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

The rest is easy. There’s pigeons all over the bridge, nests on the sides of girders and in the corners where they meet. One place in a groove along the concrete wall is lousy with them.

We scale down a pipe and grab what we want, tie their feet together and drop them to the ground below. Young ones can’t fly. They’re just soft and lumpy.

When we get enough we go down the rope, put them in the box and hike for the payoff.

First stop is the fat Chinaman. He throws us a buck, and we’re outside. That’s when Randy says, “There’s another thing I forgot to tell you, Irish.”

“What’s that?”

“Buster kind of likes Carmen.”

“He owns her?”

“Not exactly,” Randy says.

“So what, then?”

“You might find yourself clashing head on.”

“That’s okay with me. Everybody else is all right in your clique, but Buster don’t go down.”

“I just wanted to let you know the score. That’s all.”

“Thanks, Randy.”

We go on, deliver the rest of the pigeons, split the money, then ride downtown to Times Square and take in a big show.

Night time, after supper, I’m back in Randy’s neighborhood. We sit on his stoop and smoke and talk.

Things liven up after a while. Guys and girls gather at the corner. We move that way. The juke’s squalling in the candy store.

We drift inside. Some kids are dancing in the back. We have a coke and watch.

A few minutes later, Carmen comes bouncing in. She’s wearing tight dungarees, a tighter sweater. I get a hello and that’s all.

She moves to the back, and I turn to Randy, look at him.

“What’s that action?”

“You don’t know, Irish?”

“You know her better than I do.”

“Okay, she wants you to come in the back.”

“Anything doing back there?”

“Not too much,” Randy says, “but you can make the play and take it from there.”

“It’s easy as that?”

“Yeah, it ain’t hard. But like I told you, watch out for Buster.”

“He don’t bother me at all.”

Randy gets up from the stool. “Okay, it’s all yours. I’ll give you a tip. Get a couple of cans of beer. She goes for that stuff like a pig.”

“Then what?”

“My roof’s a good place. Behind the coop. The pigeons don’t mind.”

“Where do I get the beer?”

“See the man behind the counter. He always got a supply in the back at thirty-five cents a throw. See you later, champ.”

He moves out, and I go to the back. Carmen’s sitting in a booth, waiting with an unlit cigarette. I light her up and start dealing, figuring on a little resistance.

There’s none. Ten minutes later we’re up on Randy’s roof behind the pigeon coop. Half an hour later we’re down again.

Randy’s leaning against the paper stand when we come up. A girl is with him. Switch walks out of the store with a chick on his arm.

In two seconds, I’m introduced to the girls and invited to go to Coney Island.

It’s a pretty long trip this late. I mention that, and Switch says, “Don’t let it worry you. We got a fast car tonight.”

“Yeah, whose is it?”

“Don’t ask no questions, and you get no lies told to you,” Randy answers.

I don’t say any more, and we all move around the corner and up the block a way, where this flashy job is parked.

Switch opens the doors. We climb in like it’s bought and paid for.

It’s Tally-ho then, and we’re off for Coney...

Next day, I don’t show in Randy’s neighborhood till late in the afternoon. A stickball game is going on. Buster’s at bat. Girls are sitting on car mudguards and watching.

I breeze up and Carmen bounces off a car and throws her arms around me. That kind of breaks up the game.

Everybody’s laughing, but not Buster. He comes charging at me. I push Carmen aside, and we lock head on, get a few licks in.

The guys break it up quick. But that don’t stop Buster from talking. It’s all about me cutting in on him with Carmen.

That figures, but I don’t give a crap and tell him so.

“Yeah, talk don’t change things. We’re going to have it out,” he says.

“Name the time and place.”

“You want to go to the Arena?”

I’m not expecting that, but I can’t back away.

“Okay, the Arena, Buster.”

It’s done then. Everybody’s excited but two guys, Randy and Beaver. They start trying to talk us out of it.

It’s no dice. We’re both hot. Talking don’t do any good, so everything is set. Short rubber hoses are brought instead of belts.

Only four of us can go to the Arena. Me, Buster, Randy and Beaver. We take off in pairs.

All the way there Randy keeps saying, “You sure you want to go through with this?”

I want to, I tell him, but I’m scared, and that’s what I don’t tell him.

When we reach the bridge, Randy says, “I warned you about this, Irish, but you was stupid. You fell for it.”

“Fell for what?”

“Hell, why do you think Carmen threw her arms around you? That was the come-on for both of you to fight over the bitch. She thinks that’s romantic. Don’t go through with it.”

“It’s too late, Randy.”

“Okay, you’re the boss.”

We jump the wall and go to the rope, climb up on the bridge. Buster’s ahead of me. Taps on his shoes click on the concrete walk.

We go all the way to the end. Randy hands us the rubber hoses and we’re set.

Buster goes out first on the beam. I follow. We’re facing each other.

“You ready, you bastard?” he says.

“Yeah, any time you are.”

That starts it. We move across the beam and close in. I’m scared, shaking, twisted in the guts and all screwed up. Everything inside me moves.

Neither of us make a move. We just stand there, watch each other and wait.

“Swing out, motherjumper,” Buster finally says.

“Yeah, you swing. You swung first before.”

We keep it up like that, but nobody makes a move till Beaver talks up and says, “Who’s going to start it? There ain’t all day.”

“I’m waiting for the punk.”

I’m still scared, but when Buster says that I make a move, catch him on the leg with the hose, and then across the belly.

That’s all. He gives a yell, goes down, hits the beam and grabs.

I move in fast to help, hold him and Randy comes out to give a hand. When we go to pull him he lets out a yell that it hurts.

“What the hell, you want us to leave you out here? Get up and shut up,” Randy tells him. “You want the cop upstairs to hear?”

Buster stays shut now, and we get him up. Randy guides him back to the concrete walk and then he dives on it, hits it flat and starts crying.

We pull him aside, let him lay a while. Randy has a look at his leg then. There’s a big scrape and he’s bleeding a bit.

Getting him down the rope is tough, but we make it and take him back to his house. That’s as far as we go. He’s got to climb upstairs by himself and make his own excuses.

I’m still scared when it’s all over, too shaky to hang around or even light a butt.

“Got to go,” I tell Randy.

“You’re shook up?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll see you around, Irish.”

It’s three days before I show up in Randy’s block again. A stickball game is going on. Buster’s playing with a limp.

“How’s the leg?” I say.

“Coming along, Irish.”

“I’m sorry that had to happen.”

“That’s okay. It had to be one of us.”

He smiles and puts out his hand. We shake, and it’s all over for good. Buster gets up to bat, and I step in to run bases for him till the game is finished.

We move into the candy store for cokes then, and Randy shows up.