Benny Muscles In

by Peter Rabe

  “O.K., Brown, on your feet.” Brown got up. “Pick up your friend there and put him on the bed.”

  Brown struggled with the body in the narrow bathroom. The corpse was stiff already. When he got him out he put Smith on the bed, trying to straighten him, but it didn’t work. Smith was an ugly sight.

  “Never mind that. Just leave him.”

  Brown stood by the bed, looking down at Smith without moving.

  “Brown, can I buy you?” Benny stepped behind the man.

  “No, sir.”

  “I pay better.”

  “I’m with Smith.”

  “O.K., Brown,” and Benny whipped the gun butt down on the bald man’s head. He swung hard, figuring that Brown had a head like a rock. He was right. The butt glanced off and Brown toppled forward.

  “Ohmigosh,” Brown started to say. Benny swung again and connected.

  He stepped over the limp man on the floor and with his handkerchief he wiped the discolored neck of the corpse. Then he wiped the shoe that stuck out at the wrong angle. After wiping the. 45, he pressed it into the dead man’s hand, but it wouldn’t stay there. He let it drop to the floor. After he turned off the light in the cabin, he left. He could hear the air conditioner humming in the dark, and then his motor kicked over. He hit the highway in a sharp skid and took off toward Haute Platte.

  All that night he looked for Pat, not caring about the two men back in the cottage-one dead, one still alive-not caring about the cops or the stares he got because of his swollen, torn check. But he didn’t find Pat anywhere, neither in town nor around it.

  At four in the morning they found him sitting behind the wheel of the convertible. There were dark rings under his eyes and the stubble on his jaw made him look pale and drawn.

  “Saves us a trip to your cabin,” said the old cop. “Come with us.” Benny followed them, for once without hope.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The cold stew had got stiff in the tin plate, but the cop on duty left it in the cell for the next meal. No use wasting the stuff. Benny turned over on his cot and stared at the other wall. When the keys rattled in the door he didn’t even bother to look.

  “Hey, bud.”

  He did not answer.

  “She wants to talk to you, bud.”

  Benny turned on his elbow and looked at the old cop in the doorway.

  “We got your wife. Got her before we picked you up. Creating a public nuisance.”

  Benny was on his feet in one jump. “You got-you got my wife?” He grabbed the cop by the front of the shirt and tugged. “You mean you lousy cops had her in jail all this time?”

  “We don’t like no stray women wandering around town in the middle of the night. And we got a law against hitchhiking, if that’s what she was doing out there on the road. Now let go my shirt.”

  “Take me to her. You’re going to regret this, copper. If it’s the last thing I do-”

  “Let go my shirt. Now you better listen to me, bud. We don’t like you much around here and this time we got you dead to rights. She’s picked up for vagrancy, for making a public nuisance of herself, and you, bud, I bet we can get you on the Mann Act There weren’t no marriage license anywheres in your stuff, and that car plate of yours says Florida. So just learn your manners around here, bud, or else. Now about that woman.” The cop cleared his throat. “I don’t know what she’s got or why she’s screaming for you, but whatever it is, make her pipe down. I don’t want no ruckus in this jailhouse of mine, and if you know what’s good for you, make her shut up. One more thing, bud. Can you raise any bail?”

  “Not your kind.”

  “Think it over, bud. I’ll give you two days. After that, it’s the judge for you.”

  The cop took him down a corridor and into a bare room with a chair, two tables, and a file cabinet.

  “Wait.” Benny held the cop by the sleeve when he turned to go. “Lemme shave before I see her. And another thing.” The cop stopped. “You want me to keep her quiet? Then you got to let me have some whisky. It does things for her. Else there’s nothing I can do.”

  “That’s against the rules, you know.”

  “Suit yourself, copper.”

  Benny got his shaving stuff, and in the damp little washroom he took a small folded paper out of the lining of the kit and stuck it in his pocket. Then he shaved. Back in the room, he found a pint bottle on the file cabinet and a water glass. It said “Pebblebrook” on the bottle, and “Guaranteed not older than four months. Flavored and colored in wood chips.” It tasted like turpentine with a handful of glass splinters thrown in.

