He put his hands in his pockets and went outside. In front of Nathan’s was a newsstand with girly magazines hanging from clothespins. The fat man saw them and closed his eyes tightly, because the sight of naked women reminded him anew of the pain he’d felt in the massage parlor.
He walked east on dark, deserted Forty-third Street to collect his thoughts. He felt jumpy and disconnected and didn’t feel like going down into the subway station yet. The blonde in the massage parlor flashed in his mind again, and he ground his teeth together. He squeezed the knife in his pocket and wanted to cut her fucking guts out.
He was getting a headache, and his heart was beating faster than usual. That blonde is probably doing the same thing to some other poor bastard right now, he thought. That’s probably the way she gets her jollies. They’re all no fucking good. And now they’re even trying to steal men’s jobs. I can’t take it anymore.
He stopped and leaned his shoulder against the wall of a building. Hey Buddy, next time you come up here we’ll put it in a splint, okay? His face broke out in a cold sweat as he remembered all those whores laughing at him. Even the redheaded guy behind the desk was laughing.
His hands were shaking. People had been shitting on him all his life, and now he was cracking under the weight of it. Nothing he’d ever tried to do had worked out. He had a lousy job, and nobody had ever loved him. He’d lived his entire life at the bottom of the barrel.
Sweat pouring from his face, he looked up into the street lamp, and his thoughts vanished for a moment in the white-hot glare that spiked through his brain. Then the blonde came back. It’ll be better if you give me ten dollars.
The fucking, lying whore. That miserable stinking cunt. I ought to break her fucking neck. I ought to kick her fucking head in. I ought to cut her fucking throat.
He saw himself stabbing his knife into her throat, and felt a rise of joy. He imagined himself punching her in the mouth, and the joy glowed warmer. Yes, that’s what I ought to do to her. That’s what she deserves.
He put his hands in his pockets and continued walking. He couldn’t cut her throat because of the police. They’d catch him and throw him in jail, probably for the rest of his life. He saw himself choking the blonde, and felt the pleasure again. Wouldn’t it be nice to have that pleasure for real? It sure would. It’d almost be worth going to jail for.
It’d almost be worth going to jail for. The fat man stopped cold on the street at the thought of that. It’d almost be worth going to jail for. He became a little scared, because all of a sudden he realized he wouldn’t have very much to lose if he killed the blonde whore. They’d just put him in jail, and so what? What was so great about his life as it was? At least he wouldn’t have to worry about earning a living if he was in jail, and they hadn’t brought back the electric chair yet in New York. The pleasure of paying that blonde back might be worth it.
And then a new thought entered his mind. They probably won’t even catch me. It was true—he’d read in the paper that many murders go unsolved. If he was careful, he probably could get away with it. And if they caught him, he didn’t care about going to jail. Life wasn’t so wonderful for him on the outside anyway. He had nothing to lose and something wonderful to gain: revenge.
He stopped on the sidewalk again, and it was as though cool rain were falling on his head. A tiny bubble burst and he felt marvelously free. I can do whatever I want, he thought. Nothing can ever harm me. He saw the blonde lying dead at his feet. Yes.
Chapter Three
Cynthia Doyle came down the stairs of the Crown Club shortly after three o’clock in the morning, when the place closed. A few of the girls’ boyfriends were waiting outside, but Lorenzo wasn’t there and she became annoyed, because she’d told him again and again that she wanted him to walk her home. But Lorenzo liked to smoke grass and nod out, and often she had to walk home alone. It was embarrassing that the other girls knew her man didn’t think enough of her to walk her home, and she felt mad at Lorenzo. He wasn’t good for anything, but if she didn’t have him she’d be all alone.
She turned right and walked west on Forty-fifth Street, her pea coat open. Her bell-bottomed jeans were frayed from touching the ground. A faint breeze blew through her blonde hair and she felt glad to be out of the massage parlor. So many fucking guys.
At the corner she bought a pack of Virginia Slims from one of those little Lebanese cigarette stands, and lit one with her disposable lighter. Then she proceeded down the block between Eighth and Ninth Avenues, walking flat-footed and carefree; you might even have mistaken her for a high school girl who’d stayed out too late.
She was becoming angrier at Lorenzo, because you never knew who was walking these West Side streets at night. She figured Carmella and Demaris probably were chattering about how Cindy had to walk home alone again. She really ought to get rid of Lorenzo and find somebody else, but who? Guys talked a lot of shit but all they wanted to do was fuck you and have you support them. She’d known Lorenzo for three years and felt almost as though they were married. He was the only person she’d ever really been able to talk to in her life. If only he could get up off his ass once in a while and do something.
She looked behind her and saw a guy about half a block back. She really should have taken a cab home, but last week a cabdriver hassled her and she didn’t feel like going through that again. Anyway, she only lived a few blocks from the massage parlor.
She crossed Ninth Avenue and thought about going to the deli and getting a roast beef sandwich or something, but she didn’t feel hungry and besides Carmella had remarked today that Cindy had put on a few pounds. That bitch Carmella should talk. She looked like a fucking tank rolling around. There was some yogurt in the refrigerator and that should do.
Continuing down Forty-fifth Street between Ninth and Tenth, she told herself that she’d have to talk with Lorenzo when she got home, provided she could wake him up. Maybe if she threatened to leave him that’d do it. He might try to get tough and hit her, but he wasn’t that strong and she wasn’t that weak. She’d bop him with a frying pan if he tried anything funny. The advantage of having a boyfriend like Lorenzo was that she could handle him if it ever came down to violence. Some of the guys the other girls went out with were stone killers. Like Luke the Duke.
Then she heard the footsteps behind her. She’d been aware of them for the past twenty feet, but now they were getting close and coming fast. A little frightened, but certain it wasn’t anything to worry about, she turned around and saw a big fat guy with a face that looked familiar. He was looking at the ground and walking with his hands in his pockets as though she didn’t exist. Facing front again, she moved to the side to let him pass.
The guy came up beside her and grabbed her arm. Startled, she turned toward him and saw the knife in his hand. She couldn’t believe it was a knife.
“Remember me?” he growled.
She recognized him, and the reality of the situation hit her like a Mack truck. Her face drained of color and her jaw dropped. “What do you want?” she asked, trying to be brave.
He looked over her shoulder. “Go into that alley over there.”
She thought maybe she could talk her way out of the mounting horror. “What for?”