Lee looked like he could. At the moment he seemed to be walking on all fours.
“Deal, St. Louis?” Benotti was saying.
“Too many jokers, Benotti. Three is too many jokers,” and that was the end of the play.
He jumped. Or he flew, maybe. He did a thing like a football tackle and the best I could do was to let him have one leg instead of both.
I fell back and he fell forward and he was holding my leg before breaking it off. I stomped on him with my free foot I kicked him on the head and the bastard took it. I kicked him on the head and he snagged my other leg.
The rack was pretty steady now, because we were lying down. There was little movement, because Lee just moved in small ways, here and there, to get the right grip before he started to twist.
I held still and felt the pain.
I just thrashed with one arm. It did not help me turn out of his grip but it broke the record I had in my hand. A broken record can be a lot like a knife.
And when I felt the sharp pain in one foot and it shot up my leg I doubled over. It was partly reflex, and then I sliced off Lee’s left ear.
I don’t think he felt it at first. He held on worse than before and I’m sure I made a weird sound, which made him look up. This caused the ear to flop down the side of his face and some blood too, which got into his mouth. Suddenly Lee screamed and screamed.
I got one leg out and kicked the scream back down his throat.
When I got free I couldn’t stand. I got to the edge of the rack and saw Benotti down there and the tall pug next to him. They stepped back. Because of the screaming I could not hear what was said. Benotti said something and then the tall one reached into his pocket. He came up with a gun.
I was winded and hurting and would have liked to pass out. It felt like the right solution, to pass out.
“You got him?” I heard Benotti.
“Any time you say,” said the tall one.
The passing out hadn’t worked, nothing funny was left in any of this. Then I felt the rage balling up inside me, which is always the last thing that happens to me. I had to hold it, keep it balled, because what could I do with it up here besides breaking more records.
“Benotti,” I said.
He looked up and grinned. My voice must have sounded strange and he was grinning about that.
“It talks,” he said. “What?”
“Benotti. I can’t match that.”
“I know.”
“Lemme come down, Benotti.”
“I wish you would.”
“I’m beat, Benotti.”
“That will be. By and by.”
I looked at his face and it got more and more ugly. It was ugly and mean and if I had nothing else but my teeth I would want to chew it down to a pulp.
“Please, Benotti. My foot’s busted,” I said.
“I know.”
“What’s in it for you now, Benotti? I can’t do a thing.”
“Come down and I’ll show you.”
“Benotti,” I said. “Honest to God. I’m afraid.”
This startled him, but then it only made him meaner.
“Don’t be,” he said. “I’ll let you come all the way down, and no interruptions.”
My bad foot tingled, which was fine, but when I moved I made out it was crippled. I came down the side of the rack, slow as a sloth. It gave me time. It showed me how Benotti and his man with the gun meant to play it.
What Benotti saw was a scared man with a bad foot. It would give him time, which was what he wanted. He would play it his way, slow and with pleasure, and that’s how they placed themselves. Benotti stood back, and the tall one stood ahead with the gun. When I let myself down to the floor I slid all the way to my back.
“Naw, naw, naw,” said Benotti. “Up. For this you stand up.”
“He said stand up,” said the tall one.
“Help me,” and I held out one hand.
It guided the tall one and he came close enough.
A man on the ground can be worse than any other way. All you have to do is think of all of you, and not just your two fists.
When he bent to grab hold of my hand he never straightened up again. I kicked up as if the target was the moon and the tall one wasn’t going to be good for much that really mattered, for I don’t care how long a time. He didn’t even make a sound, just air. And I was done lying down.
I got my leg out of his crotch, snapped at the gun which he meant to drop anyway, and before the tall one was down I was up. Benotti didn’t have all of it straight yet, but I meant for him not to wait too much longer.
“Hey!” he said, “hey!” when I jumped up with the gun.
I have never shot anyone, and I don’t think shooting’s easy. It isn’t like throwing a stone, or a punch, or anything like it. You press the trigger, and the thing is out of hand. It’s out of your hand; something else does your hating, and you either fear the damage you’ll do or you know ahead of time that you’ll be left as before; same hate, same rage, just a bullet gone. And someone dead whom you did not even touch.
Benotti rushed me. While I stood around he made his rush. He cracked me across the side of the face and before the pain even came I felt like going to pieces. I had held back too long. I rocked across the aisle, hit a rack, and cracked open. That ball inside, is what I’m talking about Then I was almost done and so was Benotti. My reach is better and I had the pistol.
I pistol whipped him, and I hit and hit, not a watermelon, or a sack, but always Benotti.
He was just short of raw meat when I left him and was done.
Chapter 12
I got out of there with a limp in my leg and a crick in my neck and what my face looked like I didn’t find out until later. But nobody bothered me on the way out The three who counted weren’t bothering anybody.
I got in the car and put up the top. Privacy mattered right then. I jockeyed the car out of there, around all the trucks which seemed to be jackknifed all over the place, and bouncing the brakes every time some kid from an office ran across the street, with coffee or a folder of papers. My timing wasn’t very good. I had thought I was done when I left that warehouse, but I was still jerking as if somebody was jabbing at me.
Two blocks away I stopped by a telephone booth. First I called Davy, the kid who read do-it-yourself things and held down a phone for Lippit. Lippit wasn’t there, he said, but that wasn’t why I had called.
“You got a car over where you are, Davy?”
“Yes, Mister St Louis.”
“Jump in and drive over to the jobber’s warehouse, Davy, moving as if you were background only, and check out Benotti for me.”
“You want me to tangle…”
“I don’t mean that Just see where he goes. Like, an ambulance might pick him up and you follow along to see where it’s going.”
“Gee.”
“Yes. And wherever he goes, try and get a line on how he feels. Try…”
“I mean, Mister St. Louis, if an ambulance is gonna cart him away, I figure he can only feel one way, which is not very good.”
“I want to know how much no good.”
