7

When the phone started to ring, Grofield was on the ladder, a paint brush in his hand. He was putting a new coat of white on the words MEAD GROVE THEATER that filled the whole side of the barn facing the country road.

"Crap," he said. Mary was at work, he'd have to answer it himself. He put the brush in the bucket standing on the ladder top, and went hurriedly down to the ground.

He was now about midway between the two phones, one extension in the box-office to his right and one backstage near the lightboard. He hesitated, while the phone started a third ring, and then trotted around to the big open doorway leading to the stage. He went up the wooden ladder fixed to the outer wall and headed across the stage. Dan was sitting on the leather chair in the living room set, crossways to the house so he could get a little sun from the open door. This was the first day he was up and around, after being here a week. He looked pale and thin, but itchy and impatient. He lifted a hand in a slow weak wave as Grofield trotted by at an angle toward the lightboard.

"Hello?"

"Grofield?" The voice was male, heavy, somewhat indistinct.

"Speaking."

"This is Barnes."

The name had a familiar sound to it, but Grofield made no immediate connections. He said, "Barnes?"

"From Salt Lake City.".

"Oh!" Now he remembered, and an image of Ed Barnes flashed in his mind – a tall man, very broad in the shoulder but somewhat gone to fat, about forty years old, with thin black hair and a lumpy formless nose. Grofield had worked with Barnes once, on a bank job in Salt Lake City.

Barnes was saying, "You free?"

"As a bird," Grofield said.

"Could you get to St. Louis tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Meet Charles Martin at the Hotel Hoyle."

"Done."

Grofield hung up and went back across the stage toward Dan. "I'm leaving tomorrow for a while," he said.

Dan looked sour. "You got something?"

"You know Ed Barnes?"

"I worked with him once or twice."

"If it works out," Grofield said, "you'll probably be gone before I get back."

"Could they use another man?"

"Dan, you aren't ready."

"I know it, goddam it." Dan glowered toward the wings. "When I get my hands on that son of a bitch-"

"Be sure you're ready first," Grofield said.

"I'll be ready."

Grofield nodded, and said, "I'm going back to work." He walked over to the doorway and was about to jump down when Dan called his name. Dan's voice was all right until he tried to shout, and then it thinned out.

Grofield looked back, and Dan called, "Thanks."

"Sure," Grofield said, and jumped to the ground, and walked back around to finish painting the letters.