“Who the hell are you?” Gardner screamed.
“You know me,” Scratch said. His calm demeanor seemed to anger Gardner even more.
“I don't know you…” He stopped, eyed Scratch. He nodded. “Yeah,” he said in a sour tone. “I know you, buddy.” Gardner walked to the nightstand, grabbed the bottle of Gold's whiskey. He poured some in a long glass more than likely stolen from a bar. “You're the old man's yardbird.”
Scratch smiled, tipped his hat. “What're you gonna do? Have to make a living somehow.”
“By spying on the working class for the rich?” Gardner took a sip. He stopped drinking and pointed to the door. “Hey! You mind shuttin' the damn door!” He gulped down the rest of the whiskey, sat the glass down on the nightstand and poured more. This time he filled the long glass halfway.
“That glass looks familiar,” Scratch said. “You get that at Fleming's bar?”
Gardner drained the glass and smacked his lips. He shrugged. “So what? What's it matter to you, huh? You a bar detective tracking down every glass and bottle of booze stolen?”
“Hmm! That ain't a bad idea, Ray,” Scratch said.
“So what the hell do you want, yardbird?”
Scratch removed an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket, tossed it on the bed. “Spiff wants you gone.”
“Does he now?” Gardner laughed. “He's a miserable old bastard because he takes it up the ass.”
Scratch nodded. “I'll agree with that. Still, the old man wants you out of Odarko and Oklahoma. There's 300 dollars and a train ticket to California. I suggest you take it and dangle.”
Gardner glared at Scratch.
“Look, fella.” Scratch moved toward Gardner slowly, with caution. “The old man wants you to disappear, one way… or another.”
“What? You going to kill me?” Gardner laughed. “You really don't know who I am. Do you?”
“I don't care,” Scratch said. “Spiff didn't like the fact you… had relations with his daughter.”
“Daughter?” Gardner thought about it. “I never met the old man's daughter.”
“Enough talking!” Scratch raised his voice. The little cat and mouse play was getting him hot under the collar.
“You're the one doing the talkin', Captain,” Gardner said. “I think it's time you started walkin'.”
The commercials ended on the radio. The DJ announced the next song was Allegheny Moon by Patti Page.
He saw Garner's hand slip in the drawer of the nightstand, and the butt of a snub nose .38 began to appear. Scratch charged Gardner and took hold of the hand bringing out the gun. The fedora slipped off Scratch's head sailed to the bed. They struggled for 30 seconds before Gardner brought his knee into Scratch's crotch. Scratch yelped and dropped to the floor just as Gardner brought down the barrel of the .38 on top of his head.
Scratch fell sideways. He tried to shake off the consummate pain surging in his forehead and eyes. He saw Gardner's boot coming towards his face. Scratch caught the man's left leg and tipped him over. Now Gardner was on the floor next to Scratch. Gardner felt three swift punches to the kidney. He cried out, tried to roll away, but Scratch had a hold of his collar with one hand, and drove his fist into the bridge of Gardner's nose. Something popped. Blood flowed from a mess of broken cartilage and bruised flesh.
Scratch got to his feet. He found a suitcase under the bed and tossed it on the mattress.
“You're leaving town, Gardner,” Scratch said, unlatched the suitcase and started gathering clothes from the mahogany dresser where the radio sat. “Either by bus or by coffin. You're leaving Odarko for good.”
He opened a drawer on the bottom and found clothing that shouldn't belong to Ray Gardner. Different colors, styles of panties. Stockings, garter belts, bras. Scratch was a little confused at first. Did he wear these? Then he saw names on torn pieces of paper attached to the undergarments. Suzie, Debbie, Flora. That made more sense. He was collecting the things of women he'd been with. Scratch laughed.
He showed Gardner a pair of woolen stockings with the name Clara written on a piece of paper attached to them.
“These don't belong old Mrs Grace, do they?” Scratch said. “You like grandmas, too?”
Gardner laid on the floor, cupping his bleeding nose in his hands, sobbing. He was wailing, as if he was in terrible pain, and muttering he was going to kill Scratch. He saw Scratch reach for a black hatbox sitting on top of the dresser. What caught Scratch's eye was the gold initials SS, gleaming in the lights.
“Gardner, You naughty boy,” Scratch laughed. “You collecting women's hats, too?”
Scratch moved the hatbox slightly and saw a medium-sized hole had been made in the wall. He bent down to peer through it, but scuffing sounds from the floor caught his attention.
“Don't touch that!” Gardner's voice was muffled by the hand still trying to keep blood from getting on his shirt, which in fact was something he was doing a piss-poor job at.
Scratch looked at him incredulously. He scoffed, reached for the black hatbox with gold string. He heard two sets of heeled shoes behind him. He heard a metallic sound. Possibly the hammer of a gun clicking. Scratch wasn't sure. He turned to see.
That's when everything went black.
5
The darkness remained, but a muffled voice screamed at him. The voice spoke Korean and Scratch only knew three phrases in that language. What the voice said, he couldn't understand. And when Scratch didn't answer a hard slap or punch in the kidneys would occur. The torture worsened.
Water dripped on his face for an hour before the voice returned, screaming at him. Again, Scratch didn't understand what was said. A punch in the kidney, and the wooden chair he was bound to was tipped over. A kick in the face came next. He felt the presence of someone else. He smelled their breath, felt them breathing. They didn't say a word for several minutes.
Scratch and the
