny said. "Now, don't worry about—"

She interrupted him. "I'm not worried any more, Johnny. That's where he is. What a dumbbell I am not to think about it before. It's the tenth anniversary of his father's death and he must be saying Kaddish for him!"

"You sure?" Johnny shouted.

"Sure, I'm sure," she laughed happily. "That's where he is. In my excitement and nervousness I forgot all about it."

"Esther, I love you," Johnny shouted. "Now you go right down to the train and I'll get him to meet you there!"

Peter was sitting in the front row, his eyes on a prayer book, his lips moving with every word as he read it.

Johnny stopped opposite him. "Pssst," he hissed to Peter.

Peter looked up. He showed no surprise at seeing Johnny there. His eyes were clouded and they seemed far away. Sud­denly they seemed to clear. "Johnny!" he said, motioning to the top of his head.

Johnny didn't understand him. "I've got to talk to you," he whispered back at Peter.

Several of the other men in the synagogue looked at Johnny; they seemed annoyed at the disturbance he was creating.

Peter picked something up from the seat next to him and held it out toward Johnny. It was a little black skull cap. He motioned to Johnny to put it on his head. "Your head is uncovered," he whispered.

Johnny took the skull cap and put it on. "Come on out," he said, "I got to talk to you."

Peter followed him to the rear of the synagogue. "What is it?" he asked.

"I've been trying to find you all day," Johnny said. "Why didn't you leave word where you were going to be?"

"Since when does a man have to make an announcement when he goes to shool? I don't ask when you go to church." Peter was aggrieved.

Johnny was exasperated. "I didn't ask you why you went, I only asked you why you didn't tell us. We're in a jam. We got to get out of town tonight."

"Tonight?" Peter shouted. The sound of his voice startled him; he looked around guiltily. "Tonight?" he repeated, this time whispering.

"Yes," Johnny answered. "The combine's got a judgment against you, and if they serve it, we're finished."

"My God!" Peter said, his voice rising again. "I got to tell Esther!"

"No you don't," Johnny told him, "I spoke to her before. She'll be at the train with the kids."

Peter looked at him. "And the equipment?"

"Shipped already. It left at two o'clock this afternoon."

"Then let's go back to the office," Peter said; "I got a few things to pick up." He started out into the street.

Johnny caught up with him. "You can't go up there. They probably are waiting for you with a summons!"

Peter was stubborn. "I got to go back. The shooting script is in my desk."

"To hell with it!" Johnny said. "We're going to the train!"

Esther was the first to see them coming as they walked to the gate. "Peter!" she cried. She ran forward and threw her arms around him. She was crying.

He spoke in Yiddish. His voice was brusque, but tender all at once. "What are you crying about?"

Johnny turned to Joe, who was grinning at him. "Is everybody here?" he asked.

"Everybody except Craig," Joe answered, still grinning.

Johnny looked around him. "I wonder what's holding him up."

"Johnny," a voice called.

Johnny looked up. Sam Sharpe was running toward him. Jane hurried behind him. He stopped in front of Johnny, gasping for breath; his usually ruddy face was pale.

"Where's Craig?" Johnny asked.

"He's not coming," Sharpe gasped. "Johnny, he told the combine about your plans, that's why they jumped on you."

"The scoundrel!" Johnny burst out bitterly. A thought struck him. There was still time for the combine to get them here. "Where is he now?" he asked.

"In my office," Sharpe answered.

Johnny stared at him wildly. "He can still let them know of the change in plans. We got to get him!" He started off the platform.

Sharpe grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute, Johnny. He can't tell them."

"What do you mean?"

"When he told me what he did, I got so mad I knocked him down."

Johnny looked at the little man unbelievingly. Craig was almost twice Sharpe's size.

"I did, Johnny," Sharpe insisted. "That is—uh, I pushed him and Jane held her foot behind him and he tripped. And then we tied him up."

"With a clothesline," Jane added.

Johnny began to laugh. It must have been funny to watch.

The littler man and a girl tying up that overblown matinee idol.

Sharpe looked at him seriously. "Johnny, do you think we can go along with you? When he gets loose, it will be very embarrassing."

"Sure," Johnny gasped between bursts of laughter, "come along, we might need a couple of bodyguards out there."

The countryside was dark as the train sped through the night. Johnny, looking out of the window, could only see his reflection in the glass. Doris leaned against him sleepily. It was after nine o'clock.

Doris shifted against him. He turned to her and put his arm around her shoulders. "Tired, sweetheart?"

"No," she answered, her voice full of sleep.

He smiled at her. "Maybe you'll be more comfortable with your head in my lap."

She turned on the seat and stretched out. Her eyes closed almost as soon as her head touched his lap. Her lips moved.

Johnny leaned over her. "What did you say, sweetheart?"

"You'll like California, Uncle Johnny," she whispered. "It's very beautiful."

Johnny smiled because she had fallen asleep with the last word. He looked up as a shadow fell across him.

It was Peter. He looked down at them gently. "She's asleep?"

Johnny nodded.

"I didn't answer your question," Peter said.

"What question?" Johnny asked.

"Why I didn't let you know where I was going to be today," Peter replied. "I didn't remember it was the anniversary of my father's death until after I left the house this morning."

"Oh," Johnny said. "I'm sorry I asked. I was just excited at the time, I didn't mean to be rude."

"And you're calm now?" Peter smiled gently.

"Of course," Johnny answered.

"Then maybe you'll take off your yamalke?" His hand brushed over Johnny's head and came off with a little black skull cap.

Johnny's mouth fell open. "You mean I've worn that since we left the synagogue?"

Peter nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Johnny asked.

Peter smiled again. "I liked to see it there," he said gently. "You looked like you were born to it."

A week later they were in a car going out to the Santos farm. Johnny and Peter sat up in front with the driver. The road on both sides was lined with orange trees as far as they could see. They came to a crossroads. A small sign stood there.

"What does it say?" Peter asked Johnny. He still refused to wear glasses.

"Hollywood," Johnny answered. "I guess this is where the Santos place is."

"It's just down the road a piece," the driver ventured.

Peter looked around him. "California," he said in a disgusted tone of voice.

Johnny looked at him. Peter was muttering to himself. "No shooting script. Cost twenty-five hundred dollars. No leading man. Cost six thou­sand dollars." He sniffed the air. It was filled with the scent of orange blossoms. "Phooey!" he said aloud.

Johnny began to smile.

Peter became aware that he had been overheard. He smiled in spite of himself.

"What am I supposed to make a picture with?" he asked, holding out a hand and pointing. "Oranges?"