Black Mask (Vol. 7, No. 5 — April 1950), British Edition

She was looking past me toward the bar and a worried frown darkened her lovely eyes and made vertical lines above her short, straight nose. I turned and followed her gaze. At the bar, her father was tossing off another drink. He turned and headed back toward us.

“He sneaked away on me, while we were busy with our fishing talk,” Lee said. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve got to watch him. He doesn’t know when to stop.”

At the same time I saw that Harry Wenzel had come back in. There was a lot of laughter and loud talk from the bar, now. Pete Saterlee was getting a little boisterous. He’d moved around beside Irma Wenzel and had his arm around her waist. I hoped Harry wouldn’t see that, or that if he did, he wouldn’t be in one of his jealous moods.

Irma was laughing up into Pete’s face as he talked. Eric Fabian was on the other side of her, looking bored, working his highball glass around in his fingers, making circled figures on the bar. Harry was down at the other end, talking with Gus Berkaw, the bartender.

Willis Marlow came back to the piano and I heard his daughter say, “Pops, you promised to take it easy, remember?”

“Of course,” old Marlow said, with tight-voiced dignity. He pulled at the flesh of his throat. “Tonsils got a little dry, is all. And that last blues number was a little muddy going. Want to get in the spirit for something gay. This is a party, you know.”

I turned away from them for a moment, embarrassed for Lee and I was just in time to see what happened at the bar. What had led up to it, wasn’t too hard to guess after I’d seen Pete Saterlee cozying up to Irma Wenzel.

Harry Wenzel had Pete Saterlee backed up against the bar, holding him there with his fist screwed up into the front of Pete’s jacket. Saterlee said, “Get your damned dirty paws off of me, Wenzel,” and put the flat of his hand into Harry’s face, shoved him away. Then Harry Wenzel swung. It was a powerful, chopping right. Saterlee managed to get a hand up fast enough to partially block and deflect the blow so that it caught him just above the ear instead of flush on the jaw. Still, he went down. He rolled over, got up onto his hands and knees and shook his head.

Irma Wenzel let out a little belated scream and was leaning against Eric Fabian, hiding her face in his shoulder. Gus Berkaw came over the bar in a vaulting leap and grabbed Harry Wenzel from behind, held his arms pinioned at his sides.

“Cut it out, Harry,” Gus said. “What’s the matter with you? The guy didn’t mean anything. Cut it out.”

Harry Wenzel shook himself loose and wheeled on the bartender. For a minute I thought he was going to go after Gus, too. Then he shook himself all over, wiped a big hand down over his face. “Sorry, Gus,” he said. “Thanks for straightening me out.”

That didn’t surprise me any. Gus Berkaw was the only man that I knew of for whom Harry Wenzel held any real respect. Gus had worked for Harry for six years, now. He lived upstairs in the inn and was quiet and a little on the moody side, but a good barkeep. He was a stocky, powerful shouldered man, about three inches shorter than Harry Wenzel.

There was a story that once, when Gus had first gone to work for Harry Wenzel, they’d had an argument. After the place had closed up, they had gone at it with their fists. Harry Wenzel had beaten the daylights out of Gus, but he hadn’t been able to knock him out or make him quit. And Gus had floored Harry Wenzel. It was supposed to be the first and only time Harry had ever been floored. Finally, they’d both gotten so exhausted they’d had to quit fighting.

Ever since that night, the story went, Gus Berkaw had been Harry and Irma Wenzel’s personal friend as well as an employee. Folks said that he could do anything with Harry and that the Wenzels would do anything for him.

Pete Saterlee got up onto his feet and brushed himself off. Harry Wenzel went over to help him and I watched them shake hands. “I’m sorry, Pete. Guess I just lost my temper. Maybe it was just a friendly kiss, I dunno. But, Irma, damn her, sometimes she—” He broke off, obviously fighting to control his temper.

He put his arm about Saterlee’s shoulder. “Aw, forget it. Let’s all have a drink and forget it.”

Saterlee mumbled an indignant reply but it was obvious that he was going to let himself be coaxed into accepting the apology and forgetting the incident. I turned back to the Marlows to see how they’d taken the scene. Lee Marlow looked pale and nervous. “I don’t like this, Pops. There’s liable to be more trouble. They’re all drinking too much. There won’t be much fishing done in the morning, anyhow. Let’s get out of here. Let’s leave, Pops.”

I knew how she felt. I thought maybe I could help her out. I said, “I know what you mean. It’s a good idea and if you don’t mind, I’ll go with you. You have a car?”

“No,” she said. “We rode out with Eric Fabian. But I can call a cab from Wildwood. I—”