Get a Load of This (23 page)

     Joe Renshaw, his manager, was sitting at the bar drinking neat Scotch. He looked at Slug in astonishment.
     “For Gawd's sake,” he said, “where did you get the outfit from?”
     Slug suddenly realized that he had still to meet the hire charge for his clothes. He sat down on the stool close to Joe's and swore obscenely.
     The barman and Joe regarded him with interest. They saw that he was in a very ugly mood and they wisely refrained from interrupting him.
     Slug abruptly stopped swearing and snarled for whisky. After he had had a few quick drinks Joe ventured to ask him what was wrong, and glad to have someone to unburden to, Slug told him all about it.
     Joe said, when he had finished, “You've had a bad break, pal,” and patted him on his knees. “Why the hell didn't you tell me what you were going to do? I could have warned you. Rose Hanson is well known for that trick.”
     Slug looked at him suspiciously. “What the hell do you mean?” he demanded.
     “The 'Ambassadors' trick,” Joe said. “That dame is bad, Slug, really bad. She married a guy two years ago and he found out what type of dame she was. Well, I guess she sort of sickened him, and he found some other dame he liked a lot better. He tried to get this Rose to divorce him, but she wouldn't do it. She liked to see this guy suffer, so she just wouldn't give it to him. He had her watched, hoping that she would slip up, but they never caught her with anything. She heard about it, so she took a boy-friend around to the 'Ambassadors' every now and then to torture her husband. Just so that he'd spend more dough having her watched; but she made sure that the boy-friend didn't get anything out of it. That's why she took you there.”
     Slug half closed his eyes. “Why the hell should she want to go to the 'Ambassadors'?” he asked.
     “Why, her husband works there. He's head waiter or something.”
     Slug stiffened. “You mean the tall guy with the good manners?” he asked. “The guy that slipped me twenty-five bucks?”
     “Did he give you twenty-five bucks? That's like Johnny. He knew the game she was playin' with you an' felt sorry for you, I expect.”
     “This dame won't divorce him?”
     “Yeah, that's right.”
     Slug took another long pull from his glass. “I see,” he said. “I guess that guy was pretty good to me; I'd like to do him a good turn.”
     Joe nodded. “Yeah, he deserves the breaks for once,” he agreed, yawning. “I'm goin' home. Gee! It's late. Comin'?”
     Slug shook his head. “I guess not,” he said. “I wantta kill this bottle.”
     Joe patted his arm. “Don't worry about the dough I advanced you. You can pay that back easy from time to time. I ain't goin' to rush you.”
     Slug nodded absently. He was thinking of other things.
     “Well, I'll be blowin'. 'Night, pal,” and Joe went off with a slight roll in his walk.
     Slug sat for some time drinking steadily, thinking about Rose and her husband. The fumes of the whisky mounted to his brain. The longer he sat there brooding the more convinced he became that he had to do something. At last he crawled off the stool and nodded to the barman.
     “That's three bucks, pal,” the barman said hastily.
     Slug squinted at him. Everybody seemed to want money out of him, he thought. “Put it on the slate,” he said, “I ain't got it now.”
     The barman hesitated, then, knowing that he often saw Slug, nodded. He thought it would be wiser to tackle him when he was sober, as, right now, Slug looked very mean.
     Slug went out into the street and began to walk back towards the barber's shop. “I gotta see that dame, and fix this waiter guy up,” he told himself. “He was pretty good to me, an' I don't like the way she's treated him. Yeah, I'll go right up an' see her, an' fix it.”
     He arrived at the apartment block and let himself in. He had to go to the very top before he found Rose's name neatly printed on a card on the door. He tried the door very carefully, but found it locked. He went down the corridor to a window, pushed it up and glanced outside. A fire-escape ran past Rose's window, as he expected, and, pushing up the window, he got on to the escape and moved along the iron balcony until he came to the next window, which was partly open. Very softly he raised it and stepped into the room.
     It was very dark, and he couldn't see anything. He struck a match, found the light-switch and turned it on.
     Rose sat up in bed with a little scream. She stared at him as if she couldn't believe her eyes, then she swung back the bedclothes and slid out of bed. She whipped up a wrap and flung it round her.
     “How dare you come here, you great oaf!” she said. “Get out at once, before I call the police!”
     The little red spark in Slug's brain began to blaze and he reached out his great hand and slapped her very hard across her face. She fell backwards over the bed with a little wail of terror.
     All his lust for her rose in him and he ripped her nightdress from her with brutal violence. She tried to turn on her side, drawing her knees to her chin, but he hit her again, this time with an open hand on the side of her head. The blow stunned her and she went limp, breathing in short, gasping jerks.
     He knelt over her and his hands outraged her. She struggled feebly, too breathless to scream, but his savage strength overwhelmed her. His hands on the softness of her body found no satisfaction, and when she began to scream faintly, his fingers shifted up to her throat.
     He did not know exactly when she died, because he continued to maul and shake her body long after life had gone out of it, and when the red spark in his brain died to a dark, twisted ember, he drew away from her, swearing softly.
     He knew then that he had meant to kill her. As he stood looking down at her carefully painted face, so horribly contorted in her death struggle, he felt a satisfaction far in excess of any sexual ecstasy he had ever experienced, and he knew also that he need not worry any more about paying the head waiter his twenty-five bucks. He had given him service instead.
     He sat on the bed beside her and touched her breasts gently. The drink was dying on him and he felt very tired and a little sick of things. He sat there for a long time trying to keep the fading warmth in her body by putting his hands on her, but when her flesh became cold and hard to his touch he drew away from her.
     He tried to reason things out, but his brain failed him. He just couldn't be bothered to make any plans, and after some time he reached out for the phone and called the police. He didn't quite know how to tell them, but they were very helpful, and in a surprisingly short time they came into the room and took him away.
  

   THE END