Night Extra

“Judas Priest,” Terrell said. “Ike Cellars, defender of last year’s virgins. It’s your move, Frankie.”

Briggs put a huge hand on Terrell’s arm. “We’ll just escort you to your car.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Terrell said. He tried to pull his arm free but Briggs’ hand was as firm as a concrete cast. He looked at Connie then, but she turned away from him and sat down on the chair in front of the dressing table. “Nice going,” he said.

Briggs led him through the doorway, and glanced at Frankie Chance. “Back way?”

“Sure,” Frankie said, taking Terrell’s free arm. “It doesn’t look good dragging drunks across the dance floor.”

They took Terrell through the kitchen and out to the parking lot in the rear which was used for overflow business. Now it was empty and quite dark. An attendant came out of the shadows and flipped his cigarette aside. He seemed to know what was expected of him.

Briggs pushed Terrell against a brick wall, and the attendant and Chance held his arms.

“Sam, you’ve been a nuisance,” Frankie said.

“Get it over with,” Terrell said.

“Well, you tough sonofabitch,” Frankie said, laughing softly.

Briggs rubbed his hands with a gesture of a man about to go to work. He opened a flask then and splashed whiskey over Terrell’s face and shirt front. “Shame to waste it,” he muttered. Then he hit Terrell in the stomach with his free hand, bringing the punch up with a kind of lazy power. Frankie and the attendant tightened their grips as Terrell pitched forward, gagging against the pain spreading from his loins to his throat. Briggs hit him a dozen times, methodically and thoughtfully, and then paused and took a pull at the flask he held in his left hand.

Terrell couldn’t fight the pain any longer. He began to moan and when the sound came from him Briggs slapped him back and forth across the mouth with a hand as big and hard as a ping-pong paddle. “That should do it,” he said when Terrell was quiet once more.

“Take him home,” Frankie said to the parking lot attendant. “We don’t want him cluttering up the alley.”

15

Terrell lay on the sofa in his apartment, breathing with infinite care against a frightening pain that moved up and down his body with the rise and fall of his chest. He stared at the dark ceiling, too spent to make himself a drink or get out of his clothes.

The clock in the Insurance Building struck eleven and then twelve, but it wasn’t until after one that Terrell stood and limped unsteadily into the bathroom. He needed water desperately; his throat was raw and dry, and the air in the room was like the gust from a blast furnace.

The first glass of water didn’t stay down, but that made him feel better. He sipped more, and was able to control the shudders that had been shaking his body. His face wasn’t too badly marked up; there were flecks of black blood on his lips and his skin had the white, poreless look of ivory. But his body had taken a beating, although he was fairly certain that nothing important had been ruptured or broken. He cleaned himself up and went into the kitchen. Fortunately there was cold coffee in the pot and he filled a glass three-quarters full and topped it with whiskey. With the drink and a cigarette he limped back to the couch, completely exhausted, his heart beating protestingly in his ears.

His thoughts had been scattered by the beating and he couldn’t collect them into logical groupings. He didn’t know what to do. Call Karsh. That was imperative. But the phone seemed miles away, and he knew Karsh would be in bed or drunk by now. Probably both.

Terrell wasn’t aware of dozing off, but suddenly a chill went through him and he sat up shaking his head and staring about the dimly-lit room. The illuminated hands of his wrist watch stood at two-thirty. He had been asleep an hour or more. What had waked him?

Then it came again, a soft tap on the door. Terrell got stiffly to his feet, pressing one hand against the pain in his side. There were no weapons in the house, and he could barely raise his arm; he was in no shape for a return bout with Ike Cellars’ apes. But why would they come here? If they planned to eliminate him they wouldn’t do it in installments.

He crossed the room, and stood beside the door with his back to the wall. “Who’s that?” he said.

“It’s me — Connie.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to see you. Her voice was low and pleading.”

Terrell said, “This dialogue seems reminiscent. Thanks but no thanks.”

“Please listen to me.”

Terrell hesitated. Then he said, “Are you alone?”

“Yes, I swear it.”

He put the burglar chain on, and opened the door a few inches. She was alone, looking young and pale and frightened in the softly-lit corridor.

“What do you want?”

“Do you need anything? Can I do anything for you?”

“I’m just fine,” Terrell said. “What makes you think I’d need more help?”

“I was worried — can’t I come in for just a minute, please? I want to explain.”