Chapter One
Dulaney dreamed there was no war. A thousand years had passed and he had come tothe end of an endless journey, closing an infinite circle in time and space. Butwhen he opened his eyes it was still Sunday, May 3, 1942.
He had slept less than two hours. The sky outside his window had just gone darkbut the moon was up, shrinking his world to a small silver square on the floor,this eight-by-ten room with bars. His eyes probed the shadows beyond his cell —the dark hallway, the line of light on the far side of the bullpen where theoffice was. He had come awake thinking of Holly.
His peace had been shaken. The steadiness born in his soul now drained away,leaving a growing sense of unease. He heard the radio droning in the outeroffice. Charlie McCarthy had given way to Walter Winchell with no loss ofcomedy, but even when the jailer laughed at something Winchell had said, evenwith the sound of another human voice in close proximity, Dulaney felt isolated,alone on an alien planet in a time he barely knew.
Winchell had a name for Hitler's gang. The Ratzis had struck again. Exeter hadbeen bombed in retaliation for RAF raids on Lübeck and Rostock. There wasan almost imperceptible lull as Winchell hit a word beyond his grade-schoolvocabulary. Baedeker raids, Dulaney thought as if coaching. They were calledBaedeker raids because they were aimed at the guidebook towns that symbolizedBritish antiquity.
Winchell blew the word, but by then Dulaney was only half listening. He wasthinking about Holly and the last time he had seen her, almost two years ago inNew York. He had collected his pay and gone back to his apartment to clear outhis stuff, and there she was waiting for him. She had been sitting on the floorall night, in the hallway outside his door. They walked through Central Park andthe air was clear and cold, the trees stripped bare in the third week of autumnand the leaves rustling under their feet. The skyline loomed over the trees andat last she made the effort to say her piece. She looped her arm in his and drewhim close. "These things happen, Jack. It's nobody's fault, least of all yours."But he wouldn't let her get into it any deeper than that, and it was the onlytime they had touched even the edges of what they both knew had always beenbetween them.
She understood then the hopelessness of it. They walked out of the park andstood self-consciously outside the apartment house that in another hour would behis former address. Dulaney offered coffee but she said no, she'd rather justsay good-bye here on the street. She took his hand. "It's all right, Jack.Everything's fine."
Just before she walked away she said one last thing to him. "You told mesomething once and I can't get it out of my mind. A man needs something that'sbigger than life, something he'd die for. I've been thinking about that allnight."
"That sounds like me. Sounds a little silly now, doesn't it?"
She shook her head, impatient at his attempt to belittle it. "Good-bye, Jack. Iwish only good things for you. I hope you find whatever life holds that makesyou feel that way."
But he had already found it. He knew it then, in New York; knew it now, sittingalone in a California jail cell. This thought sank into silence. Then, from thedarkness beyond the bullpen, he heard Winchell's announcer, recapturing themoment for the makers of Jergens lotion.
Chapter Two
Today, if she should by some trick materialize in the jail beside him, he coulddo a better job explaining it to her. It began with the fact that his lifelongpal had seen her first. He would always think of them as a couple, even if thestars weren't working and they never actually married. She knew this, of course,but there are shades of truth. He and Tom had been closer than brothers.
Most people would say that didn't matter now. Tom Rooney was at the bottom ofPearl Harbor, but even after his death she was still, in Dulaney's mind, Tom'swoman. He would not come slithering upon her like some carpetbagger, wearing theshoes of a summer soldier. Tom would come calling, like Marley in chains.
But she was always on his mind as he worked his way across the land, and he'dthought about little else since yesterday noon. It had begun with the clang ofthe jailhouse door, the deputy waking him from a light sleep. "You got comp'ny,Dulaney. Fella says he's your lawyer."
Dulaney didn't have a lawyer. It had to be Kendall: nobody else would know orcare where he might possibly be. The deputy opened the cell and motioned Dulaneyahead of him, along a dimly lit hallway to a little room at the end. The windowwas barred and the room was empty except for a battered wooden table and tworickety chairs.
Kendall was sitting in one of the chairs. He didn't look like a lawyer. Hisclothes, like Dulaney's, were those of a workingman. His shoes were scuffed andcoming out at the toes. He looked like what he was, an out-of-work radio actorwho had seen better days.
They shook hands and Dulaney sat at the table. The deputy stayed in the room, atthe edge of earshot.
"How'd you find me, Marty?"
Kendall smiled sadly. "You weren't at the hotel, so I tried the café. I gotthere just as the paddy wagon was pulling out."
