Classic Audiobook Collection - Sin In Their Blood by Ed Lacy ~ Full Audiobook [mystery]

Episode Date: October 13, 2025

Sin In Their Blood by Ed Lacy audiobook. Genre: mystery Matt Ranzino has a reputation as the toughest private eye in town, but when he comes home from the Korean War, toughness is not what he feels. Worn down by what he has seen overseas and by months in hospitals, Matt wants a quiet life and a clean break from the city that still remembers every enemy he made as a fighter, a cop, and a PI. Then a blonde is found brutally dead, and Matt is in the wrong place at the wrong time. Suddenly he is taking punches he did not ask for, dodging gunfire he did not deserve, and realizing someone is determined to keep the truth buried. Pulled into the case by a cop who still trusts him and by a wealthy family desperate for answers, Matt follows the trail through backroom deals, seedy bars, and respectable offices that look spotless until you get close. Along the way, old loyalties rot, a dangerous blackmail scheme feeds on the era's fear and suspicion, and the one woman Matt cannot stop caring about becomes the next target. To survive, Matt has to do more than solve a murder, he has to decide who he is now. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 01 (00:52:54) Chapter 02 (01:32:47) Chapter 03 (02:16:13) Chapter 04 (02:56:55) Chapter 05 (03:29:22) Chapter 06 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Part 1. Of Sin in Their Blood by Ed Lacey. Part 1. Monday. It was almost 10 a.m. and starting to warm up as I walked slowly down the main street, stopping every few minutes to rest my light bag. It's the kind of a street you think about a lot when you're out of town, and then return and wonder why the hell you ever look forward to seeing it again. I took in the skyscrapers, the movie houses, the gin mills, the bookie joints that passed his cigar stores.

the radio station tower that disappeared into the blue sky, a modern monument to nothing. I watched the people hurrying by, the crowded restaurants and orange-aid stands, the heavy traffic, and I knew the street didn't mean a thing to me anymore. I suppose in the hospital I'd thought about it so often because it had been a dream then, a symbol of living. Now as I looked up and down the busy street, this street that had been a big part of my life, all I could think was, where had I got? it. In what bar or eating place or movie had somebody breathed deeply and given me the damn bug.

There were a lot of places I could have gone to, but I didn't have any place to go to, so I dropped into the baker, best hotel in town. I had less than 70 bucks, and this was strictly a lush spot. But after 11 months of hospital beds, I wanted a little luxury for a few nights. As I walked across the impressive lobby, Abe Berg, the house Dick, came toward me like a wobbly tank. Abe was a rough joker once he got his mitts on you. He'd been a professional wrestler, and his face had been stepped on a couple of times, and put together again carelessly. Some guys get by on their sighs or rough talk. Abe got by on his face.

He said in a shrill voice, Matt Ranzino, you big bastard. He heard you were the hero of that mess in Korea. I was there, I said, turning my head to avoid his breath as we pumped hands. On a case of you? Abe asked. Then being a real bright detective, he noticed my bag, added, Stay in here, I can get you the professional rate. Forty percent off. I'm on nothing, just got into town, thought I'd put up here for a few days. I'll fix you up with the desk. Thanks. He banged me on the shoulder with one of his meat hooks,

and I thought I was going to fall over. I let go of his hand, stepped back out of his reach, and said, Boy, you look in top shape. What's your way? Two hundred and five and a half ounces. And hard is that old brick house, he said, trying to slap me in the guts with his heavy left hand. I pushed that aside, said, take it slow, Abe. I ate a minute ago. Sure, stop in my office for a hooker. Too early. We went over to the desk clerk, who looked as though he had just had the sylophane unwrapped from him. Abe introduced me as a buddy-buddy and whispered something into the clerk's ear, and it must have been good.

I only had to pay three bucks for a room and bath. I wanted to go up and lay down for a while, but Abe wanted to talk. He told the clerk, Matt here was the toughest private dick in town. Well, well, the clerk said in a deadpan voice that must be an occupational disease with hotel clerks. He was a rough cookie. Say, every time I see this Humphrey Bogot doing his stuff in the movies, I say to myself, them Hollywood jokas ought to get Matt Ranzino on the screen and really see a rough clown in action.

The house dick business so bad you've become a publicity agent too? I asked Abe, and the clerk chuckled at this corn. It's the truth, ain't no stuff, Abe said as I picked up my bag. We walked over to the elevator and he asked casually, What you're going to do, Matt? Get your license again? I don't know. I'll take it easy for a time. Heard about your partner, Harry Lawson. "'He's in the big money.'

Abe said it as though the words tasted bad. "'So I heard. What kind of agency you got?' "'You going in with him again?' "'No.' Abe gave me a horrible leer that was a gold-toothed smile. "'Good. Listen, what Harry's doing is—' "'Well, I ain't for talking about it, but it stinks. "'Really stinks big, Matt.'

