Black Friday (2 page)

"Let's hold it," Charley said. He was breathing heavily, taxed from supporting half of Paul's weight with one arm.

They listened for more whistles. They didn't hear anything.

"At least get me back to the house," Paul said.

"That's what we're trying to do," Charley said. "Do you think you can walk?"

Paul groaned.

"Give it a try," Charley said. "Let go of his legs, mister. Let's see if we can get him to stand."

Paul was groaning and telling them how bad it was as they got his feet on the ground and then lifted him upright. His knees gave way and they tried it again. On the fifth try they had him standing.

Charley said, "You're all right, Paul."

Paul looked at Hart and said, "I'll be talking with you later. You can think about that."

"Should I let it get me?" Hart asked.

Paul didn't answer. Charley gestured with the revolver and said, "You help him. I'll walk in back."

They walked slowly. Paul began to groan again. They went down this second alley, crossed a narrow street and they were in another alley. Then still another and they came out on Morton. They started to walk up Morton and Charley changed his mind and said they better use the alley and the back entrance. They went back into the alley going parallel with Morton Street. As they walked up the alley, Hart was counting the houses. When they came to the seventh house, Charley said that was it. He told Hart to walk up the steps and knock five times on the back door.

Hart went up the steps and saw dim lights coming from the front of the house. He knocked five times. As he waited for a response he wondered if it would be a good idea to leap off the back porch and gamble on the darkness of the alley. He turned and looked at Charley and saw the high polish of the revolver.

The door opened. A fat woman with fluffy platinum blonde hair looked at Hart and was still looking at him when Charley said, "Come on down here, Frieda. I want you to give Paul a hand."

"What's the matter with Paul?" the fat woman wanted to know.

Hart was wondering what the chances were of grabbing the fat woman and getting her in front of him as a shield, then ducking in, closing the door, racing through the house and going out through the front door. He decided it wasn't a good idea. It was too complicated. He decided to hang around for a while. Maybe an easier opening would show itself.

Charley was up the steps now, telling him to enter the house. He heard the footsteps of Frieda and Paul, very careful and slow against the creaking wood. They were in the kitchen. Charley turned on the light. It was a small neat kitchen with an old-fashioned stove and an old-fashioned ice box. Footsteps came from the front of the house and Hart heard voices. He studied two men as they came into the kitchen. They were strongly built tall men and they wore dark worsted suits, well cut and smartly styled. One of them was good-looking.

They looked at Hart.

The good-looking one said, "What do you call this?"

"I call it aggravation," Charley said.

"
You
call it aggravation," Hart said.

"Look, Charley," the good-looking one said, "we don't need this."

"We won't need it later," Charley said. "Right now we need it. We need it here."

"I could use a smoke," Hart said.

Frieda was helping Paul into another room. The blackhaired man who was not good-looking took a pack of cigarettes out of a coat pocket, flipped the pack so that two cigarettes jumped out, extended the pack to Hart. The good-looking one struck a match.

Hart took smoke in and let it out. "Much obliged."

Then they ignored Hart. They faced Charley and the good-looking one said, "Well, we're already packed."

"You can unpack," Charley said. "We got Renner."

"Where?" the gobd-looking one asked.

"In the alley," Charley said. "I knew I hit him, but I didn't see him drop. When we got up there we couldn't see him. We went out on Morton Street and we didn't see him there either. Paul didn't like Morton Street and I was afraid too, so we went back into the alley and talked it over. Finally I said he had to be on Morton Street so we went out of the alley again and we tried the other side of Morton Street. Then we came back to this side and we saw this guy with him. This guy saw us and started to run. We ran after him and when we got up to Renner we stopped just long enough to see if he was finished."

"Was he finished?" the good-looking one said.

"Yes," Charley said. "He was all done, so we kept running after this guy and finally we got him in a back yard. Paul had to go and get tough so this guy gave Paul a knee."

The good-looking one turned and looked at Hart. "Where did you get connected with Renner?"

"I don't think he was connected with Renner," Charley said.

"Maybe he was," the good-looking one said.

"Listen to Charley," Hart said. "He's got the brains."

The good-looking one made a fist and showed it to Hart. "How long since you've been to a dentist?"

"I'm sure he wasn't connected with Renner," Charley said. "He was just curious. But I'll make sure anyway. As long as we got him here we don't need to worry about it."

"Did you get the case from Renner?"

"I got the case," Charley said. "I didn't get it from Renner. I got it from the guy."

"What do you mean you got it from the guy?"

"This guy took Renner's wallet."

The good-looking one turned to the one who wasn't good-looking and said, "Give me one of your cigarettes."

Hart took off his overcoat and arranged it neatly over a chair.

The good-looking one pointed a lighted cigarette at Charley and said, "You've got to face things, Charley. This guy was connected with Renner. The wallet proves it." He turned and placed a clean hand with manicured fingers on the shoulder of the other man. He said, "Maybe Rizzio here has an outside connection. How do we know?"

"That's a nice thing to say," said Rizzio.

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, Rizzio," said the one who was good-looking. "But here's a game where we've got to close every opening. Maybe I have an outside connection. Maybe Frieda. Maybe Myrna. Maybe even Charley. You see what I'm getting at? Who would have thought Renner would pull something like that? If we're going to get dividends out of this we can't let any openings stay open."

