Then he started, because Pendleton had been speaking.
“Before you are dead, you should know why I punished you before. There is always a reason for my actions. You were guilty of disrespect The picture you broke was of my daughter.”
Benny had never been a man who hated much. But now a concentrated strength seemed to come to him, and that, he knew, was hate.
The car moved down the road, then stopped. Benny was sitting as before. When Ludlow opened the door and waved at him with his gun, Benny got out, reached back for his hat, and walked ahead of Ludlow as he was told. He did not look back at Pendleton, in the car, or at the driver, who was opening the trunk.
“Stop,” Ludlow said, and Benny stopped. He turned around.
Ludlow stood hunched just beyond arm’s reach and he was shifting the heavy gun to hold it by the barrel. Apparently he was to be clubbed to death.
“I didn’t say nothing about turning around.” Ludlow, built like an ape, shifted the gun back into shooting position.
Benny stood and eyed the man.
“I’ll make a hole in ya regardless,” Ludlow said, “so better turn around.”
Benny turned around, listening for the movements behind him. Ludlow hadn’t moved.
“Now take off yer hat.”
“You take it off, monkey boy.”
“Why-” Ludlow controlled himself and shifted the gun again, handle up. Benny heard it.
With a sudden crouch Benny took a step forward and stopped. He had figured it right. Ludlow couldn’t have stopped him with a swing of the gun, and only now was the barrel pointing at him again. But Benny wasn’t moving any more. And three feet ahead of him there was a tree.
“Funny man,” Ludlow was saying, “I almost drilled ya.”
Benny didn’t answer because he was listening. There were the slow steps of Ludlow, who was dragging his feet over the noisy forest floor. The sound stopped, very close behind, and again, Benny heard the slight scrape as Ludlow shifted the gun to make it a club.
“Take off yer hat.”
“Crap,” Benny said.
He heard the angry grunt and, not moving, the heave as Ludlow reared up for the swing. He had been close enough for it until Benny shot forward. He lunged ahead to crash into the tree, where he held himself with both arms, head slightly turned.
It must have looked good to Ludlow. The crazy runt had knocked himself silly and was hanging by the tree.
Benny waited the split second it took for Ludlow to charge, and when the gun came down it just grazed the crown of his hat.
From there on it went the other way. Ludlow’s wrist was in Benny’s hand and then the trick with the levered pull over one bent knee. Ludlow’s arm snapped. Before his scream could tear loose, two steel-trap claws clamped down on his neck, and through the thrashing and rolling they never let go until the blue face was dead. Benny left him there.
He walked through the underbrush with the gun in his hand, and when the tall car appeared through the leaves his teeth were clamped with hate.
He started firing too soon. The magazine was empty when he tossed the gun down, screaming after the car whose open trunk lid was dipping wildly as it lurched down the road.
Chapter Seven
It had come to him when Pendleton had explained about the kick in the stomach. That was before they took him into the woods to die.
It had meant Ludlow’s death before Benny ever got his hands on that throat, and now it was with him, big and real like a dream come true. It was a clincher, a plan that meant big time.
When Benny got to the place where Alverato kept an apartment, it was seven in the evening. He rang the bell and there was the redhead again. The gown she was wearing was held up by nothing but nature.
“Why, the shofer!” she said, and stepped aside.
When Benny was in, she closed the door. “You wait here,” she said. “I gotta go and finish dressing.”
Benny watched her leave and thought she’d better. He stood in the empty foyer and waited. Then Alverato came.
He was wearing a black tuxedo and the stone in his shirt front made little blue flashes. Alverato stopped and banged the door behind him.
“I thought you was dead.”
It was just a remark. No question, no welcome, just a remark and a cold face.
Benny looked back at the big man and tugged at his hat. “I got something you’ll want to hear.”
“Yeah? About how you got kicked in the stomach?”
“I’m serious, Al.”
“Oh. It’s about how you got away from the big bad wolf or something and then snuck away to tell about it.”
Benny bit his lip and made his voice sound quiet. “This is big, Al. I can get Pendleton over a barrel.”
“I know that. Like the last time. Now blow. It’s after working hours.”
“Al, you’ve got to listen to me. I-”
“Tapkow, you sonofabitch, you goofed!” It was a roar, then another door opened and two goons came in. One of them was Birdie. Alverato nodded at him and left by the door through which the redhead had gone.
Birdie’s. 45 looked at Benny’s stomach. It walked closer. It was as simple as that, and Benny left. They closed the door after him.
At eleven in the evening the street was empty. It had drizzled a little and there were little puddles in the gutter. Benny worked his damp shoulders and looked through the glass door into the empty foyer.
When the elevator door slid open Big Al came down the long carpet with the redhead on his arm and three sour-looking hoods were making a procession of it. A fourth was leading the way, Birdie, wearing his padded suit like a uniform.
When they came out on the street Benny stepped forward, but the small guy was already in front of him, the cannon tucked close under Benny’s ribs. “Crowd this guy,” he said, and three hoods rushed over, pushing Benny flat against the wall. He couldn’t move.
“See if he’s clean.”
He was.
“Over to the alley.”
They started to move in a body when Benny caught Alverato’s eye.
“Al, you’ve got to listen. Tell these bird dogs to stop a minute and listen to what I’ve got.”
They kept on moving while Alverato looked at him as if he were a bug. The redhead giggled.
“Al!” It was a yell.
He hung on to his chance like a dog that had to be dead before he’d let go.
They had him almost at the alley now and Benny couldn’t even turn to see where Alverato stood in the doorway.
“Whyn’tcha let him talk?” asked the redhead.
“Bah.”
“The car isn’t here yet, baby boy. We’re just standing around doing nothing.”
They were going around the corner of the building.
“Why don’tcha, hon?”
“Bring him back,” Alverato called.
This time they let him walk by himself and Benny ran to the entrance, his face a grimace of intensity.
“Al, listen, I’ll talk fast. This is how you can get Pendleton and get him forever. We can get him in the only place where it hurts. He has-”
“Your car, boss,” and they pushed him aside to file into the big sedan that had pulled to the curb. Alverato and the girl got in first, then the others. Benny kept talking, fast now: “This time it’s foolproof, for chrissakes. Do you hear me? He’s got a daughter, Al, and nothing means more to him than his daughter, believe me, because if anything should happen to her-” they slammed the door-”Pendleton would give his skin to-”
The car started moving and Benny clawed the glass of the window with frantic hands, beside himself now and hoarse: “Al! Hear me! I’ll do it myself, by God! The contact, Al! The contact in Italy-”
The car took off with a roar and Benny staggered into the gutter. He thought he heard a giggle and then he was alone. His hands opened and closed, his breath was like a spasm. A puddle of dirty water was soaking his shoes. He could see the red taillights shine and grow small. Then his head sank down.
When he looked up again he saw the bare street and in the darkness the small red lights were still there, steady now, standing still at the end of the block. It meant nothing to him when the voice caught him: “Tapkow! Can’t you hear? Alverato’s waiting for you!”