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

“Yeah, I was sleeping peacefully.”

“And now you ain’t. It’s after nine. Jump into your clothes, and we’ll hit the street.”

“What for?”

“Cause it’s today. Come on, man. Don’t be so lazy.”

My eyes are open wider now. Sleeping’s out. Randy ain’t going to leave, and there’s no use arguing the point.

“Okay,” I tell him, and I grab my pants and pull them on. “Nothing’s doing, Randy?”

“Nothing special.”

“I thought something was up.”

“You didn’t have enough last night?”

I remember that all right, and my face goes red. Randy notices and gives me a big grin.

“Yeah, you remember.”

“It was too close for comfort. That yard bull could have put his hand out and touched me.”

“If he got his hand on you, you wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. Them guys don’t fool around when they catch you. And when they finish up, they turn you over to the cops, just for the fun of it.”

“That figures.”

Randy turns away, and I finish dressing. When I’m all set, he’s standing at the window.

“You ready to blow?” he asks.

“I didn’t have breakfast yet.”

“Yeah, neither did I, but I brought some stuff along. It’s on the roof.”

“Anything good?” I ask him.

“Milk and buns. I hooked it early this morning.”

“That sounds all right. Let’s get it before it’s gone.”

The quickest way is through the window and up the fire escape. We take that route, reach the tar, open the bag and dig in.

The milk is kind of warm, but the buns are fresh and tasty. We knock off the half a dozen each, then flip the empty milk bottle at a cat down in the yard.

There’s nothing to hold us now, and Randy says, “Let’s breeze, man. It’s empty up here.”

“Where do we go?”

“No place special. Let’s walk around and see the sights.”

We hit for the street, walk around and finally we’re back in Randy’s neighborhood. It’s kind of quiet, so we end up on his roof and look over his pigeons.

It’s a good coop and the birds are okay. They’re mostly Flights and Tumblers.

“I see you go for Flights, Randy.”

“That’s right. They’re the best on the wing.”

“Could be, but I like Tumblers most.”

“Why?” asked Randy.

“I like the way they flip over and do all that acrobatic stuff.”

“Yeah, they’re good like that. How come you ain’t got no birds?”

“There’s too many thieves around my block. You got a flock today and tomorrow they’re gone.”

“Thieves is all over, Irish. But I got a big lock on my coop and a heavy door. Behind that, I got an alarm that rings off in my bedroom. Somebody fools around with my coop, the alarm buzzes and I’m up the fire escape with a two-head axe. One time I caught a guy and near to throwed him off the roof.”

“How come you didn’t?”

“Hell, he was only a small stud, and he cried like a baby. I hung him over the side just to scare him, and kicked his butt good. Stuff like that gets around the neighborhood, and others ain’t too anxious to try to get my birds.”

“Yeah, you have to protect your property.”

We’re still talking about pigeons and stuff when the roof door slams open. Buster and the guys we were with last night step out on the tar.

“Hey, look who’s still around,” Buster says. “You slept with the pigeons last night, Irish?”

The others laugh, but Randy tells him, “Lay off. He’s got a home same as you.”

“You still sticking your nose in for him, Randy?”

“Yeah, all the way.”

“What for?”

“Cause four is after three and in front of five.”

Buster shakes his head. He don’t like me, and he don’t go for the idea of Randy being on my side. I can see that good. The others are on the fence.

Buster lights up, looks at me again and shakes his head. I figure it’s time to talk up, so I ask him what’s wrong.

“Lots is wrong, man. If you didn’t lose your nerve last night, we’d have pulled off the job okay.”

I can’t answer that, but Randy talks up for me. “Hell, it was his first time, Buster.”

“That ain’t got to do with it. First or last, he didn’t have no right to holler and run. That was the punk showing.”

“Yeah, who says he’s a punk?”

“You heard me talk.”

“Then how come you ran? Why did we all cut out?”

That stops Buster for a second, but he ain’t through. He’s ready to explode. “I still say he punked.”

He gets that out, but Randy tells him, “Then all of us did.”

“He don’t belong with us. I don’t want him along when we go out again.”

“That ain’t for you to say, Buster.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Buster and Randy stare at each other like they’re ready to jump, I hope they don’t clash, but I get a good feeling out of this, ’cause Randy’s standing up for me.

Buster can’t stare Randy down, so he turns to the others. “You guys want a punk along?” he asks.

The others look at me. They don’t seem too sure of anything, but I know they haven’t forgotten last night.

“He should have held,” Beaver says.

“Yeah, the way you did. You were first over the wall, I noticed,” Randy tells him.

We’re back on that again, and the fact is I was scared. Even Randy knows that, but he’s sticking up for me. That’s all right, but he’s hurting himself with the others.

I try to tell him that, and he won’t listen.

He waves his hand at me and says, “It was his first time, and he didn’t know the setup good as us.”

“All the more reason why he should have held ground,” Buster answers. “But he got scared and took off. Only punks take off.”

I don’t mind the others, but this Buster talks too much. There’s too much of that punk business from him, so I say, “I’m no punk like you think.”

He turns and grins at me. “Man, then why’d you run like a scared cat?”

“Because it just happened that way. I didn’t expect the yard bull to flash the light in my face.”

“Then you ain’t a punk. Is that right?”

“It’d take more than you to prove I am.”

“That sounds like big talk.”

“It ain’t talk!”

“Okay, it ain’t.” Buster gives me a big smile. “In that case, we can try you out and see. You want to take the test?”

He’s got me. I should have kept my mouth shut, but it’s too late now. I’m in the trap.

“What’s the test?” I ask him.

“The Arena.”

“What’s that?”

“A place we use for tests, to see who’s got guts and who ain’t.”

I look at Randy, but he’s got nothing to say now. The others are smiling.

“Yeah, to the Arena,” Beaver says, and the rest of them pick that up. They start chanting it.

Buster lifts his hand. “Okay, that’s enough on that stuff. This ain’t no time for entertainment.”

The others shut, and he turns to me. “You willing to take the test, Irish? Nobody’s forcing you or nothing like that. It’s a free choice you got. You can back out if you want.”

He says that easy, like he’s ready to give me out. But that’s bull. There’s no out. This is a challenge to see if I’ll punk out, and I can’t punk out. If I do, I know what’s going to happen.

I look him straight in the eye and say, “Okay, what’s the test?”

“You’ll find out when you get there. You ready to take it?”

For a second I’m kind of scared. Anything can happen. Maybe they’ve got a pistol, and it’s going to be Russian roulette. That’s one way I don’t intend to die.

Maybe Randy’ll give me a sign. I turn to him, but he don’t say anything. His face is blank, but I know he’s waiting like the others. The decision is up to me.