Ed Lacy - Strip For Violence

“What's the idea?”

“Your calling cards—in case I want to look you up sometime in the future. Then you can beat it.”

“Beat it?” the gunmen repeated, relief and astonishment all over their bloody faces.

“No sense in licking a dead horse. We'll leave together, in case you have any pals waiting outside. Come on, make with the prints.”

From the way they left their prints, I knew they'd been printed before. I herded them out of the office, down the steps. The street looked deserted. I said, “Start walking toward Third Avenue and don't look back.”

They almost ran down the empty street. I jumped into my car and drove off. I still had the keys to their car, where-ever it was. Tomorrow I could trace it, but it would probably be a stolen job. At the moment I had only one thing on my mind—a talk with Willie Johnson, the lover-mailman.

13

It was almost two when I climbed the five flights to the Johnson apartment. Thelma was in the same housecoat I first saw her in and her eyes looked bad—red.

She squeezed my arm. “Oh Mr. Darling, you don't know how glad I am to see you. I'm simply a nervous wreck! Will kissing that woman before... millions and now.... Why in all the years we've been married I never...”

I sat down on the living-room couch, tried to think. Her chatter seemed to snow me under. Finally I cut her off with, “Mrs. Johnson—Thelma—I'm beat, tired, on edge. Got a drink around?”

“Why... yes. My, you do look... your poor face is a little puffy. Your nose—”

I dug out the wadded toilet paper from my nostrils. She gave out a mild scream and I said, “Only paper and blood. Where's the bottle of courage?”

“My... something happen to you?”

“Everything

has happened to me! You going to yak-yak me to death or get me a drink?”

She returned with a full bottle of Canadian whisky, sat on the couch beside me. I poured myself a good hooker, drank it, then poured one for her.

“Oh, Darling... that's such an odd name...”

“Skip it. Call me Hal.”

“I really don't drink, Hal. The doctor told me...”

“Take it, relax you. And for Christsakes, shut up.”

“Well!” She gave me a fish-eyed stare for a moment, gulped her drink down, turned pink as she sputtered, “I never heard such rudeness!”

“What do you know about that rock? The truth, not that crock of crap you and Will gave me.”

She began to whimper. “I don't know anything. Oh what's... happening... you insulting me and Will....” Thelma poured herself another stiff drink, took it down like a veteran lush. “Always been a good wife to Will and now....”

I shut my eyes, tried to think. The hoods had mentioned hundred-buck bills. Could be they had me mixed up with somebody passing the queer, a ring of...

“How could he do this to me? Another woman!” Thelma's whimper began to take on an hysterical note. That would be the finishing touch—all I needed! I told her, “Stop moaning. Will is with one of the sexiest women in the world and if he... hell if he gets the chance to lay her, you can't blame him.”

“How can you say that? Blame him! I'll break his head for him!” she said loudly, her whisky beginning to talk.

“Well, let's chatter about it some other time, I...”

“I can't understand how Will could...”

“Thelma, your Will is probably a good faithful guy but... there's always a point where any man can be tempted, and Margrita is that point. Doesn't mean he doesn't still love you but.... How long have you been married?”

“Nineteen years. Nineteen lovely.... Oh, Will!” Fat tears started down her face.

“Like everything else, a marriage can get stale, married people get used to each other; the excitement of sex wears thin and... Look at yourself, Thelma, and at Will, you're both sloppy and...”

She really turned on the tears. I quickly poured her another shot, which she gulped down, held her head in her hands and started to bawl.

My nerves were so raw the sound of her crying gave me a grating chill. I took a fast shot myself, had to do something to stop her tears. I put my arms around her, placed her head on my shoulder. “Thelma, forget Will. After all, you're a pretty woman, warm and exciting.”

“You're being nice... Hal. I used to be sort of good-looking. Now I'm too plump.”

“Nuts, you're beautiful. Not pretty the way a hard-faced chorus girl is, but full of charm.”

“Mr.—Hal, you really think so?”

“You bet,” I said, not entirely lying. “Will takes you too much for granted. A clown like myself, who hasn't a wife, can appreciate a home, all you do to make a man happy. Only it's wrong for a woman to devote her whole life to a man, fall for that lord and master pitch. She must think of her own right to happiness....”

Thelma stopped crying, was listening to me, her hand warm and moist on top of mine. I slipped her a corny line of sweet talk and she was very quiet. Either my words or the three slugs of whisky she'd had, were working on her.

“... You see, you've let Will be the big I-am in your life, forgot your own right to happiness.” I suddenly kissed her on the mouth. Her lips were surprisingly alive and exciting.

For a moment she pulled away, then her arms tightened around my neck. I held her close with one arm, kissing her, as my other hand was probing inside her robe, sliding around her hot back to her bra. She whispered, “Hal, this is so crazy! We mustn't—”

“It isn't crazy if we both want to.”

“But... it's wrong to... Oh, Hal!”

My hand was caressing her great breasts, ringing the hard nipples. Her head fell back against the couch as she gently pushed my hand away, but her eyes were soft and willing.

For a moment my whole idea nearly backfired—for some reason her plumpness, the pillowy-bosom, got me on fire and I nearly went through with things—but sex was really the last thing on my mind. I mean, I had enough troubles without latching on to more. With an effort I stood up. “There, see what I mean, Thelma? I'm no Margrita, but I am somebody new and... you're willing. So don't blame Will. You've both been taking each other too much for granted, the star-dust has worn off, the...”

The door opened down the hall and a second later Will came in. He looked a little crocked. One of his eyes was shut and turning purple, he had a couple of skin-bruises on his face, and his uniform was dirty. Thelma jumped up and as she did so part of her white bra hung out of her robe, like a flag at half-mast.

“What the hell's going on here?” Will thundered.

“Nothing.”

“You—you've been with that woman!” Thelma wailed.

“You're a fine one to talk! I find you undressed and this shrimp...!”

I stepped over to his towering bulk, snapped, “Shut up! You and Thelma can straighten this out later. We got a lot of talking to do.”

“We sure have! I demand an...”

“Can the self-righteous slop.” I buried my right in his belly. He grunted, bent double as he slipped to the floor. Thelma ran over, knelt beside him, bawled, “You little thug! What are you doing to my Will?”

Trying to convince him the time for games is over. Yesterday you came into my office, handed me a cock-and-bull yarn about being 'curious' about a rock. I'm a peaceful guy, love the quiet, easy life... but since you've brought that rock to me, I've been punched and blackjacked, my office has become a shambles, my secretary has been murdered...”

Will stared up at me, his one good eye wide with fear. “That girl in the papers—thought I recognized her!”

“And she got it the hard way, beaten to death. Now stop the bunk and tell me the truth about this damn rock!”