now, that would be okay, but Belicher could probably take the thing to the squat court and get occupancy anyway because he has a family. I’ll do what I can to help you — but Belicher, he’s still my employer.”
“Don’t open that door,” Andy said sharply. “Not until we have this straightened out.”
“I have to — what else can I do?” He straightened up and closed his fist with the knucks on it. “Don’t try to stop me, Andy. You’re a policeman, you know the law about this.”
“Tab, must you?” Shirl asked in a low voice.
He turned to her, eyes filled with unhappiness. “We were good friends once, Shirl, and that’s the way I’m going to remember it. But you’re not going to think much of me after this because I have to do my job. I have to let them in.”
“Go ahead — open the damn door,” Andy said bitterly, turning his back and walking over to the window.
The Belichers swarmed in. Mr. Belicher was thin, with a strangely shaped head, almost no chin and just enough intelligence to sign his name to the Welfare application. Mrs. Belicher was the support of the family; from the flabby fat of her body came the children, all seven of them, to swell the Relief allotment on which they survived. Number eight was pushing an extra bulge out of the dough of her flesh; it was really number eleven since three of the younger Belichers had perished through indifference or accident. The largest girl, she must have been all of twelve, was carrying the sore-covered infant which stank abominably and cried continuously. The other children shouted at each other now, released from the silence and tension of the dark hall.
“Oh, looka the nice fridge,” Mrs. Belicher said, waddling over and opening the door.
“Don’t touch that,” Andy said, and Belicher pulled him by the arm.
“I like this room — it’s not big, you know, but nice. What’s in here?” He started toward the open door in the partition.
“That’s my room,” Andy said, slamming it shut in his face. “Just keep out of there.”
“No need to act like that,” Belicher said, sidling away quickly like a dog that has been kicked too often. “I got my rights. The law says I can look wherever I want with a squat-order.” He moved farther away as Andy took a step toward him. “Not that I’m doubting your word, mister, I believe you. This room here is fine, got a good table, chairs, bed…”
“Those things belong to me. This is an empty room, and a small one at that. It’s not big enough for you and all your family.”
“It’s big enough, all right. We lived in smaller…”
“Andy — stop them! Look—” Shirl’s unhappy cry spun Andy around and he saw that two of the boys had found the packets of herbs that Sol had grown so carefully in his window box, and were tearing them open, thinking that it was food of some kind.
“Put these things down,” he shouted, but before he could reach them they had tasted the herbs, then spat them out.
“Burn my mouth!” the bigger boy screamed and sprayed the contents of the packet on the floor. The other boy bounced up and down with excitement and began to do the same thing with the rest of the herbs. They twisted away from Andy and before he could stop them the packets were empty.
As soon as Andy turned away, the younger boy, still excited, climbed on the table — his mud-stained foot wrappings leaving filthy smears — and turned up the TV. Blaring music crashed over the screams of the children and the ineffectual calls of their mother. Tab pulled Belicher away as he opened the wardrobe to see what was inside.
“Get these kids out of here,” Andy said, white faced with rage.
“I got a squat-order, I got rights,” Belicher shouted, backing away and waving an imprinted square of plastic.
“I don’t care what rights you have,” Andy told him, opening the hall door. “We’ll talk about that when these brats are outside.”
Tab settled it by grabbing the nearest child by the scruff of the neck and pushing it out through the door. “Mr. Rusch is right,” he said. “The kids can wait outside while we settle this.”
Mrs. Belicher sat down heavily on the bed and closed her eyes, as though all this had nothing to do with her. Mr. Belicher retreated against the wall saying something that no one heard or bothered to listen to. There were some shrill cries and angry sobbing from the hall as the last child was expelled.
Andy looked around and realized that Shirl had gone into their room; he heard the key turn in the lock. “I suppose this is it?” he said, looking steadily at Tab.
The bodyguard shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, Andy, honest to God I am. What else can I do? It’s the law, and if they want to stay here you can’t get them out.”
“It’s the law, it’s the law,” Belicher echoed tonelessly.
There was nothing Andy could do with his clenched fists and he had to force himself to open them. “Help me carry these things into the other room, will you, Tab?”
“Sure,” Tab said, and took the other end of the table. “Try and explain to Shirl about my part in this, will you? I don’t think she understands that it’s just a job I have to do.”
Their footsteps crackled on the dried herbs that littered the floor and Andy did not answer him.
10
“Andy, you must do something, those people are driving me right out of my mind.”
“Easy, Shirl, it’s not that bad,” Andy said. He was standing on a chair, filling the wall tank from a jerry can, and when he turned to answer her some of the water splashed over and dripped down to the floor. “Let me finish this first before we argue, will you.”
“I’m not arguing — I’m just telling you how I feel. Listen to that.”
Sound came clearly through the thin partition. The baby was crying, it seemed to do this continuously day and night; and they had to use earplugs to get any sleep. Some of the children were fighting, completely ignoring their father’s reedy whine of complaint. To add to the turmoil one of them was beating steadily on the floor with something heavy. The people in the apartment below would be up again soon to complain; it never did any good. Shirl sat on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands.
“Do you hear that?” she said. “It never stops, I don’t know how they can live like that. You’re away so you don’t hear the worst of it. Can’t we get them out of there? There must be something we can do about it.”
Andy emptied the jerry can and climbed down, threading his way through the crowded room. They had sold Sol’s bed and his wardrobe, but everything else was jammed in here, and there was scarcely a foot of clear floor space. He dropped heavily into a chair.
“I’ve been trying, you know I have. Two of the patrolmen, they live in the barracks now, are ready to move in here if we can get the Belichers out. That’s the hard part. They have the law on their side.”
“Is there a law that says we have to put up with people like that?” She was wringing her hands helplessly, staring at the partition.
“Look, Shirl, can’t we talk about this some other time? I have to go out soon—”
“I want to talk about it now. You’ve been putting it off ever since they came, and that’s over two weeks now, and I can’t take much more of it.”
“Come on, it’s not that bad. It’s just noise.”
The room was very cold. Shirl pulled her legs up and wrapped the old blanket tighter around her; the springs in the bed twanged under her weight. There was a momentary lull from the other room that ended with shrill laughter.
“Do you hear that?” Shirl asked. “What kind of minds do they have? Every time they hear the bed move in here they burst out laughing. We’ve no privacy, none at all, that partition is as thin as cardboard and they listen for everything we do and hear every word we say. If they won’t go — can’t we move?”
“Where to? Show some sense, will you, we’re lucky to have this much room to ourselves. Do you know how many people still sleep in the streets — and how many bodies get brought in every morning?”
“I couldn’t care less. It’s my own life I’m worrying about.”
