by Ed Lacy
I spent the rest of the afternoon fooling with the camera, to make sure I'd be able to work it in the dark. Mady wanted to know where Joe and I were going, was mad when I wouldn't tell her. She made supper and was off on a talking jag, maybe to get even with me. She kept telling me all the little things Billy did till I stopped it by talking about some of Flo's habits.
She was still angry when Joe honked his horn and as I left I told her, “Let's cut the past history from now on. Both of us. Billy doesn't mean a thing to us—or you— as of the first time we kissed. I don't expect you to brush his memory off in a few days, but I get awful jealous at the thought that any other man made you happy.”
“I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep talking about him—maybe it's a habit.”
“It's because we're not together enough. Another couple days and I'll change that.”
Joe was so jittery he stuttered as we drove to the park, locked the car, and found a bench. The bench was isolated and directly across the sidewalk from a large, head-high clump of bushes.
Joe left to meet Harry, walk him back to the trap. It was pretty, dark for so early in the evening and I stumbled around in the bushes till I made an opening, so I could shoot the bench clearly. I set up my camera and flash gun and waited. Judging by the stink, the bushes were a favorite urinal, and from the way the ground was littered—even in the dark—this particular spot was popular with lovers, although people would have to be ready to explode to forget the smell.
I checked the camera again, licked the flash bulb for better contact, made sure I had a few more bulbs ready in my pocket, listened to the night sounds of the insects and waited. About ten minutes later I saw Harry walking with that jaunty, stiff-legged, almost dancing walk of his. Joe was lumbering along as though trying to use his feet as little as possible.
Joe stopped at the bench, looked about like a ham actor, whispered, “This looks okay. Let's talk.”
“Righto,” Harry said. “I want to get this over with.”
Joe did it neater than I expected. As they both started to sit, Joe got his backside down first in a sliding motion that placed him under Harry. Harry landed in Joe's lap and Joe moved and Harry grabbed Joe's collar to keep from falling. It could be interpreted as a hug.
I squeezed the camera button and there was a split second flash that lit up the scene like a flare... I'd snafued everything! I'd put in a regular flash bulb instead of an infra-red one that wouldn't give any visible light. Or maybe I should have blamed it on the clerk in the camera store.
Joe started to say, “What do you think you're...?” as he had rehearsed and I don't know if he stopped because he realized things were wrong, or because Harry jumped off his lap like lightning, shrilled, “What the hell you pulling?”
Joe stood up, speechless, and Harry threw a punch at him. The blow didn't do anything to Joe, who seemed to shove rather than hit Harry. The push sent Harry on his back, in the bushes, and when he stood up he had a gun out, spun around, fired into the bushes. I hit the urine-soaked dirt like it was fudge and Harry fired again. It sounded like a .22, made a short bark that was lost in the sounds of the night. I heard Joe running, his heavy pounding footsteps louder than the clean sharp report of the gun.
I lay there, afraid to crawl and make any noise, Harry didn't pay any attention to Joe, but waited outside the bushes, the little lead thrower in his hand. He said hysterically, “Come out, you dirty son of a bitch: I'll kill you, I'll...!”
I tried to get the flash bulb loose and couldn't. I found a stone and threw it a few feet in the bushes. It was a corny trick, but at the noise Harry moved and I got to my feet as silently as I could. I stood there, hardly breathing, and Harry was still for a moment, then came toward me. As he passed the opening through which I'd been shooting the picture, I hit him. It was a straight right high on the head and it sent pain shooting up my arm as Harry crumpled to the sidewalk, out cold.
I moved my fingers—the bones weren't broken. I pulled Harry into the bushes, then walked—fast. Joe was waiting in his car and we took off like two thieves. I said, “That was my fault. Drive to the nearest police station, tell them Harry made 'improper' advances to you and...”
“No! I'm done with this, with any part of it! You and your crazy ideas!” His fat face was glistening with sweat.
“You dummy, don't you understand—things went wrong! The pix won't come out, we've nothing to show, to...”
“I'm done with this! Against it in the first place God, what a dirty mess!”
“The deal backfired, you know what will happen now?”
He didn't answer.
“We were going to surprise Harry—when the frame was complete. Now he knows what's up, he'll get you! Losing your job will be the smallest part of it... unless you go to the cops, act before Harry does.”
“I'm done, won't do a damn thing more. No!” He was bawling a little and I didn't argue. There was a fifty-fifty chance we'd scared the bejesus out of Harry and he'd leave Joe alone. But we also could have scared him enough to go all out for Joe. It was a mess.
We parked in front of the house and sat there for a while, waiting for Joe to stop crying. I told him to come in and he said no and I said, “Cut it, the game's over. Come in.”
Mady was listening to the radio and reading a magazine. She shut the radio off the moment she saw Joe's wet face. He sat down hard, held his head in his hands and really turned on the tears. I told her what happened and it took her a few minutes to understand what we had in mind, then she looked at me like I was something you stepped in on the street, asked, “Matt, how could you do a thing like that? Sink as low as... as... that?”
