kitchen was located in the rear. I had smelled it the moment I walked in: a rancid grease odor competing with the stench of stale beer and an eye-smarting disinfectant.
There were five men drinking at the bar, and about twenty men and women at the tables and booths. All the men had a rough, red-faced, outdoorsy look: farmers, construction workers, telephone linesmen — like that. The women looked like — well, to tell you the truth, all the women looked like me, Bea Flanders: blond or red wigs, tight sweaters, hooker’s heels, and enough makeup to drive a covey of clowns mad with envy.
Conversation died down when the four of us entered, and heads turned. We got blank, faintly hostile stares, reserved for interlopers who lived more than ten miles away from the Game Cock. But, after we slid into a booth, the regulars went back to their dirty jokes, arm wrestling, and loud arguments competing with the thunder of the juke.
The lone waitress came over to take our order. She looked to be about fifteen years old, but obviously had to be older to be working in a joint like that. She was wearing low-slung, hip-hugger jeans. Her midriff was bare (I should have such a slender waist!), and a puckered bandeau kept her pointy breasts from stabbing a customer in the eye when she bent over a table. She had a great mass of brassy hair swinging halfway to her waist.
She took our order and went sashaying back to the bar. We all watched the swing of that hard, tight ass. A good three-inch displacement there, side to side.
i bet she does all right on tips,’ Donohue said. ‘You like that, Hyme?’
‘Well … yeah, sure, Jack. You want I should ask her if she’d like a lift to Miami?’
‘Oh no,’ Donohue said hastily, ‘don’t do that. We just don’t have the room.’
‘Whatever you say, Jack,’ Gore agreed amiably. ‘But I’m getting — you know. Like lonesome.’
‘Sure Hymie, I understand. Hang in there, old buddy. Another day or two and we’ll be in the land of the string bikini, and you won’t be lonesome anymore. Okay?’
When the hip-twitcher returned with the drinks, Jack asked her where the restrooms were. She said they were in back of the kitchen. Actually she said, ‘Threw duh kitch.’
‘Me first,’ Donohue said. ‘I want to check the place out.’ He slid out of the booth. I watched him walk to the back of the room, and noticed a few of the other women were doing the same thing.
He was back in a few minutes.
‘No men’s room or women’s room,’ he reported, ‘Just one closet marked Toilet. Beautiful. Hold your nose. And that goes for the kitchen, too.’
He wasn’t kidding. How the local health inspectors had missed that dive I’ll never know. That toilet was the pits, the absolute pits. There was a sign tacked over the sink that virtuously stated: ‘All employees must wash their hands before leaving this lavatory.’ Very nice. But no hot water, of course, and no soap. The roller towel looked like it had been used to wipe down a coal truck.
There was a back door leading outside, and a little hallway between toilet and kitchen. Two telephone booths in that hall, and a swell vending machine that sold breath-freshening mints, squirts of perfume, combs, pre- moistened tissues, and condoms. The only thing not offered patrons of the Game Cock was a quick cure for leprosy.
And that kitchen! A cesspool. The smell was enough to put you on a starvation diet. The grill was crusted with grease, and grease had coated the walls, hung in the air, and shone on the pimply face and bare arms of the gangly cook. When I walked through, he was poking at a pot of chili, tasting it from a long-handled wooden spoon. Then he used the same spoon to stir the pot.
We took turns using the john and then had one more round of drinks. After a while the waitress swayed over to ask if we wanted anything to eat.
‘Yeah,’ Donohue said, ‘but not here. Just the check, please.’
He paid, left a generous tip, and we moved to the door. Hymie Gore went first, exited, then held the door open for the rest of us. We came out into the night. I looked up: a clear sky, a million sharp stars. After the Game Cock, the air tasted polished and pure.
But Hymie Gore wasn’t looking at the stars.
‘Jack,’ he said in a low, hard voice. ‘On the right.’
We all looked. A black car parked head-on. Two men standing close to it, one on each side, hands deep in topcoat pockets. As we stared, powerful headlights came on. We blinked in the glare.
Almost at the same time we were hit by bright lights from the left. Another car, facing the door of the Game Cock. I shielded my eyes. I could make out, dimly, three men standing in gloom. One in particular …
‘Inside,’ Jack Donohue said, his voice unsteady. ‘Everyone inside. Don’t panic. Don’t run.’
We turned, went back into the Game Cock. Black Jack led the way to the end of the bar. We huddled.
‘Back again?’ the bartender asked, wiping the bar in front of us with a grimy rag.
‘One for the road,’ Donohue said with a ghastly grin. ‘Four double-Seagram’s, water on the side.’
‘You got it,’ the bartender said.
‘Jack,’ I said in a low voice, ‘who are-’
‘Shut your yap,’ he shot back viciously.
‘The back door?’ Dick suggested.
Donohue showed his teeth.
‘You think they won’t have it covered?’ he sneered. ‘Those guys are professionals. Don’t believe it? Just step outside back there. Bye-bye.’
The bartender brought our drinks. Jack paid with a ten, pushed the change back for a tip. No one spoke until the bartender moved away. Then Donohue turned, faced the crowded room. He rested his elbows on the bar. He surveyed the customers.
‘They haven’t got anyone inside,’ he said, his lips hardly moving. ‘I’ll bet on it. And they won’t come in blasting. They’ll wait for us to come out.’
‘Our car!’ I burst out desperately. ‘They must know our car. Why don’t they just break in and take the rocks?’
‘You think that’s all they want?’ Jack said scornfully. ‘Get smart, kiddo; they want
‘Uh, listen, Jack,’ Hymie Gore said slowly. ‘It could be the Feds.’
‘No way, Hyme,’ Donohue said. ‘They’d have searchlights, bullhorns, tear gas, guys in iron vests. No, this is a Corporation gig. How in
‘Honest Percy?’ Dick asked, with no irony.
‘Could be,’ Jack said. ‘Or maybe someone made the plates of the Ford when we dumped it. Hell, maybe we’ve had a tail since that last motel in Baltimore. No use worrying it. Right now we’ve got to figure out how to blow this j oint.’
‘Jack,’ Hymie Gore said, blinking slowly, ‘I could go out the back door. Blasting — you know? Lots of noise. Lots of fireworks. Bring them all around to the back. Then you and the kids-’
Donohue put a soft hand on the big man’s arm. ‘Thanks, Hyme, but it wouldn’t work. They’d cut you down in a minute — and for what? They’ll keep the front door covered. Drink your drinks, everyone. Smile and talk. Act like everything’s just fine.’
We tried, we really tried. Stretched our mouths, gabbled to each other, sipped our whiskey. I risked a quick look out of the front windows. Darkness out there; those powerful headlights had been doused.
‘Hey, Hyme,’ Donohue said slowly. ‘Before, when you were talking about going out the back door blasting, you said lots of noise, lots of fireworks. Isn’t that what you said?’
‘Well … yeah, sure, Jack. You want I should try?’
‘No, no,’ Black Jack said. ‘I was just thinking about what you said. Okay, now here’s what we’re going to do … Jannie, you got change with you? Dimes and quarters?’
I nodded.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘You and me are going to walk to the back, slowly, easily, not a care in the world. Through the kitchen. To the phone booths in that smelly hallway. You’re going to call the fire department. Make it hysterical. The Game Cock is burning down. People trapped. The grease in the kitchen caught fire, and everyone’s frying. Get the picture? Tears, howls, screams, sobs — the whole bit.’
‘I can do it, Jack.’
‘I know you can. It’s a chance. The only one we’ve got. I’ll use the other phone at the same time. A call to
