A. Fair - The Bigger They Come

I heard the fat man’s voice sounding weak and fuzzy, like a blurred radio station. ‘Now take it easy, Fred. Don’t overdo it. After all, you know, we want him to talk.’

The tall man stood over me. He said, ‘Nuts on this guy. We’re wasting valuable time. He’s got the papers, and it’s all arranged for him to serve them.’

‘Where’s he got them?’ the woman asked.

‘In his inside coat pocket.’

‘Take a look,’ she said.

Fred reached over and poked his fingers in the collar of my shirt. He lifted me up so hard that my neck, which was like a dish rag, came back with a snap, and my head almost jerked off. I felt hands going through my pocket, first the inside pocket of my coat, then all of my coat.

Bill’s voice made the report. ‘He’s got the original summons. He hasn’t any copies.’

The woman said, ‘You damn fools. He’s served them.’

‘He couldn’t have served them,’ Fred said.

‘What makes you think he couldn’t?’

‘I know he had them when he went to the Perkins Hotel. He was there about five minutes when Alma Hunter came in and joined him. They registered as man and wife. Then Sandra Birks and her brother showed up. Then he went out. He pulled the papers out of his pocket when he hit the sidewalk, to make sure they were all okay and ready for service, and pushed them back again into his inside coat pocket. He went to the telegraph office and sent a telegram. We don’t know who it was to. The telegraph girls wouldn’t kick through with any information. Money didn’t interest them. We kept trying until they threatened to call the cops. I tagged him from there to a costumer’s. He got a bellboy costume and went to the hotel. He was there about twenty minutes and then came out with Mrs. Cool.’

‘When did Mrs. Cool go to the hotel?’ the chief asked.

‘We didn’t cover that. Jerry was on the job at the hotel. I think he said she came about twenty minutes before this guy went back with the costume.’

I lay there on the floor, seemingly drifting on a sea of black, pain with waves of nausea sweeping over me. I wanted to retch and couldn’t. My sides hurt when I tried to breathe. I knew that the warm stuff trickling down my face and onto the collar of my shirt was blood, but I was too weak to do anything about it.

The woman said, ‘Get Jerry on the phone. Tell him to go through that hotel with a fine tooth comb. Morgan Birks is in there.’

‘Morgan Birks can’t be in there,’ Fred kept insisting. ‘We had the tip on that hotel. Jerry’s been on it ever since last week, and we know Birks hasn’t been there — not yet. That hotel’s the place where Morgan was to meet his cutie.’

‘Did you tail this guy, or pick him up at the hotel?’ the woman asked.

‘Picked him up at the hotel.’

‘And the hotel’s sewed up?’

‘Tighter than a drum.’

‘He served those papers in the hotel.’

Someone reached down and picked me up. The end of my sore nose was clamped between the knuckles of two fingers. When the hand jerked, it felt as though my nose had come out by the roots. Fred’s voice, still sounding bored, said, ‘Talk.’

‘Lay off his face, Fred,’ the woman said.

A kick at the base of my spine jarred me clean up to the top of my head. ‘Come on,’ Fred said, ‘give us the low-down. You served those papers.’

I heard the ringing of a telephone bell. They all became silent. I heard pounding steps moving across the floor toward the bell. Then it ceased ringing, and the tall man’s voice said, ‘Hello. Hello... Who is it? Jerry?... Yes, Jerry... Now listen, Jerry, we think he’s there in the hotel... I tell you he had them... Of course, it’s under an assumed name, and he’s probably lying low... Well, get through the room. Cover the dump. I tell you he’s there. He has to be.’

He hung up the telephone, and said, ‘About two minutes after we left, Sandra Birks, her brother, and Alma Hunter came out together. This other bird who doesn’t enter the picture, came out, Jerry says he heard someone call him doctor. He thinks the brother had a hemorrhage, and the doctor was called in a rush to stop it. That’s the best the boys could pick up.’