"'Harry's the lad to think up a fast hustle,' I said, moving into the elevator. "'A hustle is a hustle, but this,' Abe shook his big head. "'This is real crummy, worse than a two-bit pimp or a—' "'See you around, Abe,' I said, motioning at the elevator operator. "'There was a bellhop waiting at the room, and I had to give him half a buck for unlocking the door. But he tossed the change onto the bed, said, "'You don't have to give me nothing, Mr. Enzino. "'I was coming from school when you busted that drunk driver's jaw and—'

"'Take the change. "'No, sir. They had a hell of a nerve-busting you from the force just because he was the mayor's cousin. "'The mayor's family can never be a drunk,' I said. That was all only five years ago. Now it seemed like another lifetime. I followed all your cases in the papers after that. Felt I was reading about a friend. I mean, because I was on that first thing. My name's Jim, Mr. Ranzino, and I'm no movie happy jerk.

But if you should open your own agency again, I'd like a job as office boy. Anything to learn the business. I'm small but tough as... Ask Abe to tell you the secrets of the trade. That ape thinks he's funny giving you a grip of eye and handshake. He told me all he knows in two minutes. I'm serious, Mr. Don't know exactly what I'm going to do, I said, but I'll keep you in mind, Jim. His face showed the let down at the brush off, but he said thanks a million and went out.

I locked the door, opened my shirt, stretched out on the bed. It was a big soft bed, a big room. I wasn't tired, and I couldn't sleep. I wondered why I'd never come back to this town. Pops was dead. I had no one. An Abe in this Korea hero crap. And this dizzy kid must be almost 17 or 18.

army bait unless he was lucky enough to be a moron. I lay there lazily wondering what to do. Being out of a hospital was a little like getting out of stir. One thing, I'd have to find a room, give my change of address to the government as soon as possible. If my monthly check was held up too long, I'd be in a bad way. I'd look around out at the beach, be the best place to live. Air wasn't too damp.

Get me in a cheap room there tomorrow. Hell of this big bed. I turned over and saw my wristwatch. It was after 11, and I went to the knee to joining bath and washed out a clean glass thoroughly. Was drowning one of my multivitamin pills I had to take three times a day when the phone ring. Hey, you just got into town, Matt. It was the smooth, almost purring voice of my former partner, and as unpleasant sounding as ever. Harry must really be a wheel for, obviously, although he hated him or said he did,

Abe had phoned him the minute I went up to my room. I asked, What's new, Harry, to be polite. Plenty cooking. You're feeling okay, Matt? Yeah, I guess so. That's swell. Must have had yourself a time with those nurses.

Come into your bed and throwing it at you all the... What's on your mind, Harry? Why, Matt, this is the first time I'd talk to you in a year. Get the cigarettes I sent you every month? No. That's odd. I sure sent him. Had flow take care of it. Say, Matt, like to make a little...

real talky with you. How about dropping over to my office after lunch? Say about one-thirty? Okay. See you then, Matt boy. Got a deal cooking at lunch. Otherwise, I'd break bread with you. I'm in suit, 21111, the Grace Building. See you. I said okay and hung up. Harry was so smooth and full of crap, it was comical. The way he told me he was in touch with Flo and that my office jive, but I didn't give a damn about Flo or the office. It was almost noon and I was hungry. As I crossed the lobby, Abe pretended to read a paper and didn't notice me. I walked down Main Street and all the eating places were full and I wanted to avoid crowds.

As long as I was splurging, I dropped into the glass stem, one of the more expensive bars in town. The bar was crowded, but most of the booths were empty. I took a booth, told the waiter, glass of milk and a lettuce and tomato sandwich on whole wheat toast. He had fish eyes and a skinny face, and he almost looked pop-eyed as he asked, you say milk or beer milk still serve that don't you yes sir make sure it's fresh won't serve it if it isn't he turned toward the bar and called out bob we got any fresh milk the barkeep nodded a fat hard face peered out of the booth in front of me repeated milk it was tops anderson a big-time goon and when his drunken bloodshot eyes got me in focus he grin and said well for jesus matt ranzino He got to his feet, and I saw he'd put on weight the last year. He held out a pudgy hand, and I shook it, and he sat down opposite me.

He said, "'Gat say you're a sight for sore eyes, but I always did like you. When you get back in town?' Today. "'Bill!' Topps yelled. A lean young kid of about 20 with cool eyes and the cocky manner of a jerk who thinks he owns the world because he packs a gun, stood up in the next booth.

He joined us, walking in a practice cat-like way. Top said, "'Bill! Meet Matt Ranzino, one of the toughest dicks out.' and say it with a D. We touched hands. The kid had no use for dicks. Tops went into the Army hero pitch, and when the waiter brought me my milk,

Tom said, Forget that cow piss, bring us three rise. I took the milk, said I wasn't drinking. What's the matter? You used to lap it up. You don't want to drink with me? I'm on the wagon, I said, sipping my milk.

The snooty punk grinned, and Top shook his head. You've changed. And things have changed since you've been away, Matt. I owe most of the jukeboxes. in town. All of them, the gunman added. He had an odd way of talking, biting off each word as though talking bored him. I didn't say anything, went to work on my sandwich.

Yeah, I come a long way since that time you sent me up. Topps turned the bill. Matt's the only copper ever got me. Where was that? The punk asked, to make conversation. Three, four years ago, I don't know, maybe longer. I was working for... Never mind who.

