"Maybe," said Toddy. "Maybe not."
"I understand. It is best to keep your plans to yourself. Now, I must be going."
She slid toward the edge of the booth, hesitated as though on the point of saying something, then stood up. Toddy got up awkwardly, also. On an impulse, as her lips framed a mechanical good-bye, he held out his hand.
"I'm sorry about last night," he said. "I don't know where you fit into this deal, but I think you're playing it as square as you can."
"Thank you." She did not touch his hand. "And I think you also are as-as square-as you can be. Now I would like to tell you something. Something for your own good."
"I'm waiting."
"Wash your face. It is dirty."
She was gone, then, her body very erect, her high heels clicking uncompromisingly across the wooden floor. Toddy stared after her until he saw the bartender watching him. Then he shook his head vaguely, ran a hand over his jaw, and headed for the men's restroom.
It was at the rear end of the room, a partitioned-off enclosure inadequately ventilated by a small high window opening on the alley; a typical Tijuana bar "gents' room." There was a long yellowish urinal, and two cabinet toilets, flushed by old-fashioned water chambers placed near the ceiling. Adjacent to the two chipped-enamel sinks was a wooden table, supporting a sparse assortment of toilet articles and an elaborate display of pornographic booklets, postal cards, prophylactics and "rubber goods."
"Yessir, mister"-the young Mexican attendant came briskly to attention-"you in right place, mister. We got just what you-"
"What I want," said Toddy, "is some soap." And he helped himself from the table.
He turned on both water taps, scrubbed his hands, then lathered them again and scoured vigorously at his face. He rinsed off the soap and doused his head. Eyes squinted, he turned away from the sink and accepted the towel that was thrust into his hands.
"Thanks, pal." He dried his face and opened his eyes. "Don't mention it," burbled Shake.
"And keep your hands out o' your pockets," gritted Donald.
19
Toddy did not need the last bit of advice. One swift glance at the hideously scratched mugs of the pair told him they would kill him on the slightest pretext. Kill him and worry about the outcome later. Fury had made them brave.
Shake was holding a blackjack-upswung, ready to strike. Donald had the Mexican attendant backed against the wall, the point of his knife pressing against his throat. The door of the restroom was barred.
"Just don't try nothin'," murmured Shake. "Jus' don't try nothin' at all. You get past us, which you ain't goin' to do, I got two of my pachucos outside."
"Someone'll be coming back here." Toddy's voice sounded strange in his ears. "You can't keep that door barred."
"I c'n keep it barred long enough. Turn around."
"You tailed me down here?"
"What does it look like? Turn around!"
The blackjack came down sickeningly on Toddy's shoulder. He turned.
Shake slapped his pockets expertly, located his wallet, and extricated it with a satisfied grunt. There was a moment's silence, another grunt, and another command to "Turn around."
Toddy turned.
"What you doin' here?" Shake demanded. "What's the deal?"
"Deal?"
Donald ripped out a curse. "Let him have it, Shake. We can't wait here all day."
"No one's tryin' to bust in," Shake pointed out, his eyes fixed on Toddy. "I asked you what the deal was?"
Toddy licked his lips, wordlessly. Helplessly. The blackjack began to descend.
"Wait!" It was the Mexican attendant. "I will tell you, Seсores!" His teeth gleamed at Toddy in a warm, placating smile, a grin of apology. "I am sorry, Seсor, but it is best to tell them. These gentlemen mean business."
Donald nodded venomously. "You ain't just woofin', hombre. Spill it!"
"But you must know, gentlemen. What else would it be but-but-"
"But what?"
"White stuff," said Toddy, taking the Mexican off the limb. "As my friend says, what else could it be?"
Donald sneered. Shake gave Toddy a look of mock sanctimoniousness. "I might of knowed it," he said. "A man that'll murder his own sweet little wife an' play mean tricks on people that trust him won't stop at nothin'. Dope, tsk, tsk. You smugglin' it across the border?"
"Not at all," said Toddy. "I use it to powder my nose." He fell back from the blow of the blackjack, and Shake advanced on him. "Okay," he wheezed. "Be smart. Be good an' smart. It's gonna cost you enough. Where you got the stuff hid?"
"I"-Toddy's eyes flicked around the room, settled momentarily on one of the elevated water chambers, and moved back to Shake- "I've got it cached out in the country a few miles."
"The hell you have-" Donald began. But Shake interrupted him.
"You give yourself away, Toddy. You're losin' your grip. Get up there an' get it."
"Up where?"
"You better move!"
"Okay," sighed Toddy. "You win."
With Shake at his heels, he stepped into the first of the toilet enclosures and gripped the top of its two partitions. He gave a jump, swung himself upward, and got a knee over one of the partitions. Grasping the pipe which ran from the flush chamber to the toilet, he pulled himself up until he stood straddling the enclosure.
Donald issued a curt command, and the Mexican hastened to lie down in the adjacent booth. Then the little shiv artist crowded in next to Shake, holding his knife by the blade.
"Don't try nothing'," he warned. "I can't reach you but the knife can."
"Yeah," said Toddy. "I know."
He gripped the ends of the heavy porcelain lid of the water chamber. Grunting, he moved it free and edged backward.
"Have to help me with this," he panted. "It's-"
"Now, wait a-" wheezed Shake. And Donald's knife flashed with the swift action of his hand. But he was too late. They couldn't stop what Toddy had started. They couldn't get out of the way.
"-heavy!" said Toddy. And he hurled the heavy lid downward with all his might.
It caught Shake full in his fat upturned face, one end swinging sickeningly against the bridge of Donald's nose. They sprawled backwards out of the enclosure, and Toddy scrambled down hastily from his perch.
He need not have hurried. The Mexican attendant, apparently, had exactly anticipated his actions. Now he was on his feet, administering one of the most thorough, expert yet dispassionate kickings that Toddy had ever seen. It was a demonstration that would have been envied even by Shake's pachucos.
Not a kick was wasted. Each of the two men received two kicks in the guts, by way of obtaining temporary silence. Each received a kick in the temple, by way of making the silence more or less permanent. Each received three kicks in the face as a lasting memento of the kicking.