There was no one in the Packard that he could see, and he wondered then why someone would let the radio go on like that and have the battery run down with no one around to hear the music. But then he saw the suit jackets of a couple of guys moving around in the shadows of a nearby alley, guys who had ducked in, to take a leak most likely, or to shoot a little dice. Karras kept to his own business and entered the store.
The old bird behind the counter had to get up out of his chair, made a tortured face to let Karras know he didn’t much like it. Karras looked around the candy section, his eyes lighting on a box of chocolate-covered cherries in a vanilla cream. Eleni loved those. Now that his drunk was wearing off, he could stand to have a couple himself.
“How much for the chocolate?” said Karras.
“We got more than one kind.”
“The Miss America cherries.”
“Forty-nine cents.”
“Gimme a box of those. Also, a pack of Lucky Strikes. And a pack of Raleighs.”
“The cigarettes are thirteen cents a pack. Two for a quarter.”
“I said I wanted ’em both. I didn’t ask you for the price.” Pops was beginning to cut on Karras’s nerves.
The old man shrugged and arranged everything together in a bag. Karras dropped a dollar bill on the counter and took the cigarettes from the bag, sliding them in the pockets of his topcoat. He looked out the storefront window while the old man rang up the sale. He saw the metallic flash of Recevo’s car as it passed beneath the light in the street. Recevo was driving away, heading north on 14th. What the hell was he doing, anyway? Probably got antsy, sitting there. Probably just driving around the block, trying to stay awake.
“Take care, old timer,” said Karras. He took his change and the bag of chocolates and exited the market.
Karras stood on the sidewalk, looked up the street. Recevo had stopped the Mercury a block or so north, kept it running there against the curb. The brake lights were engaged, and he could see exhaust coughing from the tailpipe. Karras hooked two fingers in his mouth, whistled for Recevo to swing the coupe around, bring it back.
The coupe didn’t move. Karras stared at the coupe as the lights inside the market switched off behind his back. Reed stepped out of the alley, flanked by two men.
“What the hell,” said Karras, under his breath.
Karras recognized the two other men as part of the group sitting around the living room of the house, earlier in the night. One was of medium height, medium build, wearing a badly tailored suit. The other was a little guy, short and slight, with sharp, severe features. He wore a topcoat cut short above the knees and a tall hat meant to give him size. On him the hat looked comical — a Tom Mix number, with nothing underneath. Karras glanced over their shoulders at the Mercury; Joe had moved it out to the street. He was giving the coupe gas, pulling it away.
Reed stepped up in front of Karras. The others fanned out.
“Reed,” said Karras. “I thought I recognized your heap.”
“It’s mine all right. You always were the bright one.”
“You guys are out of your neighborhood, aren’t you?”
“We caught last call over at the Neptune Room. I just pulled over to drain my lily.”
Karras moved his chin in the direction of the little guy in the tall hat. “What was he doin’? Shakin’ it off for you?”
“Funny boy.”
“Yeah, I’m funny.” Karras sighed, looked in Reed’s porcine eyes. “You’re in my way. I gotta be getting on.”
“Sure,” said Reed, and he took a step to the side to let Karras pass.
Karras moved forward, dropped the bag of chocolates just as he saw Reed pivot and then the right coming straight in. He didn’t have time to ball up against the sucker punch, didn’t have time to raise his arms. Reed buried his fist in Karras’s stomach, kept it there.
Karras went to one knee, fought for air. He coughed once, managed to bring some in.
“Joe,” said Karras.
Reed laughed.
Karras heard footsteps behind him, felt two men lift him from beneath his armpits. They were alongside him then, dragging him forward toward the alley.
“Joey,” said Karras. He watched the sidewalk rushing away from him.
Reed straightened his tie. “I gotta get somethin’ out of the car.”
The men took Karras into the alley, stood him up against the bricks. The light from the streetlamp blew down, illuminated half of him, left half of him in darkness. The two men stood at the head of the alley, blocking his way. Dorsey’s orchestra was playing from the Packard, something with a more hopped-up tempo, the horns flying around and then kicking in. Karras relaxed, tried to catch a rhythm in his breath. He heard the car door slam shut.
Reed, the small man and the medium man were coming forward. The two others moved aside and disappeared. Reed held some kind of fat stick in his hand. No, it was a bat.
“Time to play,” said Reed. He stood in outline against the light, his shadow falling in on the stones of the alley.
“I’m through,” said Karras.
“You’re through when we say you’re through.”
“This about Georgakos?”
“Georgakos? Yeah, I guess Georgakos tore it. But you been beggin’ for this, Karras, for a long time.”
“Why the bat, Reed? If you been wantin’ a piece of me for so long, why don’t we do it right?”
Reed’s sharp teeth gleamed in the light. “On account of it’s a special bat. I took a lathe to it, and I filled the dugout part with somethin’ heavy. Then a nice cork on top to keep the heaviness inside. I want to try it out, see how special it can be.”
“Come on, Reed,” said Medium. “Let’s get this done before someone comes along.”
“I’m just givin’ it a minute. I’m waitin’ to see if his buddy comes back.”
“You know he ain’t coming back,” said the half-pint.
“No,” said Reed, with a chuckle. “I don’t believe he is.”
Karras was sick of listening to Reed, sick of looking at his face. He had been through worse, and he had been through it with tougher men. He smiled at Reed, put some poison in the smile.
“Fuck you, Reed. Fuck you and all of you.”
“I guess I’m up,” said Reed. He raised the bat.
Karras brought his elbows in tight at his stomach, tucked his chin, buried his face between his fists. For a moment, he caught a flash in his eyes as the bat passed across the light. He heard a great popping sound, felt his left leg go out from under him, felt a slice of pain shear into his spine and explode at the back of his head as he floated down. He landed on his back on the stones, felt nothing of the contact. He heard the bleat of his own voice echo in the alley.
“Jesus,” said Medium. “Look what you done to his knee.”
Karras rolled over on his side. The action sent another jolt up his spine. His stomach convulsed, bugged his eyes. An acid, steaming mix of booze and beer slopped from his mouth.
“Watch your shoes, fellas,” said Reed. “Don’t want to get any of that on you.”
Karras watched his fingers claw at the stones of the alley. He saw the nail of his forefinger peel clean back, the blood pinkening the raw skin underneath. There was no pain there; it was as if he were watching the hand of someone else.
“Come on,” said Medium. “He’s had enough.”
“Hey, Coach,” said Reed. “I get three swings like everybody else, don’t I?”
Karras looked up, watched Reed raise the bat over his head, gripping it like a club.
“Uh,” said Karras.
He saw the little man turn his head away, the tall hat turning with it, the bat slashing through the image as Reed brought it down. He would remember that hat. And Dorsey’s trombone. The sound of the horn was the last thing he heard for some time after that. Dorsey’s horn, and a splintering sound. Jumping, happy music, and a sickening crack in the night.