Robert Bloch - Michael Shayne Mystery Magazine. Vol. 1, No. 1. September 1956

We move along the top of the car to the back, climb down an iron ladder and drop to the roadbed.

The others are waiting. “Damn, you got to make all that noise, new boy?” Buster says. “You trying to get us caught?”

I don’t know what to say, but Randy comes in for me. “Hold your fat mouth,” he tells Buster. “That was me.”

“Yeah, you can’t jump better than that, balloon-head?”

“Shut your face, Buster. Somebody was coming, and I had to make a quick jump.”

Buster shuts. Nobody’s talking now, ’cause, up above, somebody’s making noise. We hear a girl laugh, and this guy yakking like he’s alone in the world.

“It ain’t the cops,” Buster says.

We start moving. Buster takes the lead, and we walk single file. It’s dark as hell down here, darker than in the park, and real quiet now.

I’m real tight in the belly, sweat’s making my clothes stick. We keep moving for maybe fifty yards, but it feels like a mile.

“Okay, this is it,” Buster says.

I don’t see anything, then I do. There’s a line of freight cars. They look like shadows.

Buster grabs my arm. “Move up to the end of the first car, Mick. Keep your eyes and ears open for the yard bulls and let’s know if they’re coming.”

He gives me a push, and I head for the end of the freight car. Somebody else takes the front end. I don’t see who. The others move in for the kill.

I’m standing alone in the dark. There’s a couple of shadows near the door of the freight car. A soft clicking starts, then a kind of rumble follows. Two shadows move, go up through the freight car door.

Seeing that is kind of scaring. But I’m not supposed to be looking at them. I turn the other way and watch. There’s nothing to see but shadows, and they make me jumpy. The sweat’s getting cold on me.

It’s quiet as hell, just a few little sounds come from the freight car. They must be unloading something good.

I still got my back turned when somebody touches me. I jump and get set to fly, but it’s Randy, and he holds me.

“Man, take it easy,” he tells me. “You’re hopped up.”

“Okay, then don’t sneak up like that.”

He laughs soft. “Just wanted to see how you was doing. The boys is catching a load of stuff. Keep an eye.”

Randy leaves me and goes back to his post. I swing around. Everything’s the same as before — all dark. Still, I could swear I saw a light flash. I’m not breathing now, not doing anything but staring and listening, but I can’t see anything, and all I hear is my goddam heart beating.

I’m scared, that’s all. I tell myself that, and then I hear this soft crunching sound like somebody’s walking on ashes. But when I look, I don’t see anything.

The noise stops. Then it starts again. I know it’s real now, and I look through the space between the freight cars.

A light flashes in my face and blinds me. I duck it, let out a yell and start running.

Everybody’s running now, and it’s all black. Somebody’s yelling behind for us to stop, but we don’t stop.

We reach the freight car near the wall, scramble to the top and boost each other up the wall. I’m last up. Randy hangs on the wall. I grab on to him and pull myself up, then help him.

Down below, a light’s playing around in the dark. We watch it till it goes out. Nobody talks for a while. Everybody’s sucking wind.

Buster catches his breath first. His hand comes out and grabs a fistful of my shirt.

“Man, why the hell did you holler out like that? I ought to throw you down to the yard bull and let him eat your head off.”

I grab Buster’s wrist so he don’t rip off my shirt and tell him, “What did you expect me to do? He was on us.”

“Yeah, cause you wasn’t watching.”

“The hell I wasn’t! He came from the other side of the cars.”

“That don’t matter. You didn’t do it cool.”

I’m about to answer that, but Randy comes in for me and says, “Okay, it’s over. Let’s drop it.”

Buster lets go of my shirt and turns to Randy. “Yeah, you’re the one I ought to bust. This paleface cat is your boy.”

“Yeah, he’s my boy, so start busting if you think you’re so bad,” Randy tells him, and he moves in.

But the others grab both of them now and break it up. One named Beaver says, “This ain’t the time and place to whale. Besides, them canteloupes is back under that freight car yet. Do we wait it out and go back for them, or don’t we?”

“Hell, the yard bull’ll be waiting around all night to shoot up somebody’s butt,” Buster says. “I ain’t for going back tonight.”

That’s the verdict. Nobody’s for going back, so we swing through the park and hit the sidewalks.

Buster starts blowing off about me again, and Randy and him have words. After that, we split. The others go one way, and me and Randy walk off by ourselves.

For a while we don’t talk, but I have to say something, and finally I get it out.

“You shouldn’t have asked me to come in on it. I blew the deal, Randy.”

“Yeah, that could happen to any one.”

“But it was me.”

“You shouldn’t have hollered, that’s all. We could have moved fast and quiet before the yard bull came up and got off with a load of stuff.”

“But he was up, and he threw that light right in my face from the other side of the car.”

“You didn’t hear him coming?”

“When it was too late.”

“Well, it’s done. It ain’t the first time we lost out, so don’t worry about it.”

“Your boys must be real sore.”

“Don’t worry about them, either,” said Randy.

“Maybe I better not come around any more.”

“Why not?”

“You heard Buster.”

“Don’t let that pale-face stuff bother you. He just don’t know any better, but he’ll learn.”

We keep walking, and when we get tired of that, we hop a truck, ride straight into my neighborhood and swing off around the corner from my house. Randy walks me to the door and takes off for home. I go upstairs.

Television’s on when I walk in. The Old Man is watching the fights and drinking beer.

“Where’ve you been all night?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

“To the park. Where’s Mom?”

“At your aunt’s.”

That’s all. He lets it go at that, ’cause he’s too interested in the fights. I move off to my room, flop on the bed and stretch out. Half an hour later, the old lady comes in, opens my door and blasts me for laying on the bed in my clothes.

“Okay, okay,” I tell her. “You don’t have to holler.”

She slams the door and I take off my clothes, get back in bed and fall asleep listening to the sound of traffic from the avenue.

Next morning it’s boiling hot. A yellow light comes through the window. I turn away from it, face the wall. I lay still, close my eyes again and figure to get up about noon, ’cause there’s nothing to be done this morning.

Maybe ten minutes pass when I hear a whistle. Only one guy can whistle like that, but I tell myself it can’t be Randy.

The whistle sounds again, and I turn around and squint against the light. It’s Randy all right. Sounds like he’s on the roof, but he can’t be.

The hell he can’t. He gives another blast, and I have to get up and go to the window. But I don’t look out. I’m too tired to see him, so I go back to bed.

A few minutes later, Randy whacks me on the can. It’s a real stinger. I hop out of bed and curse him out.

Randy laughs. “Hey, watch your language, Irish.”

“Okay, what’s up?”

“There ain’t nothing up that I know about.”

“How’d you get in?”

“By way of the fire escape and through the window. You described it good, and I thought I’d try it when you didn’t answer.”