Эд Макбейн - Running From Legs and Other Stories

“ I like kissing them, too,” I said suddenly, surprised when the words came from my mouth. I squeezed Joan’s hand quickly and briefly, and then I walked to where Shirley stood against the wall, her eyes frightened and confused, and I said, “Happy New Year, Shirley,” and I kissed her gently on the cheek. I went around the silent room wishing each of the women a happy new year, and then I took Joan’s hand, and I picked up the container of gin and orange juice, and I walked to the door and without turning I said, “Good night.”

In the hallway Joan said, “I love you.”

I didn’t say anything. I felt as if I’d lost something in that apartment, and I didn’t know what the hell it was. We undressed quietly. Before we got into bed, Joan said again, “I love you,” and I nodded and turned my head into the pillow.

In a little while I heard the sound coming from the apartment next door. I got out of bed and walked to the wall. The sound was deep and soul-shattering, the sound of a grown man crying.

I stood near the wall listening, and then I bunched my fist and I banged it against the plasterboard, banged it with all my might, and I yelled, “Herbie!” as though I were yelling to a man who was drowning while I stood on the shore.

The sobbing stopped.

There was a silence.

“Yes?” Herbie answered in his thick Midwestern voice.

“Herbie,” I yelled, “Happy New Year. You hear me, Herbie? Happy New Year!”

There was another silence.

Then Herbie said, “I hear you.”

The boy sitting opposite him was his enemy.

The boy sitting opposite him was called Tigo, and he wore a green silk jacket with an orange stripe on each sleeve. The jacket told Dave that Tigo was his enemy. The jacket shrieked, “Enemy, enemy!”

“This is a good piece,” Tigo said, indicating the gun on the table. “This runs you close to forty-five bucks, you try to buy it in a store.”

The gun on the table was a Smith & Wesson .38 Police Special.

It rested exactly in the centre of the table, its sawed-off two-inch barrel abruptly terminating the otherwise lethal grace of the weapon. There was a checked walnut stock on the gun, and the gun was finished in a flat blue. Alongside the gun were three .38 Special cartridges.

Dave looked at the gun disinterestedly. He was nervous and apprehensive, but he kept tight control of his face. He could not show Tigo what he was feeling. Tigo was the enemy, and so he presented a mask to the enemy, cocking one eyebrow and saying, “I seen pieces before. There’s nothing special about this one.”

“Except what we got to do with it,” Tigo said.

Tigo was studying him with large brown eyes. The eyes were moist-looking. He was not a bad-looking kid, Tigo, with thick black hair and maybe a nose that was too long, but his mouth and chin were good. You could usually tell a cat by his mouth and his chin. Tigo would not turkey out of this particular rumble. Of that, Dave was sure.

“Why don’t we start?” Dave asked. He wet his lips and looked across at Tigo.

“You understand,” Tigo said. “I got no bad blood for you.”

“I understand.”

“This is what the club said. This is how the club said we should settle it. Without a big street diddlebop, you dig? But I want you to know I don’t know you from a hole in the wall — except you wear a blue and gold jacket.”

“And you wear a green and orange one,” Dave said, “and that’s enough for me.”

“Sure, but what I was trying to say...”

“We going to sit and talk all night, or we going to get this thing rolling?” Dave asked.

“What I’m trying to say,” Tigo went on, “is that I just happened to be picked for this, you know? Like to settle this thing that’s between the two clubs. I mean, you got to admit your boys shouldn’t have come in our territory last night.”

“I got to admit nothing,” Dave said flatly.

“Well, anyway, they shot at the candy store. That wasn’t right. There’s supposed to be a truce on.”

“Okay, okay,” Dave said.

“So like... like this is the way we agreed to settle it. I mean, one of us and... and one of you. Fair and square. Without any street boppin’, and without any Law trouble.”

“Let’s get on with it,” Dave said.

“I’m trying to say, I never even seen you on the street before this. So this ain’t nothin’ personal with me. Whichever way it turns out, like...”

“I never seen you neither,” Dave said.

Tigo stared at him for a long time. “That’s ’cause you’re new around here. Where you from originally?”

“My people come down from the Bronx.”

“You got a big family?”

“A sister and two brothers, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I only got a sister,” Tigo shrugged. “Well.” He sighed. “So.” He sighed again. “Let’s make it, huh?”

“I’m waitin’,” Dave said.

Tigo picked up the gun, and then he took one of the cartridges from the table top. He broke open the gun, slid the cartridge into the cylinder, and then snapped the gun shut and twirled the cylinder.

“Round and round she goes,” he said, “and where she stops, nobody knows. There’s six chambers in the cylinder, and only one cartridge. That makes the odds five-to-one that the cartridge’ll be in firing position when the cylinder stops twirling. You dig?”

“I dig.”

“I’ll go first,” Tigo said.

Dave looked at him suspiciously.

“Why?”

“You want to go first?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m giving you a break.” Tigo grinned. “I may blow my head off first time out.”

“Why you giving me a break?” Dave asked.

Tigo shrugged. “What’s the hell’s the difference?” He gave the cylinder a fast twirl.

“The Russians invented this, huh?” Dave asked.

“Yeah.”

“I always said they was crazy bastards.”

“Yeah, I always...”

Tigo stopped talking. The cylinder was still now. He took a deep breath, put the barrel of the .38 to his temple, and then squeezed the trigger.

The firing pin clicked on an empty chamber.

“Well, that was easy, wasn’t it?” he asked. He shoved the gun across the table. “Your turn, Dave.”

Dave reached for the gun. It was cold in the basement room, but he was sweating now. He pulled the gun toward him, then left it on the table while he dried his palms on his trousers. He picked up the gun then and stared at it.

“It’s a nifty piece.” Tigo said. “I like a good piece.”

“Yeah, I do too,” Dave said. “You can tell a good piece just by the way it feels in your hand.”

Tigo looked surprised. “I mentioned that to one of the guys yesterday, and he thought I was nuts.”

“Lots of guys don’t know about pieces,” Dave said, shrugging.

“I was thinking,” Tigo said, “when I get old enough, I’ll join the Army, you know? I’d like to work around pieces.”

“I thought of that, too. I’d join now, only my old lady won’t give me permission. She’s got to sign if I join now.”

“Yeah, they’re all the same,” Tigo said, smiling. “Your old lady born here or the old country?”

“The old country,” Dave said.

“Yeah, well, you know they got these old-fashioned ideas.”

“I better spin,” Dave said.

“Yeah,” Tigo agreed.

Dave slapped the cylinder with his left hand. The cylinder whirled, whirled and then stopped. Slowly, Dave put the gun to his head. He wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t dare. Tigo, the enemy, was watching him. He returned Tigo’s stare, and then he squeezed the trigger. His heart skipped a beat, and then over the roar of his blood he heard the empty click. Hastily, he put the gun down on the table.