boy. The quiet private house was a break, too. If Sowor didn't talk straight I'd either bribe or beat some info out of him. One way or another, in an hour I'd know the score. I bought a cigar and sat there, watching the house and belching, feeling like a stuffed Sherlock Holmes. I didn't know exactly why I was watching the house. I suppose it wasn't so much I wanted to see what Sowor looked like walking up the steps, but I had an idea he was home all the time and might
The joint began to fill up with construction workers, all of them wearing plastic helmets and full of loud, corny talk. It was noon and my stool was being eyed, so I went outside to take a little walk, buy a roll of tape and put it on my sore side. As I stood on the corner, looking around for a drugstore—debating about being out of sight of the house—two big kids stopped and asked if I could spare a match. They looked like college students and the one with the cigarette in his mouth was as tall and thin as a basketball player.
The last thing they looked like were pros. The tall one with the cigarette stood in front of me, while the other one, a tweedy, stubby character wearing heavy frame glasses, stood at my side and back. I took out a pack of matches and started to say he could keep them— when I felt guns pressing my stomach and back. The basketball type said softly, “No trouble, please. We will not hesitate to use these.”
I was so astonished I couldn't talk. This kid could be nineteen or twenty and he wasn't hard looking or a nut, yet his eyes said he wouldn't worry a second over plugging me. Whoever they were, they weren't cops. I asked, “What is this?”
Tweedy at my back said, “Don't go for dumb.” He had a deep, rough voice.
The basketball player held his right hand in his pocket and with his left gently pulled my cigar from my mouth, lit his cigarette, and shoved the cigar back between my lips. It was a simple movement, and it gave me a helpless feeling. He said softly, “Walk with us.” He suddenly laughed and putting his arm around my shoulder, kind of pushed me up the avenue. His gun was on the wrong side, away from me, but deep voice walking behind us warned, “One false move and you get it. Be smart and we won't hurt you.”
We walked up the avenue, the tail one talking loudly about baseball, slapping me on the back now and then. Maybe he was an actor; the three of us looked like buddy- buddies.
We turned into a side street, walked a short block. This was where the construction workers came from and it was a startling sight—like the shelled cities I'd seen on the Italian coast during the war. For several blocks on either side of us there was this leveled area full of the rubble of torn down old buildings, with part of a wall standing here and there. A block or two over were the bulldozers and cranes but where we walked was deserted. The one at my back said, “Let's get to work. Where is it?” He ran his hand over my clothes.
“Where is what? I don't know what you jokers are talking about. What is this?” A punch in the long gut of the basketball player would take him out but there wasn't anything I could do about tweedy behind me.
The tall one said, “You asked for Sowor. We don't know who you are or on what side. We have no desire to kill you, but we will if necessary. That's up to you. Where is it? Where's the girl?”
“What the hell is 'it?'“ I wished I had on one of the construction helmets, another crack on my sore head would...
Basketball whipped out his small automatic and tried to push it through my belly. “Who are you? What do you want to see Sowor about? Did she send you?”
I didn't know what to answer.
Tweedy growled, “Come on, where is it?”
One gun seemed to be cutting my stomach muscles. I said, “I only wanted to ask Willy about some Oriental chippy named Me-lucy who I understand is a good number in the hay. A buddy told me to ask...”
Tweedy said, “Don't go for cute, mister!”
The tall one added, “Please don't make us prove we are serious. Where is it?”
“Look, boys, since you're holding the guns stop talking in riddles. At least tell me what you want?”
Tweedy's deep voice hit me like a club. “My God, he's playing it cute! I get nauseous when anybody feels they have to be coy. For the last time, cut the...”
A bullet whistled by us. We turned to see a short swarthy man coming over the bricks at our left—across the street—a sawed-off carbine in his hands. He yelled something I couldn't understand. The two boys turned from me and let go a wild volley of shots, sharp barks lost in the air. I saw his carbine flashing and then there was the sound of a car coming down the street toward us, and a guy had his hand out, firing as he drove. From the distance the driver might be big boy from Atlantic City. The boys were firing in all directions now as they started to run. I wheeled to my right and hit the ground. Making like a frightened lizard I crawled over the rubble, heading for the street on the other side.
