David Goodis - The Blonde on the Street Corner

Ralph pulled twine. “After Christmas it ain’t so busy.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be here after Christmas,” Paul said.

“I guess not.”

“And you’re better off,” Paul said. “This ain’t no job for a human. They oughta train gorillas for this sorta work.”

Ralph laughed.

“It ain’t no joke. You work down here for three years, like I been doing, and you’ll see it ain’t no joke. The same thing all the time, day in find day out, with these bastards from upstairs coming down to tell us how slow we are. There’s a special one I got it in for. He comes down here and starts calling us a lot of names. He thinks he’s tough. He’s a sort of bulky guy, about thirty, and I heard he used to fight in the amateurs. I don’t know how he got the job upstairs. He don’t have any brains. All he knows is to come down here and get tough with us. All the guys are scared of him. I’m not. I don’t have to take his guff. One of these days he’s gonna get my goat once too often. Then you’ll see what’ll happen. You married?”

“No.”

“You’re lucky. I’m hitched. If I only had myself to worry about I’d quit right now. I’m only thirty-one. You know what I’d do? I’d hop a freight. I’d get down to Texas. I’d hitch onto a tanker down in the Gulf. Then I’d shove. That’s what I wanna do. But I hadda go get married and now she’s gonna have a kid.” He tugged viciously at a big package.

Santa Claus said, “And what would you like, young man?”

“Aw, shove it,” Paul said.

Ralph’s mother had packed a big lunch. She wondered why he asked for so much food. She did not know that he shared his lunch with George. When he got home at night he did not eat much. Mrs Creel thought it was because of the big lunch. She did not know that he was too tired to eat.

For a while he would sit around and read the newspaper and listen to the radio. Then he would walk over to Ken’s house. He would stay there for an hour or so. Then he would walk out to the park. He would walk around the lake. He would walk around a few times and then without knowing it he would be walking away from the lake and the park and in the opposite direction from the corner, aiming toward a dark narrow street where the houses were a solid, unbroken wall of dark grey brick with doors and windows. He would walk in this direction for a block or two and then he would stop and turn around and head back toward the park and the lake.

Very tired, he would look forward to sleep.

With each day there was more work. In the stock room the men heaved and sweated and cursed and heaved. The packages flowed in and out and in and out. From outside came the drone of the pouring crowd and the amplified carol-singing and jingling bells and the voice of Santa Claus. The men in the stock room heaved and pushed and sweated. The packages whizzed through. Santa Claus asked the children what they wanted for Christmas. The packages tumbled and rocked and jolted and rolled through the curse-filled and sweat-filled rooms of stock and shipping. Outside, the crowd poured along the seething street.

“Well, sonny,” Santa Claus said, “what am I going to give you?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” Paul said. “Listen to that phony.”

Ralph twisted a package around and pushed it toward Paul. He said, “Coming through fast now.”

“Sure,” Paul said.

Footsteps clattered down the stairs. Someone whispered, “It’s Fred—”

Fred ran down the stairs. Halfway down he stopped and addressed himself to the men. “You lazy sons of bitches,” he said.

“That’s the guy,” Paul mumbled, nudging Ralph. “That’s the guy I got it in for.”

“Come on, you bums,” Fred said, walking slowly down the stairs. “Whaddya think this is? We’re already behind on these rush send-outs. The trucks are waitin’ and you’re takin’ your goddam time. Let’s see some action!”

He started to move among the men, yelling at them, calling them names.

“Whattsa matta, Chuck? Can’t you take it?”

“Lay off, Fred. I’m not coasting.”

“The hell you’re not. Step on the gas or maybe you won’t be able to pay rent next month.”

Chuck grabbed at twine, slipped it around a package. Fred walked around the room, shouting at the men. “Come on, come on, come on—”

Paul leaned toward Ralph and said, “I can’t stand it. It’s up to my neck already.”

“Take it easy,” Ralph said.

Paul pushed a package toward another man. Fred walked over and his fists were on his hips and he watched as Paul took another package from Ralph and marked it and then reached for another package.

“Nice and slow,” Fred said. “No hurry at all. Just take your time.”

Paul took a package and it slipped away from him and he grabbed for it and fell over it and his knee dented the cardboard and ripped it slightly.

“That’s it,” Fred said, “nice and slow and careful.”

Paul whirled around, “How’d you like to go to hell?”

“You talking to me?” Fred said. He was smiling. The men stopped working and looked up.

“I’m not talking to your grandmother,” Paul said.

Fred stepped in and socked Paul deep in the stomach.

Paul doubled up, and Fred bashed him with a left hook to the side of the face and a right to the eye. Paul went down. Fred reached down and picked him up by the hair and smashed a right to the eye. Paul went down. Fred reached down and picked him up by the hair and smashed a right to the jaw. Paul went down. Fred reached for him again. Blood poured from Paul’s mouth.

Ralph stepped in between.

“That’s all,” he said.

Fred said, “Yeah? Move aside.”

Ralph didn’t move. “It’s enough,” he said.

The men crowded around. Some of them were pushing boxes and packages out of the way. A few of them helped Paul to his feet. Paul said, “I’m not done yet.”

“You’re goddam right you’re not done yet,” Fred said. “That’s just a taste of it.”

“Aw, break it up,” one of the men said.

Another said, “Leave him alone, Fred.”

Paul said, “I’m not afraid of him.” But he was shivering, and wheezing, and he had a lot of pain and a lot of fright. Blood rushed from his nose and mouth.

“Give me room,” Fred said. “Give me plenty of room.” Ralph stood between Fred and Paul.

“Get outta the way,” Fred said. He was bent low, fighting stance, moving his feet, shuffling, his fists circling in front of his face.

“Cut it out,” Ralph said. “It’s all over. He’s hurt.”

“I’m all right,” Paul said. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“You gonna get outta my way, you son of a bitch?” Fred said. He stepped close to Ralph, held his right up and ready.

“Watch out, Ralph,” said Paul.

Fred threw the right. Ralph took it on the side of the jaw. He fell back, landed against a pile of boxes. He got up fast. He pushed Paul out of the way. Paul tried to get back into the circle, but the men held him.

“Take a last look at this guy’s pretty face,” Fred said, pointing. “When I get through with him it’ll be mush.”

Ralph rushed, hammered a right between Fred’s eyes. Fred blinked and threw up his fists. Ralph smashed his fists through the guard and Fred took a right to the mouth and smother right to the side of the jaw. He drew his right arm back to deliver a chopping punch to the head and that left him open for a right to the eye and another right to the nose and a left to the same eye. Breathing hard, Fred stepped back.

“Give it to him! Give it to him!” the men yelled.

Fred knew they were not yelling for him. He wondered who this bastard was. Already his head was full of pain. His nose felt as if someone had forced a lot of white-hot lead up there. His right eye had hammer-pain in it. But he knew that he had at least forty pounds on this fool and all he needed was one good opening.