James Chase - He Won't Need It Now

The little guy said, “Give.”

Duffy didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust his voice. He lay there, his eyes on the little guy, hating him.

The little guy said, “Ain’t you had enough?”

Duffy still said nothing.

The little guy raised his hand. “Soften him a little,” he said to Joe.

Joe smiled. He really took a pleasure in being tough. He put out an arm and his hand closed on Duffy’s shirt front, then he heaved a little. Duffy came up, like a cork out of a bottle. He gave a little grunt of anguish. His open hand smacked Joe across the eyes. Joe blinked. “Did you see what he did to me?” he said.

The little guy said, “Full of fight, ain’t he?”

Duffy swung at Joe feebly, his punch wouldn’t have knocked down a child. Joe grinned. “Get wise to yourself, bright boy,” he said. “You ain’t hurting no one.”

The little guy said, “Just pat him around a bit, will you, Joe? We ain’t got much time.”

Joe said, “Sure.” He held Duffy at arm’s length and hit him between the eyes. His fist traveled at a tremendous speed. Duffy could see it coming, but he couldn’t avoid it. Something exploded in his brain, and a bright flash of brightness blinded him. He wanted to lie down, but something was holding on to him.

The little guy said, “Now don’t hit him too hard, just pat him around.” His voice sounded a long way away to Duffy.

“I know just what you want,” the big bird said, and he started to slap Duffy’s face with heavy resounding blows with his open hand.

The little guy said to Clive, “If this makes you feel bad, you can turn your head.”

Clive said, “I’m feeling fine. I wish I was as big as Joe.”

The little guy patted his arm. “I don’t,” he said.

When Joe got tired, he said, “Shall we try him now?”

The little guy said, “I think so.”

Joe let go of Duffy, who fell in a heap on the floor. His face was a sight. The little guy knelt down. “Where’s the camera, bright boy?”

Duffy mumbled something, but his mouth was so swollen that the little guy couldn’t hear what he said.

“Lay him up on the couch, Joe, we’ll have to get him into shape.”

Joe pulled Duffy across the floor by his arm and dumped him on to the over-stuffed couch.

“Get some water, Clive, and a towel,” the little guy said.

Clive went out of the room into the bathroom. Duffy lay with his eyes shut, his breath coming in shuddering gasps.

Joe went over to the wagon and poured himself out a drink. He took it neat, then punched himself on the chest with his fist.

Clive came back with a wet towel. The little guy held out his hand, but Clive walked over to Duffy. “Let me do it.”

“Well, well, did you hear, Joe?” the little guy was surprised. “Clive wants to do it.”

Clive went on one knee beside Duffy and mopped his swollen bruised face with the towel. Duffy looked at him through a puffy eye. Then Clive put his hand on the side of Duffy’s head, made his fingers into claws and dragged his nails down Duffy’s face.

The little guy ran across the room and pulled Clive away. Clive had flecks of foam at the sides of his mouth. “That’ll teach him,” he said shrilly. “He won’t hit me again in a hurry.”

“You might have broken your nice nails,” the little guy said sharply. “That ain’t the way to go on.”

Duffy pushed himself up on the couch and lowered his legs to the floor. Joe watched him, a big grin on his face. “Ain’t he a pip?” he said, admiringly.

The other two turned and watched him too. Duffy was sitting up now, his head sunk on his chest. He remained like that for several minutes, then he put both hands on the couch and levered himself to his feet. His face was a mask of blood. Swaying, he made a little tottering run at Clive, who hastily got behind the little guy.

Joe stepped in front of Duffy. He said, “Still looking for trouble?”

Duffy swung a leaden arm, but Joe hit him in the ribs again, stepping in close and driving at Duffy a jarring jolt. Duffy opened his mouth and said “O!”, then he fell on his knees.

Just then the telephone bell rang. The three started and looked at the telephone. It continued to ring.

“That’s bad,” the little guy said, looking worried.

They waited, all concentrated on the sound of the bell. It rang for several seconds, then it stopped.

Joe dragged Duffy on to the couch again. He heaved him up and looked at the little guy.

“Bring him round,” the little guy said.

Joe pulled Duffy’s ears. He took them in each hand and tugged as if he were milking a cow. Duffy groaned and tried to get his head away.

“He’s here now,” Joe said.

The little guy stood quite close to Duffy. “Come on,” he said loudly, “spill it. Where’s that goddam camera?”

“Somebody stole it,” Duffy mumbled only half conscious.

The little guy stood back. “Christ!” he said. “Did you hear that? He said someone stole it. This bird must be nuts to hang on so long.”

The telephone bell began to ring again. Clive said suddenly, “Perhaps it’s Mr. Morgan.”

The little guy said, “Quiet,” and looked at Duffy. Duffy lay with his eyes shut, but he had heard all right. His brain wouldn’t think, but he remembered all right. The little guy hesitated, then went over to the ’phone. He unhooked the receiver from its prong.

“Hello?” he said in his tight voice.

He stood listening. Then he said, “You got a wrong number, buddy,” and hung up. He shook his head. “Some guy wanting this bird,” he jerked his thumb at Duffy. “Suppose you try him again, Joe?”

Clive took a step forward. “Why don’t you burn him a little?” he demanded. “This is wasting time.”

The little guy looked at Joe. “Do you think you can shake him loose?” he said.

Joe grinned. “Yeah,” he said; “give me a little time. This pip thinks I am playing with him, don’t you, bright boy.”

Duffy was getting light-headed, but he felt a little strength stealing into his legs. “Wait a minute,” he said with difficulty.

“Can’t you believe what I tell you? Some bird stole the camera before I left the dame’s house. I’ve just come back. I ain’t got it on me, have I?”

The little guy put his hand on Joe’s arm.

“Maybe he’s telling it straight,” he said.

Joe shook his head. “That guy couldn’t tell it straight to a priest,” he said.

The little guy looked at the clock on the mantelshelf. “Look at the time,” he said.

Clive said, “It’s all talk… talk… talk… talk!”

The little guy patted him on his arm. “If he ain’t got the camera, what can I do?”

Duffy sat up slowly and passed a hand over his face gently. Near by, on the arm of the couch, was an ashtray. One of those affairs with a leather spring that gripped the arm. It was quite a heavy thing. Duffy put his hand on it, then with one movement, he picked it off the arm of the couch and tossed it through the window. The glass shattered, making a high tinkling sound. Some of the glass fell in the street below.

The little guy said, “Clever, ain’t he?”

Clive ran to the door. “Let’s skip before the cops come up,” he said.

The little guy said, “Sure we’ll go.” Then he looked at Puffy. “We’ll be back, bright boy.”

He followed Clive out of the room.

Joe clouted Duffy on the side of the head. The blow knocked him off the couch on to the floor. “We’ll get together by’n by,” he said, and went to the door hurriedly, then he paused, looking at Duffy lying there. He came back and kicked Duffy very hard in the ribs.

The little guy put his head round the door.

“Come on, Joe,” he said, “we gotta get out of this.”