Ed Lacy - Sin In Their Blood

     “Not just for a meal ticket—with those shoulders. And why are women always looking for meal tickets? Don't men, too?”

     “Men happen to be the breadwinners in our society.”

     Mady gave me a mock sneer, “Balls.”

     “Why don't you say 'Breasts'?”

     “Don't you start making fun of me. Speaking of jobs, I've been out looking. I start Monday as cashier in a movie house near here. Forty a week—means about twenty-eight take home pay.”

     “Yeah,” I said, which didn't mean anything. I didn't want her to start working so soon—we hardly had any time together. But the routine of a job might be what she needed.

     I let go of her and walked into the kitchen, took a pill with a glass of water. She pointed to my skinned knuckles as I was holding the glass. “Must have been a tough gal you were out with.”

     “Oh that—I stumbled on an old friend.”

     “Matt, if it's none of my business, say so, but what are you up to? I'm just so afraid of you getting hurt, I mean...”

     “Don't worry about me, I...”

     “Don't give me any of that man talk—I do worry!” Mady said.

     I sat on a kitchen chair, pulled her down on my lap. “Okay, you have a right to know, but one thing—I don't want you to repeat this to anybody.”

     “Repeat what?”

     “I'm doing a little free detective work... I'm going to send Willie Saxton the Third to the gas chamber for killing his sister and brother-in-law.”

     Mady jumped off my lap, stared at me bug-eyed. “Saxton?”

     “You said yourself you didn't believe Henry Wilson was a murderer. It kind of narrows down to Saxton, doesn't it? That's why you have to keep this quiet.... Willie doesn't have a thing to lose by killing again.”

     “Saxton?” Mady repeated, and shivered. “He's a louse, but I never thought of him as a killer. And he was here all Sunday night.”

     “How do you know? Baby, when you're sleeping off one, you're out. You know that.”

     “That's so, and I really tied one on that weekend.... That was only a few days ago and it seems like years. Are you sure he did it?”

     “I've been sure all along.”

     “Then why didn't you...?”

     “I didn't give a damn before now... I've taken a great dislike to him, so exit Saxton the Third: justice shall triumph, praise the Lord and pass the gas chamber.”

     Mady shuddered. “You seem almost happy about it.”

     “I feel good. Like I smacked a guy down today who... well, I feel good about that too. The important thing is, I feel like working. As for Saxton, he means nothing more to me than stepping on a fly that's annoying us. Does he mean anything to you?”

     “What kind of a crack is that?”

     I stood up, took her hand. “It's just that you seem upset over my gunning for him.”

     Mady squeezed my hand tightly. “Because he's mean and nasty... and now you say he's a killer. I'd snap my cap if anything happened to you.”

     I kissed her, nibbled at her lips. “Don't worry about it—I can give Saxton lessons in how to be a nasty joker—if I want to. Now forget everything I told you... you think I'd let anything like Saxton spoil what we have?”

     “No, you wouldn't,” she said, giving me a long, hard kiss. Then she pulled out of my arms, smiled, said, “There's work to be done. I'll make up the bed, you dust the living room.”

     “Yes ma'am.”

     She took a dust cloth out of the closet and I went to work. It was after three and about ten minutes later the phone rang. It was Joe and he sounded jittery. He was parked around the corner and I told him I'd be right there. I put the camera away in my room, told Mady I was going out again. She said, “Saxton?”

     “No—Some more free work, for a friend.”

     “You're sure friendly. My rival with the stink-water?” .

     “Wrong again—a man.”

     “One you skinned your knuckles on?”

     “My, my, you think I've only one friend in the world? It's your brother Joe.”

     “What are you two cooking up?”

     “A little money-saving scheme.”

     Mady laughed, fine deep laughter that tickled me. “Watch out for Joe, those civil service characters are always thinking up some racket to make an extra buck. Where'd you get the camera?”

     “Rented it. Joe and I are going to take dirty pictures,” I said, ducked her slap, and walked out of the house.

