Hard Case Crime: Fade to Blonde (8 page)

“Boxed a little.”

“Yeah? Pro?”

“For a while. Army and then pro.”

“Kid Rose, huh?”

I laughed. “I was thirty when I had my first professional bout. I fought as plain old Stu Rose.”

“How’d you do?”

“Nine and two. Six of the nine were knockouts or TKOs, most of them in the first three rounds. That’s not bragging. That’s to say I couldn’t box. I could hit, but that’s all. If you made me box, you could take me on points. I quit before everybody knew it.”

“You must’ve been able to take a punch, then, too.”

“I don’t like it, but I don’t mind it.”

“Didn’t, or don’t?”

“What are we talking about?” I said.

The waitress came back and dropped Halliday’s business card on the table. She turned on her heel and walked off without a word. Halliday looked at me with raised eyebrows, then picked up the card and turned it
over. On the back, there was a phone number in a neat feminine hand and a deft little sketch of a movie screen with a smiling, almond-eyed face on it. I gawped at it with my jaw hanging down. The thing about me is, I really understand women.

Halliday laughed. “Don’t feel too bad. I thought just what you thought: not a chance.” He tucked the card away. “You say you boxed in the Army? This Korea?”

“Flatterer,” I said. “Belgium and Germany, and I was pretty old for that.”

“Siegfried Line, huh? I guess you saw some action.”

“It got a little noisy.”

“How was that?”

“Well, I don’t like it when people shoot at me. But they gave me a gun to shoot back with, so I guess it was okay.”

“Combat didn’t bother you any?”

“Sure. But it was better than sitting around. When you’re mixing it up, you’re too busy to get scared. When you’re lying around waiting, you’ve got nothing to do but picture different ways you could get it.”

“What was the worst thing you ever saw?”

“Out there? I dunno. I never tried stacking ‘em up against each other.”

“Tell you what I mean,” Halliday said, turning his glass around bit by bit as if he was looking for something along the outside of it. “There are some things you see, they get under your skin like a splinter and just stick. You keep seeing them. Give you an example. When I was a kid, I had this sort of gang I ran with. I guess I was the leader, or anyway, the guy who always had an idea what we could do next. And there was one of these jerky little guys who used to try and run with us. You know the type. Funny-looking and never does anything quite right. We used to give him a pretty bad time. Anyway. One day we were all
out somewhere north of town, and I noticed these three trees next to each other that had big branches pretty much at a level. And I said, I’m going to climb up that tree over there, and walk across the branches on
that
tree in the middle, and not climb down until I’m on
that
tree. So I did, and of course, then everybody had to try. We were all crazy for something to do. Well, some of the kids made it fine, and some chickened out partway and had to crouch down and wriggle back, and some decided they’d better stay on the ground. But Gavin, that was the kid’s name, Gavin was hell-bent to show he could do it, and halfway across he dropped like a stone, maybe fifteen feet, and broke his arm, the compound kind. Where there’s a little nub of bone poking out.”

“Well, there you go,” I said.

“No, wait. He broke his arm, and it was the best thing ever happened to him. We carried him back to town, even though we shouldn’t have, and he didn’t make a noise practically the whole way. When he was in the hospital, we all came to see him. It was more attention than he ever had in his life. And when he got out, he was one of us. Everybody just agreed that, without talking about it. And once he was in, you know? He wasn’t so jerky. He was pretty much one of the fellows from then on. He got what he’d wanted. But you know, not a week probably goes by that I don’t see that little nub of bone in my mind, and I’m not squeamish. I just think about Gavin wanting so badly to be one of the guys. And then him lying there with his bones poking out. And it seems as if, whenever things are going along nice and smooth, I’ll always see that sharp little nub again, and it — ” He made a hooking gesture with two fingers. “
Catches
.”

“Huh,” I said.

“Well, that’s the sort of thing I’m talking about,” he said.

“That’s a good story.”

“Your turn.”

“Huh. All right. Well, I guess a lot of things over there happened that stuck with me. But what I think you’re talking about, that one’s just something I saw for thirty seconds out the back of a truck. It was just a guy slapping a woman around.”

“That’s what you remember, huh?”

