"Well, what do you know! Here I've been thinking all males were named Smith or Jones. What happened?"
"No wife to report to, kid," I grinned. "The tag's my own. What do they call you besides Red?"
"They don't."
I saw her eyes crinkle a little as she sipped the last of her coffee. Shorty was casting nervous glances between us and the steamedup window, probably hoping a cop wouldn't pass by and nail a hustler trying to make time. He gave me a pain.
"Want more coffee?"
She shook her head. "No, that did it fine. If Shorty wasn't so touchy about extending a little credit I wouldn't have to be smiling for my midnight snacks."
From the way I turned and looked at her, Red knew there was more than casual curiosity back of the remark when I asked, "I didn't think your line of business could ever be that slow."
For a brief second she glared into the mirror. "It isn't." She was plenty mad about something.
I threw a buck on the counter and Shorty rang it up, then passed the change back. When I pocketed it I said to Red, "Did you ever stop to think that you're a pretty nice girl? I've met all kinds, but I think you could get along pretty well... any way you tried."
Her smile even brought out a dimple that had been buried a long while ago. She kissed her finger, then touched the finger to my cheek. "I like you, Mike. There are times when I think I've lost the power to like anyone, but I like you."
An el went by overhead just then and muffled the sound of the door opening. I felt the guy standing behind us before I saw him in the mirror. He was tall, dark and greasy looking, with a built-in sneer that passed for know-how, and he smelled of cheap hair oil. His suit would have been snappy in Harlem, edged with sharp pleats and creases.
He wasn't speaking to me when he said, "Hullo, kid!"
The redhead half turned and her lips went tight. "What do you want?" Her tone was dull, flat. The skin across her cheeks was drawn taut.
"Are you kidding?"
"I'm busy. Get lost."
The guy's hand shot out and grabbed her arm, swinging her around on the stool to face him. "I don't like them snotty remarks, Red."
As soon as I slid off the stool Shorty hustled down to our end, his hand reaching for something under the counter. When he saw my face he put it back and stopped short. The guy saw the same thing, but he was wise about it. His lip curled up and he snarled, "Get the hell out of here before I bust ya one."
He was going to make a pass at me, but I jammed four big, stiff fingers into his gut right above the navel and he snapped shut like a jack-knife. I opened him up again with an openhanded slap that left a blush across his mouth that was going to stay for a while.
Usually a guy will let it go right there. This one didn't. He could hardly breathe, but he was cursing me with his lips and his hand reached for his armpit in uncontrollable jerks. Red stood with her hand pressed against her mouth, while Shorty was croaking for us to cut it out, but too scared to move.
I let him almost reach it, then I slid my own .45 out where everybody could get a look at it. Just for effect I stuck it up against his forehead and thumbed back the hammer. It made a sharp click in the silence. "Just touch that rod you got and I'll blow your damn greasy head off. Go ahead, just make one lousy move towards it," I said.
He moved, all right. He fainted. Red was looking down at him, still too terrified to say anything. Shorty had a twitch in his shoulder. Finally she said, "You... didn't have to do that for me. Please, get out of here before he wakes up. He'll... kill you!"
I touched her arm gently. "Tell me something, Red. Do you really think he could?"
She bit her lip and her eyes searched my face. Something made her shudder violently. "No. No, I don't think so. But please go. For me." There was urgent appeal in her voice.
I grinned at her again. She was scared, in trouble, but still my friend. I took out my wallet. "Do something for me, will you, Red?" I shoved three fifties in her hand. "Get off this street. Tomorrow you go uptown and buy some decent clothes. Then get a morning paper and hunt up a job. This kind of stuff is murder."
I don't ever want anybody to look at me the way she did then. A look that belongs in church when you're praying or getting married or something.
The greaseball on the floor was awake now, but he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at my wallet that I held open in my hand. His eyes were glued to the badge that was pinned there, and if I still didn't have my rod dangling by the trigger guard he would have gone for his. I reached down and pulled it out of the shoulder holster, then grabbed his collar and dragged him out the door.
Down on the corner was a police call-box and I used it. In two minutes a squad car pulled up to the curb and a pair of harness bulls jumped out. I nodded to the driver. "Hullo, Jake."
He said, "Hi ya, Mike. What gives?"
I hoisted the greaseball to his feet. "Laughing boy tried to pull a gun on me." I handed over the rod, a short-barrelled .32. "I don't think he has a license for it, so you can lock him up on a Sullivan charge. I'll press charges in the morning. You know where to reach me."
The cop took the gun and prodded the guy into the car. He was still cursing when I walked up to my heap.
None*
It was early morning when I woke up to stay. Those forty-eight hours were what I needed. I took a hot and cold shower to shake the sleep out of my eyes, then stood in front of the mirror and shaved. I certainly was a mess. My eyes were still red and bleary and I felt like I was ploughing my whiskers under instead of shaving them off. At least I felt better. A big plate of bacon and eggs made my stomach behave to the point where I could get dressed and start the rest of the day off with a decent meal.
Jimmy had a steak in the broiler as soon as I entered the door of his snack bar. Luckily, I liked it rare and it was on deck before it was fully warmed through. While I was shoveling it down Jimmy said, "That dame in your office has been on the phone all day. Maybe you better call her back."
"What'd she want?"
"Wondered where you were. Guess she thinks you were out with a broad somewhere."
"Nuts! She's always thinking something." I finished my dessert and threw a bill down. "If she calls up again, tell her I'm on my way up to the office, will you?"
"Sure, Mr. Hammer, glad to."
I patted my meal in place, lit up a smoke and hopped into my car. The trip downtown didn't take long, but I was a half-hour finding a parking place. When I finally barged into the office, Velda looked up with those big brown eyes starting to give me hell before she even opened her mouth. When I got a girl to hold down the office I figured I might as well get a good-looking one as a bean head, and I sure skimmed the cream off the top. Only, I didn't figure she'd turn out to be so smart. Good-looking ones seldom are. She's big and she's beautiful, and she's got a brain that can figure angles while mine only figures the curves.
"About time you got in." She looked me over carefully for lipstick stains or whatever those tip-offs are that spell trouble for a guy. I could tell by the way she let a slow grin play around with her mouth that she decided that my time was on the job and not on the town.
When I shucked out of my coat I tossed most of the package of fifties on her desk. "Meal money, kiddo. Take expenses out of that and bank the rest. Any callers?"
She tucked the cabbage in a file and locked it. "A couple. One wanted a divorce set-up and the other wanted himself a bodyguard. Seems like his girlfriend's husband is promising to chill him on sight. I sent both of them over to Ellison's where they'd get proper treatment."
"I wish you'd quit making up my mind for me. That bodyguard job might have been all right."
"Uh-uh. I saw a picture of the girl friend. She's the bosomy kind you go for."