The redundancy had its effect on Archie. All 185 points of his I.Q. informed him that it indicated danger. Rigidity turned quickly to flaccidity as his brain cells telegraphed the fear to each part of his body. Terror carried the message that he might be about to die still chaste, still pure, still virginal—and with his pants down around his ankles still tripping him up. The smart young bastard was very unhappy at the prospect. And then the old refrain was heard once more:
“I’m going to kill you!”
CHAPTER THREE
“I’m going to kill you!”
“Wait, Angelo!” Helen Riley spoke very quickly, and her words were darts aimed at Valenti’s one vulnerable spot. “What about Mama? Remember Mama! What will it do to her if you, a policeman, become a murderer?”
The darts hit right on target and stayed Valenti’s trigger-finger.
“Mama,” he said. “That’s right,” he said. “It would kill her,” he said. Slowly, he lowered the gun.
Archie was so relieved that he made the mistake of letting out his breath in a loud whoosh.
The whoosh rekindled Angelo Valenti’s rage. “I’m not going to kill you,” he announced. “But,” he added quickly, “I am going to grind you down to hamburger meat. When I get through with you, punk, those faggy curls of yours are going to top one all-out disaster area!” Valenti turned the gun around and held it by the barrel in the classic pistol-whipping position as he advanced on Archie.
“Don’t!” Helen Riley moaned.
Archie backed cautiously away. His pants, still down around his ankles, tripped him. He fell backwards and landed hard in a sitting position. Valenti’s arm swung from the shoulder in a slashing motion aimed at Archie’s cheekbone.
Archie rolled away from the blow. The handle of the pistol whished past his ear. Still groping for his pants with his left hand, his right shot out in a short vicious karate chop that connected with Valenti’s shinbone so hard that he went down on one knee.
Valenti emitted a half-groan, half-growl of mingled rage and pain. He swung the pistol at Archie again and it glanced off the boy’s hipbone. Archie had managed to pull his pants up now. Clutching them around his waist with one hand, he kicked out with his foot and got Valenti in the gut. The breath went out of the policeman as he clutched at his stomach. Archie gave him no chance to suck it in again. He shot to his knees and chopped at Valenti’s wrist. The pistol spun across the room.
The older man loosed a roundhouse right. Archie blocked it, but the force of the blow left one arm numb. He let go of his pants with his other hand and grabbed Valenti by the nose. It must have seemed to Valenti as if he’d twist it right off his face. The cop howled and began pummeling Archie’s chest and stomach with both fists. At such close quarters the boy was no match for him. Archie crumpled to the floor and released his grip. Instantly, Valenti was on his feet, all set to stomp Archie’s face.
“Stop right there, Angelo!” Helen Riley had picked up the pistol, and now she was pointing it at him. “The fight’s over. Call it a draw.”
Valenti, his face still like thunder, backed off. His nose was a bright purple and visibly throbbing. He touched it with the fingers of one hand, a delicate gesture that seemed out of character for him, and winced. He glowered at Archie.
The youth picked himself up and finally fastened his pants. “I’d better be going now,” he said when he’d gotten his breath back. “You two must have things you want to discuss.”
“The night is young,” Helen Riley pointed out. “And you’re not the one should be going. It’s Angelo who’s the intruder. What are you doing back here, anyway?” she asked Valenti.
“I forgot my cap,” the policeman muttered. “It’s right there.” He pointed to the table where the cap was lying. “That’s why I came back.”
“It’s ’way past my bedtime,” Archie pointed out.
“This is my home,” Helen Riley insisted firmly. “I want you to stay. I want him to go. He has no right here.”
“I do so have a right here,” Valenti insisted with equal firmness. “I’m a police officer. I was preventing a crime."
“What crime? ” Archie asked.
“Rape!” Valenti’s tone was triumphant, but still gloomy.
“Rape?” Archie looked at him with disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding. Why, if ever there was mutual consent-—-”
“From where I was standing, it looked like rape,” Valenti persisted.
