These feverish thoughts were born of the intoxication of the food and of eating it alone behind the barricade of the counter. For a few moments I was back in the old life. So, lightheadedly, and to hug the moment to me, I lit the cigarette.
Perhaps a minute later, the mumble of the voices died. Behind "Tales of the Vienna Woods" coming softly from the radio, I heard a chair being drawn back. Now I felt panic. I put out the cigarette in the dregs of my coffee and got up and began briskly turning taps and clattering the dishes in the metal sink. I didn't look, but I could see Sluggsy coming across the room. He came up to the counter and leaned on it. I looked up as if surprised. He was still chewing away at a toothpick, flicking it from side to side of his thick-lipped, oval mouth. He had a box of Kleenex that he put on the counter. He wrenched out a handful of tissues and blew his nose and dropped the tissues on the floor. He said in an amiable voice, "Ya gone an' given me a catarrh bimbo. All that chasing aroun' in the woods. This trouble of mine, this alopecia thing that kills the hair. You know what that does? That kills the hairs inside the nose too. Together with all the rest. An' you know what that does? That makes your schnozzle dribble bad when you got a cold. You given me a cold, bimbo. That means a box of wipes every twenty-four hours. More, mebbe. Ya ever think of that? Ya ever think of people have no hairs in their snouts? Aargh!" The hairless eyes were suddenly hard with anger. "You gashes are all the same. Just think of yerselves. To hell with the guys that got troubles! You just go for the good-timers."
I said quietly, under the noise of the radio. "I'm sorry for your troubles. Why aren't you sorry for mine?" I spoke quickly, forcefully. "Why do you two come here and knock me about? What have I done to you? Why don't you let me go? If you do, I promise I won't say a word to anyone. I've got a little money. I could give you some of it. Say two hundred dollars. I can't afford any more. I've got to get all the way down to Florida on the rest. Please, won't you let me go?"
Sluggsy let out a hoot of laughter. He turned and called across to the thin man, "Hey, get out the crying towel, Horror. The slot says she'll hand over two Cs if we let her scram." The thin man gave a slight shrug of the shoulders but made no comment. Sluggsy turned back to me. His eyes were hard and without mercy. He said, "Wise up, bimbo. You're in the act, and you've been given a star part to play. You ought to be tickled to be of so much interest to busy, important guys like Horror and me, and to a big wheel like Mr. Sanguinetti."
"What is the act? What do you want me for?"
Sluggsy said indifferently, "You'll be wised up come morning. Meanwhiles, howsabout shuttin' that dumb little hash-trap of yours? All this yak is bending my ear. I want some action. That's sweet stuff they're playing. Howsabout you an' me stepping it together? Put on a little show for Horror. Then we'll be off to the hay and make with the bodies. C'mon, chick." He held out his arms, clicking his fingers to the music and doing some fast steps.
"I'm sorry. I'm tired."
Sluggsy came back to the counter. He said angrily, "You've got a big keister giving me that crap. Cheap little hustler! I'll give you something to make you tired." Suddenly there was an obscene little black leather cosh in his hand. He brought it down with a dull whack on the counter. It left a deep dent in the formica. He began to move stealthily round the edge of the counter, humming to himself, his eyes holding mine. I backed up into the far corner. This was going to be my last gesture. Somehow I must hurt him back before I went under. My hand felt for the open cutlery drawer and suddenly I dipped in and flung, all in one motion. His duck wasn't quick enough, and the silver spray of knives and forks burst round his head. He put a hand up to his face and backed away, cursing. I hurled some more and then some more, but they only clattered inoffensively round his hunched head. Now the thin man was moving fast across the room. I grabbed the carving knife and made a dash for Sluggsy, but he saw me coming and dodged behind a table. Unhurriedly, Horror took off his coat and wrapped it round his left arm; then they both picked up chairs and, holding the legs out like bulls' horns, they charged me from both sides. I made one ineffectual slash at an arm, and then the knife was knocked out of my hand and all I could do was to get back behind the counter.
Still holding the chair, Sluggsy came in after me and, while I stood facing him, with a plate in each hand, the thin man leaned swiftly across the counter and got hold of my hair. I hurled the plates sideways, but they only clattered away across the floor. And then my head was being bent down onto the counter top and Sluggsy was on me.
"Okay, Horror. Let her go. This is for me." I felt his powerful arms round me, crushing me, and his face was against mine, kissing me brutally, while his hand went up to the zip at my neck and tore it right down to my waist.
And then came the sharp sound of the buzzer at the front door, and everyone froze.
Part Three: Him
Ten: Whassat?
"KERIST, whassat?" Sluggsy had backed away, and his hand was inside his leather jacket.
Horror recovered himself first. There was a cold snarl on his face. "Git over behind the door, Sluggsy. Hold your fire until I tell you. You,"—he spat the words at me—"get yourself into shape. You've got to front for us. If you don't do it good, you're dead. Understand? You'll be shot. Now get over to that door and find out who it is. Tell 'em the same story you told us. Get me? And take that silly expression off your face. No one's going to hurt you if you do what I say. Pull that zipper up, dammit!" I was struggling with the thing. It was stuck. "Well, hold the damn thing together across your chest and get moving. I'll be right behind you. And don't forget, one wrong word and you get blasted through the back. And the guy, too. Now scram over there."
My heart was beating wildly. Somehow, whatever happened, I was going to save myself!
There was now a loud knocking at the door. I went slowly over, holding the top half of my overalls together. I knew the first thing I had to do!
When I got to the door, Sluggsy leaned sideways and unlocked it. Now everything depended on the speed of my hands. I took hold of the door handle with my left hand and, as I turned it, my right hand let go of the overalls and dived down to the chain and unhooked it. Somebody cursed softly behind me and I felt the prod of a gun in my back, but then I had swung the door wide open, crashing Sluggsy against the wall behind it. I had gambled that, without knowing if it was perhaps the police or a road patrol, they wouldn't shoot. They hadn't. Now all depended on the solitary man who stood on the threshold.
At first glance I inwardly groaned—God it's another of them! He stood there so quiet and controlled and somehow with the same quality of deadliness as the others. And he wore that uniform that the films make one associate with gangsters—a dark-blue belted raincoat and a soft black hat pulled rather far down. He was good-looking in a dark, rather cruel way, and a scar showed whitely down his left cheek. I quickly put my hand up to hide my nakedness. Then he smiled and suddenly I thought I might be all right.