"I'm a little amazed they let you in here."
Kendall lowered his voice, cutting his eyes at the deputy. "I keep telling you,Jack, I was a damn good actor in my day. So what happened?"
Dulaney smiled. "Just a little mayhem. Resisting arrest. Assault on a policeofficer. Kid stuff."
Kendall stifled the urge to laugh. Dulaney noticed streaks of gray in hismustache and in the curly hair around his ears. He had always thought of Kendallas around forty but now he thought fifty was closer.
He told Kendall how the trouble had started. He had gone out to get something toeat. Some sailors and some girls started razzing him about being in the homeguard. "I guess I was the only fellow in the place out of uniform. This isnothing new. In the Civil War women would see a man out of uniform and they'dshame him in public."
Kendall said nothing. "They probably don't bother you," Dulaney said. "You're abit older than me. And most of the time I don't let it bother me. But this onegal wouldn't leave it alone. She had the waiter bring me some squash. That'ssupposed to be the last word in insults. You feed squash to the home guard sothe color'll stay bright in their backbones."
"So what did you do?"
"Hell, I like squash. Figured I might as well eat it." Dulaney leaned forward."I've been hungry enough times that I'm not about to let good food get chuckedjust because some silly female wasn't raised right. What happened next isprobably in the arrest report."
"They say you took on the whole café."
"One thing led to another. I finally told those boys they'd end up in the clapshack if they didn't quit messing with whores. I didn't have to say that, butthere we were. The sailors had to stand up and they came up short. If those arethe best fighting men we've got in this war, we may be in trouble."
The deputy cleared his throat. "You boys start winding it up."
"It didn't last long. The gendarmes came, four big cops with their billies out."Dulaney touched his head, a tender place the size of a peach.
"I wish you hadn't taken on the cops, Jack."
"I've got nothing against cops as a rule, but the sight of a billy club gets myback up. I've known too many good people who got their heads busted open justbecause they were down on their luck. So here I am."
"I hear judges get real mean when you start fighting with cops."
"The guard says he'll give me six months, unless I've got the money for thefine. That seems to be automatic for a first offense. If I volunteer to go tothe work camp he'll cut my time in half."
"What are you talking about, a chain gang?"
"They don't call it that and they don't chain you together. I get the feelingit's not official and maybe that's why we get to choose. The word comes back tothe prisoners through the guards — if you work, they'll cut your time; if youdon't, you go to jail and serve it all."
"Man, that stinks. Goddamn judge is probably getting paid off."
"Maybe so, but I'm going to take it. I'll use it in a book."
Kendall didn't say anything but again Dulaney felt a strain in the room betweenthem. He couldn't put his finger on it, what it was about Kendall that hadbothered him from the start. He thought there was a lie somewhere, that somepart of Kendall's old life had been omitted or fabricated, and Kendall couldn'tlie without turning away. Kendall had been an accomplished radio actor who couldlive a dozen lies a week on the air, but in real life he was like Dulaney: hecouldn't lie to a friend.
"What's the matter with you, Marty? Something's been eating you since the day wemet."
The deputy's voice cut across the room. "You boys about done?"
"Give us one more minute," Dulaney said.
He leaned over, and softly, so the guard wouldn't hear, said, "Are you introuble with the law?"
"Hell no. I've never even been inside a jail before today. Christ, why would youeven think of something like that?"
"I've been around enough men on the lam to know another one when I see him.Something's been on your mind, right from the start."
Kendall shook his head, a slight movement, barely perceptible. "That doesn'tmake any sense. How could I be running from the law and still trying to get backinto radio?"
Dulaney waited but Kendall did not enlighten him. The guard made a time's-upmotion with his hands. Dulaney said, "Look, I'd appreciate it if you'd check meout of that hotel. Pick up my papers and my notes. There's a half-finished storyI'm working on: make sure you get that. Put it in a box and stash it in thetrunk of the car."
"Consider it done."
"You've been a good friend, Marty. Even if I'm not always sure I know you."
"Let's go, boys," the deputy said.
But then at the last moment Kendall said, "Just one more thing. Do you know awoman named Holly Carnahan?"
Dulaney tensed. "Yes, I know Holly."
"There's a letter for you at the hotel. It just came today. It's three monthsold."
"Go back to the hotel right now," Dulaney said. "Open it and read it, then comehere tomorrow and tell me what it says."
Continues...
Excerpted from Two O'Clock, Eastern Wartimeby John Dunning Copyright © 2001 by John Dunning. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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