by Orrie Hitt
“Hey!” I yelled as she swung into North Street, way over, just missing the curb. “You want me to smash a hole in your windshield with my head?”
“Nothing happened,” she said, letting up on the gas a little bit. “I was just going too fast, that’s all.”
“You can say that again.”
The way Beverly Connors drove she should have bought a car in the five-and-ten and pulled it along behind her on a string.
“Now I forgot what I was talking about,” she complained.
She hadn’t been saying anything, so why should she be worried about it?
“Oh, yes! I said they were weak. I wouldn’t say the same thing about you.” She looked at me straight, not smiling. “I’d say that you’re ruthless, Johnny.”
“Maybe I am.”
“You walk almost like a big jungle cat, almost — well, sort of beautiful and terrible, too.”
She didn’t really mean that. What she meant was that if I wanted her to pull that convertible into a dark alley she might not start driving the other way. Only I wasn’t having any. All I wanted from Connors was a job and a chance to make a fast buck.
“I wish you’d keep your eyes on the road,” I told her.
“I am.”
“Well, all right.”
We were on North Street, coming into the main part of town. The shadows dipped down the tops of the buildings and fell across the street. It wasn’t dark and it wasn’t dusk, just a sort of in-between. I kept watching the street, hoping that some kid wasn’t out there playing around. The way Beverly Connors handled that Packard, a kid wouldn’t have a chance. She’d put him in the hospital until he was old enough to graduate.
“Where did you want to get off?”
“Center Street.”
“I don’t know where that is.”
Of course she wouldn’t know. Probably some of the money it had taken to buy the Packard had come from Center Street, but that wouldn’t be of any concern to her.
“Oh, hell,” I said, “just drop me off wherever you get this thing stopped.”
That happened to be about a hundred feet further on. There was a busted beer bottle in the street and she didn’t see it. The right front tire blew out and Beverly squealed. She hopped onto the brake and we came to a stop alongside the curb.
“Damn!” she said, her face angry. “You’d think people would keep their bottles out of the street.”
I got out and stretched.
“Well, it was a good place to knock it off,” I said.
We were almost in front of Angie’s, a little gin mill not far from Center Street. During the week Angie’s was usually pretty quiet, but on Saturday night you could get anything you wanted in there. All you had to do was ask. Or sit and look and it’d come to you.
“You got the keys for the trunk?” I asked her. “I’ll change it for you.”
She slid across the seat, her dress crawling up her legs, and got out on the sidewalk side.
“There aren’t any tools, anyway.”
“That’s great.”
She looked at the red and green neon lights in front of the bar, doubtfully.
“They must have a phone in there.”
“Sure.”
“I’ll call daddy’s garage. They’ll come over and fix it.”
She didn’t have to worry about that. That guy would show up even if he had a busted arm and five holes in his head.
She leaned inside the car, stretching, hunting for the keys. Her legs looked a lot better in stockings, the kind with a lot of black on the heels and a dark ridge running all the way up them. But they didn’t look good enough for me to cause her any trouble.
We walked down to Angie’s and went inside. The bartender behind the bar looked up and pushed his paper underneath. A guy who was sitting in one corner, his glass to his mouth, put his glass down again and gave Beverly a good solid glance. Maybe she looked all right, swinging around that way as she crossed the small dance floor, but I only got a glimpse. I was too busy with something else.
“The phone’s in back,” I told her.
“I won’t be long.”
“Take your time.”
She could take the whole stinking night and I wouldn’t even miss her. Once or twice in the car, coming down, I’d had a little flame lit for her but it hadn’t amounted to anything, no more than any woman who’s got her teeth and two legs and a couple of other things can do to a man.
I walked down to the end of the bar, feeling the night getting bigger, just letting my eyes wander over her.
“Hello, Johnny.”
“Hey, Julie!”
“I see you’re not losing any time.”
I shrugged and leaned up against the bar beside her. She was sitting on the stool at an angle, her left side to the bar, and her bare legs stuck out all over below her black shorts. She had on a black sweater, one of those loose knit things, and I could see the tiny pink dots of her brassiere staring out at me. I guess she knew what I was interested in because she swung around, facing the bar, and took the view away.
“We had a flat,” I said.
“You or her?”
“That isn’t nice.”
She shrugged and tapped one foot on the bar rail.
“Mr. Connors is pretty much sold on his daughter,” she told me. “It might be a good thing if you remember that, Johnny.”
I knocked a quarter on the bar. The bartender nodded and drew a beer. He brought it down and left the quarter where it was.
“I’ll remember it.”
“No fooling.”
“Look,” I said irritably, “I got no idea of trying to get squatter’s rights on that. You ought to know better.”
“I know you,” Julie said, smiling. “That’s enough.”
“How come you loaned me that money, then?”
