Ed Lacy - Strip For Violence

I waited. I had a big advantage over him, I knew where she was going. There was only one tail: nobody else followed Laurie. Turning on the ignition, I followed him to the luncheonette. Laurie was waiting outside the store and he'd parked across the street, had already disappeared into the back seat. I honked my horn, motioned for her to get in, headed toward the park at Spuyten Duyvil. “What's the idea?” Laurie asked. “Thought we were going to...?”

“Look in the windshield mirror—but do it easily. See that Buick behind us a ways? He's tailing you.”

She looked. “Can't make out the man at the wheel. What do we do now, lose him?”

“We're going to stop at Inwood Park, get out and walk up into any place where there's trees. I'll hide behind a tree, you keep on walking—stop a couple yards away from me and wait. When this clown sneaks up on you, I'll take care of him. Got any cigarettes?”

“Yes. But...?”

“Keep chain smoking cigarettes.”

“What's cigarettes got to do with...?”

“To make sure he can follow you. In this twilight your cigarette glow will act like a guide for him. Now when I drop off in the woods, don't stop, or look at me, keep walking. And don't walk too far—about twenty feet. Got it?”

“Yes. Seems like a lot of movie stuff to me.”

I didn't bother answering her. When we parked, we hurried up the walk that ran through the park, left that, and slowly started up a slight hill thick with bushes. Laurie was puffing away on a cigarette. As we passed a clump of bushes, I dived into them, turned, and crouched in as comfortable a position as I could get.

Laurie did it nicely. She stopped about fifteen feet above me, among a heavy growth of trees, the bright red tip of her cigarette plain against the darkness.

It was a hot, muggy night, and for about ten minutes all that happened was a flock of flies, or some kind of bugs, decided to have a light snack on the back of my neck. I couldn't smack them, the noise would be a give-away. I kept shaking my head like crazy... and then I heard it —somebody walking with great care, trying not to step on any twigs or dried stuff. The bushes around me weren't too high, but enough cover for a shrimp like myself.

The tail covered the open ground by the bushes quickly, stopped some three feet from me, staring up intently at Laurie's cigarette glow. All I could see of him in the dark was that he was one of these tall, thin guys, the kind that dress big but really are only skin and bones under the padding. He had one hand deep in his right pocket. I got to my feet slowly, holding the palms of my hands stiff. I held my arms out at my sides, like a ham actor making a speech, then reached up and clapped my hands over his ears as hard as I could.

15

SHE SCREAMED—a short, breathless scream—started to grab his head, then crumpled to the ground. I called out “Come on, Laurie, let's blow.”

Laurie came running down, asked, “What do we do now, search him?” The punk was rolling on the ground, holding his ears.

“Forget him. We're going to my place,” I said, taking her arm and making time down the hill, and enjoying the feel of the firm muscle in her arm, her side when my hand brushed against her dress. We walked over to the car and drove off.

“Where is your place?”

“I live on a boat, off 79th Street and the Hudson.”

“A boat? You sure are the strangest fellow I've ever met. I'm not sure I want to go out on a boat.”

“It's a safe place, little chance of any punk finding us.”

“Very safe—back there, he heard you say we were going to your place and...”

“He didn't hear anything, and never will hear again. His eardrums are busted.”

I joined the traffic on the West Side Highway. She was staring at me, her tight face almost loose with fright. “You mean you made him deaf for life? Why how could you do...?”

“Laurie, try to get this through your pretty noggin— we're not playing potsy—but for keeps! I had to make sure he didn't tail us to the boat.” And I wondered if there would be a couple of hoods watching the yacht basin.

“But to maim a man for life. Hal... you... you frighten me.”

“The killer that shot your pop and Brody, what was he doing, playing by the rules?”

She didn't answer, lit a cigarette. In the light of the match her face looked worried. After a few puffs she asked, “What do we do on the boat?”

“Eat, cruise around for the rest of the night.”

“If you think I'm going to spend the night with you on a boat...”

“That's what I think. The killer has knocked off two of my girls, and I don't intend to have you make it a trio.”

“I'm not one of your girls!”

“Neither was one of the dead girls, but the killer thought she was. Could be he saw what I feel for you on my face this afternoon, or... the point is, we're not taking any chances. I don't want you as a beautiful corpse. And don't worry, I won't chase you all over the boat.”

“Worried?” Laurie snapped. “I can handle you.”

“Fine, then stop chattering about it.”

“Oh, stop acting so tough—little man!”

I laughed at her. “Okay, little woman.”

16

We turned off into the parking lot. I kept the motor running. There were a dozen cars there, but I didn't see anybody. I locked the struggle-buggy and we walked to the dock. Laurie looked around, pointed to the strangely beautiful amphitheatre-like structure with fountains in its center, that stands behind the yacht basin. She said, “Gee, I never even knew there was a place like this in the city, fit's lovely, like something out of the...”

“The Roman days,” I cut in, watching everybody on the floating dock. There was a couple of guys who looked as though they came off a boat, their wives or girls—and Pete, Although it wasn't time for him to go on duty. I asked him if anybody had been around to see me. He said no, asked where I'd been. I stepped into the launch, helped Laurie in, and from the way she stepped in I knew she hadn't been on boats much. Pete called out that my dinghy was fixed, and I said I'd leave it at the dock for now.

I told the attendant driving the launch to circle my tub a few times and when he asked why, I slipped him a buck, He made several lazy circles around the boat—everything looked normal. The moon was coming out bright and pale white light covered the boat. I motioned for him to bring the launch alongside, jumped aboard. I unlocked the cabin door, waited for the stale air to get out as I told Laurie to jump. The Hudson was pretty smooth, but she hesitated, then jumped and almost fell. I grabbed her, pulled her to me, my arms brushing her breasts. She tried to push me away, but I turned her around, said, “Step down into the cockpit—and relax. The boat may not look like much, but she's seaworthy.”

When she was safe in the cockpit, she said, “Don't ever say that again!”

“Slice the outraged schoolgirl stuff, and stay put—for awhile. Be out in a second.” I stepped down into the cabin, took off my shirt and coat, put on rubber-soled shoes that gripped the deck. I pumped out some bilge water, raised the motor hatch, gave the old Packard a brief going-over. She seemed okay and I closed the hatch. The motor turned the second time I stepped on the starter. Leaving it idling, I raced forward and let go the mooring line, ran back and put her in gear, steered out and up the Hudson.

No other boat followed us. A sightseeing boat was a few hundred yards ahead of us and making time. I called Laurie over. “Take the wheel. Keep the bow pointed toward the middle of George Washington Bridge. Don't get nervous and start turning the wheel this way and that. Just like driving. I'll be out in a moment.”