Ed Lacy: Sin In Their Blood

Sin In Their Blood

Ed Lacy

This page formatted 2007 Munsey's.

http://www.munseys.com

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

MONDAY

TUESDAY

WEDNESDAY

THURSDAY

FRIDAY

SATURDAY

PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

MATT RANZINO

Ex-fighter, ex-cop, ex-private detective. Home after fighting in Korea, he wanted quiet—but a killer had other plans for him.

HARRY LOUGHLIN

He and Matt had been partners before the war. Was now a professional blackmailer.

FLO

Sensual blonde Matt had gone with before the Army. Was now tied up with Loughlin. Matt couldn't see the combo.

AUSTIN

Pint-sized eccentric. Had a queer hobby which Loughlin used as a source of information for his blackmail racket.

MADY

Matt moved into her house to keep tabs on her— wound up falling for her. Was somehow tied up with the killer.

SAXTON

Hired Matt to find the murderer of his sister. Paid him a large retainer—but Matt wasn't sure Saxton was on the level.

MONDAY

It was almost 10 a.m. and starting to warm up as I walked slowly down the main street, stopping every few minutes to rest my light bag. It's the kind of a street you think about a lot when you're out of town... and then return and wonder why the hell you ever looked forward to seeing it again. I took in the skyscrapers, the movie houses, the gin mills, the bookie joints that passed as cigar stores, the radio-station tower that disappeared into the blue sky, a modern monument to nothing. I watched the people hurrying by, the crowded restaurants and orangeade stands, the heavy traffic—and I knew the street didn't mean a thing to me any more. I suppose in the hospital I'd thought about it so often because it had been a dream then, a symbol of living. Now, as I looked up and down the busy street— this street that had been a big part of my life—all I could think was, where had I got it? In what bar or eating place or movie had somebody breathed deeply and given me the damn bug?

There were lots of places I could have gone to but I didn't have anyplace to go to, so I dropped into the Baker, the best hotel in town. I had less than seventy bucks and this was strictly a lush spot, but after eleven months of hospital beds, I wanted a little luxury for a few nights. As I walked across the impressive lobby, Abe Berg, the house dick, came toward me like a wobbly tank. Abe was a rough joker, once he got his mitts on you. He'd been a professional wrestler and his face had been stepped on a couple of times—and put together again carelessly. Some guys get by on their size, or rough talk—Abe got by on his face. He said in a shrill voice, “Matt Ranzino! You big bastard, heard you were the hero of that mess in Korea!”

“I was there,” I said, turning my head to avoid his breath as we pumped hands.

“On a case here?” Abe asked, then being a real bright detective he noticed my bag, added, “Staying here? I can get you the professional rate—40 per cent off.”

“I'm on nothing. Just got into town. Thought I'd put up here for a few days.”

“I'll fix you up with the desk.”

“Thanks.”

He banged me on the shoulder with one of his meat-hooks, and I thought I was going to fall over. I let go of his hand, stepped back out of his reach as he said, “Boy, you look in top shape. Whatcha weigh?”

“Two hundred... and five and a half ounces.”

“And hard as that old brick house,” he said, trying to slap me in the guts with his heavy left hand. I pushed that aside, said, “Take it slow, Abe, I... eh... ate a minute ago.”

“Sure. Stop in my office for a hooker?”

“Too early.”

We went over to the desk clerk, who looked as though he just had the cellophane unwrapped from him. Abe introduced me as a buddy-buddy and whispered something into the clerk's ear and it must have been good—I only had to pay three bucks for a room and bath. I wanted to go up and lay down for a while, but Abe wanted to talk. He told the clerk, “Matt here was the toughest private dick in town.”

“Well, well,” the clerk said in a deadpan voice that must be an occupational disease with hotel clerks.

“He was a rough cookie. Say, every time I see this Humphrey Bogart doing his stuff in the movies I say to myself, them Hollywood jokers ought to get Matt Ranzino on the screen and really see a rough clown in action.”

“The house-dick business so bad you've become a publicity agent, too?” I asked Abe, and the clerk chuckled at this corn.

“It's the truth, ain't no stuff,” Abe said as I picked up my bag. We walked over to the elevator and he asked casually, “What you going to do, Matt, get your license again?”

“I don't know. Going to take it easy for a time.”

“Heard about your partner, Harry Loughlin? He's in the big money.” Abe said it as though the words tasted bad. “So I heard. What kind of agency he got?”

“You going in with him again?”

“No.”

Abe gave me a horrible leer that was a gold-tooth smile. “Good! Listen what Harry's doing is... well, I ain't for talking about it, but it stinks. Really stinks big, Matt.”

“Harry's the lad to think up a fast hustle,” I said, moving into the elevator.

“A hustle is a hustle but this...” Abe shook his big head. “This is real crummy, worse than a two-bit pimp, or a—”

“See you around, Abe,” I said, motioning at the elevator operator.

There was a bellhop waiting at the room and I had to give him half a buck for unlocking the door. But he tossed the change on the bed, said, “You don't have to give me nothing, Mr. Ranzino. I was coming from school when you busted that drunken driver's jaw and...”

“Take the change.”

“No, sir. They had a hell of a nerve busting you from the force just because he was the mayor's cousin.”

“The mayor's family can never be a drunk,” I said. That was all only five years ago, now it seemed like another lifetime.

“I followed all your cases in the papers after that, felt I was reading about a friend. I mean, because I was in on that first thing. My name is Jim, Mr. Ranzino, and I'm no movie-happy jerk, but if you should open your own agency again, I'd like a job as office boy. Anything to learn the business. I'm small but tough as...”

“Ask Abe to tell you the secrets of the trade.”

“That ape, thinks he's funny giving you a grip-of-iron handshake. He told me all he knows in two minutes. I'm serious Mr...'”

“Don't know exactly what I'm going to do,” I said, “but I'll keep you in mind, Jim.”

His face showed the let-down at the brush-off, but he said thanks a million and went out. I locked the door, opened my shirt, stretched out on the bed. It was a big, soft bed, a big room. I wasn't tired and I couldn't sleep. I wondered why I'd ever come back to this town. Pops was dead, I had no one. And Abe and this Korea hero crap. And this dizzy kid—must be almost 17 or 18, army-bait unless he was lucky enough to be a moron.

I lay there, lazily wondering what to do—being out of a hospital was a little like getting out of stir. One thing, I'd have to find a room, give my change of address to the government as soon as possible. If my monthly check was held up too long, I'd be in a bad way.

I'd look around out at the beach—be the best place to live. Air wasn't too damp. Get me a cheap room there tomorrow—hell with this big bed.

I turned over and saw my wristwatch. It was after eleven and I went to the neat adjoining bath and washed out a clean glass thoroughly, was downing one of my multi-vitamin pills I had to take three times a day, when the phone rang.