  She came into the room like a wild animal shunted into a cage. Her hair was straggly, there was that mean line down the middle of her forehead, and her eyes were like flint. But when she saw Benny all that changed. At first she couldn’t talk at all, and she just cried on his shoulder. He held her, rocking her. He could feel her ribs through the flimsy dress. She had got very thin.

  “Pat, listen to me. Come now, Patty, it’s all right, really.”

  “Benny, I don’t know what’s happening to me. Everything seems wrong and crazy. Am I sick, Benny? I passed out again, you know, and then when I woke up and that little bald man was there in the car I got sick, really sick, and ever since I’ve felt like I couldn’t live in my own skin, Benny. I’ve been just that miserable and nervous. Benny, tell me what it is, what’s happening? Benny-”

  “You’re all right, Patty, believe me. The heat, and you haven’t eaten. The strain of everything. But I’m going to fix you up again, you’ll see. Sit down, honey. I’ll explain it to you.”

  They sat at the table and his quiet voice seemed to soothe her. She was pulling her ear with a nervous gesture, but her eyes were wide and intent, watching him and holding him the way a drowning man clamps onto anything within his reach. He told her how they’d get out in a day or so, how he’d take her to a better place to get well, and how everything was going to change. He said it and tried to believe it himself. Then he went to the file cabinet and poured the whisky, his back turned to the table, where Pat was sitting. “Drink this down, honey, fast.”

  “You think I should, Benny? My stomach’s empty. That slop they brought me this morning-”

  “I know, Patty. Drink it. You’ll see it’ll be all right.”

  He watched her drink it, and it came to him that he wished it had happened differently. After a while he saw her change. Her talk was fast and brittle, but she was cheerful.

  “Just another day, Patty, maybe two.”

  She went back to the place where they kept her, laughing.

  When Benny was back in his cell, the cop leaned his arms through the bars and said, “You been thinking about that bail any?”

  “How much?”

  “Well, I tell you, bud. If you want to keep this whole thing between us, we’ll make it five hundred for the two of you, on the books.”

  “On the books?”

  “That’s what I said. Now, for my doing you a good turn, you might send a little contribution to the church I’m with. They do good works around town, you know, and especially here. Paint for the ironwork, cookies for the guests-”

  “I haven’t seen any cookies around here.”

  “That’s because it isn’t Christmastime, bud. They bake for Christmastime.”

  “How much do you think they need, copper?”

  “A thousand, I’d say.”

  Benny jumped up and grabbed the bars. “Where do you think I’d get a thousand, you rotten dick?”

  “Same place you got the five hundred that was in your pocket when we checked you in.”

  “Was in my pocket? That five hundred is all I got!”

  “You ain’t got. There’s no mention of it on the list we made, bud.”

  “Why, you no-good, slimy-”

  “Not so loud, not so loud. Now about the thousand. You just put that in an envelope marked ‘Contribution, The Fourth Evangelical Congregation of Christ.’ You seal it and give it to me. I’
ll hand it on. About the five hundred for bail on the books, that’s extra, of course.”

  “And if I don’t jump bail I get that back?”

  “Sure, bud. I’ll mail it to you when I take the charges off the blotter.”

  “One thousand for a few days’ work isn’t bad, copper. Don’t you think you’d get in trouble with that much dough floating around? And me out of jail?”

  “I’ll tell you what, bud. You just try and come back to this town sometime and see what happens to those charges I took off the blotter.”

  But Benny wasn’t listening any more. Let a guy show him his weakness and Benny knew he was back on his feet. Plain and simple, that cop’s weakness was dough.

  “Go to Western Union,” he said after a while, “and ask if there’s a money order for me.”

  “How much?”

  “Just ask. If it’s there, you’ll get yours.”

  It wasn’t easy waiting around, and the cop didn’t show till evening. “They didn’t have a thing,” he said. “Maybe you think you’re smart?”