I was just a rough bastard, bouncing. guys. Toss some nut out of this bar and he lands wrong, got a concussion or something. So the dope is silly enough to sue, and I got to throw out the process server too. He returns with a dick. Matt. I go for the both of them, and Matt Hill breaks my lower plate with the fastest left hook I ever seen. The hood looked me over again, buttered up Topps with. Beech you, did that punch, boss? The waiter brought two drinks, and Topps took his down and one gulp while Bill toyed with his. The kid didn't look like the type that ever let himself get drunk. Topps burst out laughing.

Hell of it was. I beat some rugged wraps, but I couldn't squirt as simple assault charge. I did three months. Matt, you sure got a kick in your hands. I finished my sandwich and milk. Wondered if it was then I'd got it. But the doc had said it would have been during a strain, and Topps had been easy.

He was one of those wild swinging brawlers. And that had been too long ago. The bug would have died in my lungs before Korea. Yeah, Matt packs a K.O. Of course, she kind of took advantage of me. if I hadn't known you were a pug. I was a handy Andy with a blackjack. Then.

Bill, you're looking at a guy who could have been heavyweight champion the world, maybe. Hey, Matt, you know Pops died while you was away. I know. Pops and his boys. Bill Mick since turning down a ring career to become a cop, and Matt was real good at it, too. Don't be, Bill said to his whiskey.

I was just an amateur, I said. Another crazy racket fighting for medals, top said. He lit a freshest. cigar handed me one. I shook my head and he dug in his pocket, came out with a pack of cigarettes. I shook my head again and his eyes got a little bright. You don't want to smoke my cigars? I don't smoke much anymore. Yeah? Topp squinted at me. I might have been a great box of myself if I had the chance, Top said, his voice getting nasty. It's a fact, Matt's the only guy ever flattened me.

And I've been in some rough brawls, doing he fighting in the army. Not that kind. I started get up. Tops reached across the table and pushed me down with one hand. Didn't push me hard, but still a push. What's the hurry? Got an appointment. I want to talk over old times. Some other time, I said, reaching into my pocket for change. Top said, your money's no good here. On me. That's okay, I said leaving a dime and a nickel for a tip. Bill said, What a spinthrift!

Tops roared with laughter, swept the change off the table. Leave that for the bus, boy. Hey, Bill, know something this wop don't like our company. Don't call me a wop, I said, and immediately wished I'd shut up. Top said in a mocking voice, Sorry, see, you don't like us. Don't like me calling him a wop. Fancy dago, ain't he?

His voice was loud and people were staring at us. The waiter was whispering nervously to the manager. I said, forget it, Tops, you're drunk and I have places to go. So I'm drunk. Know what I want to talk to you about, what I've been thinking about sitting here. here looking at your ugly kisser. I never liked you sucking me around. Nobody ever done that to me. You got me even a Sunday punch. No what? Let you and me see who is the roughest chum right now. Some other time, I just ate, I said getting up. Tops got to his feet fast for a guy in his condition.

The punk got up quickly too, glancing around, said something to Tops who growled, No, he ain't a coper no more. Hit the wrong slob and got his self-busted. His eyes didn't leave me as he talked and now he asked, We settle this right here, or should we go into the alley? I had the ball, was stuck with it. Tops was too stupid drunk to argue with. I knew the alley. I shrugged. Let's go in the alley.

I don't want to break any tables and property, knocking you around. Remember, you're starting this. And better take your plates out, no sense my busting them again. The tough talk didn't work. Damn, right, I'm starting it. Gonna kick the living slop out of you. Topps said as we started for the kitchen door. This bill pretended to brush against me and I shoved him aside said,

Relax, punk, I'm clean. We walked through the kitchen, which was empty, except for a short-order cook and dirty shirt-sleeves who stared at us with surprise. We stepped out into the alley, and as Tops took off his coat and handed it to the punk. I ran like mad. Tops was too drunk to run,

and I knew the kid wouldn't be any trouble. Nothing followed me, except Tops astonished and deep laughter. The alley came out on a busy side street, as I knew it was, and I slowed down. I told the nearest cabby to drive me to the park. I'd never run from anybody before, but I didn't feel bad. In fact, I didn't feel anything. I was breathing hard, and when I took my pulse, it seemed too fast.

I leaned back against the seat, shut my eyes, and waited for my heart to stop pounding. I sat on a park bench for a while, wondering what that short sprint had done to my left lung, the one they had once talked of collapsing. It was the first time I'd run, or even walked fast in almost a year. and my throat felt a little raw from breathing too fast. I'd have to see Max get a gun permit. Coming back to town was a mistake. There were too many characters like tops around, waiting to take a poke at me.

You return to your hometown, not because it's a good or bad town, but for no reason except it's hometown. Well, that's for the birds. I wanted to stay alive and I'd have to get out of town, but fast. The next time there might not be an alley and a beating would kill me. I sat in the park till one, then took a bus to the Grace Bill. which was a swank office building not far from the bar I'd been in. Sweet 2111 had America America, Inc. printed on the door in small silver letters, and the office was a lush affair.

