James Chase: He Won't Need It Now

Duffy thought they were all screwy, and he wished he hadn’t socked that pint away. Clive stood away from the little guy and glared at Duffy.

The little guy looked at Duffy with stony eyes. “Get wise, bright boy,” he said. “We’ve come for the camera.”

Duffy pushed his hat to the back of his head and blew out his cheeks. So that was it, he thought. He wandered over to the wagon and picked up a bottle of Scotch. “You gentlemen want any of this?” he asked.

Clive had a gun in his hand. Duffy looked at it surprised, then he said to the little guy, “Tell that fairy to put his rod away, he might hurt someone.”

The little guy said, “I should care. What’s it to me?”

Duffy said very sharply, “Tell that punk to put his popgun down, or I’ll do it for him, and smack his ears down.”

Clive made a high whinny sound like a horse. He looked as though he was going to have some sort of a fit. He stood there, his face white, and his eyes dark with hate. Duffy went a little cold at the sight of him.

The little guy said, “Put it away.”

The youth turned his head slowly and looked at the little guy. “I’m going to pop him…” he said shrilly, all his words tumbling out of his mouth in a bunch.

“I said, put it away.” The little guy was quite shocked that he had to speak twice.

Clive hesitated, blinked, then pushed the gun into his hip pocket. He stood undecided, his hands fluttering at his coat. Then quite suddenly, he began to cry. His face puckered up like a little indiarubber mask that someone had squeezed. He sat himself on a chair and covered his face with his thin bony hands and cried.

The little guy sighed. He said to Duffy, “See, you’ve upset him now.”

Duffy threw his hat on the settee and ran his fingers through his hair.

The big tough came over from the window and patted Clive’s head. He didn’t say anything, but just patted the youth quite heavily on his head.

The little guy shifted uncomfortably. “Aw, I didn’t mean anything,” he said. “We ain’t supposed to pop this guy, so I couldn’t let you do it, could I?”

Clive took his hands away and said with a snivel, “But look how you spoke to me.”

“Sure, sure, I know,” the little guy smiled with his tight mouth. “I’m sorry. There, I can’t say more, can I? I’ve said I’m sorry, that’s pretty generous.”

Clive looked at the little guy earnestly. “It wasn’t what you said that upset me,” he said, “it was how you said it.”

“I know, it was the way I said it, wasn’t it?”

Clive began to cry again. He didn’t cover his face this time, but screwed up his eyes, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Yes,” he said, “it was the way you said it.”

“Quite a big shot, ain’t he?” Duffy said, leaning against the wall, watching with extraordinary interest.

“You leave him alone,” the little guy said. “He’s all right, but he upsets himself.”

Clive stopped crying and shot Duffy a look of hate. The other two followed his glance, as if just remembering Duffy.

The little guy said to Clive, “You all right now?”

Clive said he was fine.

“Come on,” the little guy said to Duffy, “we’re wasting time.”

Duffy said, “I’m disappointed. I thought we were all going to let down our hair and have a good cry.”

The little guy giggled, then stopped and looked annoyed. “Let’s have the camera, we got to blow soon.”

Duffy lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. “I ain’t got it,” he said.

The three stayed very still.

“Listen,” the little guy said patiently, “we’ve come for the camera, and we’re going to have it, see?”

Duffy shrugged. “I can’t help that,” he said shortly, “I ain’t got it.”

The little guy said, “You ain’t got this right. I said we want that camera and we are going to have it.”

“Sure, I heard you the first time. I tell you I ain’t got it.”

The little guy looked at the other two and said, “He ain’t got it.”

The youth drew his top lip off his teeth. “I told you you weren’t getting anywhere with this bastard.”

Duffy pushed himself away from the wall. He began to wander slowly round the room. He didn’t take his eyes off the three, watching him.

“You be careful,” he said to Clive, “you’ll be getting some false teeth mighty soon.”

Clive looked at the little guy. “Turn Joe on him,” he said excitedly. “Go on, beat the sonofabitch to hell.”

Duffy was quite close to him now. He seemed to be carelessly looking for something. “Don’t call me that,” he said viciously, and his right fist came up from his waist slap in Clive’s mouth. Duffy was nervous of the big bird. He thought with the other two out of the way, he might stand a chance with him, but he wasn’t sure.

Clive went over, taking the chair with him. He lay on his side, hissing through his hand, that he had clapped to his mouth.

The other two were too startled to move. Duffy hit the little guy on the bridge of his nose. It was an awkward punch because the little guy was sitting, but it had plenty of steam behind it. The little guy tossed back in his chair and went over with a crash. He lay there completely stunned.

Duffy stood, his hands a little advanced, his elbows pressed into his waist.

The big bird looked at Clive and then he looked at the little guy. Then he grinned, showing very white even little teeth. “Jeeze!” he said hoarsely, “you’re going to get it now.”

He came in, weaving and bobbing. Duffy saw at once that he was right out of this fellow’s class. He jumped away, and retreated until his heel thudded against the Wall. The big bird came flat-footed but sure. His head was down, with his chin well tucked into his shoulder. Duffy let one go. It was a good one, coming up with a whistling sound. The big bird shifted a little, not much, but just a little, and Duffy’s fist hit the air. Then the big bird hit Duffy under the heart. It sounded like a cleaver going into a side of beef. Duffy thought the house had fallen on him. He felt his knees sag and the big bird let him come into a clinch. Duffy wound his arms round him, holding him so he couldn’t hit him.

The big bird let him recover. He said, “That was a good smack, huh?”

Duffy broke from the clinch, stepped back quickly, collided with a small table and went over backwards. He scrambled to his feet, hurriedly. The big bird gave him plenty of time, then he came in with that flat-footed shuffle, slipped Duffy’s punch and banged Duffy in the ribs again. That punch hurt like hell. Again Duffy sagged at the knees; this time the big bird swung one to the side of his head and Duffy went over on his side and lay there. He landed quite close to the little guy, who was just sitting up. The little guy took a gun from inside his coat, holding it by the barrel, he lent forward and hit Duffy in the groin, hitting very hard.

Duffy curled into a ball, but he didn’t yell. He bit his lip right through, but he didn’t yell. Then he felt his inside coming up into his throat and he vomited.

The little guy shifted hastily. “Look,” he said, “the bastard nearly had me.” He got quite excited about it.

Clive said with approval, “Now you’re doing something.”

They stood round Duffy, watching him. The little guy pressing the bridge of his nose tenderly with his fingers, his eyes watering. Clive knelt on the floor with his lips swelling. He could feel that his front teeth moved a little when he touched them with his tongue. Joe stood with his hands hanging loose, like a dog deprived of its bone.

Duffy raised his head slowly. His face glistened with sweat. The shaded light from the ceiling lit his greenish skin. He was feeling awfully bad, but he held on to himself low down and rode with the pain. The blood ran down his chin from his lip. He could feel the salty taste in his mouth.