  Benny didn’t even get off his cot. “What’s smart about giving you the run-around while I’m stuck in your lousy jug, copper? That dough’s coming and I’m waiting for it. That’s why I hung around this burg in the first place. So we wait another day; me, because I can’t get out; you, because you got that hungry look.” He turned to the wall.

  But the cop didn’t leave. “There’s something else, bud.” He was talking in a hoarse whisper. “Lady phoned in from the tourist camp. Said she heard an awful ruckus-then said she saw a man later with a bandaged head helpin’ what looked like a drunk outa your cottage. Now, I’m thinking, might all that have anything to do with you?”

  Benny stayed turned to the wall. He didn’t want his face to show.

  “I don’t know one way or the other, bud. Maybe you’re in it, maybe you ain’t. It’s worth something, though, not to ask. What do you say, bud?”

  He liked that, a greedy cop. He didn’t even bother to turn. “Keep going for that check, copper. That’s where you get yours.”

  Benny kept him going for three days. If it had just been him and the cop, Benny would have enjoyed it. But there was so much more. Pat every day and running low on the stuff. No check, which could mean nothing but trouble. And Alverato someplace in the blue Atlantic.

  “With special guests like you, bud, we are lenient and easygoing.” The cop sounded nasty. “We give every consideration. Like today, bud. Today we let you send a telegram. Send it to your friend with the bail money and the contribution, and make it good, bud.”

  He made it good. He sent the wire to Alverato’s club in New York and told them to forward it to Bermuda or wherever in hell the boss was; that he never got the cash, that he needed it quick or the deal would blow up in everybody’s face; that his wife was getting sicker by the day and needed expert attention. The wire cost over fifty bucks and they wouldn’t send it collect. The cop paid the charge. It was the only thing that Benny didn’t feel anxious about.

  He waited twenty-four hours, pacing up and down in his cell. When the cop came to the bars that formed the door, Benny didn’t talk because his breath was coming too hard. He watched the man fumble an envelope from his shirt pocket and hand it through the bars. “You read it,” he said.

  Benny read it in one glance because the message was very short. “Re telegram your office no Tapkow known to us. Inform your client.” It was addressed to the office of Western Union in Haute Platte.

  When Benny looked up at the cop he didn’t recognize the face at first. The eyes were bulging and the loose flesh on the jowls had turned a mottled red. There was a big vein on the man’s forehead like a knotted rope. “You crazy four-flusher,” he rasped. “You think I’m a dumb country cop, huh? Listening to your gaff, paying for that faked-up telegram-Well, you hear this, bucko. Remember that judge of ours I been telling you about? Well, that judge is a brother of mine, and we put a lot of stock in family feelings!”

  The cop stomped out without bothering to feast his eyes on what had happened to Benny’s face.

  They locked him in the damp basement, where they handcuffed him to a water pipe. He must have fallen asleep sometime, because when he woke he remembered that he had dreamed and it had been a nightmare. Then it was worse being awake.

  It must have been noon when they opened the door, but Benny hardly turned his head. When he did he froze. The cop came in and there was a grin on his face. Then the other man stepped through the door. Big Al himself.

  Chapter Twenty

  The car ahead threw enough dust to make the road itself invisible. There were a few gray trees along the way, but they only made the cracked landscape more barren. The cars wound through a few more turns and then the plane showed in the field ahead. It said “Maisy” on the nose, somebody Alverato used to know a while back. The big Cessna stood headed into the warm wind and both engines were going.

  “Look good to you?” Alverato turned in the front seat and grinned at Benny.

  “Looks great.”

  “And the little lady?”

  Pat didn’t answer. She looked bad and it was a good thing she was drowsy. Alverato kept grinning at her, his tanned skin shiny over the well-fed cheeks. His black button eyes kept hunting Pat’s face.

  Alverato gave up. “Pull up next to him,” he said to the driver. The car had bumped off the road and onto the field where the plane was waiting. “And stop bumping,” Alverato said.

  The car ahead stopped with a wild dipping of the long antenna. The cop got out. He waited for the others to pull up, looking sweaty and solicitous. When they stopped, he opened the door for Alverato and stood back as if he were going to salute. “Mr. Alverato,” he said, chomping his plates around.