“You have to play a man's weaknesses as you find them. Now if Joe will only protect himself by going to the cops and...”
“And have the papers yell he was mixed up with a pansy!” Mady shouted.
“Want Joe to lose his job, or worse? Is that better, an out? One thing I never forgot in the ring—when the ref finishes his instructions he says, 'and protect yourself at all times.' Baby, that holds doubly true for everything in life. I was only doing this because Joe is a part of you—of us—and I want peace. Harry got in our hair, we had to comb him out—any way possible.”
“Why didn't you use a gun, it would have been cleaner!” Mady said.
“I would have—in a second—if we could have gotten away with it.”
She stared at me for a moment, shaking her head, then went over and knelt beside Joe, trying to comfort him. I was angry—with my own stupidity in not checking the bulb, and with Joe. But then I couldn't blame him—he was in a mess and scared, probably had never seen a gun before, except in the movies.
I went into the kitchen, drew the shades, set up my developing trays—maybe the regular flash hadn't been too strong for the infra-red film. I got everything ready, then turned out the lights and went to my room and took off my coat and tie, my ring, went to the bathroom and washed my hands. I was sweating a little and took my temperature, but it was normal. By leaving the lamp on in my room and the door of the kitchen partly open, enough light came in so I could see what I was doing without spoiling the film.
I'd just opened the roll of films, was taking out the negative, when the phone rang and a minute later Mady came in as I said, “Don't open the door!”
“What?” She snapped the light switch, flooding the kitchen. “What are you.... Oh.”
There was no point in cursing her, whatever chance I had of getting a picture was ruined—seemed as though that picture was never meant to be made anyway. She asked, “Did I spoil anything?”
“Nothing—now.”
“You're wanted on the phone.”
“Who is it?”
“A man. I don't know who.”
Joe was still sitting around like a living hangover and as I picked up the phone I wondered if Harry was smart enough to know where I lived. Or had he seen me in the park? Did he know I was living with Joe's sister?
Max's hoarse voice said,
“Matt? Got news for you— Harry Loughlin jumped out of his office window. Few minutes ago.”
“Is he dead?”
“A 21-story fall isn't a tonic.”
“Any reason why he made like a bird?”
“Not that we know of. No notes or anything. Thought you'd want to know. I'm in his office now. I'm sure you're heartbroken.”
“Maxie, I couldn't care less.”
He laughed. “Me too. Didn't think he had the guts for a high dive. Has he any relations?”
“Never told me of any. No reason for the suicide? Harry wasn't the one to knock himself off.” Joe jumped from his chair, his face dead-white as he heard my last words.
Max said, “One of those things. No doubt of it being suicide. Night elevator man says Harry came rushing in about twenty minutes ago, seemed sick. In fact the guy followed him into the office to ask if he wanted anything and he saw Harry take off his hat, look at him for a moment, then Harry said it was stuffy and he had a headache. Harry opened the window and went out—all with the same motion. Have another witness—a steno who was working late in the building across the courtyard. Well, send him a big wreath.”
“Nothing in his pockets to indicate why he jumped?”
“No. Usual junk.”
“Thanks for calling me, Max. See you in the morning.” I hung up and Joe and Mady were staring at me, Joe still pale, Mady's eyes big with fear. I grinned. “Every cloud has that well-known silver lining! Hell with the picture... friend Harry has splattered himself all over the sidewalk. Straight suicide and nothing to connect us with...”
“Oh God, I killed him!” Joe moaned.
“Shut up. The cops don't even know he saw you. Anyway, it was my idea.”
“I did it!” Joe said, his voice rising.
I went over and slapped him across his fat face, hard as I could. “Cut that slop, you fool! Harry's dead, good riddance. I didn't see you moaning so loud when he was killing your wife, when he bled you so you couldn't pay for her doctor? You were worrying so much you were getting everybody else sick.”
Joe rubbed his face—the red imprint of my hand on his pale skin, sat down heavily.
Mady gasped, “But this... this... Harry is dead!”
“Good. He won't blackmail any more poor slobs like Joe.”
She said slowly, “You really are... tough.” And burst into tears.
“I'm not tough, but I don't go for sloppy sentiment or dramatics, either. Look, you're sorry when you run over a puppy, but you don't feel a thing when crashing a snake. Harry was a rattler.” I turned to Joe. “And you, stop whining. Probably won't happen, but there's just a chance Harry could have told that creep he works with he was going to meet you. The creep might tell the cops, and they might check. I doubt if they'll do anything, it's plain suicide. But if they do talk to you, don't lose your head and don't lie. Your story is Harry was trying to sell you his hate sheet and you were thinking it over. You met him in the park at his suggestion, told him you weren't buying, and you parted friends. That's all you know. Understand?”
“Why don't you leave me alone? Yeah, I understand.”
“And don't tell anybody else about this—not even your wife. And stop acting like a mope, you got a tough load lifted off your back tonight.”
“Off or on my back?” Joe mumbled.
