said. “I can’t help it.”
“Let me tell you how happy I am,” I said, getting up. “Six years ago I walked out on you because I was sick of you and your whole rotten business. I tried to forget you. I met a nice girl who didn’t know what a fix was, who didn’t know men were murdered every day in this country because guys like you can pull strings. I love her as I never loved anybody before. I used the money you paid me because I earned that money and I built a little business and bought a home against the day I’d be married, and tried to behave like a normal, everyday kind of guy. It was hard because at first I was acting. Then I began to feel that it was coming out all right, that the old life hadn’t scarred me too deep.”
I paused for breath. I didn’t take my eyes off him. The muscles of my jaw were tight. “I was beginning to feel happy. You know what that is, to be happy? To me it meant those little things like spending a lazy day on some shady canal with a fishing rod or chinning with the customers in my store for hours on end. These things gave me a satisfaction I had never known before. When things go right for you it’s like nothing ever was wrong or ever can be. Then Rudy showed up and all the good things fell apart. I had to come back with him. You had it fixed so I’d have no choice. You knew any other way I would have told you to cram it. You knew a beating wouldn’t have changed my mind. So you took the filthiest hook you could find to bring me back.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” he said wearily.
“I’m not quite through. I come back and what do I find? Not Macy. Not the old Macy. You used to be a pretty hard guy. You used to be as tough as any of the thugs you had working under you. There wasn’t any one of them could make you back down. Now you’re fat and out of shape and you sit in that chair feeling sorry for yourself when you should be back in town running things as if you meant it.”
A little fire colored his cheeks. “You think I’m soft? I can take care of you any day, big shot. I give away a lot of years but I can handle you and anybody else!”
“Get out of that chair and prove it!”
He started to get up, then his expression became thoughtful and a little sheepish, and he slumped back. “Aw, what the hell we talkin’ about?” he said. “We a couple of kids that we got to show how goddam tough we are? Sit down, you bastard. I knew you when you were in grammar school. Don’t try to impress me. I said
I sat on the edge of the bed, holding the glass tightly.
“You gonna do a job for me or are you gonna sit around and pout?”
“I’m going to do a job,” I said, “because I can’t do anything else.”
“I don’t care what your goddam reasons are!” he snapped. Then, more calmly, he said, “All right. We work on that basis. You don’t like it but you do it because Macy says you do it. So naturally you don’t like Macy. But I don’t want nothin’ half-ass.”
“You’ll get your dollar’s worth,” I said.
“I always did, with you,” Macy said grudgingly. “Okay. Rudy tell you what I want? Put up that damn glass before you bust it.”
I put up the glass. He was still giving orders with every breath, but they didn’t have the old cocksure ring of authority.
“You been getting letters with the same message,” I said. “Somebody’s sore at you for burning out a tailor’s shop twenty-five years ago and killing a few people. He’s getting even by hunting down your old gang and knifing them. You’re on the list but he’s saving you until you’ve had time to think about it.”
Macy nodded morosely. “There’s an envelope in the middle drawer of that desk over there. Get it, will you, Pete?”
The envelope contained all the clippings Macy had received. I read one of them about the fire. The tailor’s name was Kennedy. He had a wife and two children. Nobody knew how the fire started. One of the children somehow survived, was in the hospital with serious burns. The child’s name wasn’t given.
Macy told me to keep the envelope. “What happened to the other kid?” I asked him.
He seemed indifferent. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked into this thing. That’s your job.”
“You worry about anything at all these days?” I said bitingly. He looked at me with a flash of anger in his eyes but didn’t speak.
“What chance that Stan Maxine’s behind this?” I said.
“No chance. He wouldn’t be so cute. Stan don’t know how to be subtle-like. It ain’t his way of doing things.”
“I hear he’s got fat and happy lately. You should have killed him a dozen years ago. I should have killed him. I never killed anybody in my life, not counting the war, but if I had to choose somebody it would be Maxine.”
Macy smiled slightly. “You ain’t changed so much,” he said in a low thick voice. “You’re older, but your face don’t show it. You got a girl now.”
I nodded.
He looked up at me eagerly. “A real beauty? I know she must be. I’ll bet she’s a smart one, too, and knows how to talk, and things like that. She knows about you?”
“No, I never told her.” I cut it short. “What about Maxine?”
“Maxine?”
“Why don’t you stand up to him now, before he gets too hard to handle. Boot his tail back where it belongs.”
“I’m afraid to try,” he said, watching me almost ashamedly. “I’m afraid to find out I’m not strong enough any more. Sometimes it’s better just to hang on, Pete.”
He got up then and went to the window. One of his pockets was bulky with a gun. He pulled the blinds open and looked out at the moon shining on the dark sea.
“I’ll be working alone,” I said. “I’ll need a car.” He nodded. “How many men have you got around?”
“Three. Rudy and two other boys, Reavis and Taggart. Top guns. Taggart’s not around right now. I sent him to Tampa yesterday. He should pull in before long.”
“Not enough to carry your coffin.”
His shoulders flexed. “Nobody’s going to kill me, Pete. Not while I’m here. Your room’s in the west wing, just off the patio, if you want to go on to bed.” He spoke tiredly, dismissing me. I picked up the envelope with the newspaper clippings and went downstairs.
I unpacked most of the clothes from the suitcase, then threw it and the ruined stuff away. My other suit wasn’t bad and I decided I could still wear it.
I turned down the covers on the bed but felt no need for sleep. It was going on a quarter of three. I washed my face carefully in warm water, left the room. There were French doors at the end of the hall and, beyond, a small patio and terrace surrounded by a low rock wall. I went out there. It was a hot night, the air not moving at all. My clothes smelled of smoke and sweat. I walked down the long sloping terrace to the bay beach, stood there and listened to the rippling of water against the sand.
Then I took off trousers and shirt, looked back toward the house. There was no moon at the moment, few lights in the windows. I took off my shoes and socks and the sand was smooth against my feet. Then I removed my damp underwear and stood naked at the edge of the water for a few moments before wading thigh-deep and swimming slowly. Muscles relaxed as I eased over on my back and floated. The scraped places on my arms stung and throbbed. Once I heard a plopping splash nearby, and thought of fish.
When I had cooled enough I swam back to the beach and waded in. I sat in the sand for a while, drying slowly in the humid air. The first time I heard the sound behind me I ignored it. When I heard it again — the sound of someone walking stealthily toward me in the sand — I rolled on my belly, gathered my legs beneath me and dived at an indistinct figure five feet away. We went down. There was a muffled sound of surprise that I didn’t make. My hand slid along a smooth curved thigh, touched rounded breasts and full nipples. I was holding a woman as naked as I was, and holding her damned tight, the weight of my body pinning her to the sand. She was rigid, apparently too shocked to struggle. I backed away from her fast and she sat up. I couldn’t see her well, but I knew
