He Won't Need it Now

     Clive had a gun in his hand. Duffy looked at it surprised, then he said to the little guy, “Tell that fairy to put his rod away, he might hurt someone.”

     The little guy said, “I should care. What's it to me?”

     Duffy said very sharply, “Tell that punk to put his popgun down, or I'll do it for him, and smack his ears down.”

     Clive made a high whinny sound like a horse. He looked as though he was going to have some sort of a fit. He stood there, his face white, and his eyes dark with hate. Duffy went a little cold at the sight of him.

     The little guy said, “Put it away.”

     The youth turned his head slowly and looked at the little guy. “I'm going to pop him...” he said shrilly, all his words tumbling out of his mouth in a bunch.

     “I said, put it away.” The little guy was quite shocked that he had to speak twice.

     Clive hesitated, blinked, then pushed the gun into his hip pocket. He stood undecided, his hands fluttering at his coat. Then quite suddenly, he began to cry. His face puckered up like a little indiarubber mask that someone had squeezed. He sat himself on a chair and covered his face with his thin bony hands and cried.

     The little guy sighed. He said to Duffy, “See, you've upset him now.”

     Duffy threw his hat on the settee and ran his fingers through his hair.

     The big tough came over from the window and patted Clive's head. He didn't say anything, but just patted the youth quite heavily on his head.

     The little guy shifted uncomfortably. “Aw, I didn't mean anything,” he said. “We ain't supposed to pop this guy, so I couldn't let you do it, could I?”

     Clive took his hands away and said with a snivel, “But look how you spoke to me.”

     “Sure, sure, I know,” the little guy smiled with his tight mouth. “I'm sorry. There, I can't say more, can I? I've said I'm sorry, that's pretty generous.”

     Clive looked at the little guy earnestly. “It wasn't what you said that upset me,” he said, “it was how you said it.”

     “I know, it was the way I said it, wasn't it?”

     Clive began to cry again. He didn't cover his face this time, but screwed up his eyes, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Yes,” he said, “it was the way you said it.”

     “Quite a big shot, ain't he?” Duffy said, leaning against the wall, watching with extraordinary interest.

     “You leave him alone,” the little guy said. “He's all right, but he upsets himself.”

     Clive stopped crying and shot Duffy a look of hate. The other two followed his glance, as if just remembering Duffy.

     The little guy said to Clive, “You all right now?”

     Clive said he was fine.

     “Come on,” the little guy said to Duffy, “we're wasting time.”

     Duffy said, “I'm disappointed. I thought we were all going to let down our hair and have a good cry.”

     The little guy giggled, then stopped and looked annoyed. “Let's have the camera, we got to blow soon.”

     Duffy lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. “I ain't got it,” he said.

     The three stayed very still.

     “Listen,” the little guy said patiently, “we've come for the camera, and we're going to have it, see?”

     Duffy shrugged. “I can't help that,” he said shortly, “I ain't got it.”

     The little guy said, “You ain't got this right. I said we want that camera and we are going to have it.”

     “Sure, I heard you the first time. I tell you I ain't got it.”

     The little guy looked at the other two and said, “He ain't got it.”

     The youth drew his top lip off his teeth. “I told you you weren't getting anywhere with this bastard.”

     Duffy pushed himself away from the wall. He began to wander slowly round the room. He didn't take his eyes off the three, watching him.

     “You be careful,” he said to Clive, “you'll be getting some false teeth mighty soon.”

     Clive looked at the little guy. “Turn Joe on him,” he said excitedly. “Go on, beat the sonofabitch to hell.”

     Duffy was quite close to him now. He seemed to be carelessly looking for something. “Don't call me that,” he said viciously, and his right fist came up from his waist slap in Clive's mouth. Duffy was nervous of the big bird. He thought with the other two out of the way, he might stand a chance with him, but he wasn't sure.

     Clive went over, taking the chair with him. He lay on his side, hissing through his hand, that he had clapped to his mouth.

     The other two were too startled to move. Duffy hit the little guy on the bridge of his nose. It was an awkward punch because the little guy was sitting, but it had plenty of steam behind it. The little guy tossed back in his chair and went over with a crash. He lay there completely stunned.

     Duffy stood, his hands a little advanced, his elbows pressed into his waist.

     The big bird looked at Clive and then he looked at the little guy. Then he grinned, showing very white even little teeth. “Jeeze!” he said hoarsely, “you're going to get it now.”