The walls of knotted blonde pine, fancy leather chairs, thick rug, and pictures of Washington, Truman, and MacArthur on the walls in modern copper frames. The receptionist was a dull-looking thin woman who told me, Mr. Loughlin is busy. Take a seat, please. I sat down, and in a few minutes a creep can. out of an office and told the woman, "'I'll be back by two, Miss O'Brien.' This frantic looked to be about thirty,

was small and slight, had thick glasses on a pimply face that seemed too big for the rest of his head. He wore a dark blue suit, a white shirt with a starched collar, and a dark black tie. His hair was a violent orange-red, and the only thing missing on him was a straight jacket. Miss O'Brien said, "'Yes, sir, Mr. Austin.'

And Mr. Austin actually backed out of the office, his eyes distorted by the powerful glasses, giving me a clumsy once over. He sure looked like a nut or a hophead who needed a shot in a big hurry. I glanced through several magazines I'd never heard of before, all of them full of super patriotic junk, eager to explain what had gone wrong in Korea. Then all of them had an article either called, What Must Be Done, or Wake Up America.

I tossed the magazines back on the end tables next to the smart brown leather couch I was sitting on. I know damn well Harry was alone giving me the waiting treatment to show his importance. I was about to ask the receptionist if she had the day daily paper so I could start looking for a room. When the door opened and I smelled the perfume before I heard, Matt, and she threw herself on my lap, her red mouth over mine. I pushed Flo aside and jumped up and said, Damn it, don't kiss me.

The months hadn't hurt Flo. She still had the fluffy blonde hair, the sensuous mouth, and her chic dress proved beyond any doubt she had a full figure and wasn't wearing a bra. Her firm full breasts seemed to be held at the nipples, like two jack in the boxes waiting to spring over the low-cut dress. but I really wasn't looking at her fleshy bosom or the long shapely legs and the bit of rough thigh that showed as she sprawled on the couch. I was only watching that over-red mouth, afraid of it. I thought a lot about Flo.

She had been the logical candidate to give me the bug. Flo and her sloppy soul kisses, ramming her sharp darting tongue down my throat. Flo bounded to her feet as Miss O'Brien watched with respect and disapproval, hugged me. Unfortunately, her mouth only reached my shoulder, smearing my shirt. She was wearing high platforms. Her lips used to come about halfway up my chest. She got her kicks biting the hair there. She said in a gushy way she had of talking.

Oh, Matt, Matt, it's so damn good to see you. How you, honey? She pushed me away, looked me over with delight. You still look so... Oh, rough and big. Matt, I've missed you so goddamn much. I can see that, I said, glancing at the silver fox scarf, the rings and bracelets. All real stones.

Flo spent a lot of time dressing herself. And if her taste was a little on the loud side, she never wore cheap stuff. It used to amaze me how much she spent hours dressing to be able to undress in seconds. She giggled. Hell, Matt, I had to do something or go to work for peanuts. It don't mean a thing.

You're the only stud for me. You know that. Why, the very sight of you sent her heart? There was a cough from Miss O'Brien, and Flo muttered a female word under her breath. which was the last thing you'd think about the faded Miss O'Brien. Flo whispered, "'Hun, I'll wait downstairs.

Be in the yellow packet roadster. It's mine. And don't pay no mind or whatever Harry tells you. You know where you really stand with me. And any time.' "'Well, I don't know how long I'll be with Harry.' "'Hun, I'll wait.' Miss O'Brien said crisply.

"'Mr. Loughlin, we'll see you now,' Flo Winkton said, Don't forget, I'll be waiting. The receptionist began. Mr. Loughlin is waiting. I pushed Flo away, my hand touching a lot of soft, cool skin, and Flo looked at Miss O'Brien

and repeated the four-letter word, loudly, and the woman blushed a deep red as she buzzed the door for me. I went through a small room, a kind of foyer, lined with big metal filing cabinets, the fireproof expensive ones, with a thick lock on each cabinet.

There was also a double, desk with a bronze nameplate, Thatcher Austin Jr. The creep came complete. On the wall behind the desk there was a small American flag with a scale model submachine gun hung under it. It was a good model, and I was about to stop and examine it when Harry opened the door of his office. He hadn't changed. Wiery, dapper, the thin-featured face all clean-shaven in with a trace of powder and nice smelling after-shave lotion. He had the same small hands, soft and well manicured, as always. Sometimes when he was on a good binge, he'd paint his nails a mild pink. You big thug, you look fine.

I said, that's what everybody has been trying to sell me. He sat down behind his big metal and dark mahogany desk, and I sat on one of these ultra-modern chairs that supposedly molded to the shape of your behind. After the first few seconds, it was comfortable. Harry said, That wound in the hospital didn't do you any harm. You look fit.

Those nurses are tail happy as the jokes go. Stop it. Harry knew more dirty jokes than any man alive, or maybe dead, and all of them funny to a high school kid. But you do look fine. I don't know. Expected you to limp in with half an arm. Never get that wound business straight.

Where were you hit? In the head. Forget the wound and the war. What did you want to see me about? Harry gave me a small grin, examined his nails. Same thing you wanted to see me about. Get us both straight. We thought we might start off by getting things settled.

