David Goodis - The Moon in the Gutter

“I’m not ready to tell you.”

Channing went on smiling. It was a relaxed smile. “I hope it’s something exciting,” he murmured. “I like excitement.”

“That’s what I figured,” Kerrigan said. “Anything for kicks.”

“Sure.” Channing lit another cigarette. “Why not?” He took an easy drag, let it go down deep, and then it came out in little clouds as he said, “A few weeks ago I thought it would be nice to see Alaska. I’d never been to Alaska and I had this sudden notion to make the trip. The idea hit me on a Wednesday afternoon. An hour later I was in a plane. Thursday night I was making love to a sixty-year-old Eskimo woman.”

For some moments Kerrigan was silent. Then he said, “How was it in Alaska?”

“Very nice. Rather cold, but really very nice.”

Kerrigan’s hands were still flat on the table. He looked down at them. “You do these things often?”

“Now and then,” Channing said. “Depends on what mood I’m in.”

“I bet you have all kinds of moods.”

“Hundreds of them,” Channing admitted. He laughed without sound. “I ought to keep a filing cabinet. It’s hard to remember such a wide variety.”

Kerrigan closed his eyes and for a moment all he saw was black. And then something happened to the blackness and it became the dark alley and the dried bloodstains.

He could feel the trembling that began in his chest and went up to his brain and down to his chest again. His eyes were open now and he stared at his hands and saw that his knuckles were white. He said to himself, Cut it out, you’re not sure yet, you don’t have proof, you can’t do anything if you don’t have proof.

Just then something caused him to turn his head and he saw the two hags who stood at the bar. They were making hissing sounds and their eyes were focused on him and Channing. And then, somewhat hesitantly, they moved toward the table.

They approached the table with their faces sullen and belligerent and yet their twisted mouths seemed to be pleading for something. Frieda was trying to wriggle her shapeless hips and her hands made dainty adjustments to her orange hair. Dora swayed her bony shoulders and attempted to show the curves of a body that had no curves. As the two of them came closer, it was like a walking bag of flour and a walking broomstick.

“Get the hell away,” Kerrigan muttered.

“We got a right to sit down,” Dora said. And then she recognized him. “Well, whaddya know? It’s Bill Kerrigan.”

“Damn if it ain’t,” Frieda shouted.

“And he’s all dressed up in his Sunday best,” Dora declared. She let out a high-pitched, jarring laugh. “We thought you was a federal.” She folded her arms and unfolded them and then folded them again. “Why the special outfit?”

“This here’s a special table,” Frieda said. She made a gesture to indicate Channing, who sat there relaxed and smiling dimly.

Dora had stopped laughing and her face was pleated with lines curving downward. “It may be special, but it ain’t reserved. If they can sit here, so can we.”

“You’re goddamn right,” Frieda said. She took the chair next to Channing. Then she shifted the chair so that the grimy fabrics covering her hip came up against the side of his clean jacket.

Dora sat down beside Kerrigan. She put her arm around his shoulder. He cursed without sound, took hold of her wrist, and pushed her arm away. But then her arm was there again. He said, “What the hell,” and let it stay there.

“Gonna buy us a drink?” Frieda asked Channing.

“Why, certainly,” Channing said. “What would you like?”

“Gin,” Dora said. “We don’t drink nothing but gin.”

Channing called to Dugan and said he wanted a bottle of gin and two glasses. At the bar the humpbacked wino had turned and was looking at the table. The face of the wino was expressionless.

“Would you like something?” Channing asked the wino.

“Go to hell,” the wino said. He said it with an effort. There was no more wine in his glass and he had seven cents in his pocket and wine was fifteen. He took a deep dragging breath and said, “You can go to hell.”

“Same to you,” Frieda yelled at the wino. “We want no part of you, you humpbacked freak.”

“Don’t say that,” Channing said mildly. “That isn’t nice.”

Frieda twisted in her chair and glowered at him. “Don’t you tell me how to talk. I’m a lady and I know how to talk.”

“All right,” Channing said.

“We’re both ladies, me and my friend Dora. That’s Dora there. My name’s Frieda.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he said. “I’m Newton Channing.”

Frieda spoke loudly. “We don’t give a damn who you are. You ain’t no better than us.” She sat up very straight, and her eyes were hard. “What makes you think you’re better than us?”

“Is that what I think?”

“Sure,” Dora said. “You ain’t kidding nobody.”

Channing shrugged. Dugan arrived at the table with the bottle of gin and two glasses. Channing looked at Kerrigan. “What’s yours?”

“I don’t want anything,” Kerrigan mumbled. “I’m getting out of here.” He tried to twist away from the pressure of Dora’s skinny arm. She put her other arm around him and held him there.

He didn’t hear the sound of the door and he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps in his struggle to pull away from Dora. Then something caused him to look up and he saw her standing at the side of the table, he saw the lovely face and golden hair of Loretta Channing.

She was looking at him. Her gaze was intent and she was ignoring the others at the table.

Frieda said, “Who’s this tramp?”

“This tramp,” Channing said, “is my sister.”

“She ain’t bad-lookin’,” Dora commented.

“What’s she doin’ here?” Frieda asked. “She lookin’ for a pickup?”

“There’s one over there,” Dora said, and pointed to the humpback at the bar. “Go on over and talk to him,” she told Loretta. She didn’t like the way Loretta was looking at Kerrigan. Her arm pressed tighter around Kerrigan’s shoulder and she spoke louder. “Can’t ya see we’re teamed up here? Ya can’t sit here unless you’re with a man.”

Loretta went on looking at Kerrigan.

Dora began to breathe hard. “All right, you,” she hissed at Loretta. “You quit puttin’ your eye on him. He’s with me. Ya wanna see him, ya gotta see me first.”

“That’s right, tell her,” Frieda said.

Channing was chuckling. “Be careful, Dora. My sister packs a punch.”

“She don’t worry me,” Dora said. “She starts with me, she’ll need nurses day and night.”

She saw that Loretta was ignoring her and continuing to look at Kerrigan. She stood up and put her face close to Loretta’s face and shouted, “Now listen, you, I told you to stop lookin’ at him.”

“Don’t shout in my face,” Loretta said quietly.

“You keep it up and I’ll spit in your face.”

Loretta smiled. Her eyes stayed on Kerrigan as she murmured, “No, don’t do that.”

“You dare me?” Dora screeched.

“Sure she dares you,” Channing said. “Can’t you see she’s looking for trouble?”

“Well, sure as hell she’s gonna get it,” Dora stated. “When I’m with a man I don’t want no floozie buttin’ in.”

Loretta looked at the skinny hag. “You’re right,” she said. “You’re absolutely right. I’m very sorry.” She backed away from Dora and then turned and walked toward the bar.

But Dora wasn’t satisfied. Dora yelled, “You don’t get off that easy, you tramp.” She lowered her head and went lunging across the room. At the last moment Loretta stepped to one side and Dora collided with the bar and bounced back and landed flat on the floor. She rolled over on her side, tried to get up, and tripped over her own legs and went down again. She made another attempt to rise, managed to get on her feet, and saw Loretta standing with hands on hips, waiting for her. There was something in Loretta’s eyes that told Dora to think in terms of personal safety.