Downey came clumping in, throwing off waves of competence and sexual authority. A man who had been around a long time, who wouldn’t panic or choke when trouble started. Pam had been bolting her drinks. She was no longer in awe of anybody. Wherever the river took her was where she would go.
Downey jerked his head toward the locked bedroom. “O.K.?”
“Sleeping like an infant,” Pam said. “Going up in value every minute.”
“Listen, I said tack on another twenty-five,” Downey said. “No, that’d be bush. Stick with what we decided, one and a quarter. We know we can get that. Let’s see the envelope.”
A muscle jerked over Werner’s eye, but he gave Downey the envelope, and Downey checked it for zip code and postage.
“We got a winner here,” he said. “Drive careful.” After Werner left, Downey poured himself a drink and reached down to check the shape of Pam’s breasts under the sweat shirt.
“Real tits again, that’s better. I don’t know who you thought you were fooling. You still looked female to me.” He looked at his watch. “I want to get laid.”
“Yes, sir,” she said without moving.
“No kidding. This is the time of night I get my second wind.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Come on. Big event there in the garage. Now I’m going to pay you off.” He ran his hand along the edge of her shoulder blade. “You are so damn thin. I don’t know why I don’t end up with cuts all over. Move, will you? We don’t have all night.”
She fumbled with him for a moment, but she couldn’t do it like this. She couldn’t switch off one thing and switch on another one second later. His clothes smelled of dirt and sweat and his foul cigars. “No.”
“No?” he repeated.
“Jack, I don’t feel like it right now.”
“I don’t like to stop once I get started. It makes me feel, I don’t know, jumpy.”
“I don’t want to! It’s the wrong time, and look at this place. I feel a little sick.”
“You’ll get over that. You can lie still if you want to, but I’ll give five to three I can get you moving.”
Pam was revolted by the idea. She tasted whiskey at the back of her throat. Downey took off his pants. He needed a shave, and God, did he need a shower! His hands were filthy. The mattress was ripped and stained. And a lot more was involved than esthetics. She knew it was important not to submit.
“Jack, sit down. We both deserve another drink. Talk about it.”
“Fuck that. If you want to talk, talk about it after.” He ate rotten food, fried stuff and cheap hamburgers. He got all his exercise behind the wheel of his car. His ass was too fat. His legs were stumpy.
When he reached for her sweat shirt to pull it off, she said, “You really are a crude monster, Jack. Hasn’t anybody ever told you some times are better than others?”
“Too often,” he said thickly.
He ripped the sweat shirt over her head, balled it, and threw it across the room. His face changed as the blood flooded into it. The flesh contracted around his eyes. He looked dangerous all at once.
“All right,” she said hastily. “But in theory, sex is a two-person thing-the man’s not supposed to have fun if the woman’s not having any.”
“Who said you won’t have any?”
He left on his shirt and socks. He was naked in the places where it was important to be naked. She spread her clothes on the mattress and lay down. She knew it would be prudent not to ask Downey to wash. This was one of the most completely unpleasant things that had ever happened to her. He was in less of a hurry now that he had carried his point. He finished his drink, standing.
“That fag,” he said, meaning Werner. “He damn near let Eddie get away from him. Somebody who handles money, you can’t ever be sure he won’t have a gun. But if I’d said there was a chance, Werner would be peeing his pants in there. Be with you in a minute,” he added, pouring more scotch.
“Don’t feel you have to rush.”
A slight breeze was blowing through the open window. Pam was sweating, and the same time she was ice cold. He was a meat-and-potatoes man, Downey. He didn’t go in for anything fancy. The first time had been hard, brutal, sudden, and she had responded with a kind of brutality of her own. It had surprised her. Then it had been much less good. He telescoped the preliminaries; he believed he was doing her enough of a favor by being big enough for the entry. It had been a relief to be back with Werner. When Werner liked something, he liked to linger over it. He had real skill and sensitivity. They had reached some astonishing highs. And yet when she dreamed or daydreamed, it was about Downey lately. He had the sureness and strength that Pam lacked and needed.
He came down to the mattress and was soon inside her. His unshaven face ground and scraped against hers. He pounded hard, and at the end she was struggling and gasping.
“Didn’t I tell you?” he said, withdrawing.
“Of all the smug bastards-”
Downey grinned. Smug was the word.
“I never had any complaints. If they complain, they know I’ll push their face in.”
“You big strong complacent men.”
“And there’s something to be said for experience, too, you know. I’ve been doing this for quite a number of years.”
She would have liked to puncture that conceit by telling him that the reason she had been out of breath was that he had rammed it out of her. She hadn’t felt a thing. She stifled the impulse.
He buckled himself into his harness and poured more scotch. He wasn’t quite smiling, but there was something different about him.
“You think I’m a slob, don’t you? You and your long-fingernailed boy friend.”
“Slob is a bit strong. I was just thinking you remind me of Humphrey Bogart.”
“Who?”
“Bogart. He made a million movies. Short legs like you. He looked funny in a bathing suit, but he was very popular in his day.”
“I look funny with no clothes on, is that the message?”
She came up on her elbows. “You wanted to get laid. You got laid. Of course you’re a bit of a slob, for Christ’s sake. That’s part of your charm.”
“You don’t surprise me a bit, you know that? Now I want to take a look at Eddie.”
“Don’t worry, he’s taped up. He’s not going anywhere.”
“For laughs.”
A tag attached to the padlock gave the combination. The unconscious loan shark lay on his side as they had left him, forcing the air in and out through his nose, having bad dreams.
“Eddie, you prick,” Downey said with loathing. “Any towels in the bathroom?”
“A couple, why?”
“Bring them.”
When she came back, he was fitting a small metal nub to the barrel of his pistol.
“What’s that?”
“You ask too many fucking questions.”
He folded one of the towels the long way and wound it around Maye’s forehead, putting the other folded towel underneath like a pillow. Pam’s mind was working slowly after all the scotch. She didn’t understand what was happening until Downey picked his gun off the mattress, pointed it at Maye’s head, and fired.
It made a snick, not a bang. The body jerked.
Pam seized Downey’s shoulder, yelling, “What are you-”
Maye was obviously already dead. His body had arched, and he was lying on his taped wrists. The towel had slipped over his eyes and was already beginning to redden.
“Damn you, you killed him, what did you do that for?”
Downey unscrewed the silencer so he could put his pistol away. She shook his arm and threw it away from her so hard that he had to stagger to keep his balance. She couldn’t believe it had happened. Everything was much brighter, in sharper focus, as though the overhead bulb had gone from fifty watts to two hundred.
