George Higgins - Killing Them Softly

Trattman pulled himself forward and got out of the LTD. Barry got out quickly behind him. Barry handed the revolver to Steve.

Trattman stood next to the car, his arms and hands close to his sides. He faced Steve. “I didn’t do anything, you guys. I dunno what this’s all about, and if I did something then I would, wouldn’t I? And I really don’t. You guys, you guys’ve gotta believe me.”

“Move around the backa the car, Markie,” Steve said.

Trattman raised his hands slightly, palms up.

“ Move , Markie, you fuckin’ little prick,” Steve said. “You tryin’ to make me shoot you, for Christ sake?”

Trattman moved sideways to the left rear panel of the LTD. He stood with his arms tight against his sides. Steve stood three feet away from him, pointing the revolver. Barry walked around behind Steve and stood at his right.

“Honest to God,” Trattman said, “Steve, may my mother get cancer, I had nothing to do with it. Honest to God, Steve. You, can’t you tell them that? I know how it looks. I know. But honest to God, Steve, I didn’t.”

“He didn’t do it,” Barry said. “That what you were gonna ask him, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“That’s what we’re supposed to talk to you about, Markie,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “this thing, you didn’t have nothing to do with it?”

“Steve,” Trattman said.

“What thing was that, Markie?” Steve said.

“Steve,” Trattman said. His voice broke. “Steve, did I ever lie to you? I never told you anything, did I?”

“Now?” Barry said.

“Uh huh,” Steve said.

Barry took two strides toward Trattman, closing his right hand and swinging the fist back in the motion of a softball pitcher. Trattman jerked his hands up toward his face. Barry swung his fist forward and punched Trattman in the groin as Trattman’s torso began to move backward over the trunk of the LTD. When the fist connected, Trattman’s torso stopped and began to move forward quickly. His hands dropped from his face. His mouth gaped. His eyes stared. He exhaled and moaned simultaneously. He clapped his hands to his groin. He doubled over.

Barry took a short stride backward. He stepped forward on his left foot and brought his right knee up fast. It caught Trattman on the mouth. There was a cracking sound. Trattman’s head snapped up. His body, still in a crouch, sagged off to the left.

Barry grabbed the lapels of Trattman’s coat and pulled him up. He leaned Trattman against the car. Trattman kept his head down. He cried. He spit blood and pink material from his mouth. He raised his head. He had closed his eyes. His nose and mouth were pulpy and covered with blood. Some blood and pink material were on his coat.

“What’s this thing you didn’t have nothing to do with, Markie?” Steve said.

Trattman moved his head once to the left and once to the right. He extended his tongue, then retracted it, tracing the tip of it along his lips. He lowered his head and spat blood and pink material on the pavement of the parking lot.

“He don’t answer,” Barry said.

“Must be there’s nobody home or something,” Steve said.

“Maybe I better knock again,” Barry said. “Make sure.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“ No ,” Trattman said, uttering it in a high voice as “Mo.”

“Shut up, you fuck,” Barry said. He hit Trattman very hard, twice, in the pit of the stomach. Trattman started to double over with the impact of the first punch. The second brought a rush of air from his mouth. Steve and Barry stepped back two paces, quickly. Trattman fell forward on the pavement and vomited half-digested steak and salad, and blood. He lay on his chest, his head resting on its left side. He breathed noisily.

“Whaddaya think, Steve,” Barry said, “you think he’s through?”

“Better give him another minute or so,” Steve said. “He might have some more in him.”

Trattman, his eyes closed, expelled more vomit, blood and pink material from his mouth. It ran down his cheek to the pavement.

“Give him a try now,” Steve said.

Barry stepped forward. He picked Trattman up by the collar of his coat, at the nape of the neck. He leaned Trattman against the side of the LTD. Trattman’s head lolled off to the left. His eyes remained closed.

“Who’re the kids, Markie?” Steve said.

Trattman retched and bled from the mouth and nose. He raised his right hand feebly toward his face. He touched his face lightly with the tips of his fingers. Slowly he shook his head.

“Can’t hear you, Markie,” Steve said. “Who’re the kids, Markie?”

Trattman explored the pulpy flesh around his mouth. He sighed. Tears came from his closed eyes. He shook his head slowly. “I,” he said, “they … I didn’t …”

“He still says he don’t know nothing,” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said, “how about that?”

“Think he doesn’t?” Barry said.

“Jesus,” Steve said, “maybe he doesn’t, after all.”

“You can’t tell about guys, though,” Barry said.

“I know it,” Steve said. “I heard about a guy once, somebody asked him if he knew a couple guys and he said he didn’t. But you know what? He did.”

“Better ask him again?” Barry said.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

Trattman screamed softly through his bloody lips.

“Pick a place,” Steve said, “you don’t get all covered with stuff.”

Trattman moaned. His head lolled to the right. He got his eyes open as Barry stepped forward again. He saw Barry’s right hand, closed in a fist, swing back across Barry’s chest until the fist passed over Barry’s left shoulder. He closed his eyes quickly and moved, jerkily, to his own left. Barry brought his fist back in a flat arc. The heel of his hand hit Trattman at the right hinge of his jaw. His head snapped fast to the left as the bone broke. His torso stretched upward and to the left, then sagged down. The back of his head hit the edge on the left rear fender of the LTD. When he hit the pavement he was lying on his left side, face up. His eyelids fluttered open, then closed. He gagged softly on something wet in his throat.

Steve walked up to Trattman and bent over him. “Markie,” he said softly, “you sure?”

Trattman moaned. His head shifted on the pavement.

“About the kids,” Steve said. “It’s the kids, Markie, we’re supposed to talk to you about. You sure you don’t know who those kids are? You really sure?”

Trattman moved his head slightly.

“Because I got to be sure,” Steve said. “I really got to be, Markie, that’s all there is to it. You make me stay here all night, me and Barry, making sure, I’m not gonna like it. And it’s gonna be an awful long night for you, Markie.”

Trattman vomited suddenly, a small amount of pink material and blood. Some of it spattered Steve’s shoes and the wide cuffs of his pants.

“You bastard,” Steve said. He stepped back quickly. He stepped forward quickly and kicked Trattman on the left side of the rib cage, near the belt. Ribs cracked. Holding his foot at an angle, Steve wiped his shoe on the skirt of Trattman’s coat. Trattman gasped and moaned and sighed. “You cocksucker,” Steve said. He stepped back again.

“Whaddaya think, Steve?” Barry said.

“Get inna car,” Steve said. “Strikes me right, I’ll back over the prick.”

As the LTD began to move, the taillights illuminated Trattman in red. Then he lay in the mist and darkness, breathing loudly and moaning from time to time. Then he passed out.

The LTD left the parking lot at the Hammond Pond Parkway exit.

On Route 9, eastbound, Barry said: “I hurt my fuckin’ hand again. I always do.”