Max Collins - Quarry

“What are you doing, Quarry?”

I turned and looked at her. She was wearing lacy blue panties and that was all. She was stretching her arms above her head and yawning, her dark nippled breasts flattening as she reached her arms up, blooming full again as she lowered them.

“Nothing,” I said.

Outside the thunder rumbled, cracked. She joined me at the window and looked out. The gray streaking rain reflected on her pink flesh, as though someone were projecting a film and using her as a screen. She leaned a knee against the chair and touched the window sill and said, “I like the rain.” She was smiling, but just a little. “I wish I could run out there just like this and jump around in it. Rain like that depresses some people. Not me. It’s a release, a gush, like crying, or coming.” She leaned over and picked the raincoat up off the chair so she could sit down. The gun fell out of the pocket and dropped to the floor. It was like another crack of thunder. “Christ!” she said, and sat down. She stared at the gun, as though she’d never seen one before and was trying to figure out what it was. Her eyes were very round, very white, like the plates in her mother’s china cabinet nearby. Then she looked at me with the blankness that precedes terror, and when her lower lip started to tremble she bit it.

“Easy, Peg,” I said. “Now don’t get upset.”

“Who… who the hell are you, Quarry? Who are you, for Christ’s sake?”

“Now Peg.”

“Quarry? Who… what are you doing here?”

“I can explain.” I went over and picked the gun up off the floor, shoved it in my belt. “Just take it easy.”

I took her by the arm and guided her over to the table in the kitchenette. I held her hand and she said in a soft, frightened but firm little voice, “Just what the hell kind of man are you, anyway?”

I patted her hand and said, conversationally, “What was that man’s name? The one in Chicago, the gangster, you called him.”

“What… what does that have to do with anything?”

“What was his name?”

“… his name was Frank.”

“Frank. Peg, I’m the kind of man your Frank was, I would guess. You can call it what you want… gangster, mob person, whatever.. the label doesn’t really matter.”

She blinked. Just once. “What are you doing in Port City,” she said quickly, almost defiantly. “What are you doing here with me?”

“You really want to know?”

“You tell me, Quarry. You tell me now.”

I paused, gathered my thoughts. I said, “I was brought to Port City to carry out a certain task, never mind what. The people I work for have a policy of not telling me why I’m performing a function, or who exactly that function’s being performed for. I just do as I’m told, and I’m given money, like any other working stiff. But this time, after the task was carried out, bad things started happening. For openers, almost four thousand dollars that belonged to my partner and me was stolen, and that was the nicest thing that happened to us. Then somebody murdered my partner and hung around and tried to murder me. You’ve noticed the bruised area on my chest and shoulder?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her face had turned bloodless white when I mentioned murder, but after a moment she managed to nod her head yes.

“That was from where somebody tried to do me in with a wrench. Damn near succeeded, too. So I been nosing around, asking questions, looking under beds. I’m at a dead end right now. I wanted to find the guy who worked the wrench on my partner, and then on me, but I’m at a dead end. So now I’m going to throw in my cards, cash in my chips and look for another game.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Springborns?”

“I’d rather not say. The less you know about the specifics, the safer you are. All I can tell you is I was looking to find the man responsible for killing my partner and stealing my money.”

“And if you would have found the… man responsible?”

“Let’s just say he would’ve paid what he owes me. You wouldn’t want to know the details.”

She shuddered slightly. “No. I wouldn’t.” She paused for a moment, pulled her hand out from under mine. “What about us. Quarry? What about you and me?”

“I won’t pretend our meeting was accidental. You knew about some people I wanted to get at. I managed to find out in an underhanded way some of the things I needed to know.”

The color came back to her cheeks. “And getting into my pants was sort of a bonus for you, then, wasn’t it?”

“Peg.”

“I’m a tour guide providing sex on the side, right? That’s what I am to you, that’s all I am to you.”

I said, “It could’ve been that way. Things worked out different.”

“Did they?” Her face was emotionless-motionless-but I thought I could see something starting to melt in her eyes.

“Peg,” I said, “remember what you said this morning? Remember what you said about being able to tell somebody in twenty years all about what we did together, making love together? Well so could I. Twenty years from now I’ll remember every detail of being with you. You just look me up in twenty years and try me.”

She gave me a tentative smile. She said, “Will you, Quarry?”

“Yes I will,” I said.

She was quiet for a moment; she was thinking. Then she made her decision. She said, “Okay. So you’re a bastard. You’re a son of a bitch and a bastard but I can live with it.” She grinned. “Who knows? Maybe I just got a thing for men with guns.”

“Maybe so.”

“Quarry?”

“Yes, Peg?”

“Have you given up on finding the man responsible?”

“Pretty much.”

“You don’t want to give up, though, do you?”

“No. I’m close to him. I’m very close.”

“Can I help you?”

“I don’t want to involve you any deeper in this.”

“Aren’t there any questions you could ask me? That isn’t involvement, not really. There’s no risk in me answering a few questions.”

“Well…”

“Please.”

I stopped. Then I said, “Do you know anybody named Vince?”

She gave me an odd look, cocking her head to one side.

“Vince,” I repeated. “A guy named Vince.”

“He wouldn’t be a cab driver, would he?”

I thought for a moment. What was it Springborn had said? Something about Vince driving a hack and making a lot of money? “He might be,” I said.

“That’d be Carol’s brother, then.”

Carol’s brother? Carol? That was the other name Springborn had mentioned! And was that the name Boyd had used, the name of the woman he was “subletting” the apartment from?

“Who is Carol?” I said. Knowing the answer.

“The girl I told you about this morning. My friend. The one Ray Springborn was shacking up with, then all of a sudden sent packing to Florida.”

It was making sense. It was starting to make a lot of sense. I said, “Tell me about Vince.”

She shrugged. “He’s a deadbeat, and that’s the whole story. He drives a cab, thanks to Ray. Carol asked Ray to fix him up with a good job and Ray agreed. Besides, it keeps Vince’s mouth shut about Ray and Carol. Matter of fact, I think Vince might’ve been putting the squeeze on Ray just lately, maybe that’s why Ray sent Carol down to Florida for a while.” She shook her head. “Why Carol cares about that brother of hers is a mystery to me, but I suppose it’s because he’s all the family she’s got around here. You see, their parents are split up, divorced, and moved away long ago. That Vince is a real shit, Quarry. He’s queer as hell, too.”

“What?”

“He’s queer. They even had him in jail for it.”

I remembered what Springborn had said, the implication in his words… hasn’t he tried anything? Springborn had said. You don’t go for that stuff, do you?