Mickey Spillane
EVERYBODY’S WATCHING ME
First Published in
Chapter 1
I handed the guy the note and shivered a little bit because the guy was as big as they come, and even though he had a belly you couldn’t get your arms around, you wouldn’t want to be the one who figured you could sink your fist in it. The belly was as hard as the rest of him, but not quite as hard as his face.
Then I knew how hard the back of his hand was because he smashed it across my jaw and I could taste the blood where my teeth bit into my cheek.
Maybe the guy holding my arm knew I couldn’t talk because he said, “A guy give him a fin to bring it, boss. He said that.”
“Who, kid?”
I spit the blood out easy so it dribbled down my chin instead of going on the floor. “Gee, Mr. Renzo…”
His hand made a dull, soggy crack on my skin. The buzz got louder in my ears and there was a jagged, pounding pain in my skull.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time, kid. I said who.”
The hand let go my arm and I slumped to the floor. I didn’t want to, but I had to. There were no legs under me any more. My eyes were open, conscious of only the movement of ponderous things that got closer. Things that moved quickly and seemed to dent my side without causing any feeling at all.
That other voice said, “He’s out, boss. He ain’t saying a thing.”
“I’ll make him talk.”
“Won’t help none. So a guy gives him a fin to bring the note. He’s not going into a song and dance with it. To the kid a fin’s a lot of dough. He watches the fin and not the guy.”
“You’re getting too damn bright,” Renzo said.
“That’s what you pay me for being, boss.”
“Then act bright. You think a guy hands a note like this to some kid? Any kid at all? You think a kid’s gonna bull in here to deliver it when he can chuck it down a drain and take off with the fin?”
“So the kid’s got morals.”
“So the kid knows the guy or the guy knows him. He ain’t letting no kid get away with his fin.” The feet moved away from me, propped themselves against the dark blur of the desk. “You read this thing?” Renzo asked.
“No.”
“Listen then. ‘Cooley is dead. Now my fine fat louse, I’m going to spill your guts all over your own floor.’” Renzo’s voice droned to a stop. He sucked hard on the cigar and said, “It’s signed,
You could hear the unspoken words in the silence. That hush that comes when the name was mentioned and the other’s half-whispered “Son of a bitch they were buddies, boss?”
“Who cares? If that crumb shows his face around here, I’ll break his lousy back. Vetter, Vetter, Vetter. Everyplace you go that crumb’s name you hear.”
“Boss, look. You don’t want to tangle with that guy. He’s killed plenty of guys. He’s…”
“He’s different from me? You think he’s a hard guy?”
“You ask around, boss. They’ll tell you. That guy don’t give a damn for nobody. He’ll kill you for looking at him.”
“Maybe in his own back yard he will. Not here, Johnny, not here. This is my city and my back yard. Here things go my way and Vetter’ll get what Cooley got.” He sucked on the cigar again and I began to smell the smoke. “Guys what pull a fastie on me get killed. Now Cooley don’t work my tables for no more smart plays. Pretty soon the cops can take Vetter off their list because he won’t be around no more either.”
“You going to take him, boss?” Johnny said.
“What do you think?”
“Anything you say, boss. I’ll pass the word around. Somebody’ll know what he looks like and’ll finger him.” He paused, then, “What about the kid?”
“He’s our finger, Johnny.”
“Him?”
“You ain’t so bright as I thought. You should get your ears to the ground more. You should hear things about Vetter. He pays off for favors. The errand was worth a fin, but he’s gonna look in to make sure the letter got here. Then he spots the kid for his busted up face. First time he makes contact we got him. You know what, Johnnie? To Vetter I’m going to do things slow. When they find him the cops get all excited but they don’t do nothing. They’re glad to see Vetter dead. But other places the word gets around, see? Anybody can bump Vetter gets to be pretty big and nobody pulls any more smart ones. You understand, Johnny?”
“Sure, boss. I get it. You’re going to do it yourself?”
“Just me, kid, just me. Like Helen says I got a passion to do something myself and I just got to do it. Vetter’s for me. He better be plenty big, plenty fast and ready to start shooting the second we meet up.”
It was like when Pop used to say he’d do something and we knew he’d do it sure. You look at him with your face showing the awe a kid gets when he knows fear and respect at the same time and that’s how Johnny must have been looking at Renzo. I knew it because it was in his voice too when he said, “You’ll do it, boss. You’ll own this town lock, stock and gun butt yet.”
“I own it now, Johnny. Never forget it. Now wake that kid up.” This time I had feeling and it hurt. The hand that slapped the full vision back to my eyes started the blood running in my mouth again and I could feel my lungs choking on a sob.
“What was he like, kid?” The hand came down again and this time Renzo took a step forward. His fingers grabbed my coat and jerked me off the floor.
“You got asked a question. What was he like?”
“He was…big,” I said. The damn slob choked me again and I wanted to break something over his head.
“How big?”
“Like you. Bigger’n six. Heavy.”
Renzo’s mouth twisted into a sneer and he grinned at me. “More. What was his face like?”
“I don’t know. It was dark. I couldn’t see him good.”
He threw me. Right across the room he threw me and my back smashed the wall and twisted and I could feel the tears rolling down my face from the pain.
“You don’t lie to Renzo, kid. If you was older and bigger I’d break you up into little pieces until you talked. It ain’t worth a fin. Now you start telling me what I want to hear and maybe I’ll slip you something.”
“I…I don’t know. Honest, I…if I saw him again it’d be different.” The pain caught me again and I had to gag back my voice.
“You’d know him again?”
“Yes.”
Johnny said, “What’s your name, kid?”
“Joe…Boyle.”
“Where do you live?” It was Renzo this time.
“Gidney Street,” I told him. “Number three.”
“You work?”
“Gordon’s. I…push.”
“What’d he say?” Renzo’s voice had a nasty tone to it.
“Gordon’s a junkie,” Johnny said for me. “Has a place on River Street. The kid pushes a cart for him collecting metal scraps.”