I crawled, stood up and ran, dived into a gully between piles of stones. Crawling, running, falling—A basic training star—I reached the other street and lay behind half a stoop, my lungs pumping. The air was quiet, the heaving of my own chest the only sound. I slowly stood up behind the stoop and looked back; the other street was empty. I studied the rubble for a few minutes. No sign of any movement and not many hiding places.
I was a mess. My coat and one pants leg were torn and there was a long mild gash on my thigh. I'd lost my hat and I was covered with various kinds of dirt and dust. I moved away from the stoop, still watching the bricks and stones. I was alone. In fact I felt as alone as I would on the moon. Trying to brush myself off, I saw my pants' pocket had been ripped open and my wallet was gone. I'd only crawled about a hundred yards but there were a million crevices in the block of rubble into which the wallet could have fallen.
I waited another few minutes, then started back—not even sure I'd crawled in a straight line. It was worse than finding that needle in a haystack. But I had to have money and there wasn't anything to do but look and hope my college gunmen didn't return. I started walking, stooping down to push bricks aside, every muscle stiff and hurting. I'd covered about fifty feet when a voice called, “What are you doing in there?”
A young cop was coming down the middle of the street, swinging his night stick. I couldn't have run if I'd wanted to. I climbed back over the junk and reached the street. My left shoe was sliced open on one side.
The cop had a freshly scrubbed baby face, clean and neat as his blue uniform. He was compactly built, not very tall, and didn't look over twenty-one. This was my day for kids. He ran his eyes over me, made sure he didn't come too close, as he said, “You're in a bad way. Don't you know you're trespassing?”
“I know I lost my wallet with all my dough crawling over this stuff. Listen, two big kids walked me down that street over there, covering me with guns. Then a guy with a sawed-off rifle came firing at us, and a fellow in a car drove up, also banging away. I hit the dirt and crawled over here.” I heard my voice dying: I could hardly believe the story myself!
The cop let me have a good natured grin. “You must have been on an all night binge. What were you guzzling, pure King Kong?”
I moved toward him, blowing my breath. “Smell any liquor?”
He jabbed me lightly in the stomach with his stick. “That's close enough.”
“You smell any booze on me?”
“No. What happened to all these... er... gunmen?”
“I don't know. Maybe one of them is wounded or dead?”
“Let's look.”
I started over the bricks but he said, “Come on, we'll walk abound—using the street.”
As we walked he asked, “Was it a stickup? How many men were shooting?”
“Four, that I saw. No, it wasn't a stickup.”
“What were they... eh... shooting at you for?”
“I don't know. Two kids stopped me on the avenue over there, asked for a light. Looked like college boys— no older than you. Then they throw guns on me and walk me here, where the shooting started.”
The cop glanced over the deserted streets, gripped his night stick. “You been sick recently, mister?”
“Look, you think I crawled through that crap for exercise? I'm telling you straight! Lord, there was a small war going on, didn't you hear any gunfire?”
We'd reached the spot where it had started, there wasn't any blood, no body, not even an empty shell. Babyface stared at me. “I turned the corner from over there about three minutes ago. I didn't hear shots. Have you any identification?”
“Told you, I lost my wallet. See how my pocket is ripped? Damn it, do you think I cut myself up like this as a practical joke!”
“Don't shout. Got a home?”
“Yeah. That is, I came into town this morning to see the sights and...”
“No sights around here. What's your business?”
“I'm a shrimp buyer down in Tampa.”
“Your clothes are a mess but you don't look like a bum. Let's go to the precinct house and call a doc to...”
“Doctor? I'm not crazy! I'm telling you the truth! There were at least a dozen shots fired, the slugs must have hit something. Find them and...”
He shook his head sadly, his eyes running over the leveled blocks. I realized how stupid I sounded: it would be impossible to find any lead in this mess, even if they might be imbedded in the remains of the few walls still standing. He said, “There's a construction office way over there, somebody would have come running, or reported shots.”
The office and equipment was a good four blocks away, they couldn't have heard the shots. And most of them were at lunch. I gave up. “Officer, whether you believe it or not, I'm telling you the truth. I'll go back to my... hotel and change.”
