“You let go, Sal, old buddy,” Vince whispered between his teeth, “or I’ll rebust that arm of yours so they’ll never get it fixed again!” Sal relaxed his grip. Vince stepped out of one pant leg, spun, tempted to bust Georgie’s nuts, but, pitying him standing there so blearily innocent, he only threw a right to the gut. Georgie whined and doubled, and Vince popped him hard as he could on the back of the neck, sent him — grateful maybe — to the floor. Johnson faced around just as Vince reached him, one leg dragging his pants on the floor, but the dumb bastard made the mistake of trying to close his fly first and caught Vince’s full-bodied right square in his silly mouth. His head shot back like it was snapped and he crashed against the wall, brought down the endtable and bedlamp. Lights and shadows flew every which way, like suddenly there was a hundred people in there running around. Tried to think how to follow up. Reached for his own pants. Wanda was gone, that quick. Heard her grab up the phone in the hall. Johnson pushed confusedly up off the floor, wheeled forward, pitched himself on Vince more like a lover than a foe, and they tumbled like potato bags to the floor. Johnson kneed him in the stomach. Vince struggled. If only he could get room to swing. For a minute he thought, Aw, to hell with it. Bad dream. Wake up. Johnson was pummeling him with short weak blows to the midriff, but they felt a great distance off. They rolled and pitched drearily on the floor. Nobody seemed to get ahead.
“Vince baby,” Johnson gasped, “you’ll git slivers in your ass!” That lamebrain was grinning even with blood smeared all over his knobby mug — must have really opened something up with that right.
Bonali raised his hips up fast and sudden, hardly thinking about it, surprising even himself, drove Johnson off-balance headfirst into the wall, slid out fast from under the bastard and slugged him with all his might behind the ear, in the face, wherever he could make it land. He stood up, gasping for breath. Room still whipping around there, wilder than ever. “Johnson!” Coughing, could hardly breathe. Johnson out dead. “You always talk too much for your own fucking good!” Reached down, pulled up his shorts. His balls hurt him and he tried to see if they’d got busted or something.
“Police are on the way,” Wanda said, watching him coldly from the doorway, dressed now in slacks and sweater, baby in her arms, holding Davey’s hand.
Georgie was still groveling on the floor, holding his belly, whimpering, “Muh-donna!”
Sal was standing like a specter against the wall. Going green. “Sal, you better bug out, buddy,” Vince gasped. “I’ll be right behind.” Sal was gone like a shot. Vince untwisted his pants, they were a goddamn mess, hauled them up, felt the pockets: billfold gone! Jesus, they could pin him with that! “Wanda, listen, if the cops get here before I get away, you tell them these two bastards came first, and I followed them and tried to protect you, you hear?” But he saw no response there. Searched for the billfold. Sense of not moving fast enough, limbs heavy, head — found it under the goddamn bed. Crawled under, bed above him winding like a fucking carousel, he was sweating to beat hell, and the dust under here was sticking to him. He spat, reached for the billfold — move, Dad! — had his ass out when Dee Romano and old Willie walked in, pistols cocked.
“Landsakes!” exclaimed Willie through his whistling false teeth. “Looks like they’s been some party!”
Wanda stood wan and martyred with her kids. Vince tried to get her eye. Georgie squinted blearily up at Dee and Willie from the floor, as though trying to figure out who the hell they could be.
“What happened, Mrs. Cravens?” Romano asked. Kept his great big gun out, very edgy, finger on the goddamn trigger.
“Well, these guys—” Vince began, getting to his feet, but Romano waved his pistol at him menacingly.
“These here men come in drunk, just bustin’ in, got in a awful fight,” said Wanda dully. “They was another one, but he run off.”
“Musta been that body we passed,” Willie remarked.
“Yeah,” said Dee.
“What’d they come for?” drawled Willie.
Romano grinned sarcastically and pointed with his gun down at Johnson, just beginning to stir: Johnson’s prick was lolling limp outside his fly.
Wanda began to cry. “I don’t know even who they are!” She wept. Davey started in, too. So he had a voice okay. “Maybe they come in here by mistake. I don’t know why they picked on me!”
“Hey, wait—!” protested Vince, then thought better of it, cut himself off.
“Do you wanna file any charges?” asked Romano.
“No,” she said, sniffling pathetically. “Please, officer, jist git ’em out!”
Johnson came around just then, sat up painfully, stared head-on into Romano’s pistol barrel. “Man alive!” he exclaimed. “I’d say that one takes the prize!” Vince couldn’t help grinning. Johnson got to his feet, noticed he was still open, turned his back to Wanda to zip up. “Now, how many times I told ye, Wanda, when I’m takin’ a nap, not to—” He caught his bloody reflection in the mirror, stepped closer in alarm. “Jesus, men! It ain’t me!” he cried.
“Come on, quit the clowning!” said Romano officiously. “We’re all going down to the station. You can clean up there.” He paused for effect. “Over the next six months or so.”
“Dee baby, you been watchin’ too much TV,” said Johnson. The five of them filed out of the room, old Willie leading, Romano lingering fifth. “Come on, Romano,” complained Johnson in a nasal nag, “ifn we cain’t have none, you cain’t neither.”
“You bastard!” hissed Romano, and kicked Johnson hard in the butt. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cravens. We’ll take care of these guys. For good.”
They washed up at the station. It all began to register there what had happened, what the consequences were. Several people had seen him as they drove to the station — right down the middle of Main Street, for Christ sake — though they might not have been able to recognize him. Had his eyes ducked coming in, didn’t know if he was being watched out front or not. Goddamn Romano pushing them in ahead with his pistol out for the whole fucking world to see. But, hell, what did all that matter? Six months! And Jesus, what could he even say! Caught, man. In the act. Pants down. It would be in the newspapers. And mixed up with the Brunist mess besides. Oh God! And Ted and his family, Etta, Angie! How the hell had he ever—? Had to get out, had to, even if he had to screw Johnson and Lucci to do it. He was nearly crying.
Johnson nudged him, washing up. “Got fifteen bucks or so?”
“Yeah, I think so.” Reached for his billfold to look.
“No, don’t grab for it now,” cautioned Johnson. “Jist have it ready, and play along with ol’ Chester.” The guy’s face was a mess and a tooth was broken, but he could still grin.
They went out front again to get booked. Luckily, nobody was lounging around in the station like they usually were. “Say, Willie, ol’ man, while we’re signin’ ourselves into this fine hotel here, would ye be so kind as to run out and git ol’ Chester a pack a smokes?” He handed Willie five bucks. “Gonna be a long night. And buy some for yourself.” Willie looked questioningly at Romano, and Romano nodded him out. “Well, now, where do we sign this here petition?” asked Johnson, examining the book. “Well, I’ll be damned! Here’s all my old very best friends. Hell, I’d be downright honored to join this fine company.”
“Stop wising off and get it over with!” snapped Romano.
“Listen, you know, Dee baby, they ain’t nothin’ really that cunt kin pin us on. Ever sonuvabitch in this town has been humpin’ her since ol’ Lee got hisself killt. Ain’t that the truth, boys?”