Rido? You're talking. The Rido was a new word for Harry. He pressed a button and the bottom drawer of his desk gently slid open. He fumbled around with some papers. A few of our old letterheads tossed them on the desk. That's all that remains of our old agency. He waited for me to say something, then added,

"'Got a hundred and twenty bucks for the office furniture. But we owed that much in back rent. phone, have it all itemized if you care to see it? Take your word. Harry filled a straight-grained pipe and lit it. He puffed on the pipe greedily, watching me. He was smoking something that smelled like a mixture of sugar and under-the-arm number five. The whole pipe idea must have been part of Harry's new executive look.

Finally, he said, What I'm saying, Matt, is you're not a partner in this new setup I have. But that doesn't mean you're not in. Want to work for me? 100 a week to start. No dice. You mean you expect to get a slice of this deal? It's all mine.

You want a job, okay, but no partnership. His voice grew shrill like it always did when he was angry. You can have it. All of it. He looked at me like I was bullying him, then leaned back in his red leather chair, sent out a big cloud of smoke that stunk up the room. I thought how odd it was that a weak character like Harry, a bag of bones, knowing almost the same people I did,

go in the same places, never got the bog. And with all my muscles, I had to get it. Matt, you're not sore about anything. No. This job is a snap, and I'm not going to work for a while. Loaded? Just my pension. Rising prices are cutting it to hell, but I'll manage.

Harry sucked on his pipe again, studied me. There's one more thing. Flow. I took over while you... You're gonna have her too, along with the letterheads. Match, you've changed. That's right. Flo fits in with my plans.

I like a stupid girl. Just a plain stupid one. Not one of these educated stupid broads that drive you nuts with their complexes. Flo was... I stood up. So long, Harry. I gotta get some sleep. Wait a minute.

Sit down. I canceled two. appointments so we could chat. Matt, I'll level with you. I have a gold mine here, but I need somebody I can trust to work with me. Give you 150 a week, and it's no work. Sit down. Let me show you something. He took a four-page printed newsletter from the top of his desk, handed it to me. I read the first paragraph, which had some hooey about inside trends in America. Across the top in big red letters was printed, Confidential, destroy this after reading. Harry said, I write that. Got a guy at the printers who goes over it for mistakes, does a polish job. What is it? Cost 50 bucks a year to

subscribe to my newsletter, and I got over 1,800 suckers. Send it to them, registered mail, big deal, was going to charge them $30. Then I thought of the registered mail angle, added 20 to pay to postage, and presses the hell out of them. Out of who? Businessmen. And if they don't subscribe or let us screen their employees, for from 500 to a grand dependent on the number of workers, why then I smear them in the newspaper. It's sure fire.

I can put a small concern out of business within three issues of my newsletter. Screen their employees for what? I asked, tossing the newsletter back on the desk, for Reds, or anybody they want to call troublemaker. I don't care. I'll screen anybody for anything. Long as there's a bundle of that green stuff on the line. Hell, Matt, this makes the old strike-breaking racket look like small time. I never went in for fink work. Maybe being in the hospital, you don't know it, but the whole atmosphere of America has changed. Everybody is scared stiff. There's a magic word. Red. hint that anybody is a communist and their goose is cooked. Got to be very careful what you think

read these days. Notice those files in the other room? They're worth a million bucks to me. And I'm not just blowing off. Last year I stumbled on a joker called Thatcher Austin, a fanatic on the I saw him. Harry grinned. He'd even straightened out his teeth. Something for the books, isn't he? Comes from one of the old Blue Blood families. Minor key society stuff. Except they've been Stoney ever since way back to the 29th crash. Thatcher was never exactly all there. He looks at convinced himself for the crash was a part of a revolution started by Al Smith, Roosevelt, and Stalin to make his family poor. He was nutty, so his folks found him a hobby, what they call mental therapy.

He started reading all the newspapers and mags, including the union stuff, and left newspapers, filed the names of everybody mentioned there. Tells me for 15 years he used to work 10 and 12 hours a day at it. Realize that's worth under the McCarran law? I have a file as good as the e-esion. FBI's. And the Austin name comes in handy when contacting the big shots. It's a cinch. When we screen a plant or in office, even a school or church, all we do is check their employees against our files. Half hours work and the big shots think I'm a regular Sherlock

Holmes because I tell them Joe Blow, their elevator operator, attended a meeting for Roosevelt back in 1937. Or something Joe Blow don't even remember himself. What does Buster need you for? What's his cut? Harry laughed and relit his pipe. He won't believe this, but all that jerk gets is 60 a week. His own desk and a bright badge saying he's an honorary deputy police chief. He's happy and works like a bastard. But I've only scratched the field, Matt. With these files, I can cover the country.

No telling how big we can get. If I can find somebody I can trust. Be like the old times, Matt. We were always a smart team. I want to forget old times. I said. And I'm tired. Harry waved his hand as if pushing me away.

I'll be the frontman, make the speeches at the business men's luncheons, all that bunko. I'm good at it. Know how to scare him crazy. You'd run the office, follow up my leads. It's a dream, no danger, rough stuff. And how the dough rolls in. Legalized blackmail, I said, thinking it was time for one of my vitamin pills. Harry shrugged.