“I know. We saw a lot of things out there. There were these things called tree-bursts, where the Germans wired a charge to a tree as they were retreating, head-high or knee-high or, you know, balls-high, and I saw one of those take a man’s head off who’d just been humping along next to me singing Bang Bang Lucy. And there were towns we came through that you could tell had been beautiful, and now they were just a few stone walls and a big sea of trash. And we’d done that. Helped, anyway. But the kind of thing you’re talking about?” I took another swallow of my drink. “I remember this guy. I didn’t know his name, but he was in our company. We were rotating to the front after ten days back, and everybody was stopping overnight in a place called Vise, in Belgium, and trucks’d been coming in all day. And I guess this guy had gotten himself a Belgian girl, but he wasn’t pleased with her. He had her by the arm, even though she wasn’t trying to go anywhere, and he was slapping away with his free hand, grinning down at her. He’d stop and wait for her to lift her head, and then give her another one. He was enjoying himself. I guess he was pretty lit up.”

“And that stayed with you.”

“I know, it was just a few slaps. He wasn’t even closing his fist.”

“But it stayed with you.”

“I’m not getting to the point of this. They were
feeding us good. They were treating us all right. He didn’t have any call to act that way. I don’t care how drunk he was. But that isn’t it, either. It’s the way she was standing there taking it. Like everybody had a perfect right to step up and do whatever they liked to her. Like that’s what she was born for. You know what I’m talking about.”

“Sure,” he said. “Gavin.”

“That’s right, Gavin. No one’s got a right to lean on somebody like that, who can’t help themselves, who can’t even cover up, because they think they must deserve it.”

“All right, Rose,” he said mildly. “We were just kids.”

“It’s not just kids. Everybody does. Everybody. I’ll never forget it, any part of it. She’d curled her hair, and now it was all down over her face, and she wasn’t a beauty, and she was wearing man’s shoes too big for her. His blouse was coming untucked over his hip. The guy next to me in the truck was eating an orange, and he’d just given me some, and my fingers were wet with it. And this man was whaling on this woman who’d been born to take it. I’d seen it all my life, but just then’s when I realized, I’d always be seeing it. Because that was the world.”

I took a breath and finally managed to shut up. Halliday had something, all right. You wanted to talk to him.

He waited a minute, then said, “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“What did you do to the guy when you found him?” Halliday said.

I didn’t say anything.

“Okay. Fair enough,” he said. “We just met.”

At last I said, “I didn’t do anything he wouldn’t get better from someday.”

“Galahad, huh?” he said lightly.

“No,” I said slowly. “I’m not a Galahad. I’m a bully,
too. I guess that’s why I hate ‘em so much.”

After a moment, he laughed.

It was pretty nice of him, actually. He knew what I was talking about. But we just sat there laughing, like I’d been joking.

“Listen, Rose,” he said when he’d stopped. “Tell me something. What sort of things scare you?”

“What? Jesus, I don’t know. Lots of things. I’m not stupid.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Your little Lotus Blossom, like I said.”

He laughed. “Wise man. Me too, boy. Ever hear of a guy named Lenny Scarpa?”

“Sure.”

“He make you nervous?”

“He’s just a guy.”

“Who can kill you.”

“Anyone can kill you, if you let them. What are we talking about here?”

“What are you doing with yourself these days?”

“Not enough. I work construction when I can.”

“And?”

“I’ve done a little bodyguarding. What are we talking about?”

“A little bodyguarding, maybe, to start. I don’t know. I’m thinking it through. I might be able to use a guy like you in my business.”

“The movie business,” I said.

“I think you know what kind of movies I make,” he said.

“I guess I do. Much money in that?”

“Enough,” he said. “Worried about your pay?”

“Not yet,” I said. “Sounds like an entertaining business. What other lines of work you in?”

“Why should there be anything else?” he said.

“I dunno. I guess some movie producers hire bodyguards. I was just wondering if the movies was all there was.”

“Doesn’t seem like enough?” he asked softly.

I said, “I just wanted to know what my duties might be. Am I just protecting you from irate older brothers, or was there something else you needed done?”

For some reason, he didn’t like that at all.

He didn’t close his eyes, like Rebecca said he had, but they changed, all right. I saw a little light come on way back in them, like the pilot light in an oven.

“You worry about the little sisters, champ?” he said.

It was still a nice voice, but now it didn’t match the eyes. Maybe it wasn’t so nice.

“I don’t worry much,” I said. “I thought it was a pretty simple question.”

“Maybe you’re a bit of a Galahad after all. Is that it?”

“If we’re going to work together, I ought to know something about the business.”

“We weren’t talking about working together, champ. We were talking about you working for me. Right now I don’t think we’re talking about anything.”

“And a minute ago you were full of charm,” I said sadly.

