Хал Эллсон - Masters of Noir - Volume 3

We hit the rocks with a splintering crash, and my gun was out of the waistband almost before we struck. He screamed and tried to turn the wheel, and then he remembered he had a passenger aboard. He whirled rapidly as the boat tossed to starboard, the .32 coming up automatically, the crazy light still in his eyes. The smile had vanished from his face now, and his lips were drawn tight across his teeth. I let him bring the .32 all the way up.

I fired then, and the gun flew out of his hand as the bullet struck it. I saw bone splinters pierce his skin, saw the blood suddenly appear in the palm of his hand like a squashed tomato.

I was breathing hard. I took a step closer to him, and he backed up against the wheel, terror in his eyes. “All right,” I said. “All right.”

I fired again, right at his face. He brought his hands up an instant after the bullet smashed the bridge of his nose. I kept saying, “All right, you bastard, all right,” and I kept yanking on the trigger, the .38 bucking in my hand, the blood bursting out of his eyes, spilling from his mouth. I kept firing until the gun was empty, and his face was a wet sponge that splashed against the deck as he toppled forward.

He was lying in the bottom of the boat when I left him, his white flannels dripping with red. I walked back on top of the breakwater, finally reaching the beach, and padding across the wet sand to the cabana.

She lay on the bed while I packed. She lay very still.

I put the .38 back into its holster, and then I took my police shield from the drawer and shoved it into the suitcase beside the gun. The boys would be surprised to see me back so soon. I was supposed to have two weeks. They’d be surprised.

I didn’t bother taking any of my things out of the drawer. I just snapped the lid of the suitcase shut and looked at the writing scrawled across the top.

Just Married, it said.

I stared at it until it began to blur. I looked over at Eileen just once more, and then I left the cabana.

“Which one?”

“That one on the right, the blonde.”

Six Fingers had just lit a cigarette. He threw it away and stared, eyes thoughtful, mouth slightly open.

“Like her?” said Joey, nudging with his elbow.

“She’s pretty,” Six Fingers admitted. “But there’s lots of pretty ones.”

“Yeah, but...” Joey leaned toward his friend and his voice dropped as he told what he knew. It was a legend that had traveled the length and breath of the neighborhood.

“That’s true?” Six Fingers asked. There was doubt in his voice.

“Like to meet her?” Joey asked. “I know her good.”

“What for?” said Six Fingers.

“What for? Are you dumb, or what?”

“Well, I don’t know if I like her.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” Joey looked at Six Fingers as if he thought him mad.

“I got to like a girl, that’s all.”

“You’re sad, that’s all I got to say. You don’t know which way the wind is blowing,” said Joey, then suddenly he saw through his friend; at least he thought he did. “Know what I think?” he said. “You don’t know what it’s all about.”

“Well, I got to like them,” Six Fingers explained awkwardly.

“That don’t make sense,” Joey answered, and for him it didn’t.

“Well, I don’t like girls.”

Joey squinted at Six Fingers. He was small for his age, thin, with sharp eyes and a weasel face, smart in the ways of his own world, quicker-thinking than Six Fingers.

“Aw, you’re nuts. You better go home to your mother.”

Six Fingers ignored these remarks and lit another cigarette.

Later, he lay in his room. Night had fallen; the dark blue of the summer sky seemed to shimmer in the room. Six Fingers’ mother called him and he heard but refused to answer. Finally she opened the door and said, “Are you going to eat, or do I have to throw your supper in the garbage pail?”

“Throw it in the garbage pail,” he answered, and the door slammed. He was glad to be alone again with his thoughts, wanting to lie there, but the street sounds stabbed like pins and a restlessness had entered his body, a kind he’d never known before.

Finally he got up. It was darker now, the house quiet. His mother sat in the living room. Avoiding her, he made his way out of the house and went down the stairs. Cissie was on his mind. All afternoon he’d retained the image of her, a new and provocative one made so by Joey’s tale. All afternoon his mind had woven fantasies of a new kind. And yet he didn’t like Cissie herself, which was something he couldn’t understand.

No one on the street; his friends had gone off somewhere but he didn’t mind now. He was even glad that they weren’t about. His mind was blank as he moved down the block, he didn’t know where he was going. But he had to walk, the unease that afflicted him more acute.

He paused at the corner and looked toward the ice-cream parlor. About to pass it, he stopped and looked in. Someone had laughed.

It was Cissie and he saw her smiling at him; he had no doubt of that. Smiling in a way that made him shiver. He thought of Joey’s words and the way he had laughed at him. Well, he’d show Joey, he thought, and he wanted to go to Cissie but didn’t have the nerve.

Cissie herself made the move. She came out of the store moving languidly, pretending sophistication, a pretty girl with a keen face and eyes. Immediately, she sensed Six Fingers’ shyness and smiled to herself.

“You’re Six Fingers, aren’t you?” she said, close to him now.

He nodded, regarding her with a puzzled frown. Close up, she was prettier, exciting, yet he didn’t like her.

“How’d you know my name?” he finally asked.

“Joey told me. You’re new around.”

“That’s right.”

“How’d you get the funny nickname?”

As soon as he’d moved into the neighborhood his new companions, in the direct and unthinking cruelty of youth, had given him this name upon noticing his right hand with the extra finger. That hadn’t bothered him at all. In fact, it was expected, for the name had followed him from the old neighborhood and he’d grown used to it. Besides, there was a certain distinction in possessing an extra finger.

But Cissie’s question he resented. Nevertheless he showed her his hand. He expected her to be shocked but, instead, she appeared delighted.

“Oh, then it is true,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t believe Joey when he told me. He’s such a liar, you know.”

The last made Six Fingers wonder. Had Joey lied about her too?

“You doing anything?” Cissie asked.

He shook his head, studying her.

“Then do you want to go for a walk?”

“I don’t care,” he answered, wondering how he’d gotten the words out. For sometimes they wouldn’t come, and with girls in particular.

They began to walk, no destination in mind. A cool wind lifted off the river. The noises of the city pulsed louder, the lights began to blind Six Fingers. Cissie’s closeness made pins and needles go through him. She was talking, babbling nothings. Once her hand touched his and he felt flame shoot up his arm. Anger almost overwhelmed him and he wanted to strike her, wanted to flee. Both sensations coming instantaneously only served to hold him there.

They walked to the park, came back to the candy store and drank a coke.

“I’m going home,” Cissie said, dropping her straw in her glass and looking at him oddly.

Six Fingers nodded, thinking of Joey’s taunts. He had to go along with Cissie but didn’t want to. He had to like a girl, and Cissie made him angry.

They left the candy store and conversation died. Cissie’s chatter had been better than this silence; he felt uneasier now, frightened, yet didn’t realize the source of his fear.