Then, just to be a bastard, I gently slapped the rubber hose with one hand into the palm of the other.
Tendlar gave with a twitch of a one-sided smile.
“I don’t buy that,” he said. “You’re not the type.”
“What type, Bill?”
“The type of cop who’d use a rubber hose on a guy.”
“You know something, Bill, I’ve been a cop of one sort or another for a long time. And I’ve learned one thing in all those years.”
Tendlar swallowed. Smiled bravely. “Yeah, and what’s that, Heller?”
I smiled. “You never can tell about people.”
And I smacked him across the left shoulder with the hose.
He groaned, and it was a little loud.
“Now, Bill,” I said, “if you’re going to make noise, I’m going to have to find a dirty sock to stick in your mouth. I don’t think you’d like that. So you’re going to have to keep it down.”
And I hit him again, across the other shoulder.
He howled, but softly.
“That’s better. We don’t want to wake the neighbors- although I got a feeling this isn’t the kind of building where the cops get called in, much, even if there is a disturbance.”
Tendlar sat there crying, eyes squeezed together, tears rolling down his face. But quietly. He’d gotten the idea.
Lou, who’d come back from the kitchen about midway through all this, handed me a sweating bottle of Pabst. I took a couple of swigs.
“How’s Bill holding up?” he asked.
“Not so well,” I said. “I don’t think anybody ever fed him the goldfish before.”
“Fuck you, Heller,” Tendlar said.
“You know, I had a couple of tough coppers from East Chicago feed me the goldfish, once. Back in ’34, it was. I puked my guts out. I cried my eyes out. And I could barely walk for three days. And the bruises-God, the colors my skin turned. You wouldn’t see that many shades at high noon in Bronzeville.”
“I didn’t sell you out,” he said.
I slapped him hard on the right thigh with the hose.
He made a soft crying sound. Then he coughed some. He did have a cold.
“As a guy who used to be on the cops, Bill, you know the whole routine. Good cop, bad cop. We’re not going to insult your intelligence. We’re not going to subject you to that old wheeze. But we are going to do a variation on good cop/bad cop that we think you’ll appreciate.”
I took another swig of beer and handed the hose to Lou.
“We’re going to both do bad cop,” I said, and Lou whapped him across his other thigh.
“I didn’t sell you out! I didn’t sell you out.”
I grabbed him by his pajama front and looked him right in his beady blue eyes, which were dancing with fear, which was just how I wanted them.
“Listen to me, you little cocksucker. You sent me wading into deep shit, this afternoon. You handed me a jammed-up shotgun, knowing I’d take it into a mob hit getting carried out on our client. But what concern was that of yours? You probably figured you’d never see me again, not alive, anyway. Well, I’m alive, and you’re dead. You’re fuckin’ dead.”
And I yanked him, by his wadded-up pajama front, to one side, hard, and his chair went crashing on its side to the napless rug. Fortunately, the chair didn’t break, and Tendlar didn’t, either, at least nothing important. I set him back upright. He was shivering and he was weeping. His nose was running. Those summer colds are the worst.
“You’re dead unless you talk,” I said through my teeth. “Who bought you. Guzik?”
He was shaking his head side to side, face slick with tears and snot, lips pulled back, teeth showing, and it was not a smile. “I don’t even know Guzik. I never even met the son of a bitch.”
“Give me that fucking thing,” I said to Lou, and held out my hand, and Lou filled it with the hose, and Tendlar cried out, “Don’t! I can’t take any more of it. I don’t know anything, Christ! Honest!”
“Honest?” I said. “Swear to God?”
“Don’t hit me again….”
I hit him again. In the chest.
He coughed and wheezed and moaned.
I turned to Lou, casually. “Did you know we’re only four or five blocks south of the Nitti family deli, Lou? You can spit from Bill’s doorstep and, if the wind is with you, hit an Italian.”
“Really,” Lou said, interested.
I finished my beer, handed the empty to Lou, paced about Tendlar, slapping the rubber hose gently into my palm. “Nice place you got here, Bill. Just you and the rest of the rats.”
“It’s…I know it’s a dump, but I got divorced last year. You know that. Alimony. You know.”
“I pay you better than this. Alimony or not, why are you living in such a goddamn dump?”
“It’s…it’s hard to find a place…”
I went over to one rickety end table where today’s Green Sheet, a racing publication, sat under an empty Pabst bottle; various horses were checked off, various notations had been made.
“One of our client’s publications,” I said, picking up the tip sheet, taking it over and holding it front of him. “He’ll be glad to hear you’re supporting him.”
