Night Squad by David Goodis Page B

“A five-ounce bottle,” Lita said. “Thirty dollars an ounce.”

          The girl looked up, bewildered. She shook her head slowly. She said, “Is wrong for you to say this. Is very unfair—”

          “You went out last night. You sneaked out.”

          “Is like I say before.”

          “I don't want to hear that,” Lita said. “You'll tell me why you went out.”

          “To go for walk,” the girl wailed. “Is like I say before. To go for walk.”

          “At half-past four in the morning?”

          “I no could sleep. Too hot in room. No could stay in bed.”

          “Keep telling me that and you'll stay in bed for a month, in a cast.”

          “You no can do this. Is not right.”

          Lita swung the brass poker and it came down on the girl's back just below her shoulders. The girl yowled, fell forward and was facedown on the floor as Lita raised the poker again. Corey got up from the chair and lunged forward. Then he had the poker in his hand and tossed it onto the floor behind him. Lita grabbed for the poker but he blocked her path.

          “Get away,” she hissed. “You're not in this.”

          He smiled lazily. His eyes said, don't come any closer.

          She stepped back. It wasn't retreat. She was coiled, her arms bent stiffly and her fingers hooked, the fingernails aiming. Then she came at him with the fingernails going for his eyes.

          He caught her wrists. She brought up her knee, trying for his groin. He pulled away and she tried again and came close, then made another try. This time it was closer and he let go of her wrists. She let out a low rattling sound, like a snake, and came at him with fingernails and teeth. This dame is really outta control he thought. You're gonna hafta—

          Her teeth missed his hand. Her fingernails missed his face, almost found his throat. She backed away and came in again and he let her have it, a very short stiff right that caught her high on the jaw, just under the ear. She sagged, her eyes closed. Before she hit the floor, he moved fast and grabbed her around the middle. He saw she was out.

          He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the sofa. It won't show, he thought, looking at her jaw where he'd hit her. You didn't really hurt her. You measured it and you can see it wasn't an overdose of knuckles. You know it won't show, and there ain't no damage. But even so, it's a pity. You hadda do it, though. What else could you do?

          The East Indian girl was standing at his side, looking down worriedly at the platinum blonde sleeping on the sofa. The girl said, “Is terrible thing.”

          “She'll be all right.”

          “Is really a terrible thing.” The girl was getting ready to weep again.

          Corey turned and looked at her. “She sure put it on you with that poker.”

          “What hurts is not that. What hurts is name she calls me. She calls me thief. In front of you. Now why she do that?”

          “I'm wondering.”

          “I work here long time. Almost two year. Never anything like this. This is something I no understand.”

          Corey gazed past the girl. His eyes narrowed and he murmured, “What started it?”

          “Was not about perfume.”

          “I know that.”

          “Before you came in, was no talk about perfume. Was just that she gets upset about something. Walks up and down and makes noises like she is speaking to herself. Is very upset. Never see her like that before. Is nervous sometimes, but never like that. And then she jumps at me.”

          “For what?”

          “For nothing.”

          “She said you went out last night.”

          “Just to go for a walk. I no can sleep and I go out for a walk. To get some air. Only to get some air. But she says I no tell truth. And then she hits me in