Brain Guy: A gang killer meets his match in a TNT blonde by Benjamin Appel Page B

road of knowledge. They were omens of the new life, even if their bodies would be coerced to the slavery of their sires. Mrs. Gebhardt brought back a steaming plate of goulash and browned potatoes simmering in hot heavy gravy. In a separate bowl she poured out a cabbage soup. She was glad he was hungry and had such good things to eat.
    Cathy, who’d been busy in the bedroom, finally showed up. He realized why he’d dropped in without dinner. To see Cathy. She led baby Carl away, slender but almost as motherly as the broad-hipped Mrs. Gebhardt. Baby Carl didn’t complain even if his face was sour, his pale plump cheeks pouting. “How are you, Cathy?” he said. She was all right, and soon as she put little nuisance to bed she’d be with him. “Little nuisance!” exclaimed Mrs. Gebhardt, very much shocked. He ate his goulash, chewing meat and potatoes and drinking the cabbage soup at the same time. They smiled delightedly with the happiness of folk converting a foreigner to their ways. Gebhardt declared he was a Deutsch already. The Mrs. laughed, the kids sneaked another look at him. How was Bill, the Mrs. wanted to know. Joe stated he hardly ever saw Bill. Bill was a busy man. Again they all nodded sadly and sympathetically, workers with regular hours and routines, considering one outside their class. If Joe was tired he shouldn’t ought to go to the movies. “I’m not tired. How about you, Cathy?”
    “It’s very late.”
    “Stay home,” said Mrs. Gebhardt. “So cold outside.” She thought that if Bill would’ve wanted to take Cathy to the movies she would’ve been frightened, and more frightened to have Bill stay home with them, with his sharp weary face. Ach, mein Gott, Brüder!
    “I can’t stay home. I’m restless.” Mrs. Gebhardt looked at Joe. He was Bill’s brother. He could be for good or bad. He was Bill’s brother. She was afraid for her Cathy.

CHAPTER TEN
    B ILL stared out of McMann’s window at the neat block of brown buildings across the way, the shades lowered in the apartments and furnished rooms. Behind one shade, light glowed through and he saw the shadow of desire, a woman’s shape to be lusted for because her face and age and life were unknown. The shade was very old and thin. The street lamp hung its huge white pearl over the sidewalk, and Twenty-third was womanless except for a shadow. McMann was speaking through one corner of his mouth. He wanted to know why they should divvy with anybody. The Wiberg job, there was him, Bill, and the two bastards, and Paddy. Five guys. “I don’t want to get too mixed up.” He glanced at McMann’s face, so pink it seemed chipped out of stone, at the humorous treacherous eyes, so small it was hard to realize cunning could be held in them.
    “If it’s us two, that’s less mixed up?”
    “Not the way you’re working it. Given a break and you’ll be making a play for the Duffy kids.” The bathroom door was open, the enameled interior visible like a distant perspective. How unreal the scene was! And was McMann growling he had cold feet? Maybe it was because Joe had come to town, hard-working Joe. What a life! He hadn’t been living since Stanger’d kicked him out. He’d been existing, hopped up for a life that contained many deaths every day. Maybe he ought to quit right here and now before real danger’d smack his head off. McMann was unreal as Paddy or Madge, who weren’t in the apartment. “You’re gettin’ yeller,” threatened McMann.
    “Holy cow, where’s your whisky? You’re giving me a tin ear.” He drank a shot of rye. “I know I talked big as a house awhile back.”
    “That was man talk. You had guts.”
    “I’m not busting up now. I’m just wondering if it’s best for us to go ahead and take the long gamble?”
    McMann didn’t know. But he’d been making money. Bill grinned. McMann had a sense of humor. Twenty-two bucks. Why divvy, McMann insisted. Take the long gamble. Make or break. Either be in the dough or