“Yeah? Well, who was raping whom? The lady, for your information, came on like gangbusters.”
“That’s not a very gentlemanly thing to say,” Helen Riley pointed out.
“I’m sorry," Archie told her. “But it’s true. If your copish friend here is going to start throwing around rape charges, let’s just keep the facts straight. Technically speaking, you raped me. I’m a minor. And that makes you guilty of statutory rape. So if you’re going to arrest anybody,” he told Valenti, “it had better be her.”
“Gee, I don’t know.” Valenti scratched his head. “I just don’t know.”
“Well, I do,” Helen Riley snarled. “All this talk about arresting anybody is ridiculous. You said you were going, so go,” she told Archie. “And you go, too,” she added to Valenti.
“Don’t worry, I’m going.” He picked up his cap. “Give me back my gun.”
“Uh, why don’t you give me a head start before you do that,” Archie suggested.
“All right,” Helen Riley agreed. “Now get out of here.”
Archie backed out. He had one last look at Valenti sulking and Helen Riley wrapped in a blanket she’d grabbed up, and then he bolted for the stairs. He didn’t stop running until he’d reached the fringe of the park again.
He sat down on a bench under a streetlight. He studied the list of names he’d jotted down on the back of one of Professor Beaumarchais’ blank checks. He took out a pencil and crossed out the name Helen Riley. He checked over the addresses and decided to try Helen Dawes next. He hailed a cab and gave the driver a Greenwich Village address.
Quaint was the only word to describe the building in front of which the taxi dropped Archie. Its style was a cross between a Gothic castle and a Chinese palace. Green figurines, some abstract, some not, dripped from the eaves of a gingerbread-brown roof topping a stucco facade which had been painted a shocking pink. It was only three stories high, and the overall effect was of the edifice crossing its legs, cringing and blushing with embarrassment at the moon spotlighting the shoddiness of its finery.
Archie entered a narrow foyer. The white paint peeling from the walls didn’t make it seem any wider. He spotted six mailboxes huddling in the shadows behind the opened door. The grime-smeared card underneath one of them informed him that Dawes-Leander resided in Apartment 3B.
The stairs played an off-key accordion accompaniment as Archie climbed to the third floor. The squeaks still echoed behind him as he knocked on the door of 3B. The door opened immediately, and Archie found himself caught up in a hurricane of myopically squinting blue eyes, swirling organdy, and a torrential outpouring of maple-syruped words.
“Well, Ah declare, ah thawt you-all would jus’ nevah arrive an’ heah you are at long last. Well, do come in. Come in! Don't you-all have a bag or somethin’? Ah mean to carry yoah tools?" Blonde curls grazed Archie’s nose as the blue eyes zoomed in for a closer squint. “Yoah young, aren't you? Ah mean, Ah thawt an older man. You know. It’s such a terrible embarrassment. Ah’d surely feel easier if you-all were jus’ a mite older. But never mind. Youth will be served, Ah always say.” She tugged at Archie’s arm. “The johnny‘s right this way,” she told him.
“But I don’t-—” Archie started to protest.
“Well, of cawse you don't. My land, Ah wasn’t implyin’ you should use it, or anythin’ like that. Oh, why is it so difficult to communicate with folks up nawth? Ah sweah, since comin’ to New Yawk, Ah feel like Ah jus’ cain’t get across to anybody. It’s like bein’ in a foreign land. Anyway, all I meant was that you’ll have to come in theah to fix it. But of cawse you know that. Wheah else would it be, if not in the johnny? Ah mean, that’s what a johnny is, isn’t it? If it wasn’t theah, it would just be a tub room, or a sink room, or somethin’ like that. Oh, wait! Do you suppose that’s why they call it a bathroom? Ah never did think on that. Still, that’s not very accurate, is it? I mean, it’s a johnny room too. And a medicine-chest room and—- Oh, well, you see what Ah mean.”