Lippert, shove off.”
“ ... You talking to me, punk?”
“Beat it. Out.”
“Why, you poor, dumb creep—”
He jumped and started at me, then stopped and whipped off his coat, like to hang a sign on it he really meant business now. She got off some chatter, in a foolish unnatural voice, that I’d forgotten myself, hadn’t I? I said nothing, as I couldn’t, on account of the hammers starting, as they always did in my temples when I needed them like a hole in the head. He laid his coat, very careful, out flat on the telephone table, then came rocking over, elbows out, feet tracking wide. He said to me: “I don’t want any trouble with you, didn’t from the start. But if trouble’s what you’re looking for—”
With that he started a hook, the kind a guy uses that thinks he’s a barroom fighter, a mean little junior haymaker supposed to land on my button. He didn’t fall quite where I wanted, right at her feet I mean, because instead of doing a Bordie he went down limp like a dish-rag. However, he fell, twitched once or twice, like a dog having a dream, and curled up, like a cat having a nap. I turned to her, but she had already started for me. She said: “You seem to have it when needed.”
“Have what, you bitch?”
“Adrenalin.”
“And I got more, for you.”
The hammers were smashing me up, and I meant to let her have it, if I knocked her clear through the wall. But she stepped in close, dropped her eyes to my mouth, and said: “You hit him for me, didn’t you?”
I almost broke her bones, mashing her to me, and at last we had that kiss, our first one, hotter than we’d ever dreamed. We held close, and trembled, and cared nothing for what was on the floor. She said: “How could you? Fix to go off and leave me?”
“It wasn’t like that at all.”
“It was, it was! You meant—”
“There was a hell of a lot more to it than you know, or even dream. Damn it, stop talking about that, so we get on what’s to be done.”
“Don’t you—ever again—”
“That’s all under control! Now—”
She strained still closer, slapped me once or twice, and then at last looked at the sleeping beauty. She touched him with her foot, said: “Oh—oh—what can be done, Duke? I didn’t expect this? What’ll we try to do?”
I knelt down, felt for his pulse, and got it, down deep in the wrist, very weak and thready. I said: “He’s still alive—so far. I’ll call the police—say it’s emergency—let them take over from there.”
I went to the phone, but she grabbed me. She said: “Not yet, Duke, not just yet, no. There must be some other way. We can think of something.”
“Listen, he’s alive so far . But—”
“Come in here. Just a minute.”
She took my hand, led me to her bedroom, sat me on the bed, crouched on her heels in front of me. She started to cry, said: “I’ve just ruined it. I thought it would be so nice. That he’d go running off, with a bloody nose or something. That I’d snap my fingers in some kind of silly way. That you’d be down on your knees, saying you’d learned your lesson.”
“And instead of that—”
“I know.”
I had meant it was the opposite of nice, but she thought I meant knees, and flopped down on hers. She leaned her head to my heart, mumbled she’d been a “dunce.” I held her to me, sank my face in her dress, kissed into her neck. She kept coming back to it, she had thought I meant to leave her. She started crying again, said: “I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t, I couldn’t. I had to make you, make you , take me, hold me, love me. You do, don’t you?”
“Haven’t I told you?”
“But tell me now.”
“I do, you know I do, and cut this caper out. Look, don’t you know what’s hanging us up? What everything depends on? Why I asked what I did? About my release and all?”
“ ... I’m listening, Duke.”
I told her about the confession, talking fast, trying to communicate without taking all day. But I had
“ ... You talking to me, punk?”
“Beat it. Out.”
“Why, you poor, dumb creep—”
He jumped and started at me, then stopped and whipped off his coat, like to hang a sign on it he really meant business now. She got off some chatter, in a foolish unnatural voice, that I’d forgotten myself, hadn’t I? I said nothing, as I couldn’t, on account of the hammers starting, as they always did in my temples when I needed them like a hole in the head. He laid his coat, very careful, out flat on the telephone table, then came rocking over, elbows out, feet tracking wide. He said to me: “I don’t want any trouble with you, didn’t from the start. But if trouble’s what you’re looking for—”
With that he started a hook, the kind a guy uses that thinks he’s a barroom fighter, a mean little junior haymaker supposed to land on my button. He didn’t fall quite where I wanted, right at her feet I mean, because instead of doing a Bordie he went down limp like a dish-rag. However, he fell, twitched once or twice, like a dog having a dream, and curled up, like a cat having a nap. I turned to her, but she had already started for me. She said: “You seem to have it when needed.”
“Have what, you bitch?”
“Adrenalin.”
“And I got more, for you.”
The hammers were smashing me up, and I meant to let her have it, if I knocked her clear through the wall. But she stepped in close, dropped her eyes to my mouth, and said: “You hit him for me, didn’t you?”
I almost broke her bones, mashing her to me, and at last we had that kiss, our first one, hotter than we’d ever dreamed. We held close, and trembled, and cared nothing for what was on the floor. She said: “How could you? Fix to go off and leave me?”
“It wasn’t like that at all.”
“It was, it was! You meant—”
“There was a hell of a lot more to it than you know, or even dream. Damn it, stop talking about that, so we get on what’s to be done.”
“Don’t you—ever again—”
“That’s all under control! Now—”
She strained still closer, slapped me once or twice, and then at last looked at the sleeping beauty. She touched him with her foot, said: “Oh—oh—what can be done, Duke? I didn’t expect this? What’ll we try to do?”
I knelt down, felt for his pulse, and got it, down deep in the wrist, very weak and thready. I said: “He’s still alive—so far. I’ll call the police—say it’s emergency—let them take over from there.”
I went to the phone, but she grabbed me. She said: “Not yet, Duke, not just yet, no. There must be some other way. We can think of something.”
“Listen, he’s alive so far . But—”
“Come in here. Just a minute.”
She took my hand, led me to her bedroom, sat me on the bed, crouched on her heels in front of me. She started to cry, said: “I’ve just ruined it. I thought it would be so nice. That he’d go running off, with a bloody nose or something. That I’d snap my fingers in some kind of silly way. That you’d be down on your knees, saying you’d learned your lesson.”
“And instead of that—”
“I know.”
I had meant it was the opposite of nice, but she thought I meant knees, and flopped down on hers. She leaned her head to my heart, mumbled she’d been a “dunce.” I held her to me, sank my face in her dress, kissed into her neck. She kept coming back to it, she had thought I meant to leave her. She started crying again, said: “I couldn’t bear it, I couldn’t, I couldn’t. I had to make you, make you , take me, hold me, love me. You do, don’t you?”
“Haven’t I told you?”
“But tell me now.”
“I do, you know I do, and cut this caper out. Look, don’t you know what’s hanging us up? What everything depends on? Why I asked what I did? About my release and all?”
“ ... I’m listening, Duke.”
I told her about the confession, talking fast, trying to communicate without taking all day. But I had
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