Роберт Беллем - Pulp Frictions

‘You’ll pardon — my friend.’ The big swarthy fellow attempted to push me aside. But the odds were against him. The hall was narrow, and besides, I’m not so easily pushed. ‘The young lady is our friend. She feels not so well, and we are taking her home.’

‘What — Little Bernie not well?’ I still blocked the passage. ‘She must have some medicine — got some real fine old stuff,’ I babbled on, reaching for my hip. It was a hard game for me to play. Neither of these fellows knew me, and it might be to my advantage later on if they still thought me simply a drunk. Again — if the game was big enough and desperate enough and they suspected that I was not really talking through a bottle, an attack might come suddenly. It was in my mind to stick a gun into each man’s ribs and bid them bye-bye. If there had been the slightest suspicion in their faces I would have done that little thing. But it was early in the game and I didn’t want to misplay my cards. The smaller of the two men spoke for the first time.

‘Get from before me.’ And though there was no suspicion in his face, there was a threat in his words and in the hand that crept beneath his jacket.

‘Little Bernie — going out in the cold — without no flannels.’ I stammered on but I watched that hand, and I saw the knife before ever he raised it. I don’t know if he intended to slip it between my ribs or if he was just going to threaten me with it. And I didn’t wait to find out what was in his mind. My hand shot up; metal cracked against a protruding chin, and as they say in the movies — ‘the Italian sun went down’. The hall was narrow; he was close to the wall; and he did his stuff like a gentleman, slipping easily and softly to the floor.

There wasn’t any use to fool after that. Somehow Bernie got a kick out of real action — fear or hope, or just good judgement. Anyway, she came to life, snapped out of the mechanical doll act, and with a quick jerk busted loose from her gentleman friend. That bird hesitated between following her, looking after his friend, or settling with me. ‘He who hesitates is lost’ may have its exceptions but this lad wasn’t one of them. His face went through all the tricks of a pantomimist, right up to the point where he decided to pull a gun. And then I gave him the well-known rush — just a double grip and a swing about, and he was picking them up and putting them down in the most approved style. There are times, I suppose, when I do go in for light comedy. Since the popularity of the night-clubs the ‘bum’s rush’ has come into style again.

The door man didn’t hesitate. He may have thought I was the bouncer; his action may have been an involuntary one, but when he saw us coming towards him like that, he knew of but one thing to do. And he did it. He threw open the door, nodded at my final shove, and muttered something to himself as he closed the door again and slipped the lock home. The thing couldn’t have come off better if we had had a dress rehearsal.

I turned back to the hallway. There was Nick, the proprietor, and he was shaking Bernie by the shoulders and demanding an explanation of the recumbent attitude of the paying guest upon the floor.

‘Leave the kid alone.’ I jerked Nick’s hand roughly from the girl’s shoulder. ‘She’s my girl friend. I came here to see her tonight. We want to talk. That bozo,’ I pointed at the lad I had given the snore, ‘wanted to go bye-bye with her.’

Nick’s face started to show slight signs of intelligence. Besides, a couple were coming up the steps from the dance-hall, and the bulldog face of Joe, the bouncer, had appeared in the background.

‘What’s it to be?’ I whispered quickly to Nick. ‘A quiet evening or a riot? Make up your mind.’ And I tapped my pocket significantly.

And Nick acted. He was all business and no mistake. His face cracked into smiles as he jerked out a hand and pulled a curtain, which hid the form upon the floor from the approaching couple.

‘It is so, Mr Williams,’ he finally said. ‘Bernie is a lovely girl,’ and he pinched her cheek. ‘Perhaps you would wish a little drink with her in a private room.’ He rubbed his hands together, patted me on the back, stepped to the people who were getting on their coats, and, after signalling Joe the bouncer, broke into loud laughter at some crude joke. But he kept the guests busy for the time it took Joe to slip behind the curtain.

Distinctly I heard feet scraping across wood, and a door slam. A moment of silence, and the curtains parted and Joe was in the hall again. He eyed me in unconcealed admiration.

‘You must have slapped him an awful wallop.’ He shook his head several times. ‘He’s as stiff as a mackerel.’

I simply nodded and smiled as I slipped the brass knuckles back in my pocket. Why give away the secrets of my trade?

Bernie stood trembling against the wall; the proprietor, Nick, was standing beside a little door which he held open. I took the girl by the arm and half led, half carried, her towards the narrow flight of stairs behind the open door. The smirking Nick winked and grimaced as we passed and slowly mounted the stairs. There are certain things I don’t like, and the temptation was strong to give Nick a side swipe along his thick lips. But business must come before pleasure, and I might be able to use Nick before the night was over. Anyway, the door closed, and his fat, sensuous face was shut out.

‘Come, Bernie,’ I said, ‘brace up — you’re safe now.’

‘Oh... oh,’ she sobbed, and — ‘oh’ again. And although there was deep feeling and great emotion behind the sobs, it sort of left me flat.

If she couldn’t talk or walk very well, she was able to direct me along the dim narrow hall above to a shabby little private room. It took her a few minutes to get herself together, but finally she swung around, came towards me and opened up. If she couldn’t talk before, she sure got off a chestful now.

‘You came.’ She busted right into a jumble of words. ‘I knew those two men — recognised them, but, like a little fool, I didn’t think that they’d know me. They only saw me once, and with the paint and wig and— But you were just in time.’ Little hands crept around my neck, a blonde wig twisted itself upon my shoulder, and Bernie was telling me what hot stuff I was.

‘Lay off the sex stuff,’ I told her, as I pulled her arms away, and she sort of shot back and jerked her wig from her head. And Bernie was pretty. A little soap and water applied to that face would make her a knock-out. And I guess she saw the look of approval in my face. For she started in to do the vamp act again. A pitiful sort of effort it was, with the ghastly smile I had seen on the platform. Bernie wasn’t bad — she was good. There was the sparkle of youth to her eyes that fear hadn’t killed yet — a sparkle that no number of beauty doctors can put in the eyes of a soul that is bad. Bernie just hadn’t met the right kind of boy friends — that was all. So I’d put her right, on the time she was wasting.

‘Yes, you’re pretty, Bernie.’ I looked straight at her. ‘Maybe beautiful — and I daresay you have a bagful of cute tricks. But put them back in the bag. You have sent me money and I have come to help you. You might be cock-eyed and have a hare lip and an ear or two that had been gewed up by a gentleman friend. It wouldn’t make any difference. You’ve paid cash for service — you’re going to get it. What do you want?’

Her hands were half in midair and hung there until I finished, then they dropped to her side. The lips ceased to quiver; the black eyes widened slightly as she weighed my words.

‘You will help me — regardless?’ she finally asked.

‘Regardless of what? Those boys downstairs?’