     Joe had on his blue-gray postman's uniform and he looked as sloppy as in his regular suit. I sat beside him, asked, “How did things go?”

     “Loughlin was sore about stalling him in the bar. I'm to meet him tonight in Seward Park at seven sharp.”

     “Fine. Pick me up at the house at six-fifteen. You tell the barkeep about Harry being a pansy?”

     Joe nodded, mumbled, “Jesus, I hate this! I know he's putting the screws on me, but there must be some other way of getting back at him.”

     “What other way? Unless you want to stand up and fight his charges, and as you said, you'll lose your job.”

     “I know, I'm doing what you told me.”

     “Now the most important piece of business will be in the park. You walk with him till you reach this bench we pick out—and it has to be that bench. I'll be hiding nearby and you sit down first and...”

     “You told me all that last night.”

     “Unless we get a shot of him sitting on your lap, the whole deal is a bust. Soon as he hits your lap, start fighting. He'll grab your shoulder to keep from falling—that's the picture we want. Then you go into your act, calling him a...”

     “I know what to do! Let's not keep talking about it.”

     He was too nervous, so I said, “Go home and relax— take a couple of drinks. But don't get stiff on me.”

     “What I need is sleep. Couldn't shut my eyes last night. Damn heavy delivery today, too. Lot of magazines and ads.”

     “See you at six-fifteen, and be on time,” I said, opening the door. “I have to return to my dusting.”

     He smiled for the first time. “Mady must really go for you. Dusting!”

     I spent the rest of the afternoon fooling with the camera, to make sure I'd be able to work it in the dark. Mady wanted to know where Joe and I were going, was mad when I wouldn't tell her. She made supper and was off on a talking jag, maybe to get even with me. She kept telling me all the little things Billy did till I stopped it by talking about some of Flo's habits.

     She was still angry when Joe honked his horn and as I left I told her, “Let's cut the past history from now on. Both of us. Billy doesn't mean a thing to us—or you— as of the first time we kissed. I don't expect you to brush his memory off in a few days, but I get awful jealous at the thought that any other man made you happy.”

     “I'm sorry. I don't know why I keep talking about him—maybe it's a habit.”

     “It's because we're not together enough. Another couple days and I'll change that.”

     Joe was so jittery he stuttered as we drove to the park, locked the car, and found a bench. The bench was isolated and directly across the sidewalk from a large, head-high clump of bushes.

     Joe left to meet Harry, walk him back to the trap. It was pretty, dark for so early in the evening and I stumbled around in the bushes till I made an opening, so I could shoot the bench clearly. I set up my camera and flash gun and waited. Judging by the stink, the bushes were a favorite urinal, and from the way the ground was littered—even in the dark—this particular spot was popular with lovers, although people would have to be ready to explode to forget the smell.

     I checked the camera again, licked the flash bulb for better contact, made sure I had a few more bulbs ready in my pocket, listened to the night sounds of the insects and waited. About ten minutes later I saw Harry walking with that jaunty, stiff-legged, almost dancing walk of his. Joe was lumbering along as though trying to use his feet as little as possible.

     Joe stopped at the bench, looked about like a ham actor, whispered, “This looks okay. Let's talk.”

     “Righto,” Harry said. “I want to get this over with.”

     Joe did it neater than I expected. As they both started to sit, Joe got his backside down first in a sliding motion that placed him under Harry. Harry landed in Joe's lap and Joe moved and Harry grabbed Joe's collar to keep from falling. It could be interpreted as a hug.

     I squeezed the camera button and there was a split second flash that lit up the scene like a flare... I'd snafued everything! I'd put in a regular flash bulb instead of an infra-red one that wouldn't give any visible light. Or maybe I should have blamed it on the clerk in the camera store.

     Joe started to say, “What do you think you're...?” as he had rehearsed and I don't know if he stopped because he realized things were wrong, or because Harry jumped off his lap like lightning, shrilled, “What the hell you pulling?”