“I don’t know.” She finished her beer and the bartender came for her glass. “I must be nuts.”
She held her hand over the top of her glass, calling it quits, but I told the bartender to give her another one, anyway. Just then Beverly came out from the back. I made up my mind that she’d drink beer or go thirsty. She didn’t do either. She ordered gingerale, straight, and the two singles in my pocket got a lot happier.
After a while a truck pulled up in front and we could hear some tools getting banged around. Julie took a nickel and went across to the juke box. She asked me what I wanted to hear and that made me feel good. She’d had a couple of more beers and she might be getting sociable. I went over to her.
“Just play ‘I’m in the Mood for Love,’ Baby,” I told her.
“I’ll play what I want.”
The light from inside the box outlined where she was filled out, spilling over almost, and I could tell every time she took a breath.
“What the hell,” I said, “so why bother asking — ”
“I wanted to tell you something. I didn’t want her to hear.”
“That’s different.”
“Some girl called the office for you, late this afternoon.”
“Yeah?”
“She sounded upset.” Julie swung away from the juke box, our eyes meeting briefly. I thought you’d want to know.”
‘Thanks.”
We went back to the bar and I swallowed the beer in a rush. What I ought to do was to get down to Janet’s place and set her straight on a couple of things. I looked at Julie and made up my mind it could wait.
“I guess the car’s finished,” Beverly said.
A mechanic struck his head inside and waved at her. She waved back and the top of her blouse did the same thing. I ordered another beer. Sometimes she looked pretty good. Hell, sometimes they all looked that way.
“You going?” Beverly wanted to know.
“I just got a refill. It isn’t far to walk, anyway.”
“I’ll see you?”
“Sure.”
“Could I catch a ride with you?” Julie asked. “I hate to walk along the street after dark i
n these shorts.”
The way she was built, I didn’t blame her. Even a guy’s shadow might get interested if he saw her.
“Sure,” Beverly said, hesitating. “Drop you anyplace.”
Julie slid past me, just touching, and I could feel the bump of one firm breast against my shoulder.
“See you,” she said.
“Sure.”
They went across the dance floor and those black shorts of Julies looked like they were going to bust loose at the seam. They were plenty tight and what she had on under them wouldn’t stay still. My eyeballs were still jumping around after the door slammed behind them.
“I never seen anything like it,” the bartender told me. “The one in the black, she’s put together with all her bricks stacked up right.”
“No one’ll ever call you a liar for that.”
“Sometimes I wish I was younger.” He thought about that for a moment and his face lighted up. He stared at the door, squinting his eyes. “Say, you know what they tell me? They say that the young ones like ‘em older. I heard a girl in here one night telling that. She wasn’t over twenty and she kept saying the young guys don’t know what it’s all about. She had a guy with her older than me and she kept loving him up all the time. Cripes, they had a good time!”
“I’ll bet.”
“You suppose I could work something like that with this chicken?”
“You could try it.”
“Maybe buy her a few drinks.” The bartender’s voice was thoughtful and his eyes were almost closed. “On my night off I could hang around here, sort of putting in my time. She might come in, like she did tonight, and I could get the relief bartender to fix up the drinks for nothin’. Later on, if she should want some money, why — ”
“Knock it off, will you?”
The bartender scowled and shifted his weight around.
“Say, what’s chewin’ on your insides?”
“Give me two packs of Rheingold, will you?”
“Cans?”
“That’s right. Cans. The little ones.”
He sighed and looked at the door again.
“You got me all messed up, mister. I almost had it figured how I could get me a little of that.”
I was sore and he was right close and I could have belted him. But I didn’t. I just took the beer, dropped the two ones onto the bar and left.
In one big way the bartender and Johnny Reagan were a lot different.
He was willing to pay.
And I wasn’t.
CHAPTER V
Kiss and Make Up
THE NIGHT was hot and close, the way it gets before a storm. The beer pushed out through my skin and turned to sweat. I was almost sorry that I’d invested my dough in those twelve cold cans of Rheingold I carried under my arm. I wouldn’t be able to drink that stuff for breakfast, not when I had to go downtown and see Connors. But, hell, I had to have something I could work on Janet with. I had to get her on my side and keep her there. Maybe the beer wasn’t the most brilliant idea in the world but it was better than some I could think of. Besides, I wouldn’t have to worry about having it for morning. There wouldn’t be any left.
Just before I got to Center Street a figure moved out of a darkened doorway toward me.
“Hi, Johnny.”
I stopped and waited.
“Hello, Buck,” I said.
He wasn’t drunk but he wasn’t feeling to much pain, either. I could smell the cheap wine and garlic. And I could smell him.
“What’s new?” I wanted to know.
“You know what,” he said.