I didn't make the laws. All I know is it's legal, patriotic, and pays off. People are scared. Worse than during prohibition. Hell, now more people are scared to even look at a sunset anymore. It's red. Matt, you interested? Nope, I got to my feet again.

So long, Harry, have fun. As I left the office, I heard him say, You dumb ox, I'm offering you real dough for no working. When I got downstairs and out on the sidewalk, a horn wailed and I saw a flow behind the wheel of a sleek roadster. As I got in, she asked, You find an apartment yet, or shall we go to a hotel? I'm going to the high street police station.

Oh, Matt, honey, you're sore about me taking up with Harry. I told you he doesn't. I'm not steamed about anything. And stop climbing all over me. People are watching us. Then let's go to a hotel. I know. Stop it, Flo.

Things have changed. We're done. She put her face next to mine and I twisted away from that mouth, asked, baby, you're going to drive me to the police station or do I walk? She moved away, started the car. What's changed? If you're not sore, I mean, what else could I do? Get a job in the five and ten?

God, Matt, you weren't wounded there. No, but I've been sick, and I didn't get a dose either. Look, baby, I've been away more than a year, and it's all over for us. But why? "'Who knows the way of these things? It just is,' I said, sounding like advice to the love-lorn. She drove expertly through the heavy afternoon traffic. "'Ah, Matt, I've been looking forward to you coming back. Harry's no good. Sometimes I think he gets more delight out of teasing me,

slapping me around and going with me. You know how it tick, Matt. I've got to have a real man.' "'You shouldn't have any trouble finding one.' "'I thought I had you,' Flos sighed. "'I don't know, Matt. We should have married and settled down. and by this time I'd be fat and sloppy with a house full of kids. Now I'm all mixed up. I have money. Harry's good that way, likes to see me dress flashy to jewels, this car.

But it all doesn't add up to anything. Things seem empty. All I think of is how good we had it. Maybe not much real dough, but we were made for each other. I don't know if it was smelling her or hearing her talk and remembering or what, but I was beginning to run a little temperature, which was funny because Flo and Nuff and I were never romantic, merely good between the sheets.

The idea of kissing her, being with her, made me cold with fear, and I said, "'Got the chatter, baby, and that's over. Forget us.' "'Just like that. Too lousy words. Forget us. And you think I can get you out of my system? It ain't like that, Matt. We could start over again. I'll give up the car and ice. If you want, I'll stay with Harry. Take his dough and see you till you get started and ready to... You become quite a gal. You're the one to decide what I'll do, she said, drawing up in front of this old run-down brick building that was the high street precinct parking beside the no-parking sign.

Nearly said that, Matt, to show you how much I need you. I'm desperate for a guy like you. Know how hard up I am. Even let that beg-bug Thatcher have a piece now and then, for comic relief. Or see him, he's something, strictly a wieti. I bet. Aren't you playing close to home? If Harry found... Who the hell do you think makes me go with that nitwit? Flo said savagely. That figured. I didn't think the tin badge would be quite enough to hold the creep. I got out of the car.

Sorry, Flo, but I have my own troubles. She said, Matt, look at me. I've been feeling dirty for months. Just seeing you makes me feel off fresh and wanting you so damn much I have a pain in my guts. Take some tombs, I said like a dope. And she began to cry.

I reached in and squeezed her hand. It didn't mean the corny crack, Flo. You're as pretty as ever and all that, but... I can't explain it, baby, but it's over for us. Has to be that way. I don't want to hurt you, but that's... She bent down and kissed my hand, and I yanked it away, said, Goodbye, Flo.

No, we'll talk some more about this. Matt, there isn't any other chick... Nothing like that. It's merely that... Then we'll talk more about us. Maybe. I waved and walked in. I walked into the station, looking at the lipstick and spit on the back of my hand, wondering what it would show under a microscope. The desk sergeant was a cop I didn't know, and I asked, Captain Max Daniel's in?

Who's calling? Matt Renzino. He glanced at me with mild interest and picked up the phone. I asked, where's the can? He pointed toward a door I should have seen, and I went in and washed off her spit, carefully washed my face and hands with strong soap. I was taken out one of my pills when I heard Max's horse. horse. Where is he? And then he came barging into the jaw and slapped me twice on the back with his right, knocking the pill out of my hand, and threw a left at my shoulder. I stepped inside the punch and pushed him away, said, still carrying your left too low. We shook hands like Matt,

and Max said, you whole miserable unbathed bastard, it's great to see you. He changed a little. His hair was graying along the edges and his face was fatter, but his clothes were still crumpled. He still didn't know how to shave. There were little patches of us. stubble on his face. And of course there was a big dent where I'd broken his nose. He gave me the old double slap on the back again, asked, What are we standing here for? Come into my office. Not that it looks any better than this crap house. Max's office was a plain room with a battered and butt-burned desk, two chairs, one of them with a broken back, and on his desk were framed snapshots of his fat wife and the two

little girls. On one of the green walls, there was a small picture of Max in a fighting pose, cut out of the papers when he'd won the Golden Gloves heavyweight title. Max had been riding the gravy train as police department boxing champ for several years till I came along and beat his brains out. It was the start of a real friendship. Max bent down to get his pint out. Why do they always keep it in the bottom drawer? The top would be more convenient.

