just tell him when somebody I like doesn’t appreciate me.”
“Hell, lady, I appreciate you. I really do. You’re something else.”
“I hope he didn’t hurt you.”
“No. Not at all. I enjoy getting punched in the nose.”
“I… I just told him you made a pass… I didn’t know he’d get rough.”
“You knew he’d get rough,” I said. “That’s what he always does, isn’t it? Tell me, what’s he like when he comes back fresh from beating the hell out of one of your ex-sweeties?”
“He’s beautiful,” she said. I could almost see the big fat self-indulgent grin she’d have going. “He’s mean and he’s beautiful. It’s the only time I can stand him in bed.”
“Well don’t expect much from him tonight.” Somebody was making noise in the background.
“Someone’s at the door,” she whispered, in a quickinto-the-closet sort of voice.
“I wonder who it could be,” I said.
“Listen…” She laughed softly. “I’m naked right now. What do you think of that?”
“I think it figures.”
“After he… falls back asleep, I’ll… come up to your room
… okay? You owe me that much.”
“You come upstairs I got a Coke bottle for you and that’s all.” I shook my head. “Let him in, will you? He’s probably out there bleeding all over the hall. He could use some help.”
I hung up.
I retrieved my automatic, switched on the TV again and found nothing going on any of the stations, flicked the set off and stretched out on the bed to wait for the Broker. Hell, I shouldn’t have underestimated Broker like that. Things weren’t rough enough yet that he’d stoop to hiring a George Swanson.
I laughed again, but only for a moment. It wasn’t really funny, not at all. Disgusting was more like it, the goddamn bitch. But who was I to judge? Takes all kinds to make a world.
6
At four-fifteen Broker came in by the hall entrance. He had company. Without a word he and his friend found chairs and sat and faced me. I closed the door and locked and night-latched it and went to the bed and sat where they would have to turn their chairs to look at me. They did.
“Hello, Quarry,” Broker said.
“Broker.”
“This is Carl.”
This was Carl: a young kid, twenty or twenty-two, with short black serviceman hair just starting to grow out, his complexion powder-white excepting a splotch-circle of red on either cheek which gave him the look of a clown in minimal makeup and was either natural rosiness or the boy was flushed. He was about the size of George Swanson, but leaner and harder-muscled, or at least so I guessed: His jaw was firm, eyes blue-gray. He was wearing a wine- color double-knit sports jacket and gray slacks with a light yellow shirt and a deep yellow tie; I looked at Broker in his gray double-knit suit and light pink shirt and deep pink tie and made a wild guess about who picked out Carl’s clothes. The sports jacket did not bulge from the gun under Carl’s left arm and I made a mental note to ask Broker sometime who was his tailor.
Carl stood and said, “How are you doing, Quarry?”
There were two things wrong with Carl: one of them was the smell of youthful anxiety that clung to him like dime-store perfume.
I pointed to his left leg, said, “Vietnam?”
He looked flustered, wondering how the hell I knew it was artificial, then nodded. “Hand grenade, I was walking point.”
“I asked where, not how.”
Broker was one fine American, finding jobs for us boys back from overseas like he did, and now here he was breaking in a handicapped veteran. The man deserved a commendation from the VA or the President or some damn body.
Broker said, “You’re still in that foul mood, aren’t you?”
I said, “Give me a second and I’ll get out the party hats.”
Carl sat back down and his cheeks weren’t red anymore. That was an improvement.
“What is he supposed to be?” I said.
“He’s here with me.”
“Oh. Well that explains it.”
“Now look… how am I supposed to know what you’re up to? You’ve never acted so damned irrationally, not in many years of what I always considered a good working relationship. But you’re acting like a wild man, holding out materials which you’ve been paid to deliver. Do you have any concept of the value of what you’re keeping from me? At any rate, I thought it best to have a man along.”
“Why didn’t you bring one, then? But no, you drag in a twelve-year-old gimp, who’s supposed to, what? Snap me in line? Beat me to death with his wooden leg?” I checked Carl out of the corner of my eye to see if he reacted; he didn’t, which was a sign of hope for the boy.
“Quarry, Quarry… let’s not fence.” The Broker smiled and the smile was a crease in his face. “Please, I’m tired of fencing with you. After what we’ve been through together, all of this bickering seems so childish.”
“Broker, will you quit acting like this is some goddamn company and I’m going to get a gold watch and a pension after twenty-five years? Have you worked the front office of the fertilizer plant for so long you don’t remember it’s shit you’re selling?”
“You’ve been paid, Quarry. Don’t play with me.”
“If you come alone, I wouldn’t play. But you’re the one playing, Broker. And you keep playing with me and I keep telling you I won’t be played with.”
Broker looked at Carl and pointed at the door. “Wait outside, Carl.”
Carl made a face.
“Go on Carl,” he said. “Just out in the hall there will be fine.”
Carl got up. He walked to the door. He was pretty good on the leg. Whoever gave him therapy knew what they were doing. I said, “Watch yourself going down steps, kid,” and he was out the door, which he nearly-almost, but not quite-slammed.
“You’re a damned sadist,” Broker said.
“I’m no such thing,” I said.
“Riding a kid with one leg, my sweet God.”
“You’re the sadist,” I said, “hiring a kid with one leg. What’s the idea? Don’t forget, hire the vet?”
“You saw him on it, he’s doing an outstanding job. He’s better on that artificial limb than most men are with what nature gave them. And he’s in tip-top shape otherwise, and he’s hard-nosed and handy with firearms. He’ll be a good man.”
“Doing what? What I do?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m grooming him. He’s one of the men I keep on the payroll here in town. He’s one of two men presently guarding my home, and giving me personal protection.”
“Well he may make a bodyguard,” I said, “but don’t send him out in the field. Not if you want him to last a month, anyway.”
“Oh? Really?”
“Oh really. He may be hard-nosed, but he’s thin-skinned. You saw his hackles rise when I needled him, didn’t you?”
Broker shrugged. “Perhaps you have a point. I don’t know, I’ll watch him. But I still think he has promise.”
“You really think you’re doing the kid a favor,” I said, “giving him a job.”
“You don’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with this business.”
