Ed Lacy - Strip For Violence

When I made it, I saw they had one of my flashlights working. Lefty was sitting beside me. Franklin had the dough from my inside pocket, said, “So you had to spend two of the bills? How stupid can you get—I'd have been glad to cut you in on the gravy, now I have to kill you. And your trim over there. Stupidity never pays off.”

“Cops... are... waiting... you can't.... get away with... it... it,” I said, my voice sounding like a bum phone connection, as though my kisser was stuffed—stuffed with hot irons judging by the pain. The only thing that came through clearly was the thought that Margrita had crossed me.

“Chance that,” Franklin said. “Still only your word to connect me with all this, and what's the word of a cheap dick? And I don't think you even talked to the cops— you're one of these cocky jerks who tries to whip the world alone. You played your hand wrong, so you force me to get rough—with you, the broad, that spick pug of yours....”

“He's for me, boss,” Lefty cut in. “Margrita's for you.”

“Cat” grinned. “You're dumb, Darling, so dumb you're comical. I've had that whore's phone tapped for over a year. I'll take care of her, do things I always wanted to that.... Be quite a kick, for me.”

I don't know why, but merely knowing she hadn't crossed me, gave me a lift, a feeling of hope. My brain began to break through the fog of pain, started to work.

“You... you murdering pimp,” I said, sounding like a drunk as I stumbled over my tongue. “What... you... kill Anita and... Louise... for?”

Franklin laughed, said to Lefty, “Listen to this punk, thinks this is a movie where the bad guy confesses all in the last reel! Told you, I'm a quiet fellow, know when I have to give the other guy a break, a taste of money—even a big-money taste if he has me against the wall hard enough. And you had. I had to hock all my businesses to raise a million bucks. Ever try to raise a million? It's rough, and I had to put everything I had on the line. Then you come sticking your damn nose in. You wouldn't buy, so I had to get tough—real tough, because every cent I have— everything —was at stake. That's over now, you're out of the way. Simple set-up... boat wreck... your bodies found a day or so later. Give the crabs something to eat. They go for the eyes, the nose, and other soft parts, first.”

I kept thinking that Bobo was our only chance. If he'd only come back, start a roughhouse. I could still handle one of them. “Lot... people... around yard.” I seemed to be chewing on the broken bone of my jaw, and every time the sharp bone ends moved it was like hot wires stuck in them.

“Didn't I tell you? You're going to take the boat out of here. Reason why I haven't tied you up yet,” Franklin said.

I tried to grin—and almost fainted.

Franklin said grimly, “Keep on being the movie hero, see what it gets you. That little broad of yours, that Anita, dumb as hell too. Thought life was like the detective books. Surprising, skinny dame taking such a beating.

One part of my plan had worked—I'd gotten the Cat to confess before witnesses—only at the moment it didn't seem too important.

Looking at Laurie's eyes shining in the dim light—probably full of tears—I managed to say, “You ought... to... see... what I... can... take.”

Franklin looked at me sadly. “Won't you ever wise up? Your lumps will come—later. And don't encourage me to think up new ways of killing you... sometimes I like to think of... those things. Right now I need you to get this tub out of here, to a quiet spot on the river where we can wrap chains around you, sink you two, and the ship. And you'll do it, sail the boat out all nice and proper, stand at the wheel like a damn movie hero. Won't he, Lefty?”

Wilson pulled a switch blade out of his pocket, had it out and open, all in one expert motion. He moved over to Laurie's bunk, his hand and the knife disappeared under her skirt. Her eyes got brighter, but that was all.

11

Franklin shrugged. “See how simple things can be? And if you want to play it tough, that can be simple too. Knife would be some lover—think she'd like it? Scream and wiggle with...”

“O-okay,” I stuttered.

“Make your last hours easy on yourself. Makes the...”

We all heard Bobo call out, “My friend back yet?”

Then the yard owner's voice, “Yeah, with a girl. Hey, thought you were on the boat?”

“This morning,” Bobo said. “Girl back, too, that's fine!”

Wilson stood up, no knife in his hand. His head brushed the ceiling. “Boss, get over there. This will be a pleasure.”

Franklin nodded and switched off the light. Then he made his first mistake—he picked me up and stood with his back to the “Blowfish Madonna,” holding me in front of him, his big arms around me like two snakes. He wasn't any fat slob, I could feel the muscles of his gut against my back. He spread his feet far apart, so I couldn't kick back. Lefty pressed himself against the galley, at the foot of the steps. One of the “Cat's” big hands slapped across my face, closing my mouth.

The four of us followed the sound of Bobo's footsteps as he came nearer, jumped on the deck, calling, “Hal?”

Franklin mumbled, “Here.”

The moon was coming up and as Bobo entered the cabin I had a good look at his face—before Lefty's fist shot out, landed with the thud of thunder in his guts. It was a blow like that had made Bobo run out on Lefty.

Bobo doubled up, vomited some coffee he must have just had, fell down the steps. Lefty caught him, backed him against the closet wall, pounded him in the stomach. Lefty must have kicked the flashlight, for it went on and I saw Bobo's face, his mouth struggling for air... the fright in his eyes when he saw it was Lefty.

There was just about room to swing and Lefty was raining short, solid, blows into Bobo's middle, and Bobo wasn't even raising his hands in defense—taking it, blood and puke rushing from his mouth. I saw our last chance going to hell... when suddenly Bobo let out a grunt of rage, crossed a left hook to Lefty's face that shook him.

I gave a silent cheer and went to work. My hands were hanging between my legs and I spread my legs and fell as far forward as Franklin's arms would let me—as though I'd passed out. Then I reached under and back, felt for his groin, jerked with all the power I had.

12

His scream nearly busted my ears—a shrill, sharp roar of pain that was the sweetest music I ever heard! His hands left me and I stepped forward as Franklin sunk to his knees, both hands pressing against his fly.

On the dock I heard people running toward the boat as I picked up the hefty flashlight, stepped in to help Bobo. There wasn't room enough for anything but infighting, slugging each other with short, jolting punches.

Bobo had his head resting on Wilson's shoulder, slugging Lefty's gut, and as I tried to get a clear shot at Wilson's head with the metal flash, Bobo suddenly sent me sprawling with the back of one of his big fists. For a moment I didn't get it... and then I understood: this was his private battle and he didn't want any help.

Keeping the light on them, I got the Luger out of my coat and then untied Laurie, asked her if she was all right, only all I could do was mumble something that didn't sound like anything.

“Hal, stop them—they're killing each other!” Laurie said.

I merely shook my head.

Through the portholes a cloud of frightened, curious faces were watching as Bobo and Wilson pounded each other, grunting like animals. They'd slowed up, but each punch was a vicious blow, with every ounce of strength behind it. As Bobo's fists kept up a steady pounding of his stomach, Wilson shuddered, his hands fell to his sides, and he slowly sank to the floor. A slashing uppercut sent his head bouncing back and he lay against the closet door—out cold—blood streaming from his nose, mouth, and ears. Bobo's face was a bloody, panting, smear as he stared down at Wilson, gasped, “Beat you, you sonofabitch... I beat you... Nine years too late!”