David Goodis - The Moon in the Gutter

“No.” She choked on it. “Don’t make me tell.”

“Come on,” he gritted. His hands put more pressure on her shoulders.

She winced. His fingers burned into her flesh and there were pain and fear in her eyes. Yet it wasn’t at all like physical pain. And it seemed the fear was more for him than for herself.

Then all at once there was nothing in her eyes. Her voice was toneless as she said, “It was Frank.”

Then it was quiet in the parlor. But he had a feeling the room was moving. It was like a chamber on wheels going away from everything, falling off the edge of the world.

He took his hands away from her shoulders. He turned away from her, and heard himself saying, “As if I didn’t know.”

Bella had her head lowered. Her hands covered her face.

“Well,” he said, “it adds up. The twenty dollars was the one thing he needed. He never has a nickel in his pockets.”

She spoke in a broken whisper. “I should have guessed what was in his mind. But I couldn’t think straight. I was half crazy. Or maybe crazy all the way. I just wanted to see you get hurt.”

“He knew that,” Kerrigan said. “He knew it wouldn’t be no trouble to sell you a bill of goods.”

She was quiet for some moments. And then, in a lower whisper, “I came near spending more than the twenty.”

“Did he ask for more?”

“He wanted me to spend a hundred.”

He turned and looked at her. “Why didn’t you?”

Bella stared at the carpet. “I didn’t have it.”

“Did he tell you what a hundred would buy?”

“He said it would put you in a grave.”

Kerrigan breathed in slowly. He thought, This is worse than a grave, worse than hell.

Then gradually his mouth hardened. His arms were stiff at his sides. “All right,” he said. “Where is he?”

She raised her head. She looked at him and saw something in his eyes that made her go cold.

“You don’t hafta tell me,” he said. “I’ll find him.”

He moved toward the door. His hand was on the doorknob when Bella leaped from the sofa, ran to him, and grabbed his arms.

“No,” she gasped. “No, don’t.”

“Let go.”

“Please don’t,” she begged. “Stay here for a while. Think it over.”

He tried to pull away from her. “I said let go.”

She was using all her strength to drag him away from the door. “I won’t letcha,” she said. “You’ll only do something you’ll be sorry for.”

Her grip was like iron. Now she had her arms wrapped around his middle and he could hardly breathe. “Goddamn you,” he wheezed. “You gonna let go?”

“No,” she said. “You gotta listen.”

“I’ve listened enough. I’ve heard all I need to know.”

“You know what’ll happen if you go out that door?”

Instead of answering, he gave her a vicious jab with his elbow. It caught her in the side and she groaned. But she wouldn’t release her hold on him. He jabbed her again as she went on dragging him backward. She grunted and held him more tightly. It was as though she wanted him to keep jabbing her, to take it out on her.

“If you don’t let go,” he hissed, “you’re gonna get hurt.”

“Go ahead and hurt me. You got both arms free.”

“You’re askin’ for grief.”

Her breath came in grinding sobs. “I’m askin’ you to listen, that’s all. Just listen to me. I want you to go in your room and pack your things. And then I’ll walk you to the streetcar. You’ll take that ride uptown. And you’ll stay there. With her.”

His arms fell limply at his sides.

Bella relaxed her hold just a little. “Will you do it?”

He was looking at the door. He didn’t say anything.

“Please do it,” Bella said. “Go to her and live with her and never come back here. Don’t even use the phone. Or write. Just forget about all this. Forget you ever lived in this house.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Sure it’s easy. You said so yourself. Just a matter of spending the carfare.” Her voice was torn with a sob. “Fifteen cents.”

“That’s cheap enough,” he said. “Maybe it’s too cheap. I think it costs more than that to break off all connections.”

Then slowly, gently, he took hold of her wrists, he unfastened her arms from around his middle. She didn’t look at him as she stepped away, giving him an unimpeded path to the door. But as she heard the sound of the doorknob turning, she made one last try to hold him back, calling on the only power that could stop him now, moaning, “Dear God, don’t let him do it.”

But the door was already open. Bella sank to her knees, weeping without sound. Through the window she saw him as he stepped down off the doorstep. His face was like something carved from rock, a profile of hardened whiteness, very white against the darkness of the street. Then he was crossing Vernon and she saw the route he was taking. He moved along a diagonal path aiming at a foggy yellow glow in the distance, the window of Dugan’s Den.

As he entered the taproom he heard voices and saw faces but everything was a blur that didn’t seem real and had no meaning. His eyes were lenses going past the faces and searching for Frank. But Frank wasn’t there. He told himself to stand near the door and wait. And just then someone yelled, “Come join the party.”

It was the voice of the skinny hag, Dora. She sat with several others at a couple of tables pushed together for what seemed like a celebration. Kerrigan focused on the drinkers. Dora was seated between Mooney and Nick Andros. The other chairs were occupied by the humpbacked wino and Newton Channing. Next to Channing there was an empty chair and the person who’d been sitting on it was prone on the floor, face down and out cold. He looked at the sleeper and saw the orange hair and shapeless figure of Dora’s friend Frieda.

For some moments he stood there gazing down at Frieda. She had one arm outstretched and he saw something that glittered on her finger. It was a very large green stone and he didn’t need to be told it was artificial.

Dora said, “It cost a goddamn fortune.” She reached across the table to nudge Channing’s arm. “Go on, tell him how much it cost.”

“Three-ninety-five,” Channing said.

“You hear?” Dora screeched at Kerrigan. Then again she nudged Channing. “Now tell him what it’s for. Tell him why we’re celebrating.”

“Gladly,” Channing said. He stood up ceremoniously. He was wearing a clean white shirt and a straw-colored linen suit. His face was solemn as he bowed to the sleeping woman on the floor. Then he bowed to Kerrigan and said, “Welcome to our little gathering. It’s an engagement party.”

“You’re goddamn right it is,” Dora hollered. She reached through a maze of bottles and glasses and found a water glass containing gin. Lifting the glass, she tried to rise for a toast and couldn’t make it to her feet. She leaned heavily against Mooney, spilling some gin on his shoulder as she pronounced a toast for all the world to hear:

“Knock it off,” Nick Andros cut in. He pointed to the empty chair and shouted to Kerrigan, “Come on and sit down and have a drink.”

Kerrigan didn’t move. “I’m looking for my brother,” he said. “Anyone here seen my brother?”

“The hell with your brother,” Nick said.

“The hell with everybody,” Dora yelled. “The yellow moon may kiss the sky—”

“Will you kindly shut up?” Nick requested. He kept beckoning Kerrigan to take the empty chair.

Kerrigan looked at Mooney. “You seen him?”