Three
The following morning, on my way to the office, I called in on a hardware store and bought a pick-axe handle. I took it to the office and put it by the side of my desk, out of sight, but where I could get it with one swift movement. I had an idea I might need it.
Jenny came bustling in around 10.00, the usual yellow forms clutched in her hand and wearing the drab grey dress. I found it hard to recognise the same woman I had taken out to dinner last night.
She thanked me again for the dinner, asked if I had slept well, to which I said I had slept fine: a lie, of course, as I had hardly slept at all. She peered at what I was doing and from the expression on her face I could tell she was surprised I was only at letter C. She wasn’t to know that Spooky had ruined the work I had done, and I wasn’t going to tell her. Then she took off.
I thumped the typewriter and kept my ears cocked.
Around 11.00 Spooky arrived with seven of his buddies, so silently that, in spite of listening all the time, in spite of expecting him, I was taken unawares.
If he hadn’t been a sadistic showoff he would have had me cold. Probably he felt completely secure with seven of his hulking buddies behind him.
He stood before my desk and looked gloatingly at me: his tiny eyes red buttons of vicious hate.
Slowly, he began to undo his belt.
‘This, Cheapie, is the payoff...’
But by this time I had absorbed the shock of seeing him and I acted.
Had he walked in, his belt swinging, he would have nailed me, but he wanted to see me cringe.
I stood up, kicked away my chair, grabbed the pick-axe handle and hit him all in one swift movement.
I didn’t give a goddamn if I killed him. I hit him with all the strength of my two arms and with all the weight of my body. My viciousness matched his.
The pick-axe handle caught him on the side of his face. Two of his front teeth flew out and landed on my desk. Blood spurted from his nose. His jaw went slack and hung. He fell, his eyes rolling back and he lay in a crumpled, smelly heap on the floor.
I didn’t even pause to look at him. I came around the desk like a rampaging bull, the bloodstained pick-axe handle flaying.
His seven buddies scattered into the passage. I hit out right and left. I was demented with vicious rage. They ran, falling over each other to get down the stairs. I went after them, hammering their cowering backs to the second landing.
Then I paused while they continued pounding down the next flight, like the frightened rats they were.
Faces appeared at doorways. People gaped at me as I went up the stairs and back into the office.
I hated to touch him, but I wanted him out of here. I grabbed hold of his filthy, greasy hair and dragged his unconscious body along the passage and to the stairs. Then I booted him and he rolled over and over to land with a crash on the lower landing. He lay there, blood running from his nose: as broken as anyone could be broken.
I returned to the office, put the pick-axe handle in one of the closets, then called the cop house.
I asked for the Desk Sergeant.
‘This is Carr... remember me? Fifteen hundred bucks?’ I listened to his heavy breathing while be absorbed this information.
‘What’s on your mind this time?’ he finally asked.
‘Spooky looked in,’ I said. ‘He wanted to alter the shape of my face with his nail-studded belt. I had to get a little rough with him. I suggest you send an ambulance... he seems in urgent need of care and attention,’ and I hung up.
For a few moments I sat still, taking stock of myself. I looked at my hands, lying on the blotter. There was no shake. I felt completely relaxed as if I had had a good round of golf, and this puzzled me. The whole violent affair had taken two minutes. I had done something that, three weeks ago, even less, I would have thought impossible. I had faced eight thugs, maimed one and had driven the others away. And now it was over I felt no sense of shock. All I wanted was a cigarette which I lit. Then, knowing Jenny would be along in an hour or so I got some cleaning rags from the closet and cleaned up Spooky’s blood. As I was dropping the rags into the trash basket I heard an ambulance siren.
I didn’t bother to go out into the passage. I sat at my typewriter and continued to work on the card index.
After a while two cops came in.
‘What’s going on?’ one of them asked. ‘What’s all this about?’
Both of them were grinning and looked happy.
‘Spooky came here, got rough, so I got rough,’ I said.
‘Yeah... we’ve seen him. Come on, buddy, the Sarg wants to talk to you.’
As they drove me to the cop house they told me the latest ball scores they had heard over the radio. For cops, they were more than friendly.
I walked up to the Desk Sergeant, who was rolling his pencil, but this time, his heart didn’t seem to be in it.
He squinted at me with his pig eyes, sniffed, scratched under his right armpit, then said, ‘Let’s have it. What happened?’
‘I told you over the telephone, Sergeant,’ I said. ‘Spooky arrived with seven of his pals. He threatened me. I threw him out and his pals took off. That’s it.’
He studied me, pushed his cap to the back of his head and released a snorting grunt.
‘Just got the medical report,’ he said. ‘The punk has a bust jaw, a bust snout, eight teeth missing and he’s lucky to be alive.’ He peered at me. ‘What did you hit him with — a brick?’
‘In his hurry to leave, he fell down the stairs,’ I said woodenly.
He nodded.
‘Sort of fell over his feet, huh?’
‘Sort of.’
A long pause, then I said, ‘Have you seen his belt? It has sharpened nails. He was proposing to whip my face with it.’
He nodded again while he continued to regard me.
‘Should we cry over him, Sergeant?’ I went on. ‘If you think I should, I could send him some flowers... if you think I should.’
He began rolling his pencil again.
‘He could make a complaint... assault. We would have to investigate.’
‘Suppose we wait until he does?’
Again the pig eyes examined me, then he stopped rolling his pencil.
‘Yeah... that’s an idea.’ He looked past me and surveyed the empty charge room. For some reason or other no one at this moment was in trouble and we were alone. He leaned forward and said in his husky voice, ‘Every officer in this town has been wanting to do what you did to that sonofabitch.’ His raw beef of a face split into a wide, friendly grin. ‘But watch it, Mr. Carr. Spooky is like the elephant: he won’t forget.’
‘I have work to do,’ I said, still keeping my face wooden, but feeling an inward surge of triumph. ‘Can I get back to it?’
‘Oh, sure.’ He sat back and now his eyes were thoughtful. ‘A taxi driver reported he saw a motorbike go up in flames last night. Spooky’s bike. Would you know anything about it?’
‘Should I?’
He nodded.
‘That’s the correct answer, but don’t lean on it, Mr. Carr. We have to keep law and order in this town.’
‘When you can spare a minute, Sergeant,’ I said, ‘you might mention that to Spooky.’
We looked at each other and then I left.
When I got back to the office I found Jenny there. Of course she had heard all about it. This was something I couldn’t hope to keep quiet. She was white and shaking.
‘You could have killed him!’ she exclaimed. ‘What did you do to him?’
‘He got rough. I got rough.’ I went around the desk and sat down. ‘He had it coming. I’ve seen the police. They are as happy as kids at a party. So let’s forget Spooky.’