I waited, unmoving, hoping the bad-pig outside was not joined by his stymates from the bar. The coarse laughter from the other side of the door was anything but humorous.
'Hello, hello - both out of date? Not thinking of avoiding the draft, are you boys?'
'A clerical error,' a pale voice whimpered.
'We get a lot like that. Let's go.'
The light went away and so did the footsteps. I waited as long as I dared, then opened the door and exited the bar. The alley was empty, pig and prisoners were gone. I went myself, as quickly as I could without running. Then stopped. What was I running from? Once the police had left, the bar would be the safest place in the city for me. I stopped in a dark doorway and looked back at the rear entrance. No one else came out. I counted to three hundred, then to be safe backward again to zero. The door remained closed. Cautiously, ready to flee in an instant, I went back into the bar, peered into the bar room. No police - but the glimmerings of an idea.
The four young men at the table looked up as I came back in, the newcomer sitting at one of the recently vacated seats. I shook my head gloomily and dropped into a chair.
'The porkacoj got them. Both.'
'I told Bil he needed new papers, wouldn't listen to me.' the blond one said, the one who had come with the warning. He cracked his knuckles then seized up his beer. 'You got to have good papers.'
'My papers are out of date.' I said gloomily, then waved to the waitress.
'You should have stayed in Pensildelphia then.' one of the others said, a spotty youth in an ill-fitting gold and green shirt.
'How did you know I was from Pensildelphia?' I protested. He sneered.
'Rube accent like that, where else you from?' I sneered back and glowed with pleasure inside. Better and better. I had a peergroup of draft dodgers, one of them who might be working with the police, and a home town. Things were looking up. I buried my nose in my beer.
'You ought to get new ID,' the friendly-warner, possible police informer, said. I sniffled.
'Easy to say here. But you can't do it in Pensildelphia. '
'Hard to do here too. Unless you got the right contacts.'
I stood up. 'I gotta go. Nice meeting you guys.' Before leaving I checked to make sure that the police were gone. Then I exited and waited. My new friend came out a moment later and smiled at me.
'Smart. Don't let too many people know what's going on. My label is Jak.'
'Call me Jim.'
'Good a name as any, Jim. How much you got to spend?'
'Not much. I had a bad year.'
'I'll put you in touch with the man himself for three sugarlumps. He'll want twenty.'
'ID not worth more than ten. You get one-fifty.'
'They're not all dumb in the backwoods, are they. Slap it in my hand and we're on our way.'
I paid him his cut and when he turned I put the tip of my knife against his neck just under his ear and pushed just hard enough to break the skin. He stayed absolutely still when I showed him the knife with the fresh drop of blood.
'That is a little warning.' I said. 'Those pigs were waiting for whoever you flushed out. That's not my worry. My skin is. I got a feeling that you play both sides. Play the right side with me or I will find you and slice you. Understand?'
'Understood…' he said gruffly, with a tremor in his voice. I put the knife away and clapped him on the shoulders.
'I like you, Jak. You learn easy.'
We went in silence and I hoped that he was making the right conclusions. I don't like threats and when threatened I do the opposite of what I am requested. But my experience of the petty criminal led me to believe that threats tended to work with them. Part of the time.
Our route took us past a number of other bars and Jak looked carefully into each one before going on. He struck paydirt in the fifth one and waved me in after him. This place was dark and smokefilled, with jangling music blasting from all sides. Jak led the way to the rear of the room, to an alcove where the music was not quite as loud, at least not as loud as the striped outfit the fat man was wearing. He leaned back in a heavy chair and sipped at a tiny, poisonous green drink. 'Hello, Captain,' my guide said.
'Get dead quickly, Jak. I don't want your kind here.'
'Don't say that even funning. Captain. I got good business for you here, a mission of mercy. This grassgreen cutlet is a step ahead of the draft. Needs new ID.' The tiny eyes swiveled toward me. 'How much you got, cutlet?'
'Jak says one-fifty for him, ten for you. I already paid him his.'
'Jak's a liar. Twelve is the price and I give him his cut.'
'You're on.'
It was an instant transaction. I gave him the money and he passed over the grubby plastic folder. Inside there was a blurred picture of a youth who could have been anyone my age, along with other vital facts including a birthdate quite different from my own.
'This says that I am only fifteen years old!' I protested.
'You got a baby face. You can get away with it. Drop a few years - or join the army.'
'I feel younger already.' I pocketed the ID and rose. 'Thanks for the help.'
'Any time. Long as you got the sugarlumps.' I left the bar, crossed the road and found a dark doorway to lurk in. It was a short wait because Jak came out soon after me and strolled away. I strolled behind him at a slightly faster stroll. I was breathing down his neck before he heard my footsteps and spun about.
'Just me, Jak, don't worry. I wanted to thank you for the favor.'
'Yeah, sure, that's all right.' He rolled his eyes around at the deserted street.
'You could do me another favor, Jak. Let me see your own ID. I just want to compare it to mine to make sure the Captain didn't give me a ringer.'
'He wouldn't do that!'
'Let's make sure.' My dagger blade twinkled in the streetlight and he rooted inside his jacket then handed me a folder very much like my own. I turned to look at it under the light, then handed it back. But Jak was the suspicious type. He glanced at it before putting it away - and dropped his jaw prettily. 'This ain't mine - this is yours!'
'That's right. I switched them. You told me that ID was good. So use it.'
His cries of protest died behind as I walked uphill away from the shore. To a better neighborhood without a criminal element. I felt very pleased with myself. The ID could have been good - in which case Jak would lose nothing.
But if it were faulty in any way it would be his problem, not mine. The biter bit. A very evenhanded solution. And I was going in the right direction. Once away from the waterfront things did get better, the buildings taller, the streets cleaner, the lights brighter. And I got tireder. Another bar beckoned and I responded. Velvet drapes, soft lights, leather upholstery, better-looking waitress. She was not impressed by my clothes, but she was by the tip I passed over when my beer arrived.
I had very little time to enjoy it. This was a well-policed city and the bad-pigs came in pairs. A brace of them waddled in through the door and my stomach slipped closer to the floor. But what was I worrying about? My ID was fine.
They circuited the room, looking at identification, and finally reached my table.
'Good evening, officers,' I smarmed. 'Knock off the cagal and let's see it.'
I smiled and passed over the folder. The one who opened it widened his nostrils and snorted with pleasure.
'Why look what we got here! This is Jak the joike strolled away from his home turf. That's not nice, Jak. '
'It's a free world!'
'Not for you, Jak. We all know about the deal you made with harbor police. Stay there and rat on your friends and you get left alone. But you strayed out of your turf, Jak.'
'I'll go back now,' I said rising with a sinking feeling.
'Too late,' they said in unison as they slapped on the cuffs.