     Joe stood up, speechless, and Harry threw a punch at him. The blow didn't do anything to Joe, who seemed to shove rather than hit Harry. The push sent Harry on his back, in the bushes, and when he stood up he had a gun out, spun around, fired into the bushes. I hit the urine-soaked dirt like it was fudge and Harry fired again. It sounded like a .22, made a short bark that was lost in the sounds of the night. I heard Joe running, his heavy pounding footsteps louder than the clean sharp report of the gun.

     I lay there, afraid to crawl and make any noise, Harry didn't pay any attention to Joe, but waited outside the bushes, the little lead thrower in his hand. He said hysterically, “Come out, you dirty son of a bitch: I'll kill you, I'll...!”

     I tried to get the flash bulb loose and couldn't. I found a stone and threw it a few feet in the bushes. It was a corny trick, but at the noise Harry moved and I got to my feet as silently as I could. I stood there, hardly breathing, and Harry was still for a moment, then came toward me. As he passed the opening through which I'd been shooting the picture, I hit him. It was a straight right high on the head and it sent pain shooting up my arm as Harry crumpled to the sidewalk, out cold.

     I moved my fingers—the bones weren't broken. I pulled Harry into the bushes, then walked—fast. Joe was waiting in his car and we took off like two thieves. I said, “That was my fault. Drive to the nearest police station, tell them Harry made 'improper' advances to you and...”

     “No! I'm done with this, with any part of it! You and your crazy ideas!” His fat face was glistening with sweat.

     “You dummy, don't you understand—things went wrong! The pix won't come out, we've nothing to show, to...”

     “I'm done with this! Against it in the first place God, what a dirty mess!”

     “The deal backfired, you know what will happen now?”

     He didn't answer.

     “We were going to surprise Harry—when the frame was complete. Now he knows what's up, he'll get you! Losing your job will be the smallest part of it... unless you go to the cops, act before Harry does.”

     “I'm done, won't do a damn thing more. No!” He was bawling a little and I didn't argue. There was a fifty-fifty chance we'd scared the bejesus out of Harry and he'd leave Joe alone. But we also could have scared him enough to go all out for Joe. It was a mess.

     We parked in front of the house and sat there for a while, waiting for Joe to stop crying. I told him to come in and he said no and I said, “Cut it, the game's over. Come in.”

     Mady was listening to the radio and reading a magazine. She shut the radio off the moment she saw Joe's wet face. He sat down hard, held his head in his hands and really turned on the tears. I told her what happened and it took her a few minutes to understand what we had in mind, then she looked at me like I was something you stepped in on the street, asked, “Matt, how could you do a thing like that? Sink as low as... as... that?”

     “You have to play a man's weaknesses as you find them. Now if Joe will only protect himself by going to the cops and...”

     “And have the papers yell he was mixed up with a pansy!” Mady shouted.

     “Want Joe to lose his job, or worse? Is that better, an out? One thing I never forgot in the ring—when the ref finishes his instructions he says, 'and protect yourself at all times.' Baby, that holds doubly true for everything in life. I was only doing this because Joe is a part of you—of us—and I want peace. Harry got in our hair, we had to comb him out—any way possible.”

     “Why didn't you use a gun, it would have been cleaner!” Mady said.

     “I would have—in a second—if we could have gotten away with it.”

     She stared at me for a moment, shaking her head, then went over and knelt beside Joe, trying to comfort him. I was angry—with my own stupidity in not checking the bulb, and with Joe. But then I couldn't blame him—he was in a mess and scared, probably had never seen a gun before, except in the movies.

     I went into the kitchen, drew the shades, set up my developing trays—maybe the regular flash hadn't been too strong for the infra-red film. I got everything ready, then turned out the lights and went to my room and took off my coat and tie, my ring, went to the bathroom and washed my hands. I was sweating a little and took my temperature, but it was normal. By leaving the lamp on in my room and the door of the kitchen partly open, enough light came in so I could see what I was doing without spoiling the film.

     I'd just opened the roll of films, was taking out the negative, when the phone rang and a minute later Mady came in as I said, “Don't open the door!”