Ed Lacy - Blonde Bait

I saw all this in a flash as I was in mid-air. In the ring you broke the fall by landing On your shoulders and rocking forward on your backside. I never found a ring canvas soft but compared to the sidewalk it would have felt like a foam mattress. I hit on my back with a thud that knocked all the air out of me and sent my sore head spinning like a drunken rocket.

For a long time I couldn't get up. I wasn't out, merely lying on the hard sidewalk in a kind of dizzy comfort. A few people began to gather on the other side of the street. They looked like a distant horizon to me. I sat up and held the sides of my face to keep my head together. The dick I'd kicked in the head was still crumpled near me. The crowd came into focus, it had more people. I heard the sound of running feet, a voice asking, “What's going on here?” The voice sounded slightly familiar.

I looked up into the baby face of the young cop. He said, “You cover my post better than I do. Now what happened?”

“This lump and another guy claimed they were police officers and tried to force me into that car over there. They're private detectives and I refused to go with them.”

“You been knifed—your neck is full of blood,” the cop said as he knelt beside the private eye. “I hope this one is alive. What did you slug him with?”

“My foot.”

“Cut the jokes and tell me a straight story.”

“I am. Listen: I came to this house to see a man. Some old little guy in a turtleneck sweater who doesn't speak much English told me the fellow would be back in an hour. I was walking around when two young fellows pulled guns on me—all that stuff I told you happened back where they're knocking down the buildings. When I left you I returned to this house and these two jokers were waiting for me. When I found they were private peepers, I refused to go with them.”

“Where were they taking you? What did they want?”

“Beats me.”

The young cop sighed. “Everything happens to you.” He pulled out his notebook. “What's your name and address?”

I told him Mickey Anderson, a phony address in Tampa. A radio car drove up and two more cops came over, went into conference with Babyface. The private eye finally sat up, groggy as hell, a little blood on his ear. I managed to stand and the young cop grabbed me as I started for the snooper. “No more roughhouse, Anderson.”

“I'm getting fed up with it myself. I'm too old for these falls. But I want to ask this character what the devil this is all about.”

The other cops were helping him to his feet and my cop told me, “They're going to take him to the station house, see if he needs a doc. You can use a medic yourself, your neck is all blood.”

I put my hand to my neck and stared at the blood on my palm. “I'm okay. That's from the bump on my head. I was slugged last night.”

“You really live dangerously. What business you in?”

“Shrimps.”

“That hooked up with the rackets?”

“No. I keep telling you I don't know what this is all about. I'm only up here for a vacation. Where are they taking him?”

“I told you, to the precinct house. If you feel okay, let's you and me talk to the old man you claim you saw in this house, then we'll go to the station.”

“Fine.”

When we rang the bell the little old jockey opened the door immediately and said, “Officer, I'm glad you're here. This man has been a ruddy nuisance!” He had a mouthful of perfect teeth and spoke with a clipped British accent.

The cop gave me big eyes. “This the fellow you were looking for?”

“No. He's the one I talked to, who told me to come back in an hour.”

“I thought you said he spoke broken English?”

“He didn't have his teeth in then.”

The little man drew himself up. “What sort of bloody nonsense is this? Officer, do I have to be insulted on my own property? This creature has been making a pest of himself for...”

“Who called those two private bulls waiting for me in the living room?” I cut in.

“I haven't the smallest idea what you are raving about. I run a respectable rooming establishment and resent these thugs scuffling in front of my property.”

“Let's start from the beginning. Did this man come here an hour ago?” Babyface asked, pointing his night stick toward me.

“Indeed he did. He seemed to be under the weather, too. He asked for a former tenant. I tried to explain that Mr. Sowor no longer lives here. He returned minutes ago, obviously after having imbibed more liquids and having been in a drunken brawl. He again asked for Mr. Sowor. I again informed him Mr. Sowor no longer is a tenant here and shut the door in his face. The next thing I knew, there were sounds of scuffling and I looked out to see him and another chap stretched out on the sidewalk.”

“He claims two men, including the one on the sidewalk, were waiting in your house when he returned,” Babyface said.

The little man threw back his head and laughed, showing all his too-white teeth. “One only has to glance at him to see a drunken...”

“Where is Willy Sowor?” I cut in.

“Poor Mr. Sowor died many months ago. He was run down by a car on the avenue on a rainy night not far from here. I must say Mr. Sowor also imbibed a great deal.”

“What kind of business was he in?” I asked.

Turtleneck blinked. “You have your blasted cheek! All I ask of my tenants is for them to pay their rent on time and respect my privacy—and I certainly respect theirs!”

The cop wrote down his name and the address of the house and as we walked down the steps I said, “That little clown is lying in his store teeth!”

“Maybe. Only two things in your favor: you weren't drunk when I saw you on the brick pile, and the old man is wearing false teeth. We're three blocks from the precinct, can you walk it?”

“Sure.” People were turning to watch us. I wiped the blood from my neck with a handkerchief and threw it in a trash can, turned up my coat collar.

“What was your business with this Sowor fellow?”

“No business. A girl I used to know once mentioned him. Being in New York, I looked him up in the phone book, wanted to ask if he could tell me where this girl is now.”

“Why didn't you phone him?”

“Come on, a guy doesn't give out personal info over a phone. If he's dead, how come he's still listed in the book? Anyway I can check to see if he's really dead?”

“Since the accident was in our precinct, I can find out. As to the phone book, they can't change a listing until a new book comes out, and I think that's once a year. Have you ever been in trouble before, Mr. Anderson?”

“Before? What kind of trouble am I in now?”

“You know what I mean, any police record?”

“Nope.”

He sighed. “Your story sounds so fantastic I almost believe it. Also you don't look smart enough to think up a lie this big.”

I said, “Well, thanks, officer,” my voice full of sarcasm. “When we talk to that private dick, we'll find out what this is all about. I'm going to get to the bottom of this.”

“You'd better. You're looking worse every time I see you. That's some tin ear you're sporting. I've heard of 'em but you don't see them nowadays. When were you a pug?”

“I did some amateur boxing years ago.”

Reaching the police station Babyface took me before the desk lieutenant and saluted. He started to explain what had happened when the desk officer, a dapper fellow of about forty-five dressed in a pressed white shirt and plain black tie, cut him off with, “I know all about the case, officer.”

Babyface went to the rear of the police station. The desk officer studied me for a moment, like a judge, then he said, “This is your lucky day, no charges were pressed against you.”