James Chase - Get a Load of This

“Aw, come on,” she said, “you’re just a kid. I’ll show you a good time.”

The boy shook his head.

Her patience snapped. “Listen, John,” she said, “if you don’t want it—get out. I’ve got a livin’ to make. You can’t come in here usin’ up my time like this.”

“My dough’s all right, ain’t it?” the boy said, squeezing up a little spark of vicious anger. “It pays for me to stay here, don’t it?”

Therese pulled on her dress and smoothed it over her big soft hips. “That dough’s about used up. What do you expect—an’ all night run?”

Someone rapped on the door. The boy slid across to Therese. He put one slender hand on her arm and his grip nearly made her cry out. His dead black eyes frightened her. “I’m not to be found here,” he said in her ear. “Look, I’ve got a gun.” He showed her the heavy Luger. “You’ll go with me.”

Therese was scared. She knew she had got herself mixed up in politics, and her mouth went suddenly dry. She said, “Get under the bed.”

The boy dropped on his hands and knees. He slid out of her sight. The knock sounded again on the door. She walked over and jerked it open.

The soldier looked at her with interest.

She flashed him a smile. “Why, honey, you just caught me. I was on my way.”

The soldier shifted uneasily. He was a family man and whores scared him. “You got a man in here?”

Therese shook her head. “Come on in. You got a little present for me?”

The soldier spat on the floor. “I ain’t wastin’ dough on a whore like you,” he snarled. “What were you doin’ foolin’ with the curtain?”

She laughed. “Don’t get sore, honey. I saw you boys out there an’ I thought you wanted some fun. Come on in.”

The soldier pushed past her and walked into the room. Therese felt her heart fluttering against her ribs. She knew that if the boy was found she’d have a bad time. She closed the door and went over to the soldier, who was looking round suspiciously. She put her arms round him. “Put your big gun down,” she said; “gimme a little somethin’. I’ll give you a good time.”

The soldier shoved her away angrily. “You better stay in tonight,” he said gruffly. “We’re lookin’ for the guy who killed General de Babar. The streets ain’t goin’ to be too healthy.”

The boy, lying flat under the bed, could see the soldier’s thick boots as he stepped to the door. He saw them hesitate, turn and come back. He saw them stand before Therese’s shoddy mules. Then he heard Therese catch her breath. She said: “No, you don’t. You gotta give me somethin’ first. Stop it, damn you! No, you can’t get away with this. You gotta give me somethin’.”

The thick boots pushed the shoddy mules across the room until they stopped against the wall. “You lousy, rotten bastard!” he heard her say.

The boy didn’t watch any more. He wanted to be sick.

Later, the soldier said: “If I catch anything after this, I’ll come back with a bullet for you.”

The boy heard him go out and slam the door. He crawled out from under the bed. Therese had gone into the little bathroom and had shut the door. He heard her running water.

When she came back, her face was wooden, but her eyes smouldered. The boy stood silently watching her. She was suddenly conscious of the heavy gun in his hand. She took one look at his set face, and she knew he was trying to make up his mind if he should kill her.

She said sharply: “Don’t look like that. It won’t get you anywhere.”

The boy had decided she was right, and he put the Luger in his hip pocket. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes. Terror had exhausted him.

Therese sat down beside him. “De Babar killed my husband,” she said. “I hate the whole goddam bunch of them. I’m glad you killed him. That lousy sonofabitch wanted killing.”

“I didn’t kill him,” the boy said tonelessly.

Therese went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “If they get you, it’s goin’ to be tough. What are you goin’ to do?”

“I didn’t kill him, I tell you,” the boy said savagely.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” Therese said, patiently. “I’m glad you killed him. I’ll get you out of here.”

The boy looked at her suspiciously. Her big eyes were quite tender. He wanted very much to smash his fist in her face. He got to his feet and walked away from her. His fury at being trapped like this made him physically sick. Her sudden sentiment sickened him.

She saw his uncertain look, and she misread it. “Aw, hell, you’re only a kid,” she said. “Don’t you worry. I’ll fix it for you.”

It took a great effort to control his voice. He said, “How?”

She got off the bed. “I’ll show you. Stand in front of the lamp; I want to look into the street.”

Unwillingly, because she had told him to do something, and he felt that no woman should tell him to do anything, he moved so that his back completely shadowed the lamp.

He watched her cautiously pull aside the curtain and glance into the dark square. Then she turned her head and nodded. “They’ve gone,” she said; “now I’ll show you.”

She went over to a battered chest of drawers and pulled out a black, cotton dress. She threw it on the bed. A brassiere and a pair of knickers followed. She went on her hands and knees and hunted the chest of drawers. The boy, standing watching, could only see her broad hips as her head disappeared out of sight. He shifted his eyes uneasily.

At last she found what she was looking for and she climbed to her feet, in her hand she held a pair of shoes.

She nodded at the clothes. “Get into them,” she said, “you’re about my size. Then we’ll go out together. It’ll be easy.”

The boy couldn’t believe his ears. He stood glaring at her. The rage boiled up in his guts.

“Do hurry,” she urged. “Can’t you see it’s the only way out for you?”

“You asking me to put those things on?”

Therese could hear the cold hate in his voice. For a moment he scared her, then she forced a little laugh. “Now don’t get mad,” she said, “these soldiers ain’t looking for a girl. You’ll be able to get away easily. Can’t you see that?”

The boy knew she was right. But the thought of putting those things on struck at his little manhood. He told himself that he’d rather be found and killed than put them on. But when Therese started pulling off his coat, he just stood frozen and let her.

“Come on,” she said impatiently, “don’t stand there like a dummy. Help yourself. Get your pants off, don’t mind me. I’ve seen all you’ve got, an’ it don’t worry me any.”

As if in some repulsive nightmare, the boy stripped. He stood on the coconut matting, thin, a little dirty, and shuddering.

Therese looked him over with a kindly, mocking smile. “You ain’t much of a picture, are you?” she said, lightly. “I guess you want buildin’ up.”

The boy told himself that when all this was over he’d come back and kill her. Right now he couldn’t do anything. He had just to suffer his humiliation.

Therese pushed him on to the bed and tossed the knickers in his lap. “Get ’em on,” she said, “then I’ll fix your front up.”

The feel of the silk against his bony thighs broke the last shred of his self-control. He sat there, his fists on his knees, and his eyes wild, swearing softly through his full lips. Even Therese was shocked at the things he said.

“If you don’t shut that foul little trap of yours,” she snapped at last, “I’ll toss you out of here as you are.”

The boy stopped swearing and looked at her. She felt a little shiver run through her as she met his vicious hating look. She knew then that he was bad—that he would always be bad. But he had shot de Babar, and that was enough for her to help him.