I'll Get You For This

  There was a man and a woman in the passage, standing against the partition wall, out of the way of flying glass and slugs.

  "Hello." I said, smiling at them. "How are you liking the circus ?

  The man was tall and beefy with a red face and a military moustache. His eyes were hard and stupid, his neck thick. The woman was a dark, nicely moulded trick in an interesting Grecian affair—–black crepe with gold bands crossed high on the bodice and double gold bands around the hem. She was about thirty-five, and there was a wordly look in her slaty eyes that I like to see in women of thirty-five.

  The red-faced guy stiffened his backbone after the first shock of seeing me had passed. He growled deep in his throat, started a ponderous swing that a battleship could have dodged.

  I let the swing sail over my head and ruin a lot of air in the passage. Then I pushed the Luger into his fat ribs.

  "Skip it," I said. "You'd be better at the ballet."

  His red face went a waxen white.

  I looked at the woman. She hadn't turned a hair. She looked back at me, her eyes interested, unafraid.

  "Think of the fun you'll have telling your friends," I went on to the man. "Chester Cain passed this way. You could even put a plaque on the outside of the house."

  They didn't say anything, but the man had difficulty in breathing.

  "Would you both go into one of these rooms?" I said, jerking my head to a line of doors. "I'm as harmless as a spinster aunt so long as no one crowds me."

  I manoeuvred them into a front room, made them sit down. The furniture was as heavy and as dull as the man's face. The woman continued to eye me with interest.

  I put my gun away to ease the atmosphere, peered out of the window.

  Searchlights roamed the sky, car lights lit up the street, flat caps moved back and forth.

  "I'll stick around," I said, sitting down so I could watch the two. "That reception committee still looks like business." I lit a cigarette, then remembered my manners, offered the pack to the woman. She took one, giving me a long, curious stare as she did so.

  "Jill!" the man spluttered. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  "Why shouldn't I smoke?" she asked in a tired voice.

  He opened and shut his mouth, then scowled at her.

  I struck a match and lit her cigarette. I had an idea at the back of my mind that I might have fun with her.

  We sat around while the cops tramped up and down, poked into bushes and scared hell out of each other.

  Maybe the red-faced man thought I was harmless without my gun in my hand, maybe his manhood nudged him. He suddenly bounded out of his chair and came at me like a charging rhino.

  I had my gun out by the time he arrived, but he was coming so fast he hadn't time to apply his brakes. I cracked him on top of his skull and he stretched out on the carpet.

  "I'm sorry," I said to the woman. "But you saw how it was."

  She looked down at the mountain of flesh without a great show of interest or distress.

  "Have you killed him?" she asked.

  She sounded as if she hoped I had.

  I shook my head. "No."

  "He won the Purple Heart," she said, looking at me. "I wonder if you know what that means? He likes to explain the battle to people."

  "You mean he moves the salt cellar and the spoons and the pepper-box, and shows dispositions, manoeuvres and advances?"

  "That is the general idea," she said, lifting her elegant shoulders.

  I looked down at the red-faced man and thought she couldn't I have much fun with him.

  "Yeah," I said. "These boys who live in the past are hard to take."

  She didn't say anything.

  A double knock on the front door brought me to my feet.

  "That sounds like the Law," I said, twirling the Luger.

  "Are you scared?" she asked, staring at me. "I wouldn't have thought anything would scare you."

  "You'd be surprised," I returned, grinning. "Spiders give me goose pimples." I opened the room door. "Come on," I said. "I want you to talk to the Law. You won't throw an ing-bing?"

  "No, I won't do that," she said. "I suppose if I tell them you're here, you'll shoot me?"

  I shook my head. "I'll have to shoot the coppers, and that'd be a shame," I said.

  We went down the passage to the front door. I stood against the wall in the shadows where I could see without being seen.

  "You don't want to be told what to say, do you?" I asked.

  "I don't think so," she said, opening the door.

  There were a couple of cops standing on the front step. When they saw her they saluted.

  "Everything okay, Mrs. Whitly?" one of them asked. His voice was loaded with respect.

  "Except the noise," she said calmly. "Is it necessary to shoot so much? Surely one man can't be as dangerous as you make him sound."

  "He's a killer, ma'am," the cop said, breathing heavily. "The Lieutenant's not risking lives. We shoot first and talk after."

  "Very interesting," she said, in a bored voice. "Well, I hope it stops soon and I can go to bed."

  "We'll catch him, ma'am," the cop said, sticking out his chest. "But don't worry, we reckon he's some way from here by now."