I went into the kitchen and cleaned up the chemicals, then went to bed. I was angry but didn't know who I was sore at. I couldn't really blame Joe, or Mady... they still didn't know how cheap a life was in our world.
To my surprise I fell asleep quickly and then I had a nightmare. I was back in Korea and down the empty road that ran by the hill where I was dug in, came these figures in white. It was very hot and I sweated and watched them through the sights of my sub-machine gun. And the redheaded beer driver from St. Louis, who had the side of his head completely blown off a few days later, telling me, “Maybe they ain't soldiers, but don't take no chances, Matt. Be careful, be careful as hell.” And then the stammer of the gun as it trembled in my hands... and I awoke, sweating. I grabbed my T-shirt from the chair, wiped my head dry. It was a dream I often had and the bark of the gun always awoke me.
I was thankful for that, glad I didn't dream about—seeing the bloody faces of the little girls, the boy, the women....
I couldn't hear any noise in the house or see a light and I lay back on my pillow, started to doze off, wondering if Mady was sleeping in the other bed, and why. I was just floating off to sleep when I saw this tall, white, ghost-like figure coming toward me... like the figures on the road, only taller and closer. I sat up and screamed and the figure rushed toward the bed and it was Mady in a white nightgown. Mady was sitting on the bed, asking, “What's wrong, Matt?”
“Nothing. A dream... I was back in Korea. How's Joe?”
“All right. He's gone home.” She slipped into bed and put her arms around me.
I asked, “How do you feel?”
“A little frightened... you're so hard, so... so... frightening hard.”
“Why? Because a louse dies and I don't cry? That's crap. I've seen too many people die to...”
“Don't,” she said, placing her hand over my mouth. “Don't talk like that, it makes me cold inside.”
I lay there, surrounded by the wonderful warmth of her, and she started to talk softly in the darkness but I fell asleep.
FRIDAY
I awoke at nine and it was the start of a bright sunny day. I sat up and looked over at Mady and she was lying there with her eyes open and she looked like hell. I kissed her lightly. “What's the matter, been awake all night?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Thinking—about us.”
I stretched and grinned. “How did we come out?” I asked, yawning.
“I don't know. Matt, last night... what happened... frightened me.”
“Forgot about Harry, he...”
“I never knew Harry.... I'm thinking of you. You can't live with that slogan.”
I yawned again and swallowed to get wide awake. “What slogan?”
“Protect yourself at all times. Life isn't a boxing match.”
“Well this is a new side, Mady the philosopher.”
“Matt, I'm serious, you sound like everybody in the world was trying to... to... fight each other.”
“Not fight, merely get a foothold on the other guy's back.”
She sat up, and I helped her prop a pillow behind her back. “How about us? Do you have to protect yourself from me, too?”
“Yes and no. Loving and having you love me is a kind of protection. Look, I've been living by that slogan long before I ever thought of becoming a fighter. Ever since I was old enough to be called a Wop or a Dago. Then it was Pops who kept drilling it into me.”
“He must have been a hard man.”
“Pops? No, he was soft. The only true friend I ever had—man friend. He was a little skinny guy in a worn gray suit, battered brown felt hat, no tie, and a torn dirty sweater. His face was leathery, his hair all gray. He was a wino and stunk most of the time. But he wasn't a lush. And if he had a tin ear, a busted nose, a cruel mouth... his eyes were fine, quiet peaceful eyes. Like your—a little.”
Mady said, “You sound like you were in love with him.”
“Lack of sleep makes you nasty. He was like a father to me.”
“I meant love him like a father. He adopt you?”
“Guess I adopted him. I was about seventeen then, a big tough kid, living with a second aunt. I weighed 185 and I figured I'd go into the ring, make the big money the heavies got. I was working as a shipping clerk and going to night school, taking all the civil service exams I could—I wanted a steady income.”
“Like Joe.”
“With this big difference... I was hungry most of the time.”
“Really hungry? You look like the kind that will always get along,” she said.
“What's got into you?” I asked, lying down and pulling her on top of me. Un
der the cover I ran my hand over her leg and she said, “Slap me on the can, Matt. That's all I'd need—the he-man touch!”
“What is this?”
“I don't know... sorry... I'm jumpy,” she said, kissing me. She lay across my chest and after awhile said, “You were talking about this Pops.”
“Yeah,” I said, wondering what had come over her. “I went to a gym, began to work out. But I could only go between five and six in the afternoon, after work and before school. Pops was an old-time lightweight—he once fought Wolgast, and Leonard kayoed him when Pops was going out and Benny was starting up. Now, he was a porter at the gym, on the bum, doing anything to make a buck. But he knew boxing—knew it like few guys know it today. He wanted to be a manager, but every time he found a kid to manage, began to teach him, bring him along slow, the kid would get overanxious, leave Pops for the two-bit managers who rushed them into a lot of quick bouts. The kids made small change, took too many beatings, and were usually finished in a year or two. See, Pops never had a contract with them. That's the way he was, said if two men had to be bound together by law, they weren't worth being partners to start.”