Peter Rabe - Benny Muscles In

When he opened the door there was nothing but the black hole of the room. Then the door jumped out of his hand, slammed shut, and the black room was a crowded cage of fear and danger because the gun hit him in the spine. There was a breath on the side of his face, and when the bed creaked a voice said, “Keep still, Tapkow.”

He did. He felt the sweatband of his hat grow tight and itchy, but he kept his hands down as if they were stones.

“Turn around, Tapkow, and out the door.”

The gun behind him nudged him and the creak on the bed got up. Two of them in the room.

“Out the door, Tapkow.”

He found the doorknob and yanked. They followed him closely down the stairs and into the street, where a beat-up Plymouth waited. One drove, the other sat next to Benny. After a while he noticed that he’d been wrong about the car. Beat-up old stock cars don’t shoot off on the pickup and their motors don’t purr like cats.

All the time, from the room to the car, the guy next to him had kept a gun in his side. Benny sat still. He sat and concentrated on the chance, the always final chance, that this was not the end-that it wasn’t over yet.

They drove around for a while and ended up by the river. There was a pier, a motor launch, and then they splashed through the black water with the city blinking in the distance.

Benny didn’t see the yacht till they cut the motor and swung around. One of the goons whistled, somebody answered. They made fast and took him up the side. He almost fell when they led him through the low door of the cabin, and then, in the light, he saw that the room was just like any den, with leather chairs and a library table. They banged the door and Benny sat in a chair. Just like any big den, except that the windows were round. A warm room, but Benny felt cold.

Then the door opened. Benny looked, stood up, and then he did a thing that happened only sometimes. He took off his hat.

Alverato came in slowly, “Drink, Tapkow?”

Benny started to tremble. He couldn’t control it any longer, couldn’t keep it coiled forever, the waiting, the hope for a chance. Now that it was happening, he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Big-Alverato-” he stammered.

“Look, Tapkow. Not Big Alverato. It’s either Big Al or Mr. Alverato. Here’s you’re drink.”

Benny took it.

“Call me Al, Tapkow. Sit down.”

“Yes, Mr.-Yes, Al.”

Alverato watched how Benny tossed his glass. “You scared or something?”

Benny put the glass down but didn’t answer right away. He’d had the shakes. He’d had a lot to lose besides his life, and now that part was over. Now he was going to start again where Pendleton had meant to stop him.

“Hey, Tapkow, are you with me?”

“Hell, yes.”

And now all he had to do was sit and wait to see what Alverato wanted.

“How long you been away from Pendleton, Tapkow?”

“A week or so.”

“You been pretty thick with that queer, right?”

Benny didn’t like that. “I never saw him any more. I had my own territory.”

“That’s why you were driving him around in that monkey suit, huh?”

“That’s the night I left.” Benny felt himself get tense again.

Alverato laughed. He gave out big, wet guffaws that made the little curls on his head jump like springs. Then he ignored Benny while he prepared himself a cigar. He chewed one end of it flat and soggy before he started to light up. Benny waited.

“How’d you like to make a grand or so?”

“That depends, Al.”

“On what?”

“On where it’ll get me.”

Alverato thought that over and started again. “Look, I saw you the first time when you and that bookkeeping bastard was at my house. Right then, I figured you for a sharp kid and a right guy. Maybe I can use you.”

Now Benny sat up.

“So I ask you again: you been pretty thick with Pendleton?”

“What do you mean, thick?”

“I mean thick! What in hell’s the matter with you, Tapkow? You don’t know American or something?”

Benny wasn’t sure just how to play it. If he knew the angle, what Alverato wanted, then he could play it right. But Alverato hadn’t said a thing.

“You’re fishing, Alverato. You think you’ll fish around and put me through the hoops, and then maybe you’ll let me have a proposition. I’ve been around a while, Alverato.”

“Shut up already!” Alverato’s face was suddenly thick with blood. He went for another drink. He didn’t offer Benny one this time. “Let’s have some answers, Tapkow. You used to drive for Pendleton?”

“Sure. But I was running my own territory.”

“Jesus, Tapkow, don’t you ever shut up? The hell with your lousy territory. I want to know if you’ve driven for Pendleton!”

“Yes.”

“What else?”

“I did jobs.”

“What kind?”

“All kinds. Pick up his pants from the cleaners. Bring a message to his firm, carry his goddamn ledgers around.” Benny sounded irritated. “And answered the goddamn telephone. A telephone girl-”

“What kind of calls?”

“Christ, all kinds of calls. What kind of calls you interested in, Alverato?”

“Shut up. I’ll ask the questions.”

Benny shut up. He didn’t want to go too far.

“Let’s see what you know, Tapkow. Who was old Ager’s man in Frisco?”

“Screwy Pinton.”

“How did Ager get his junk into the country?”

“Heroin?”

“What else, damn it?”

“Pendleton handled that.”

“I asked how.”

“Italy. From Italy.”

“Tapkow, you don’t hear so good. You haven’t told me a thing I didn’t know.”

So that was it. Alverato couldn’t play with Pendleton, so maybe one of the flunkies knew a little something. Just a clue, maybe, a million-dollar clue.

“Well? Maybe you’re thinking?”

The chance, Tapkow, the one-in-a-million chance!

“There were a few phone calls that sounded big. There’s one that came through often. He’d send me out of the room after I took the call. Big stuff, by the way Pendleton acted. The contact was A.A. That’s all I can think of right now. A.A.”

“Big stuff? You said big stuff?” Alverato was up and roaring. “You bet your lousy life that was big stuff. Me, Agrippino Alverato, get it? A.A.! And now get outa here, you broken-down punk. Get outa here before I tear your head off!”

Benny sat paralyzed with fear. Not fear of the big man, like an ox butting the air. But felt himself turn limp with the sight of this thing running through his fingers. And it had been so close, so close…

“Get out!” and he could feel the fine spray of spit, the face was that close.

It woke him up. There was always that last ounce of strength.

Benny went to the table and poured himself a drink. His hand was shaking just a little, but he poured it. He drank the whisky neat, watching Alverato stand by. Perhaps Pendleton had been right about Big Al. A noisy hangover from another time, riding on the coattails of old Ager, a machine gun in each hand.

“I got something to sell.”

“You have-” Alverato wasn’t so fast any more. He was still staring.

“How much are you paying?”

“Listen, punk, I pay what it’s worth. What are you selling?”

“About the Italy contact. How much?”

“Punk, learn something. Big Al never pulled a double-cross. If it’s worth something, I pay plenty. But first I gotta see.”

“A thousand on account, Al. I never double-cross, either.”

“A deal.”

Benny stepped closer and talked. “There’s a lodge up in the mountains. Pendleton goes there once, twice a year. Nobody used to go there but him and me driving. He hasn’t been there for a year. I was still driving him, now and then. The old keeper up there knows me, he hasn’t heard the latest.”