Peter Rabe - Benny Muscles In

“Sick, Tapkow, sick!”

It was the drug she didn’t have. It was hard to remember sometimes, but it was the drug.

“You’ll see, Pat. I’ll help you.”

“Sick, Tapkow, sick!”

“Stop that, damnit.” He took a deep breath and tried again. “We’ll go away together. And after a little while, Pat-”

“Why try?” It sounded casual at first, but then her tone became strong and sober. “Don’t you know how I hate you, Tapkow?”

It must be the drug.

“I mean this. Such hate, Tapkow!”

For once it was almost more than he could take.

“I hate you, Tapkow. Like this!” and with her scream her fist flung out, jarring his head.

He struck out like a hurt animal. “Sit there and shut up! Shut up!”

Mileage. An empty road.

“That’s all you can do, isn’t it? Hit and run.”

“I never have!” It was almost a scream. “I mean it, Pat, I’ll try all I can to make good what-I’ll help you, I mean it!” He had never felt quite so deeply before, so when she leaned forward and grinned, it hit hard.

“Saint Benny,” she said.

It hit. His eyes seemed to slant with the grimace that tore his face and he came back with a harsh yell. “You crazy fool, can’t you tell when it’s real? Can’t you tell when you need me, you crazy hopped-up fool? You’re hooked and don’t know it, a hophead, a poor crazy junkhead who never knew what it was, when it caught, when it ends. And I’m trying to tell you, for real, Pat, I’m trying to tell you there is a way out.”

She was still grinning; only her eyes had changed. “Hophead,” she said.

He hadn’t been watching then, but when it suddenly happened it was almost a relief. The black shape roared up from the side, veered hard, and for a moment the two cars were edging each other. Benny pushed the accelerator and shot ahead. But that wasn’t on the program, and besides, it wouldn’t have done any good. The other car came out ahead, making a spray of the bushes by the road, and Benny called his mileage. “Five even, it’s now!” and he slowed the car. He wasn’t sure if Pat had noticed. She was sitting still and even the grin was there yet Then he jammed on the brakes just in time not to hit the car in front It was angled across the road, looking shiny and new in the headlights. Just in case, Benny thought, and flipped into reverse. Then he crashed behind. They were all around now, coming through the beams and moving like shadows once they had passed. They tapped on the windows with their guns and motioned to him to come out. One had jumped on the hood. The gun he was holding was big and black and pointed straight at Benny. He raised his hands. The taps on the windows got sharper. Nothing rough yet, just sharper. And no Alverato.

Pat made it easy for them. Her window was down suddenly and she leaned out of the way. “Kill him!” She pointed a finger at him as if she were shooting him. “Kill him!” She called loud and clear without hysteria, just “Kill him!”

Benny lunged over and grabbed her waist. She was safe. He felt her strong movement and saw the door go. They were pulling her to get her into the open. And Pendleton had probably not insisted on bringing him back alive. Benny held on, listening to her voice. “Kill him, kill him!” There was nothing else to do. Alverato had planned it that way, his show, his dumb and useless show of brawn.

Except nothing happened. They were out now, in the headlights, and they didn’t even bother to frisk him because there was nothing but guns standing around, pointing at nothing but Benny.

“Kill him,” she said again, but they pushed her ahead of them.

“Get in the car, Miss Pendleton. You’ll be all right now. Here, we’ll help you.” When somebody said that, she started to break.

It was a thin laugh at first. “That’s what he said,” she laughed, and louder: “That’s what he said,” again, until the laughter got shrill and unhinged so that they didn’t know what to do.

He caught them at the right moment, the old slob with the big bravado in his voice: “Stand where you are!”

It came from somewhere. He had a loud-speaker along.

“This is Big Al, you punks, and I’m all around you.”

At least one of the punks didn’t believe it. His. 45 made a respectable crack in the middle of the night, but that was nothing compared to what came next The machine gun gave a sharp, roaring burst and four men fell on the pavement In the second of silence that followed, the hood of the car in front dipped up, dipping with a lonesome creak of the springs.

“I said this is Big Al! And just to show you-” The machine gun chattered again. This time only one man fell, close to Pat.

“And I don’t give a damn if I hit my own man or the dame. Is that clear?”

It was clear. Nobody moved. Until the motor of the car in back kicked over, raced, and careened backward with a painful whine. That’s when they moved. All at once the wild movement broke in every direction, in heedless panic, and the machine gun spoke again.

Benny made only one leap. He grabbed Pat and stood with her in the strong light from his car. There was nothing to do but stand. This was Alverato’s show and perhaps in the light he wouldn’t just shoot them down, being busy with his chase on the dark road and among the bushes.

It took a while, with the car in the back catching fire, the yelling and stomping, the loud cackle of the machine gun.

“O.K., this way, kids.” Alverato stood in the light, big and sweaty. They ran across the road, through the woods, and stopped on a dirt road.

“Stay here,” Big Al said. “The car will be along in a second. How’s the girl?”

Nobody answered. The two-way speaker that hung by a strap around Alverato’s neck started to rasp, and then, “A.A., this is Zimmer. A.A., this is Zimmer. Over.”

“Yes, damnit, what’s what?” Alverato had snatched the instrument up and was roaring into the microphone.

“A.A., this is Zimmer, this is Zimmer. Who are you? Over.”

“This is Alverato, you jerk. Cut out that bomber-patrol crap and talk!”

“Big Al? I can’t start the car. I thought you’d want to know because-”

“Can it, can it, you sonofabitch! I’m coming over and it better be fixed when I get there. Uh-over!” he yelled, and started to crash off into the black undergrowth. “Benny?” Alverato had stopped. “Stand still and wait, and better take this.” Alverato was back, handing Benny a gun. “And stay put.”

They listened to him get farther away. Pat was shivering. Benny could hear her mumbling and she was plucking the fur of the wrap.

“Soon, now, Patty, soon.” He put his arm over her shoulder, pressing her close, and she let him. “Soon, Patty.” But she didn’t answer. He could hear the mumbling getting clearer, and it was “Kill him! Kill him!”

He tried to pay no attention. Once he let go of her because the gun was between them, in his pocket. He took it out and kept it in one hand.

Then he heard the sound of a car. It came without lights, a long humming shape. It stopped.

First the lights went on, like a white explosion, and then the doors opened. They went thunk, thunk when they closed, and Benny started to push Pat forward.

“Al, cut those beams.”

There was no answer. There was no sound till the lights made a face materialize with hard lines from the nose to the mouth and close-set eyes that had a maniacal glint in the light. “Baby!” said the mouth, and Pendleton raised his arms. “My dearest-”

What stopped him was a scream that arched Pat’s body until she trembled like a spring that had suddenly been released.

She had seen the man she hated. Pendleton knew. There was a gun in his hand now. He came steadily toward his daughter.