Микки Спиллейн - The Erection Set

“Forget it, Mona.”

“Son... I said I was a reporter. My staff passes me interesting tidbits of information.”

She was a strange broad. Suddenly there was no flabbiness in her face at all. It was all hard, questioning planes with a fire dancing out of her eyes.

“He thinks I was a big hood in Europe,” I said.

“Were you?”

“The biggest, kid.”

“And now?”

“Out.”

“Damn. For real?”

I nodded slowly.

“He can prove it?”

“No chance.”

“Baby, I could make music with you. Real typewriter music.”

“Don’t. There’s other music that’s louder.”

“And much more staccato, I suppose?”

“If you want to put it that way.”

“The crashing of cymbals?”

“The big brass drum, Mona.”

“Who’s the drummer?”

“Sometimes a guy can be lucky all the time,” I said. “Let’s go join the party.”

“You won’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Cross and Sheila McMillan are here. He seems quite perturbed about the entire arrangement.”

“Only he can’t do anything about it, can he?”

“Not since your cousins okayed the deal.” Mona’s fingers squeezed my arm. “You really put the heat on, didn’t you?”

“A public service.”

“From what I hear, it was plain heat.”

“They needed it.”

“Doggie, I’d like to take you to bed with me.”

“I’m not exactly a Teddy bear, Mona.”

“You’re better than a two-battery vibrator.”

“You’re wild, baby. What do you do for fun?” I let out a laugh and put my arm around her shoulder.

“Mainly play with the children who would give their dingdong for a chance like you have, knowing how I’d give them paragraphs for their scrapbooks.”

“Write me out then.”

“You never even were penciled in, Doggie. Your type is alive in the wrong era.”

“Perceptive cunt, aren’t you?”

“That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said all week. And true. Very true. Maybe that’s why I like you. Now be a smart boy and get you and your little blonde out of here. The glacier has been looking this way and I can read all the signs.”

“Who?”

“Sheila McMillan. I’m an older pussy than you are a dog and I can read all the signs too.”

The years were catching up. I was tired and annoyed and it wasn’t fun anymore. I thought I was put of it, but nothing would let go. Somehow it was like waking up and thinking the dream you just had was real, then you saw a different room in the cold light of a bright sun and knew the dream was fake and what the judge said was the true thing and if you waited a little while longer you’d hear the feet coming down the corridor, feel the scissors against your leg slicing the trousers and sense the razor shaving that small bald spot on your skull. You could wait a little more after that and they’d put the hood over your face with the metallic plate under it, then somebody would hit the switch to let the voltage sweep through all the tissue in one monstrous sheet of pain and you could call it quits for good.

Or was life and memory so accelerated at that last moment you lasted for another lifetime of absolute agony smelling the searing flesh and knowing the excruciating pain of muscles knotted in horrible spasms? Was it really like that?

Maybe I had seen them die too often. Maybe I had been on the line one too many times. You shouldn’t think about things like that. Or was the thought for somebody else? I used to believe they went quietly, realizing that it was their time, and almost glad to go to be away from all the things that led up to that last second. Two of them had even smiled at me because eventually the wheel would turn and I’d be the one dropping off. I had lasted longer than most of the others, but now it was the ninth inning, the score was tied, two out, nobody on base and I was up to bat with a hostile grandstand behind me.

Kelly at the bat. Forget Casey. Now it was Kelly.

“What are you thinking about?” Sharon asked me.

“I’m thinking why the hell you don’t put some clothes on.”

“After all those naked females tonight I’m positively decent,” she said.

“Not in a chiffon nightgown with nothing on underneath.”

“You haven’t felt me yet. How do you know?”

“I can see your snatch, kid.”

“Like it?” She grinned at me deliberately.

“Love it, so scram, virgin.”

She handed me the coffee cup, spooned in the sugar and added the milk. “You resent my maidenhood?”

“Horseshit, lady. After a while it’ll get tough rubbery.”

“Not according to medical statistics.”

“So it’ll atrophy from disuse,” I said.

I got another of those funny smiles and she turned and sat down opposite me, making a project of crossing her legs. The nightgown split open, exposing those lovely legs and her eyes laughed too. “How many women have you had, Dog?”

“Plenty.” I took a pull on the coffee and burned my mouth.

“Virgins?”

“Numerous.”

“About how many?”

“What kind of question is that? Come on...”

“Make a guess.”

“A dozen. I never made it a practice of fooling around with virgins. They were all accidents of nature.”

“Does it hurt?”

“How the hell would I know!”

“Well, did they scream?”

I burned my mouth again and put the coffee down for a cigarette. “They all scream when I’m laying them.” I thought that would shut her up but it didn’t.

“I mean the first time.”

Even the cigarette burned. I took another drag and stamped it out. “No,” I said. “When I found out they hadn’t been hit I went classical. They loved every damn second of it and screamed for more. I know all the tricks, all the techniques, all the little nuances from foreplay to afterlove and I’ll be damned if I’m going to set you up for somebody else.”

“I know some tricks too.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I heard you telling Raul about them when I first saw you.”

“Jealous?”

“Nope. I even appreciate your attitude. Like total understanding. Why don’t you let your boy bust it for you and be done with it?”

“Because he may be dead.” The way she said it was so simple I should have known.

“Serviceman?”

“Yes.”

“Overseas?”

Sharon nodded and sipped at her coffee.

“When did you see him last?”

“The day he left. It was the day we became engaged. There wasn’t time to do anything else so he gave me this.” She held up her hand with the cheap little ring on it.

I said, “I’m sorry, kid.”

“That’s all right.”

“Love him?”

“I’ve always loved him.”

“Get letters?”

“No.”

“How long do you expect to wait?”

“Until I’m sure he’s dead.”

“Meanwhile?”

“I play my own tricks. And techniques. And nuances.”

I pushed out of my chair. “He doesn’t have much more time,” I told her.

“Yes, I know.”

Thunder rumbled outside the window and I walked to the French doors and looked down at the big-bellied city that squatted underneath me. Headlights of the cars probed through the darkness, their horns demanding pathways and tiny dark things scuttled across between traffic lights whose WALK and DON’T WALK became another commandment to the mice caught in the concrete maze of the city.

“When does the picture move out to Linton?” I asked her.

“The crew will be looking for location sites the end of the week.”

“You coming out?”

“I have to go.”

“The old house on Mondo Beach...”

“Yes?”

“I’ll be there.”