"Helm!" he said. "For God's sake!"
I still couldn't see that it was worth getting killed for. Well, to prevent it, maybe, but nobody was going to prevent it, and I never could get excited about the idea of dying nobly for nothing.
I said, "You're the husband now. You want to be a dead hero, go ahead."
He said, "I can't… We're all going to be dead, old man, don't you know that?"
"I've known it for years," I said. "I'll still wait for the time."
Joey chuckled. He sat down at the table, resting the gun on the big wire wheel lying there.
"Go on, Fenn," he said. "Have your fun. They ain't giving me no trouble. None that I can't handle."
Martell said, in his best Penn voice, "Nobody's dying for you today, Duchess. Too bad."
Beth licked her lips, pulled her shoulders back, and walked straight into the bedroom. He followed her and closed the door. It didn't take long. There wasn't time enough for me to even begin talking to Joey, without looking as if I was rushing things.
He was wide open for it. I could have worked on his greed, which he'd just betrayed, and dressed it up pretty with an appeal to his patriotism. I could have worried him badly just by letting him know I was a government man. Ever since Dillinger they've had a kind of superstitious fear of the 0-men, and I wouldn't have to mention that I didn't happen to be working for J. Edgar Hoover… But she gave me no time at all.
Suddenly the door opened and she came out, looking, except for the expression of her eyes, exactly as she'd looked going in. She hadn't even got her hair badly mussed, not enough that she hadn't been able to pat it back into place. Except for the missing blouse, and the frozen look in her eyes, she looked as if she'd just been for a stroll around the house.
Martell was behind her, and he looked angry and unsatisfied. I knew exactly what she'd done. She'd undressed for him fast and let him have her, to get it over with, since she had no choice, but she'd given him no more than he could have got from a properly constructed store-window dummy. In the years to come, if she lived that long, she'd take pride in the fact, no doubt. He'd had her body but he hadn't touched her soul. Not that she was likely to live that long. None of us were, now.
He grabbed her and stopped her. I saw his glance touch the wheel on the table before it came to rest on Joey.
"Okay, Joey," he said. "Your turn." He rubbed his head ruefully. "Watch that damn upper berth or you're like to knock your brains out."
Beth's stony expression didn't change. She just stood there. Joey looked at her for a moment. It was hard to say what went through his mind, such as it was. Maybe, like me, he'd seen the direction of Martell's first glance, and got a vague hunch it might be best for him not to leave again. And I suppose he could tell that Lover-Boy Penn hadn't gone over real big in there. Maybe he just didn't figure it was going to be worth the trouble for him to try. But I don't discount the possibility that he had some kind of decency. This was a woman from a different world, and he'd just stick to his own kind, thanks.
"I'll pass it, Fenn," he said.
Martell looked surprised and annoyed. He started to speak sharply, stopped, and shrugged his shoulders.
"Suit yourself. I can tell you you're not missing much." He gave Beth a shove. "Go on back over there and sit down."
Joey glanced at his watch. "We'd better get on a phone and report to Mr. Fredericks that we've got it, before he starts getting impatient."
Martell said, "Yeah, sure, as soon as we finish what he sent us to do." He walked up to me and kicked me hard in the shin. He seemed to have a knack for hitting the same place every time. I let him know it hurt. "All right," he said. "I'm through horsing around, Buster. Where's Miss Fredericks?"
I said, "I'm not going to tell-"
He moved in fast and hard, slugging, chopping with the edge of his hand, slapping, kicking. I covered up as best I could and rolled with the worst ones, riding it out: this didn't mean anything, either. This was just Mar-tell taking it out on me because a pretty woman hadn't responded properly to his advances. Or maybe he was just stalling while he figured things out.
Pretty soon we'd settle down to the lighted-cigarette routine, or he'd send Joey for a pair of pliers. And when Joey came back, he might just possibly walk into a bullet-from my gun, to make it look good later, or Logan's, but that was lying outside somewhere. In any case, there was something in that tire beside heroin that Martell wanted, and he obviously wanted to get it without having Joey tell all about it later. And since Joey had been so foolish as to refuse to retire gracefully from the room, something might very well happen to him, as it was going to happen to all of us. Meanwhile, Martell was putting on a show, as Fenn, while he made up his mind.
I drew back from a punch in the eye, and the ancient chair groaned and collapsed, sending me over backwards. It was a chance, but I threw a glance towards the table as I went over, and Joey had the.45 trained on me rock-steady. There was nothing to do but cover up some more, as Martell moved in for some fancy kicking.
I waited, curled up on the floor, but the kick didn't come. Instead, there was a high, crazy peal of laughter. I looked up. Beth had got up from her chair. Martell, sensing attack, had jumped back instinctively, but she had no time to spare for him. She was staring down at me, but her hands were clapped over her mouth, as if the sudden, wild laughter had startled even her. She took them down and giggled.
"Look at him!" she breathed. "Look at him, the big dangerous man, the man I divorced because… because I was afraid of him, God help me!"
It didn't seem like anything that required a reply. I merely picked myself up with as much dignity as I could muster. Then the idea came to me and I made an in-effectual gesture of protest.
"Now, Beth-"
"Now, Beth!" she mimicked, taking a step forward. "Now, Beth!"
"Now, Beth," I said mildly, "you're just upset because-"
"Upset!" she gasped. Her eyes were suddenly wide and a little mad. "Because! I suppose it's nothing to be upset about? And what did you do to prevent it? You just sat there and said you didn't want to be a dead hero."
I was watching her closely, looking for some hint, some sign, some signal that she was acting, but there was not. She was perfectly serious, in an overwrought way. She meant every word, so I'd have to play it on that basis.
I noted that Martell had pulled back near the table, behind me. My one glance told me that he was grinning. She'd made him feel like a lower form of life. Now it was somebody else's turn, and he liked it. He thought it was very funny; funny enough to watch for a while, just for laughs. Joey thought it was funny, too, but he was worried about how much time we were wasting. Mr. Fredericks would be getting impatient-and it wasn't wise to keep The Man waiting.
I said, "Beth, really! What did you expect me to do-"
"Do," she breathed, taking another step forward. "Do? I expected you to do something, anything! Larry would have done it, if he could!"
I said angrily, drawing back a step, "Larry's already had a leg shot from under him because of you! I suppose he would have been fool enough to get himself killed because of you!"
"Yes," she hissed, "yes, you would think that was foolish, wouldn't you, darling?"
I showed my teeth in something that was supposed to be a ratty grin. I said viciously, "What the hell are you squawking about, darling? There's Larry with a smashed leg. Here am I after a four-hour beating, and just what the hell, may I ask, is wrong with you? Nothing that, at the worst, can't be fixed by a small routine operation and a few shots of penicillin! Oh, and a visit to a good psychiatrist, if you're going to take it that big! I mean, just what the hell gives you the right to-"