"There's a lot to that," Charley admitted. "I'll take one of your cigarettes, Rizzio."

Hart walked around them, took one of the chairs, sighed as he relaxed in it. He leaned an elbow on the table and sat there watching them.

Charley showed him the revolver to remind him it was still around. Then Charley turned to Rizzio and said, "Where's the car?"

"Where I parked it," Rizzio said.

"Go upstairs," Charley said.

"What's upstairs?" Rizzio said.

"Take a look at Paul," Charley said. "Then come down and tell me what condition he's in."

Rizzio walked out of the kitchen.

Charley and the good-looking one stood there smoking and looking at each other. After some moments they both turned and looked at Hart. Then they looked at each other again.

"What do we do with this guy?" the good-looking one said.

"We talk to him," Charley said.

"I'll talk to him," the good-looking one said.

"Don't get tough with him, Mattone," Charley said.

"Why not?"

"If you get tough with him he'll hit back."

The good-looking one started to rub a fist, grinning at Hart and saying, "I like that. I like when they hit back."

"If he hits back you'll lose your temper and kill him," Charley said. "I want him alive for a while. Maybe he's got some talent we can use."

"Are you trying to sell me something?" Hart said.

"Let me hit him once," Mattone said. "Just to give him the idea."

Charley worked the cigarette for a lot of smoke, got it out slowly at first, then steamed it out in a sudden volley. "Look, Mattone, I said I didn't want you to hit him."

Charley started to walk out of the kitchen. Mattone touched his arm and said, "What about cops?"

"There were cops."

"They see you?"

"We heard whistles."

"They'll be dragging the neighborhood," Mattone said. "As long as we're packed already--"

"No," Charley said. "We stay where we are."

"Wait a minute, Charley--"

"I said we're going to stay right where we are," Charley said. He walked out of the kitchen.

Mattone reached into his jacket pocket and took out a revolver. He grinned at Hart and then he walked toward the vacant chair. The grin widened as he saw the bright green coat hanging over the back of the chair. Then he looked at Hart and he looked at the chocolate-brown flannel suit and he came over and rubbed a finger on the fine quality flannel. He walked back to the other chair and put a hand against the bright green Lapama fleece. He looked at Hart again and he said, "It doesn't figure."

"Every man has his ups and downs," Hart said.

Mattone raised the front of the coat and had a look inside the label. He looked at Hart and he said, "You mean to tell me you went into that place and bought a coat?"

"I went into that place and stole a coat," Hart said.

"Oh." Mattone took the cigarette out of his mouth, held it delicately as he sat down at the table across from Hart. "You stole the coat. What else did you steal?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing from that place. How about other places?"

"Nothing."

"You see?" Mattone said. "We're starting all wrong. You stole the wallet, didn't you?"

"No," Hart said. "I didn't steal the wallet. He told me to take it."

Mattone leaned forward. "Take a good look at me."

Hart took the look. He said, "No, you don't look like a moron. And I'm not talking to you as if you were a moron. That's what happened. He told me to take the wallet."

"Why would he want you to have the wallet?"

"Ask him."

Mattone turned and crossed one leg over the other and put cigarette ashes on the floor. He grinned at the ashes. He said, "You're going to be a pleasure. A real pleasure. I've been away from the ring a long time. You know how it is. I get so I want to put my fists on a face. How much do you weigh?"

"One forty."

Mattone let out a brief laugh. He looked at the revolver in his hand. He said, "I guess I won't need this."

He put the revolver in his jacket pocket.

"Do you use rouge?" Hart said.

"What's the matter, are you in a hurry for it?"

"The eyebrows," Hart said. "Do you pluck them every day?"

"Three times a.week," Mattone said. "You're going to get it now. You can't take it back."

"Oh, come on," Hart said. "You're not that angry. You're not angry at all. You just want some fun. But remember what Charley said."

"Now that's funny," Mattone said as he stood up. "I can't remember. That's my big weakness. My memory."

"You're a scream," Hart said.

Mattone's eyes were bright with joy. "This is wonderful. He's begging for it."

"Can't live without it."

"All right, stand up and get it."

Hart stood up and sat down quickly to get away from a straight right aimed at the mouth. Mattone leaned over to try the right again and Hart brought up a shoe and kicked Mattone a few inches below the kneecap. Mattone hopped back and lowered a hand toward the knee and Hart stood up and leaned on the right side and then brought up a right hand uppercut and missed. Mattone went hopping back and started to dance. Hart started to go forward, then stepped back quickly, reached down and grabbed a chair leg. As Mattone came in to break up the chair project, Hart already had the chair in both hands and he threw it at Mattone's face. Mattone stopped the chair with his arms, stumbled over it as he rushed at Hart, and Hart's face was all twiste4.wjth effort, body and arms working fast, fists hitting Mattone in the nose, in the lips, on the chin. Mattone was bleeding and he wasn't liking it. He hit Hart in the chest, hit him again in the ribs, had him against the wall, showed him a right hand and hit him with the right hand three times on the jaw. Hart started to go down and his head was hanging low and he saw Mattone dropping the right hand and getting it ready for the uppercut. Hart let his head go down still further until it was down against Mattone's stomach. Then Hart brought his head up as fast as he could and the top of his skull caught Mattone under the chin.