  Big Al helped Pat out of the car and took her over to the plane. The pilot was waiting at the open door. They got her in and then Alverato went back to the cop, who kept wiping his hands on his trousers. “Here’s the other half,” and he handed the cop a roll of bills that started to flutter in the prop wash.

  “Mr. Alverato, sir, a gentleman like you happens maybe never in a place like ours, and I want you to know-”

  “Can it. You don’t think ten grand grows on trees?”

  “Nosiree, and well I know. Now I grant you, Bud over here had me fooled for a while-”

  “What did you call me?” Benny stepped up and one hand clamped onto the front of the uniform. A button popped.

  “Forget it, Benny.” Alverato jerked his head toward the plane.

  Benny let go of the cop and went to the Cessna.

  Through the window of the plane he could see Big Al, hands in pockets, chatting with the cop. Birdie was climbing into the police car. When the cop started to turn, Big Al grabbed him by the shoulders and laughed. He was laughing and talking as if something was a big joke. In the police car Birdie was tearing the short-wave box off the wires. Then Big Al shook hands with the cop and came into the plane.

  “Al, you’re not going to let that flatfoot-”

  “Shut up. Watch.”

  Birdie had stepped around the cop, who stuck his hand out to say good-by. Birdie clapped the butt of his gun across the knuckles and then he whipped it over the cop’s face, which just a minute ago had been all grease and smiles. It wasn’t any more. Birdie did a few more things, then he stooped over the huddled figure on the dusty ground, pulled the bills out of the shirt, pulled some more out of the pants pockets, and climbed into the plane. When they started to taxi, the cop struggled up on one elbow for a minute, looking like a sack that was half empty, but that’s as far as he got. The prop wash threw a heavy cloud of dust in his face and he fell on his side.

  While the plane climbed, they sat strapped in their seats without talking. At four thousand feet a little light came on over the pilot’s door and Alverato unbuckled his belt. “Feel better?” He beamed at Benny and offered him a cigar.

  “No, thanks. Better? Climbing doesn’t scare me.”

  “I
mean about your friend, fat boy with the badge.”

  “Yeah.” Benny thought about what he had seen through the window. “Yeah. Much better.”

  “That’s just the start, kid. Here,” and Alverato handed him the fistful of crumpled bills that Birdie had brought back. “Take it. It’s yours.”

  Benny took the bills and looked at them.

  “Ten thousand, kid. All yours. You did a job and a good one. Now have yourself a time.” Alverato gave a fat, satisfied laugh.

  Benny straightened the bills and put them in his pocket. He started to relax a little, for the first time in weeks, and he didn’t know how to say it. “Thanks, Al. That’s-that’s big of you. Thanks.”

  “Forget it, kid. You deserve it. And from here on in, the fun really starts. Wait till Pendleton gets a load of the pitch! Wait till old wrinkle-ass finds out why his pet was gone so long!” He kept laughing and rubbing his hands.

  “Al, listen.” Benny leaned over to where Alverato sat, across the isle. “There’s something else about this deal that’s come up.” He glanced back at Pat, who was drowsing in her seat.

  “I’ll handle everything just so, Benny. I got it all worked out.”

  “You don’t get it, Al. There’s a new wrinkle in this. When you didn’t show up and I had to keep stalling her-”

  “You made it, didn’t you?” Alverato was hardly listening. “Leave it to me, boy. Your worries are over. You take your ten grand and have yourself a ball someplace. In fact,” Alverato lowered his voice a little, “I guess you know Pendleton’s after your skin. Take my advice, boy, and use that stake you got to keep out of the way for a while. Later, come around some time and maybe I’ll have something else for you. Will you do that, Benny?” Alverato looked almost paternal. Then Benny caught on. His pocket was full with the payoff; he had been up, and he was out Alverato was through with him.

  For a second he held his breath as if he were afraid to let go, afraid he’d sink into a small, crumbly ball once he let go.

  “I’m through?” he managed to say.