Strip For Violence

“It's a safe place, little chance of any punk finding us.”

“Very safe—back there, he heard you say we were going to your place and...”

“He didn't hear anything, and never will hear again. His eardrums are busted.”

I joined the traffic on the West Side Highway. She was staring at me, her tight face almost loose with fright. “You mean you made him deaf for life? Why how could you do...?”

“Laurie, try to get this through your pretty noggin— we're not playing potsy—but for keeps! I had to make sure he didn't tail us to the boat.” And I wondered if there would be a couple of hoods watching the yacht basin.

“But to maim a man for life. Hal... you... you frighten me.”

“The killer that shot your pop and Brody, what was he doing, playing by the rules?”

She didn't answer, lit a cigarette. In the light of the match her face looked worried. After a few puffs she asked, “What do we do on the boat?”

“Eat, cruise around for the rest of the night.”

“If you think I'm going to spend the night with you on a boat...”

“That's what I think. The killer has knocked off two of my girls, and I don't intend to have you make it a trio.”

“I'm not one of your girls!”

“Neither was one of the dead girls, but the killer thought she was. Could be he saw what I feel for you on my face this afternoon, or... the point is, we're not taking any chances. I don't want you as a beautiful corpse. And don't worry, I won't chase you all over the boat.”

“Worried?” Laurie snapped. “I can handle you.”

“Fine, then stop chattering about it.”

“Oh, stop acting so tough—little man!”

I laughed at her. “Okay, little woman.”

16

We turned off into the parking lot. I kept the motor running. There were a dozen cars there, but I didn't see anybody. I locked the struggle-buggy and we walked to the dock. Laurie looked around, pointed to the strangely beautiful amphitheatre-like structure with fountains in its center, that stands behind the yacht basin. She said, “Gee, I never even knew there was a place like this in the city, fit's lovely, like something out of the...”

“The Roman days,” I cut in, watching everybody on the floating dock. There was a couple of guys who looked as though they came off a boat, their wives or girls—and Pete, Although it wasn't time for him to go on duty. I asked him if anybody had been around to see me. He said no, asked where I'd been. I stepped into the launch, helped Laurie in, and from the way she stepped in I knew she hadn't been on boats much. Pete called out that my dinghy was fixed, and I said I'd leave it at the dock for now.

I told the attendant driving the launch to circle my tub a few times and when he asked why, I slipped him a buck, He made several lazy circles around the boat—everything looked normal. The moon was coming out bright and pale white light covered the boat. I motioned for him to bring the launch alongside, jumped aboard. I unlocked the cabin door, waited for the stale air to get out as I told Laurie to jump. The Hudson was pretty smooth, but she hesitated, then jumped and almost fell. I grabbed her, pulled her to me, my arms brushing her breasts. She tried to push me away, but I turned her around, said, “Step down into the cockpit—and relax. The boat may not look like much, but she's seaworthy.”

When she was safe in the cockpit, she said, “Don't ever say that again!”

“Slice the outraged schoolgirl stuff, and stay put—for awhile. Be out in a second.” I stepped down into the cabin, took off my shirt and coat, put on rubber-soled shoes that gripped the deck. I pumped out some bilge water, raised the motor hatch, gave the old Packard a brief going-over. She seemed okay and I closed the hatch. The motor turned the second time I stepped on the starter. Leaving it idling, I raced forward and let go the mooring line, ran back and put her in gear, steered out and up the Hudson.

No other boat followed us. A sightseeing boat was a few hundred yards ahead of us and making time. I called Laurie over. “Take the wheel. Keep the bow pointed toward the middle of George Washington Bridge. Don't get nervous and start turning the wheel this way and that. Just like driving. I'll be out in a moment.”

She took the wheel and I watched the wake for a second —she was keeping the boat fairly straight. I went down in the cabin, washed my face, changed to shorts and a T-shirt. I got out a clean pair of swim trunks, another shirt, left them on one of the bunks. Starting the alcohol stove, I took stock of the food situation. The bread was moldy, the butter rancid, and I tossed them out a porthole. I had some canned goods, a box of crackers, and a fifth of rye. Of course I didn't have any ice, but there was a bottle of ginger ale. I secured that with some fish line, ran up on the deck and hung it over the side. Taking the wheel I said, “There's some shorts and a shirt you can change into in the cabin.”

“I'm quite comfortable as I am.”

“Okay, okay, I'll see if I can get any outraged-virtue music on the radio to go with your act. But your dress will get a little messy on the boat.”

“I'll chance that.”

“It's your dress. Go down into the cabin and under the bunk on the port side—that's the left side, you'll see several drawers. In the top one is a metal box with some fishing tackle. Bring that up—we'll have to fish for our supper.”

She cautiously stepped down into the cabin, then called out, “Say, this is all very cute. I have the box, but where's the rods?”

“I'm a hand-line man.”

We were running against the tide and I headed for the New Jersey shore; the tide is always stronger in the