He sucked some snot up inside him. Tried to pull himself together. Tried to keep his chin from trembling. Couldn’t.
“I knew you gambled some, Bill. I didn’t know it was this serious.”
He swallowed. “You know how it is.”
“Got in a little deep, did you?”
He nodded.
“Not anymore you aren’t. You got out, didn’t you?”
He swallowed again. “I don’t have anything to tell. Honest to Christ I don’t.”
“You’re thinking they’ll kill you if you tell. Well, I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
“You’re no killer.”
“Ask the Japs.”
He looked like he was going to start crying again. “But I really don’t have anything to tell you.”
“Let’s start with the obvious. You did sell me out. Just tell me that much. Never mind who.”
“If…if I said that I did sell you out…I’m not saying I did, Heller…but if I did say that, you wouldn’t make me tell who?”
“I wouldn’t make you tell who, Bill. Just tell me you sold me out.”
He swallowed. He cast his eyes toward the floor. He began to nod.
“You sold me out?”
He kept nodding.
“Say it, Bill.”
“I sold you out, Heller.” He looked up, with a pleading expression. “It was big dough. You’d’ve done it in my place, and I wouldn’t blame you.”
“How much, Bill?”
He coughed. “Damn summer cold,” he said.
“How much, Bill?”
“Five gees.”
I glanced at Lou. He raised his eyebrows. That was a lot of dough.
“It got you out of the hole,” I said.
He nodded frantically. “And then some.”
“Why didn’t you take off? You had to know I’d come around.”
“I didn’t figure you for this…the goddamn rubber hose treatment. You just don’t seem the type.”
“You’d be surprised how testy I get when people try to kill me.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Did they tell you not to run, Bill?”
He nodded again, not frantically. “Yeah…they said if I held up under whatever came…cops or you or whatever…there’d be another gee in it for me.”
“Six thousand to play finger man,” I said. And to Lou: “I wonder what the hell the shooters got paid?”
“Whatever it was,” Lou said, working on a bottle of Pabst, “I bet they have to give it back. They screwed up. Ragen’s alive, after all.”
“That’s true.” I smiled at Bill. “Now. Who?”
“What? You said…”
“I lied. Who bought you?”
“Don’t hit me again.”
“Tell me and I won’t.”
“You won’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
“You’ll think I’m lying. You’ll hit me again.”
“No I won’t. Who?”
“I don’t know, really. It was all done over the phone.”
I hit him again. Across the left bicep.
“You liar,” he said, bitterly.
“I can be a real asshole sometimes,” I admitted, and hit him again.
“You can hit me all you want,” he said, bawling like a baby, “but it’s true. It was all done by phone, and money drops. I never saw nobody. They called me, I never called them; I don’t have a number or nothing. The voice was male, but it didn’t even have no accent. I’m telling the truth.”
I looked at Lou. He shrugged.
“Yeah,” I said, tossing the rubber hose over on the worn couch. “I think you are.”
I told Lou to get a cold wet towel and I wiped Bill’s face off. Lou uncuffed him. I took the Murphy bed down and helped him to bed.
“You’re going to have a couple of rough days,” I said.
He was on his back, pajamas clinging to him damply, eyes closed, arms at his side. He looked like a corpse.
“You’re going to hurt like hell,” I said, “but don’t tip to anybody that we worked you over. We stayed away from your face, so you should be able to pull it off. Don’t tip the cops, don’t tip the newshounds, don’t tip nobody. Not your phone contact, either.”
He nodded. It was barely perceptible, but it was a nod.
“And I wouldn’t skip town if I were you,” I said. “It just wouldn’t look good. In fact, after you had a day in bed, I want you to come back into the office. Business as usual.”
He opened his eyes. “Does this mean I’m not fired?”
I looked at Lou and shook my head. Lou was laughing silently.
“Bill,” I said. “I’m going to keep you on for the next month or two. Till this blows over. You’ll get paid and everything. I’m going to back you when the cops and anybody else, Walt Pelitier for example, asks about your part in this. I’m going to say you’re a stand-up guy and clean as a whistle. I don’t want any bad reflection on the agency, understand?”
He swallowed and nodded.
“But you’re going to stay away from me. Just go to your little cubicle and make your phone credit checks and wait for the day, before very long, when I’m standing before you with a smiling face, telling you to get out of my sight forever or I’ll fucking kill you.”
He looked at me blankly for a long time.
“Oh,” he said, finally. “Then I guess a letter of reference is out of the question?”