The Tough Guys

knees with the sticky warmth of blood soaking into my collar.

"Where is it, wise guy?"

"Like . . . what . . ."

Mannie nodded sagely. "I spell it out just once. What the kid has. The stuff. Rhino's stuff. She left it here."

My breath was coming in hard. The guy called Ruby nudged me with a toe and said, "Another one, Mannie?"

I shook my head. "Wait: I'll . . . tell you."

"Give him a minute, Ruby."

How long? How long did I have? I managed to get a foot under me and poised there breathing deeply, in a runner's stance. The blood from my head ran down and dripped off my chin making it look better still. Then when I had milked it as long as I could I came off the floor with a wild shriek stinging my own ears.

My fist caught Mannie flush in the face and I felt bone and teeth go into a splintery mess. The one beside him reached for me as I turned and I almost put my foot through his genitals. Someone swung a gun again and missed, smashing it into my shoulder. My entire side went numb, my knees collapsed, and even on the way down the fists and the feet started their torture. I rolled on one side, gagging on the blood in my mouth, the sudden retching clearing my head, and for one second I cursed myself for a damn fool because all that time I had Lafarge's gun stuck under my belt and never thought to use it.

But thinking of it then was enough. The one hand under me snaked it out of its own volition and when I rolled over my face was exposed and the one called Ruby laughed and brought his foot back to kick it off.

Then I pulled the trigger and it was Ruby's face that disappeared and the last thing I saw was his hat flying toward the ceiling as his head exploded. A foot shocked me almost senseless and my eyes closed.

Mannie's voice was far away, a horrible mumbling, swearing at the other two. Dimly, I heard one say, "How the hell could we know?"

"You jerks," Mannie sobbed. "I should kill you. Look at Ruby."

"Who figures him for rods, Mannie. Hell, Mannie . . ."

"Shut up. You take care of him. Right now, you hear? Then we blow. You get yours later, you jerks!"

"Sure, Mannie, sure." The metallic click of the hammer of a gun coming back was louder than all the other sounds. It was like a crashing cymbal stroke next to my ear. The guy said, "I'll put him in cold storage, good, Mannie."

Too late the warmth of knowledge reached me. Too late, from those few words, did the answer stand out, stark and simple. Too late did I finally understand the reasoning of a woman, untrained in the devious, thinking only in her natural manner. How much blood, how many dead, how much more to go because the entire affair was overly simplified?

I could feel myself trying to withdraw from what was coming, my brain pleading for a numbed body to move, to hide. But the body could do neither. The brain heard the smashing thunder of the shots and with a terrible effort forced the body to twitch, to feel out the pain.

There were more rolling thunders and loud voices and again the brain cried out to move . . . MOVE! When I did hands went under me, sat me up, and a voice I knew was Dan's said, "Phil! Phil! You all right?"

My eyes came open, focused, and I nodded.

Behind him was Cal Porter and two plainclothesmen, each with a gun in his hand. Cal had gone white and I knew he was ready to be sick. Ruby was dead where I had shot him, two more sprawled out lifelessly across him. Mannie was blubbering insanely on the couch, his eyes huge and wild, his voice trying to come through a swollen mass of flesh that was his mouth.

Dan said, "What happened . . . but don't talk if you're hurt."

"I'm . . . okay." I pointed to the closet and told Porter to open it. He found the catch, swung the door out, and picked up the box from the floor. He found the wallet, emptied it into his hands and looked at me.

I said, "Receipts for clothes . . . in cold storage. Look at . . . the date. They've been there for . . . years."

"Go on."

"Rhino's wife . . . hid the stuff there. A damn woman's . . . trick. Get to a phone. Check on it . . . and you'll be governor, Mr. Porter."

Dan hoisted me to my feet. "I have to call this story in. We can't keep it quiet now." He looked at the door and nodded. The crowd had already gathered, staring, gasping, speculating. The two cops were having a job keeping them out.

I said, "A favor, friend. I hate to make you share your scoop, but you know my buddy in Phoenix?"

"Okay," Dan laughed. "He'll get it the same time."

Porter had gotten his color back. He seemed different now, the softness gone from his face, the old determination back again. "Where's the nearest phone?"

"Store on the corner."

"I'll check this out." He smiled gently, trying for a degree of friendliness. "I have a feeling, you know what I mean?"

"I know. The stuff will be there." I put my hand on his arm. "Look," I told him. "No hard feelings. Things go wrong sometimes."

Outside a siren wailed, stopped in front of the buildings, and two uniformed cops came in with guns drawn. Porter gave Mannie over to them, left instructions with the others, and he turned to me with a final wave.

I went out in the hall behind him. The cops had squeezed everybody out the front door and were standing there waving them off. The little Gomez boy didn't bother coming in that way. He came up through the cellar and said very softly from behind me, "Meestair Phil?"

I turned around. "Oh, hello, kid."

"You look for the nice lady. Pretty lady with black hair? She who was here?"

My mouth was suddenly dry and I nodded.

"I see something, Meestair Phil. I don't tell nobody before. I no want trouble."

"What was it, kid?"

"You know Leavy's store?"

"Sure."

"By the side an alley?"

I nodded, remembering the place. "It was boarded up."

"No. Not boards. Somebody take down soon ago."

"Okay, no boards."

The kid looked around as though he were fearful of being overheard. "Thees pretty lady. She has bag." He stretched his hands apart showing me how big it was. "Like so. She walk down street and man come out. Thees man he very mad and he pull her inside. I hear her yell."

Without knowing it I had the kid by the shoulder shaking him. "Damn it, what happened?"

Sudden fear came into his eyes and he stiffened. I let him go, forced a smile and waited. He shrugged, swallowed, and said, "I do not go in there, Meestair Phil. I no want trouble."

"No trouble, kid." I reached in my pocket and took out a bill. The kid clutched at it like a miracle come true, grinned broadly, and darted off toward the darkness of the cellar. I walked back to the room where the bodies were, found Lafarge's .45 on the floor and shoved it back under my belt. Then I went out the way the kid had gone out, past the cops, the curious, onto a street whose occupants were all clustered in front of one building.

It was raining again, the dehydrated smells of the city being activated again into a foul soup of human essence. I walked through it to the corner, thinking of how Terry had run across this same street into the same room where so much had happened only minutes ago. And now there were only a few steps left.

Like the Gomez kid said, the boards weren't there anymore. I went through the gap into the blackness of an alley, my hands touching the rough brick of the building walls on either side of me. I walked slowly, feeling for debris with my feet, not knowing where I was or where I was going, knowing only that some place this alley ended and there I would find Terry.

Alive, if I weren't too late.

The alley was longer than I expected. Twice I felt the steel grilling from cellar windows under my feet and tried them, but they were rusted shut and impossible to budge. The litter of years, cans and papers and junk thrown