I did. He was about my age, maybe a couple of years older, and he’d been half shot ever since he’d been ten years old. Maybe his old lady had nursed him on a bottle of hair tonic. I don’t know. But I remembered him from high school, how he’d heaved in one of the study halls and how the teacher had her nice new dress all messed up because she’d thought he was sick and tried to hold his head in her lap. He hadn’t come back after that one. Saturdays he used to come down to the wholesale fruit markets where some of us worked, asking for money. He always asked for a dollar and we started calling him Buck.
“I thought well of you all the time, Johnny.”
“You got something to say, say it.”
“I need a dollar. That’s all, just a dollar.”
I started walking on.
“Lookit, Johnny!” He must have spotted the beer, because he ran after me. “Just one can. How about that? One can.”
“I got it for a friend,” I said.
He got hold of my shirt and jerked, hard. He started to laugh and his bad breath was worse than something dead. I swung around, pushing him away. The street light down at the corner showed up his face real good and I could see that his teeth were still white. They’d always been white. I couldn’t figure it.
“Try the fruit market,” I told him.
“I don’t know nobody down there no more.”
“That’s tough. Get acquainted.”
“Just one can, Johnny. For Cripes sake!”
“No. I told you, it’s for a friend.”
“Must be some skirt.”
“So what, even if it is?”
“That Wilson dame.” He began to come closer, his eyes bugging out at the beer, and he was almost shouting. “That’s who it’s for. I remember how you used to chase after that. Thought she had her skirts in her hand just for you, didn’t you? And she didn’t, did she? And now you’re buyin’ beer for her. You’re gettin’ her beer and you won’t even give me a drink. Ain’t that somethin’! You ain’t got a beer for an old friend, but you’ll lug it down to that whore — ”
I didn’t hit him very hard. I didn’t even take the beer out from under my left arm. I just slugged him with my right, high on the cheekbone and gauging what I put behind the blow, and he went to sleep on somebody’s lawn.
I went down to Center Street and turned in. If it wasn’t that I might have use for the beer, I’d have thrown it away. That guy back there gave me the jumps. Hell, in two years I could be like that. Anybody could get that way.
There were a lot of lights on in the brick house. I tried to remember which room Janet had, but I couldn’t. That didn’t matter because there were lights burning in all of them, anyway. I wrapped my arm tighter around the beer, hiding it a little, and walked up onto the porch.
“Hey, mister?”
“Yeah.”
A woman got up from a porch chair and shuffled toward me. When she got in front of the door, standing in the light, I could see that she was in her late fifties or early sixties. She had gray hair and her stern appearing face wasn’t the easiest thing that I’d looked at in a long time.
“You don’t live here, mister. Whatcha doin’, goin’ inside?”
I didn’t like her voice any better; it sounded sharp, like glass falling out of a window.
“Well, mom,” I said, trying to soften her up, “I got myself in a little huff with my girl. I wanted to stop around and straighten it out.”
“Which girl?”
“Janet.”
“The dark haired one? The one up on the third floor?”
“I don’t know which floor,” I said. “I never been up there.”
Her face relaxed and she didn’t act quite so tense.
“They sneak in sometimes,” she said. “You don’t know how it is, runnin’ a roomin’ house. You get a man in a room and he brings in a woman. You get a woman in a room and a man just naturally follows. It’s a hell of a business.”
“I don’t want to get you in any trouble.”
She looked at me closely.
“I don’t think you would.” She walked around to the other side and punched at the beer. “You shouldn’t be takin’ that up there. I don’t like drinkin’ in my rooms.”
If the old bag thought I was going to leave it on the porch where she could drink it, she had a rain check coming.
“I wish you’d let me go up,” I told her. “I
don’t want Janet to go on feeling bad.”
She circled me, pretending to think it over. A couple of bugs were slamming their brains against the screen and she whacked them aside. A baby next door fretted with the heat and further down the block a girl giggled because somebody wouldn’t leave her alone.
“You oughta make it right with me,” she said. “I don’t usually do these things.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’m really doin’ you a favor,” she went on, staring out at the street. “Your girl’s up there and you wanta see her, dontcha?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“An’ you know how it is with me?”
“You just told me that.”
“Well — now, mister, look, if you was to give me, say, a five, well — ”
I shoved her aside and she bumped up against the house.
“Have fun,” I told her.
I went on inside and started up the stairs. I expected her to follow me, or yell, but she didn’t. Probably she sat out there on the porch almost every night, watching her deadfall. When it worked, she made a buck. When it didn’t work, she didn’t loose anything. It was one form of semi-prostitution that I hadn’t encountered before.
Janet didn’t come to the door right away. In fact, she took so long about doing it that I began to have the idea that she’d gone down to the hotel, squared things away, and that she was back at her switchboard. That’s all I’d need. She could short circuit me so fast I wouldn’t know where my connections were.
The door opened up slowly and started to close quick.