He Won't Need it Now

     Duffy could see what a panic she was in. “He didn't tell me anything... he didn't tell me anything....”

     Max got off the table and went over to the mantelpiece. He examined the photos and fingered the small ivory elephants there. He seemed utterly bored. Then he shrugged. “I thought maybe he had talked to you,” he said indifferently. He put his hand in the inside of his coat and took out a short silk cord. It was dark red in colour. He dangled it in his fingers.

     Olga watched him like a rabbit would watch a snake.

     He said, “This is a pretty thing, ain't it?”

     She said, “What is it?”

     “This? Hell, I don't know. I found it.” He continued to swing it in his hand.

     She said, “Did you?”

     “I guess I'll scram.” He wandered to the door.

     “But... but don't you want—-?”

     “I'll scram,” he said, pausing at the door. “I thought maybe you'd be interested to hear Cattley's washed up. I see you ain't.”

     Her relief was obvious. “Of course, I'm sorry,” she said, “but I haven't seen him for so long....”

     “That's all right,” he said. “I liked seeing you.” The flat tone of his voice made the whole thing sound like a badly acted play. He stood on one side at the door and she went ahead to open the front door. When she passed him, he tossed the silk cord over her head with the rapidity of a snake striking, and twisted it round her neck. His knee came up in the small of her back and he threw all his weight on to the cord.

     Duffy slipped out of the kitchen like a shadow, and hit Max on his ear with a roundhouse swing. Max, being only on one leg, went over like a felled tree. Olga went on her hands and knees, making a sort of honking sound in her throat.

     Max rolled over twice until the wall brought him up, then he dizzily clawed inside his coat for a gun. Duffy whipped up a hall chair and smashed it down on Max. The wall took most of the force, and the back of the chair snapped. Max kicked out at Duffy with a long leg, and his boot caught Duffy on the shin. Duffy dropped on one knee, his face twisted, and then Max hit him on the side of the head. The blow had no weight behind it, as Max was lying on his shoulder, but it upset Duffy's balance and he went over.

     Max again went for his gun and this time he got it out, but Duffy lashed out with his foot and caught Max under the chin. The gun went off with a violent noise. The bullet hit the ceiling, bringing a shower of plaster down on the floor. Max dropped the gun and flopped on his face.

     Swearing wildly, Duffy grabbed hold of the gun and scrambled to his feet. He backed away from Max, but the big tough seemed right out. Cautiously, Duffy went over to Olga, who was going blue in the face. He jerked the silk cord loose and helped her to her feet. Her breath still rattled in her throat. He pushed her into the sitting-room.

     “Okay, baby,” he said, “you're all right now.”

     He dropped her into an arm-chair. The slamming of the front door brought him out of the sitting-room with an oath. Max had vanished. Outside, he heard a car start up, and by the time he had got to the front door he just caught a glimpse of a tail light vanishing round the bend of the road. He banged the front door to, and went back into the sitting-room. Olga was sitting up feeling her throat. She was crying a little.

     “You got any liquor here?” he said.

     She pointed to the kitchen. “It's in the pantry,” she said hoarsely.

     Duffy found a big earthenware bottle of apple-jack after a hunt round. He found two glasses and came back into the sitting-room. He tilled both glasses and gave her one. “Put it down,” he said. “You need it.”

     He drained his glass. The apple-jack went down his throat and then when it reached his stomach it exploded. He had to hold on to the table while his head was spinning, and he caught his breath. Just for a moment, he thought he was going to die, then all of a sudden he felt fine.

     He looked at the bottle in amazement. “That's panther's spit okay,” he said.

     He filled up his glass again, but this time he was more cautious. He did it in three. He looked at her with a little squint. “Sister,” he said, “you're coming home with me. This spot ain't going to be healthy any more.”

     The apple-jack was bringing her round. He could see the faint colour coming back to her face. Again she touched her bruised neck. “I can't do that,” she said.

     Duffy went over to her. “Pack a bag and get going,” he said; “you gotta make it fast. That bird might come back again.”

     Her eyes widened with fear and she got up quickly. He had to help her to the door, her legs were weak. Then, when he saw she could make it, he left her to go upstairs. He went back and gave himself another drink.

     By the time she had come down again, he was half cocked. He waved the bottle at her. “This is the best drop of phlegm-cutter I've run into for some time.”

     She stood hesitating on the bottom stair. “Will you get me a taxi?” she said. “I'll go to some hotel.”

     Duffy went over and took her bag. “You're coming home with me,” he said. “For the love of Mike, don't argue.”