“And now, friend, I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say. ‘Fellers, you got the wrong guy,’ aren’t you, Tapkow?” Smith grinned. Then he waited but Benny wasn’t saying a thing.
“Jack Brown.” Smith wasn’t smiling any more. “Frisk the prisoner.”
The bald guy stepped up to Benny and took the target pistol out of his pocket The hairless skull was right under Benny’s chin, and he could smell the sour sweat coming from the man.
“What a thing for a hero to be carrying,” Smith said. “Brown, show Tapkow what a hero he is.” Brown slammed his fist into Benny’s midriff without even taking a step back.
Benny doubled over, his tongue swelling against his teeth, a green pain rotating around his stomach.
“Jack Brown is a little primitive,” he heard the thin man’s voice saying, “but then, a hero like you wouldn’t frown at a little horseplay, now would you, Tapkow?”
Smith had stepped up and his hand touched lightly on Benny’s head. There was a small push and Benny fell over.
“Can’t you take it, hero?”
He lay on the floor, blind with pain. He didn’t feel like a hero, but he knew something Smith didn’t know: he could take it One way or another he could take it, and then his turn would come. He was breathing hard now, almost hoping that Smith would do something else. It would add to the fire, to the slow growing explosion that was building up under all that pain.
“Tell me, Tapkow,” the thin one said conversationally, “why is the lady friend sleeping so hard? We tried to make her perk up a little-we tried like all get-out Answer, Tapkow.”
He saw two well-polished shoes, black and pointed, stand next to his eyes. One of them lifted slowly and the tip nudged him under the chin. Do it again, he kept thinking. Do it again, harder.
“Answer, Tapkow:” The shoe clipped him on the cheek.
“Drunk. She’s drunk.”
“What a weird time for it! When will she pull out?”
“I don’t know. She’s drunk.”
“Is that how a hero gets his women, Tapkow? I’m ashamed of you. Brown, help him into the chair.”
While Smith held his gun level, Brown took Benny by the arms and with one easy heave bounced him into the rocker. For a moment Benny thought he was going to throw up.
“Has this been going on for long, Tapkow? Never mind, the lady isn’t here to defend herself, and I guess we’ll have to take her as she is. Jack Brown…”
“Don’t.” It was an effort to talk. “Listen to me, Smith. She’s terrible when she wakes up. You got to know what to do when she’s that way. Let her first-”
“You’ll be along, friend. You’re coming along alive, remember? Jack Brown, bring up the car.”
The bald guy left and Benny listened to his steps get fainter on the gravel. They must have parked on the highway.
“Seeing we’re just sitting around, Tapkow, explain to me what made you do it I’m a real student of human nature, Tapkow, so tell me what made you do it. Why, of all the dames in this world, why Pendleton’s daughter? Explain to me.” Smith’s chicken eyes were blinking with real interest, and then Benny caught on, because Smith was saying, “I once been in love myself, friend, so you can trust me. Tell me, Tapkow, you really gotta be a hero for this kind of a deal, huh?”
They didn’t know. Pendleton didn’t know. They thought he was having an affair, plain and simple.
“Tell me, Tapkow.” The thin neck came forward, eyes hooded. “Is she good?”
“Why you stinking…”
“Tut, tut.” The gun came up, level.
Smith walked around the bed and put his hand on Pat’s shoulder. He shook her, but she didn’t wake up. “I guess you heroes know what you’re doing,” Smith’s eyes had got slitty, “but for me it’s the hefty kind every time.” He turned the inert girl on her back with careless gesture.
“Keep away from her!” Benny almost forgot about the gun.
“Yes, friend, every time. Just look at this, Tapkow.” Smith moved his hand along her shoulder, then down. “There’s nothing but-”
Benny lunged.
The gun came around, but no shot Just as he had figured. They were going to bring him back alive; they were going to have their fun and bring him back for Pendleton all in one piece.
Smith had stepped clear of the bed and his gun was pointing at Benny’s middle. It jammed him in the belly when his hands clawed around Smith’s throat. He could feel the sharp edge of the Adam’s apple and started to squeeze.
“Friend,” Smith had a hard time saying it, “I won’t kill you, I’ll do you worse.” There wasn’t enough air any more, but Smith kept looking him straight in the eye. Then Benny saw the gun come up and over and then the flat of it slapped down on top of his skull. His legs folded gently under him and he sank to the floor.
Through the dull pain he heard the gravel crunch. He could just dimly see Smith’s pointed shoes, and they seemed to be wavering like boats on a swell.
“Take her.” That was Smith’s voice. Benny tried to force himself up, every muscle a knot of steel, but nothing happened. “When she wakes up, show her Pendleton’s letter. Drop her as arranged and then pick me up.”
The bedsprings moaned, somebody grunted, and then heavy footsteps walked across the boards. Benny hardly heard the car, and he didn’t know how much later it was when he saw Smith’s feet again-clearly now-where they rested side by side and a little under the rocking chair. The rocker was creaking.
“Tapkow, I know you’re awake.” Smith’s voice sounded bored. “Hey, Tapkow!” One of the well-pointed shoes blurred suddenly and a thousand painful colors exploded in Benny’s head. “That wasn’t a hard kick, now was it, friend? Let’s see you get up.”
Benny got up slowly and fought the nausea that welled up in his stomach. After a while he felt better. “Where’s Pat?” He sat on the empty bed, not looking up.
“The lady friend is on her way. Our own Doc Brown is taking care of her, and in no time at all her ever loving Daddy Pendleton is going to hold the poor little girl in his arms. Of course, that ain’t the way he’s waiting for you, friend.”
They sat without talking then. Benny lapsed into a numb stupor and Smith started to rock again. The slow creaking of the chair was like a warm, friendly drug, making Benny forget the terrible weight of his failure, and the horror that waited for him. For a while, that is. The creaking kept on; it got irritating. It started to scrape at his nerves and the sound became like a whiplash.
“Nervous, friend?” Smith was lighting a cigarette.
“Let me have a smoke, willya?”
Smith sucked the smoke in like a man starved for air, held it, and then with a luxurious sigh blew it in Benny’s face. “There you are, friend. Want another?” and he did it again.
The rocker kept up its slow, evil creak, almost like a scream that didn’t quite make it. Benny noticed how Smith’s feet rose off the floor on the backswing. “Smith, I’m not asking much. Just one fag, willya? I’m asking you.”
“On bended knee?”
“Yeah, sure, anything you say.” Benny slipped off the bed, kneeling close to the rocking legs. Smith looked pleased, rocking. Then came the backswing. Smith’s long face froze in surprise and his skull clicked hard against the wall behind. The gun exploded, tearing a fluffed hole in the mattress, and Benny was up, both hands around Smith’s foot and twisting with a vicious concentration. The chair tilted for a moment, then toppled sideways. Benny never let go of the foot. Smith was screeching in a hoarse, strange voice, thrashing on the floor and trying to turn his body with the twist of his foot. The gun was lying someplace, forgotten. Benny was switching his grip for the final, breaking twist when Smith’s other foot caught him in the groin. He stiffened, then slumped sideways. When he heard the snap, feeling the foot give a little, he let go and fell.
They lay on the floor, so close they could have touched each other. There were tears in Smith’s eyes and his thin mouth was stretched back over the gums making his face look like a skull. But Benny couldn’t reach over. The churning pain in his groin grew out like the tendrils of a vine, twisting through every fiber of his body, paralyzing him. His face was sweaty and creased, and all he could do was stare at Smith, stare at his face close by without being able to move. They lay like that, with the murder and hate a solid thing between them.