I was coming back to consciousness again. The woman said, ‘Well, you can see what’s happened. He’s served those papers. He’s delivered the copies, and is keeping the original on which to make his affidavit of service.’

The big man said, ‘You wouldn’t want to make a little easy money, would you, Mr. Lam?’

I didn’t say anything. It was easier not to answer questions.

‘If you wanted to pick up a little spot of cash, say five hundred dollars, or perhaps even six hundred dollars, I think it could be arranged. You could fix it so we could get Mr. Birks up here at the house. Perhaps you could arrange things—’

‘Shut up,’ the woman interrupted in a level voice. ‘There’s no dice with him. Don’t be a damn fool.’

The fat man said, ‘Well, you heard what the little lady said. I guess she’s right at that. Feeling pretty bad, are you, Lam?’

I was feeling bad enough. As I got better, I got worse. That first pile-driving smash had knocked me half unconscious. Now, as the numbing effects of it commenced to wear off, I began to feel pain from the other beating.

The telephone rang again. ‘Answer it, Fred,’ the chief said.

Fred said, ‘Hello — yes—’ and then was silent for almost two minutes. He said, ‘That’s clever as hell,’ and was silent for another minute. Then he said, ‘Hold the phone,’ and came back into the living room. ‘News,’ he said. ‘Let’s go where I can tell you.’

The chief said, ‘You watch him, John.’

I heard an exodus of steps and lay quiet, thinking how much my side hurt. After a while I heard Fred’s voice on the telephone again. ‘All right. It clicks. I’ll get on the job myself. G’by.’

They came back into the room.

‘Take him in the bathroom, Fred,’ the chief said, ‘and clean him up.’

Fred picked me up as though I’d been a baby and carried me into the bathroom. He said, ‘Tough lines, Pint-Size, but it isn’t as bad as though your nose had been broken. It’ll be sore for a while, that’s all. Here, let’s get some cold water on it.’

He sat me on the toilet seat, let cold water run into the wash bowl, took my coat off, and started splashing cold wet towels on my forehead. My mind began to function more clearly. It got so I could focus my eyes.

He said, ‘That necktie’s a mess. I guess we can find one of the chief’s. Now how about that shirt? We can’t use it. We’ll have to do something about that. We can get the blood off the coat all right. Just a little cold water will fix that. Now, sit right still, and don’t try to move around.’

He got my shirt off, stripped me down to the waist, and= sponged me with cold water.

I began to feel better.

The woman came into the bathroom, and said, ‘I think this shirt will fit him.’

‘We want a necktie,’ Fred said.

‘I’ll get one.’

‘And a bottle of alcohol and some smelling salts,’ Fred said. ‘We’ll have him right as a rivet in five minutes.’

The woman came back with smelling salts, alcohol, towels, a shirt, and tie.

Fred worked over me like a second ministering to a fighter between rounds. While he worked, he talked. ‘One good thing,’, he said, ‘you aren’t bruised up any. That nose is going to be red for a while. It’s going to be sore. Don’t touch it. Don’t try to s blow it. Now then, a little alcohol on the back of the neck. There, that’s fine. Let’s slap a little over your chest — oh, that chest is sore, is it? — too bad. Nothing cracked, though, just a little wallop — you shouldn’t have tried to hit me, Lam. Let me tell you something about hitting. When you’re going to throw a right at a man, don’t hook it around. And don’t draw back your hand before you start a punch. I’m sorry you’re so tender now, because you wouldn’t take any interest in a lesson. But I could show you how to start a punch and the path a fist should travel, and in ten minutes it would make you about eighty per cent better when it comes to a fight. You’ve got what it takes. You’ve got guts, but you’re too light to stand up against a punch. You’d have to learn to get away from ‘em, and that takes foot work. Now then, let’s put a little more alcohol on there — that’s fine. The bleeding’s stopped. That cold water’s great stuff. Your hair will be wet for a while, but that won’t hurt anything. Now then, on with the shirt — that’s it. Now let’s try the tie — rather a loud pattern to go with that suit, but it doesn’t look bad at that.’