And I said, not for me. He kicked the drawer shut, tilted his chair, the good one, against the wall. Mad, I've missed your ugly puss. Going into the agency racket again. You won, I can get you back on the force, being a vet of two wars and all that. Hell, you're only 33. Still retired before you're 50. You mean retired to one of these two-bit night watchmen or messenger job so I could live on my pension?

Max sent an oyster of spit into the tin wastebasket. Going to get your license again? I stared at the wastebasket. Max, I'd never thought of that. Could be. He asked. What's the matter? Nothing.

What's your problem? plans, chimp? I don't do a lot of nothing. Got a quiet room on the ocean front, take care of myself. Max looked at me with troubled eyes, rocked his chair. Man, what's wrong? You talked like a washed up old man. You're still a kid, and used to be toughest.

That's it, Maxie. Used to be. They took all the toughness out of me in Korea and in a hospital. I lay there for months, sweating out dying, losing a lung, fighting with them not to cut away my ribs, give me air. I don't know, Maxie. I've always had confidence in myself, in my body.

But now, I have to treat myself like I was made a delicate glass from now on. I can't risk. What crap! I was in touch with the docks at the hospital. All you have is a scar on your lungs. Why, after people in the world have a scar on their lungs. Had TB at some time, never even knew it.

For all I know, maybe I have. And I heard about your running out on that goon, Topps Anderson today. For Christ's sakes, what happened, Matt? Lost your grip. Could be. Now I have to figure things like this. If I swing on a tops, get into a brawl, I might open the scar again, really fix my wagon.

Another thing, the doc said I probably got the germ in my lung before Korea. Everybody has the germs inside them. So when I look at tops, or even you, I keep wondering if this is where I got it. If this bastard is the one who, You've turned soft, Sounded like a dizzy hypochondriac Why two years ago you would have slapped tops loose from his teeth

For even looking at you wrong That was two years ago, Max Why do we make such a big deal of being tough? All we see on the screen, the radio or TV is some joke Orgagging about how tough and rugged he is I didn't have much to think about in the hospital So I figured out toughness It's for the birds

Unless a guy is ready to take a stand That means ready to die on anything, even getting called a louse or an SOB. Then being tough is all a bluff, being a coward. And if you're really tough, ready to kill or be killed over a hard look, then you're stupid. Sweet God, you talk like you're half dead. That's what I am, half dead.

And I don't give a damn about anything, but seeing I don't become all dead. That's why I'm here, besides wanting to see you again. Want you to do me a favor. Give me a pistol permit. Your hands are the best weapons you'll ever have. What you need a rod for? You want me to make it formal? As a citizen, I am asking for a gun permit for protection.

From time to time, I'm going to run into other slap-happy characters like Tops. Guys I once slugged, and this running is tough on my lungs. With a rod, I could bluff my way. I stopped, for Max's fat face was twisted up as though he was going to cry. He shook his head sadly. What's wrong with you? Running. And you know I can't get you a permit on those grounds? Also, you know damn well there's no point in packing a rod unless you're going to use it.

That'd be great, getting sent up and knocking off a slob like tops, because you're scared. You won't get me the permit? No. Okay, I'll make an application for one at the police headquarters anyway. I stood up. Say hello to Libby and the kids. Max got to his feet. Wait a minute, can't we talk for crying out loud. We're all friends. and sure we are. Always will be friends. Only we each have to play things the way we see them.

I... His phone rang and he waved a big hand at me, snapped at the receiver. Yeah. When? Headquarters? The bastards. 2.41 Hildell Drive. Beatrice Wilson? Mrs. Get me a car right away. He slammed the receiver down, told me, "'Got a juicy murder in my precinct. "'Come over with me.' "'I glanced at my watch. "'It was almost three.

"'No time for me to take my afternoon nap. "'No, time for me to take my afternoon nap. "'I'll see you some... "'Nap!' "'Max growled, grabbing his hat "'and then my arm rushing me toward the door. "'We can talk while in the car. "'What the hell?

"'Maybe the sight of a stiff will get you in harness again.' "'I didn't want to waste energy wrestling, Max. "'I turned my head away from his, "'wanted to tell him I'd done my share of killing recently, seen too many bodies mass murder but I didn't say a word and we picked up a young cop and jumped into the car waiting at the curb Max put the siren on and started cutting through traffic

the cop asked what's up captain found a dame out on Hildale drive with a head bashed in Hildale the cop repeated Ritzie neighborhood What is it? Robbery? How the hell do I know? I got a phone not a crystal ball Max raced through the streets although he was careful to slow down at the crossings when we didn't have the light. And within a few minutes he pulled up in front of a fairly new brick house, one of these expensive picture window jobs, set back on a well-kept lawn.