“I’m still full of charm, champ. Maybe I spread it around too thick. Maybe you’ve already had your share.”

“Maybe I could get tired of hearing you decide what my share is.”

“I don’t think I can use you after all,” Halliday said. “I don’t really have a spot right now for someone with your manners.”

The hell, it was over now.

I said, “When I need lessons in manners, junior, I won’t come to you. And don’t think you can give me one
on the house. You’re better at running than hitting, remember?”

Halliday nodded slowly, then got up. There’s not many people who can get up off a barstool and look graceful, but he did, sliding the stool gently out of the way behind him with one foot as he went, so he wouldn’t have to bump into it or edge around it. It didn’t seem like a performance, especially, or any more of one than everything else he’d done. He had both hands on the bar, so that his rings made one glittering row, and he looked at them for a moment. He nodded to himself.

“I guess that concludes our program for tonight,” he said.

He got out his wallet and dropped some money on the bar.

“See you, Halliday,” I said. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, looking past me. “So long.”

“So long,” I said.

He walked down to the end of the bar. There was a side door there that led out to the parking lot, and he went out and closed it behind him.

I sat there and finished my drink. I was pretty hot with myself. I’d pushed in too fast and then lost my temper. I ought to have myself under better control than I do. Well, five gimlets. But Jesus, whose cheap date was I that I had to drink them? I guessed it was worth something to have seen that little light in his eyes. To know it was there. It made it that much easier to buy Rebecca’s story. He could get mean, or anyway, look like it. And he could control it better than I do. What else? He didn’t like people thinking he was small-time. Who does? There was something else there, too, about when I’d asked what he wanted me for. But it’d gone by too fast. He was hung up
about combat. So are a lot of guys who haven’t seen any. He was pretty bright. Pretty sensitive, for a hood. He thought he was some kind of amateur shrink. So do a lot of people in L.A.. He knew how to get off a barstool without snagging his nylons. I counted the money on the bar. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t a piker. I sighed, shoved my chair back, and headed for the door to the parking lot.

When I got outside, I saw Halliday sitting alone in his car across the lot, the motor running, and two guys in suits standing to my right. I kept walking. Halliday nodded pleasantly and started backing out toward the exit, his elbow on the edge of the open window and his forefinger resting on the top of the side mirror, and the two men in suits stepped in close. One of them wore a watch that was big even for him, with dials and knobs all over it, and the other one had clear brown eyes and the kind of shaped mouth that made you want to trust him. The one with the big watch put a hand on my chest, and I stopped and looked down at it.

“That’s a mistake,” I said. “Undo it.”

“We need to talk a minute, Mr. Rose,” he said.

“You don’t look like much of a conversationalist. Take that hand away.”

“Listen, friend,” he said. “We need to talk about how you talk to people.”

I knocked his hand off.

He leaned in and took hold of my necktie. He got some collar, too. “Listen,” he said.

Maybe it’s because I was such a lousy boxer, but I don’t see the point of going move and countermove with people who ought to know the moves as well as you do. What I’d rather do is upset the board. I gave out a sort of groan and began to sit down, as if I were tired or having an attack, and without thinking the pug tried to pull me
back up again by the tie. All two hundred forty-odd pounds of me, one-handed. I almost felt sorry for him. But by that time it was out of my hands, or anyhow, like I’ve said, that’s what I always tell myself, and I came up again fast, grabbing the back of his neck as I went, and broke his nose with my forehead. The pug fell back clutching his face and screaming way back in his throat, and his buddy moved in, but glancing over at his friend instead of tending to business, and I kicked out sideways and broke the buddy’s knee. That would have settled me for a while, but he looked like he wanted to get up again somehow, and I kicked him in the belly, which made him more introspective. By this time the first guy had gotten out his gun and lit off a couple, clutching his face and firing half-blind. That was just plain bad taste. When you’re close enough, you treat a gun like you’d treat a right hook: if you can’t shrug it off, you get inside it. I got inside and yanked his arm the way it was already going and gave him a couple of elbows in the body as he went past, then brought my elbow down on his collarbone when I had a chance. It dropped him on his belly. I stamped on the back of his head and he let go the gun. I dragged him backward until his gun hand was trailing half off the curb of the sidewalk, and then I stamped on his knuckles and felt them go. I stamped again on his fingertips, hoping to get the thumb, or at least break some of his fingers twice, and then I felt something move by my ear and heard a shot from a .38. I stopped.