I glanced around frantically, waiting for the police to close in. Taking my hand, Lucille said, “It's okay, Tony, I'm with you. Listen...” her voice dropped to a whisper... “I don't give a damn about you knocking off Gus. I didn't think he'd cross you like... Oh, why he it up: we were going to take you, but hon, that's over! I'll do anything you say, Tony, I swear it. Or I wouldn't be here now! Tony, you must believe me—I have to do what you want, you have the bag. Honey, we've nothing to worry about.”
“What... what did you do with... Gus?” I asked, whispering in a nightmare.
“Stuffed his body into a camphor bag. Nobody come to the apartment until next month, when the rent's due. Even if Gus starts to stink, he'll take time coming through the camphor bag. Look, we can get a room, I'll make money for us... we'll have a couple weeks to work out something. Tony, I'll never cross you again, believe me!”
I didn't believe her, kept looking around wildly, almost expecting to see Gus' smirking face. About a half a block away, over the heads of the other people, I sure saw somebody—Mr. Ping coming toward me.
I started walking in the opposite direction, pushing people out of my way. Lucille ran after me. “Tony, please! Please! For the love of God... don't leave me! I need... At least give me some...!”
I shook her hand off mine but she grabbed my shirt. I said, “Damn you, shut your face and let go of me! You brought the killers!”
“What?” She looked around.
“Mutt and Jeff down there!” I said, nodding toward Ping—and his runty buddy—who were pushing through the people waiting for the bus. I kept shoving down the street, even looking for a cop. Lucille ran after me, panting, “I don't know them! Tony, really, I don't!”
There wasn't time to argue, people were staring at us with cynical amusement. Reaching the other end of the block, I turned the corner, Lucille after me. It was a street of smaller stores, few people shopping in all the heat. I'd been a fool to run—people were my only shield from the silencer—the tall punk wouldn't dare use his gun in a crowd. There was no going back now, I half-ran down the street, Lucille's high heels clicking behind me. The damn duffel bag seemed to weigh a ton.
The stores stopped at the end of the block—then came a row of small apartment houses with even less people on the street. I stood there, not knowing what to do. Lucille was shoving her purse at me, panting, “Tony—take this.” I kept turning away from her. A small crowd of plump women shoppers stopped to stare at us—sure they were seeing a man-and-wife fight. Crowds... Digging into my coat pockets I finally found the piece of chalk. Kneeling on the hot sidewalk I feverishly began to sketch a copy of Goya's “Naked Maja, but actually getting down the way Lucille had looked in bed last night.
More people surrounded us, snickering at the breasts I was drawing. Through the fleshy forest of heavy bare legs and slacks I saw Ping and Shorty round the corner. I worked faster on the thick curves of the hips as the crowd grew. A high feminine voice said, “What gall—drawing a dirty picture right on the sidewalk!”
“He's good,” a mild voice added.
Ping's sharp slacks, the shoddy pants of his squat partner reached the edge of the crowd. When they came through the people, I'd put up a hell of a brawl, no matter... Sketching like mad, through the many legs I suddenly saw those of the two goons pull back, abruptly turn, walk away very rapidly.
Still on my hands and knees I watched them go —until a hand pushed my shoulder. I glanced up at blue pants, the red face of an old cop asking, “Whatcha think you're doing here, Mac?”
Standing, I brushed my hands against each other. Ping and his knife buddy were turning the far corner. Lucille was giggling down at the sketch. A man in the crowd said, “Hey, it's her—her!” Even with chalk and working fast, there was a certain lush, sensuous quality to the lines. All factors considered, it was probably one of the best things I'd ever done. Not that I was thinking about that as I said gaily, “Nothing officer. I had that sudden artistic urge—couldn't hold it down.”
He put his hot face next to mine. “You smell sober and I don't see you begging. Come on, folks, break it up. Too hot to crowd around.” He scowled at me. “You—you're on the wrong street, get around the corner with the rest of them Village nuts and fairies waiting for the beach bus. Move on—before I work up a sweat running you in—man your size drawing on the sidewalk!” He called to one of the storekeepers standing in the doorway of his shop: “Artie, get me a pail of water, I'll wash this pin-up off.”
Ping and Shorty were not to be seen as I slowly started walking back up the street—Lucille at my side. I stopped a cab and she got in with me, handed me her purse. She said, “Told you to take this.”
I had the cabbie drive downtown as I opened the purse—there was a roll of bills and the .32 which had belonged to Gus. The sight of the gun made me trust Lucille—a little.
She wiped her nose, which was starting to run, whispered, “Let's get to someplace where I can use... soon! I'm starting to get sick.”
“Take it easy. You ever see the long and short guys before?”
“Once. Now wait, don't get me wrong, Tony, only time I saw them was when I was leaving my place—couple hours ago. They were coming into the building. Only noticed them because they are so short and long. That's the truth. I didn't bring them or...”
“Okay, okay.” There was a twitch in her right cheek, under the eye, and her face seemed to be aging by the second, the lips turning a cracked, dry red. Gus had said something about giving 'them' a feeler—it was possible Ping and Shorty had come for Gus, found the door locked—figured the girl passing them on the stairs was Gus'... tailed her on the chance she'd bring them to me. It made as much sense as everything else I'd stepped into. Now, Ping and the runt knew what I looked like...
Passing a street of modern and ugly ranch houses, empty except for a few kids playing, I stopped the taxi. We walked through the street, turned a corner to another quiet block, over to a business street. I waited on the corner, to see if we were being followed.
Lucille begged, “Please, Tony, give me a sniff!”
“No. I'll give you some—soon.” I stopped another cab, and we drove downtown. Passing a cheap hotel, we left the cab at a movie house two blocks away. I bought two tickets and walked in with Lucille, turning as we reached the ticket-taker to make certain the taxi had driven off. In the darkness of the theatre, Lucille pressed her hands into her stomach, groaned, “Tony, I have the works in my bag... give me some stuff and in the ladies' room...”
“Too risky. Only be a few minutes more.”
“I can't...!”
“You have to!” I snapped, holding her arm firmly and walking out of the theatre. I registered at the flea-bag hotel as a Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Mason of Riverbays, rented a small room which was not only hot and stunk of strong insecticide, but on top of a record shop blaring out the same idiotic rock-and-roll song over and over. The moment the door closed, Lucille pulled a needle and bent spoon from her purse, reached for my blue duffel bag. Pushing her away, I opened it, let her take a very small pinch of the white powder. I had to help her down the hall to the John, couldn't bare to watch her make a fix. I returned to our stinking room, keeping the door open, an eye on the John. The gun in her bag was loaded and working. I slipped it into my back pocket. Counting Lucille's money—we had twenty-three dollars: I'd already spent seven of her bills for the room.