Ed Gorman: Blood Game

“I’m going to slap you,” he said, “if you don’t talk.”

She didn’t talk, and he slapped her very hard.

She immediately started sobbing.

“My name is Clarise Watson. I’m from Chicago. Rooney killed my brother a year ago.”

“In the ring?”

“Supposedly.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that he put poison in my brother’s drinking water right before the fight. It made my brother very groggy. He couldn’t defend himself. He died right in the ring.”

He could see she was fighting tears again.

They had been walking once more, back to the colored section.

The block they were on was filled with children and teenagers. The latter stared long and hard at the beautiful mulatto woman. Guild could not quite tell if they liked her or despised her. Their stares seemed to convey both feelings.

The sunlight showed her skin to be a beautiful coffee color. In the daylight her features were even more beautiful. Only the lines in her neck betrayed her age. She had to be nearly forty.

“I’m sorry I keep crying.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I loved him.”

“I’m sure you did. You sure about the poison?”

“One of Rooney’s trainers admitted it to me.”

He looked at her closely. “He admitted it?”

She smiled without pleasure. “I had to help him. I gave him some bourbon and then I gave him myself.”

“I see.”

“You don’t sound as if you approve.”

“I don’t.”

“I wanted to know the truth.”

“You probably could have figured out another way.” “Could I?”

They walked another quarter block in silence. Guild felt jealous. It was ridiculous, feeling jealous. Then he felt ashamed. He realized then that he was still hung over.

He stopped and turned her toward him. “You going to try it again?”

“I don’t know. I’ve waited so long for today-built up to it so much. And then right at the last second you stopped me and-”

“I’m going to turn you over to the law. You tried to kill a man.”

“What?”

“You’re not giving me any choice.”

“You’ve got my gun.”

“You can always buy another one.”

“Maybe I won’t try. Maybe coming this close was good enough.”

“‘Maybe’ isn’t something I can count on.”

“Do you have a brother, Mr. Guild?”

“I had two of them. They both died in the war.”

“I’m sorry.”

He took a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighted it up. The smoke tasted nutty in his throat and felt soft and blue in his lungs.

“I’m going to ask you again. You going to try to shoot him?”

She made a face. “I suppose not.”

“You’re a hell of a lot of help.”

She laughed. She had a wonderful laugh. “I don’t suppose I am, am I?”

“You staying anyplace special?”

“The Carleton Arms. The manager is out of town. The desk clerk said I could stay till the manager gets back. He hates Negroes.”

“Why don’t you meet me tonight in the Carleton dining room?”

She looked at him carefully. “What are you after, Mr. Guild?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“I guess that’s fair enough.”

He paused. “Rooney wouldn’t be worth hanging for.”

“Did you ever get over the death of your brothers?”

“Not really.”

“Then you know what I’m going through, Mr. Guild.”

With that, she walked off, making it clear that she didn’t want him to accompany her.

He watched her go down the block. The children came up to her and felt her beautiful blue dress and looked more closely at her beautiful face.

She looked back at him only once. She looked happy that the children were so accepting of her and seemed to like her so much.

She walked around the corner with them. Even from here he could hear their laughter. It was silver on the sudden cool breeze. His hangover did not bother him so much now. He thought of the man she’d had to sleep with. He felt angry, and stupid that he felt angry.

He went back to find John T. Stoddard.

Sometimes he forgot the name of the town he was in. With the coming of streetcars and tall buildings, with the coming of large glass display windows and crowded sidewalks, towns all began to look alike.

He could not, standing at the hotel window and looking down at the street, recall the name of this town, for instance.

He puffed on his cigar and continued to watch late afternoon passengers board the streetcar.

He looked at his pocket watch.

He was supposed to meet Reynolds downstairs in five minutes. He turned around and said, “I’m going to go downstairs to get some cigars. I’ll come right back up.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. I don’t think Victor will bother me anymore today. We got through our meeting. He’ll be with his Mexican woman and his booze. It’s tomorrow I’m really going to need you.”

Guild smiled at him. “You’re not going to need me tonight?”

“Not after dinner. I’d appreciate it if you’d sit downstairs with me and help keep some of the reporters at bay.”

“Sure.”

“Then you can take off if you’d like.”

“Fine.”

He stared at Guild a moment. He was not the sort of man he could understand quickly. Stoddard never knew when he was going to irritate Guild; he never knew when Guild was going to take offense. He would be glad when it was all over, when Reynolds had done his job, and when he no longer needed men such as Guild for protection.

The streetcar rattled away now. He had been paying particular attention to a woman in a white picture hat. He still loved to look at women, even though the last three years he had suffered the embarrassing loss of his manliness when he’d actually been with them. He wondered what it was, disgust over his wife leaving him or just age, that slow creaking crawl to the grave he saw in so many men around him, closed off to all experience but making money. He felt tears in his throat as he looked out once again at the town. He wondered if this would be the sort of place he would die in-big and anonymous-and without even knowing its name.

He put the flocked curtain back in place and went over to where Guild played solitaire.

“I’ll be going downstairs now.”

“You all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

“You look sort of strange.”

“I didn’t hire you to be my goddamn priest.”

Guild sighed and turned over a red eight of hearts. “You can leave anytime, as far as I’m concerned.”

He had succeeded in pissing off Guild again. He almost felt good about it. He liked to see Guild upset and squirming.

It was always pleasant to walk into a taproom. He liked the smell of smoke and the hubbub of laughter and conversation. He liked the boozy heat of arguments about politics and sports. He liked the barmaids he tried to pick up for later and the bartenders he tried to intimidate with his self-confidence and his tips. It was fun to see them jump.

This taproom was fashioned after those in Chicago, everything done in stained oak, with brass fixtures along the bar and a huge mural of a naughty vaudeville lady named Ruby Lee stretching across the back wall. He had actually spent a night with Ruby Lee once. She’d had enormous breasts and equally enormous feet. He’d never seen feet that size on a woman.

Reynolds was at a rear table. He sat alone, a shot glass and a schooner sitting untouched in front of him. He was in his early thirties but older looking because he was balding. He was thin and wore a drab three-piece brown suit. He had small hands and nervous fingers. There was a certain air of sadness about him. He was one of the best thieves in the Midwest.