James Chase - He Won't Need It Now

Joe followed him from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Duffy lay on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chin. After they had been gone some time, he began to sob a little.

A VOICE SAID, “What a guy!”

Duffy forced one swollen eyelid back and tried to see who it was. A blurred figure was standing over him. He thought it might be Joe again, so he shut his eye and lay still.

“Bill!”

That wasn’t Joe, he thought; it sounded like McGuire. Duffy raised his head painfully. “I think you’ve come a little late,” he said with a faint groan.

McGuire said, “My Gawd!” and meant it. “What the hell have you been doing with yourself?”

Duffy turned a little to the wall.. He wasn’t quite ready for any bright talk. “Gimme a break,” he said faintly.

McGuire was so upset and astonished, he just stood gaping at Duffy. Then he looked round the room, seeing the overturned furniture, the mess of the blood, and the blood-smears on the wall. “What’s been going on round here? Jeeze! This looks as if a massacre came off not so long ago.”

Duffy said through his clenched teeth, “ME, I’m it.”

McGuire took another look at him, then hurried into the bathroom. He found a small bowl and a towel. He filled the bowl with tepid water, and came back to Duffy again.

“Come on, soldier,” he said. “Let’s make you look a bit shipshape.”

“Suppose you go take a pill,” Duffy said with difficulty.

“Now come on.” McGuire put the bowl on the floor and dropped the towel into the water. He squeezed the towel and began wiping Duffy’s face with awkward care. He was as tender as a woman to Duffy.

Duffy said suddenly, “Hi, you rat, be careful of my nose.”

McGuire said, “You don’t call that a nose any more, do you?”

When he cleared the dried blood away, he took the bowl into the bathroom and changed the water. Deep down, a burning anger smouldered against those who had done this to Duffy. McGuire was one of those guys who made few friends, but when he had picked one, he stuck. He was, on the surface, casual and a great kidder, but he’d stick like a burr and fight once he had found a friend. Duffy and he had knocked along together on the Tribune for some little while. They had quarrelled, kidded and doubled-crossed each other, but let anyone else start anything then they’d side up together and beat hell out of the intruder.

He filled the bowl with water again and walked back to Duffy.

“For God’s sake, you must be losing your grip or something,” Duffy mumbled from the couch.

“What now?”

“Listen, dimwit, instead of pulling this Flo Nightingale act, what the hell’s wrong in giving me a drink?”

McGuire put the bowl down on the table. “You’re right,” he said. “This business startled me.” He went over to the wagon and poured out two stiff Scotches. He was going to hold the glass to Duffy’s mouth, but Duffy took the glass from him roughly. “For the love of Mike,” Duffy said, “don’t you think I can help myself to Scotch?”

They both felt better after the drink. McGuire said, “Was that some woman you brought home who set about you like that?”

Duffy put his glass on the floor and sat up very slowly. He put his hands over his groin and his mouth twisted. McGuire watched him uneasily. “You all right?”

“Sure, I’m all right,” Duffy said. “I’m fine.”

“All right, tough guy, but you can take it easy for a moment. Here, lie back, will you?”

Duffy swung his feet over the side of the couch, then he stood up. As soon as his legs had to take his weight, he bent in half. He would have fallen forward if McGuire hadn’t taken his arm.

“I’m getting soft, I guess,” Duffy said, sweat starting out on his face.

McGuire led him back to the couch and sat him down.

“Quit this stuff,” he said impatiently. “Lie down, or I’ll smack your ears for you.”

Duffy sank back on the couch. He was glad to.

McGuire poured him out another Scotch, and after that he felt his strength coming back.

“Suppose you tell me what happened?”

“Sure. I ran into three toughs who pushed me around.”

McGuire shook his head.

“Do you want me to call in the cops?”

“This ain’t for the cops.”

“Okay, what now?”

“What’s the time?”

“It’s getting on for ten o’clock.”

Duffy groaned. “What a hell of a night I had,” he said, resting his head on his hands.

McGuire went over to the telephone and dialled a number. Duffy watched him curiously. He heard the line connect with a little plop, then McGuire said, “Sam here, honey.” Then, after a pause he went on. “This crazy loon’s got himself into a jam. You ought to see him. Gee! He look’s terrible. Yeah, someone pushed him around. Well, I don’t think he’s capable of taking care of himself, so I’m bringing him right round to you. Fix up the spare bed for him, will you?” He stood listening for quite a while, then he said, “Coming right now,” and he hung up.

Duffy said heatedly, “If you think you’re going to turn that wife of yours loose on me….”

“Pipe down,” McGuire said sharply, “you’re doing what you’re told. Listen, you small-time prizefighter, you come on your feet or you come on your ear, it’s all the same to me.”

“Okay, I’ll come.”

McGuire had quite a job getting him over to his place, but he did it. The taxi-driver who brought them took an extraordinary interest in Duffy. He helped McGuire get him out of the cab and up the steps. Then he stood there, shaking his head.

McGuire got a little heated about it. “All right, all right,” he said; “ain’t you seen someone pushed around before.”

“He ain’t been pushed around,” the taxi-driver said, looking Duffy over, “someone’s been making love to him.”

McGuire shut the door in his face.

On the third floor Alice was waiting for them in the passage. A tall, dark girl, with black hair dressed low that set off her olive complexion, and gave her just a slight foreign look. Her large eyes, alight with life, were now large and scared.

It didn’t matter how low Duffy felt, Alice always made him feel good. When she saw him, she put her hand quickly to her mouth. Her skin went a little paler, so that it looked almost oyster colour in the sunlit corridor. Her eyes filled with tears, but that was as far as she would show her feelings.

“Bill Duffy!” she said, “how could you?”

McGuire said, “A real fighting drunk, ain’t he?”

Duffy tried a grin, but it was so painful to him and to look at, he hastily took it off his face. “This ain’t anything,” he kidded; “you ought to’ve seen me when I put Dempsey to sleep.”

“He’s light-headed,” Alice said,, but she put her hand on his arm. “Get him inside quickly, Sam.”

McGuire said, “I’ll be glad to. The way he’s leaning on me, you’d think he’s hurt.”

They took him into McGuire’s little flat. A pleasant four-room box of a place, bright and comfortable. Everywhere, Alice had left something of herself. The neatness, the sweet-smelling flowers, the shine of the stained boards, showed the woman’s hand. Duffy looked round the sitting-room regretfully. Whenever he saw it, he felt a faint hunger. He had never made a secret about it. If McGuire hadn’t married Alice, he would have. The three of them were close linked.

When McGuire got him undressed and into the cool sheets, he relaxed, and the pain that was riding his body gradually began to ease. Alice came in a moment later, fixed his pillow, fussed round him with a scent bottle, and Duffy loved it.

McGuire looked at his watch. “Let the animal sleep,” he said to Alice. “I gotta go and work. Keep away from him. If he gets fresh, call a cop.” Then looking at Duffy, he said, “Take a nap, soldier, I’ll have a little chin with you later.”