There were several radio cars there and a cop keeping back a curious crowd of housewives and kids. The cop next to me muttered, "'Hair quarters already here.' We went inside and a fat cop pointed up a short flight of stairs. We rushed up and I said, "'Take it slow, Maxie.' And we came into a large bedroom full of detectics. and cops. The fingerprint men and photographers were already busy. It was a nice bedroom,

with pink drapes and candy-striped wallpaper. The bed had been slept in. The sheets were must, a dressing table and a couple of chairs were overturned, and the dressing mirrors smashed. The corpse lay on the bed, clothed in a blue silk necklige, a good deal of her naked, dead body showing. It had been a fairly interesting body, firm thighs. She was lying on her back, and from what I could see, she'd been average pretty, maybe cute, for a dame in her late thirties. The back of her head was smashed in, her thick blonde hair messy with matted blood. A little metal table lamp lying near the head had evidently been the skullcracker. One of the detectives was standing by the bed, apparently measuring the setup with his eyes.

He started to take off his coat, then his eye catching something red, suddenly dropped to the floor on his hands and knees and peered under the bed. But it was only a pair of fuzzy red bedroom slippers. I guess he was disappointed. Looking at the woman, I thought it had been years since I'd seen a dead white woman, but I'd seen so many yellow and brown dead women. In death, as in life they all look the same except the color of their skin. There was a joke that went something like that.

Harry would know it. The only difference was this woman had died in her lush bedroom, the others I'd seen. He found dead yellow women along the roads, and the bombed and burned out huts, or in the grotesque positions of those frozen to death. There'd been the one without any. I was starting to feel uneasy again,

and I went into the adjoining bathroom with its black tile and striped shower curtain and took my pill, cupping my hand under the faucet for water. I came back into the room and stood around, and a guy from homicide talked to Max who seemed more interested in learning why headquarters had been notified before the local precinct.

The homicide man said, Who knows why? The maid, a Mrs. Florence. Prince Samuels came in at noon, thought Mrs. Wilson was out, started her work downstairs. When she came up here to clean, she found the body, looked up headquarters in the phone book. Funny, she didn't just ask the operator for the cops, Max said. And how come she starts at noon? Seems Henry Wilson, husband of the victim, has been missing for a couple of days. Mrs. Wilson was up late, worrying, and the maid didn't go home till after 11.

Claims Mrs. Wilson told her not to come in till noon on account of working late. What's with the missing husband? We haven't anything on him yet. Evidently, they had some kind of fuss, and he returned last night and knocked her off. Neighbors said the light was on all night in the bedroom, and they heard the sounds of a man arguing with Mrs. Wilson. Max said, It doesn't mean it was the husband.

Could have been another John who... One moment, sir, a voice boomed in this heavyset joker who'd been sitting in one corner of the room, holding his head and his hands came over. I won't have you talking about my sister like that. There wasn't any man in her life except her husband. She was my sister, not a tart. And why must she be left half-exposed like this? He stooped to straighten out her robe, and Max yanked him up hard, said,

"'Cut that! Who the hell are you?' "'Her brother,' the headquarters man said, "'Mr. William Saxton III.' He said it like he had big dough. Saxton's meaty face broke into tears, as he told Max. "'Excuse me. I didn't mean to hinder you. It's simply that this... has been more than a terrible shock.

The impossible thing one never expects to happen to his own. Poor Beatrice, I... He burst into quiet sobs. Max said, Sure, this is tough on you, Mr. Saxton. A hell of a strain. But I want some info. And now, where's Henry Wilson?

He couldn't have done this. Good Lord, he and Beatrice had a beautiful life. Seven years of happiness and devotion. Wonderful. Nobody said he did it. Max cut in. Where is he? I don't know where Henry is.

I spent all day yesterday looking for him. Simply banished two days ago. Friday night after he left the office with $2,000 of the firm's money. Henry and I are partners in the manufacture. I wasn't interested in Max's or Saxton's troubles. And the woman's limp dead arm reminded me of the arm of a guy in the hospital whose lung had suddenly collapsed on him during the night. His dead arm was hanging from the bed in the morning.

Like the woman's. I had missed my nap. and felt tired, and it was time for my milk. I went downstairs, and there was a swinging door leading into the kitchen. Only the damn thing was warped, and I had to put my shoulder to it before it opened. The maid was a thin, dark-skinned, colored woman, maybe 50, maybe older. She had a towel wrapped around her hair, was wearing a plainhouse dress, her stockings too big for her bony legs, that disappeared into a pair of old slippers.

It was pretty unusual for a person to bother looking up the police number in a phone book when calling in a murder. She was cleaning the gas stove, and two young cops were sitting at the white kitchen table smoking. One of them said, Come on, Auntie, make us a cup of coffee. Got any donuts handy? I'll Auntie you, the maid told him in a high voice. Get out of my kitchen. Don't get tough, you old bag, the cop said. You may be in our kitchen soon. We do a special hose job on Shines.

All I'm asking for is a cup of Java. Shines, you have your filthy nerve. And don't you call me a bag? Don't even speak to me. Sitting there so big, cluttering up my place. and all because you've got a badge of... Watch it, the second cop said. Or you'll get that fresh mouth of your slap shut. Make us some coffee.

I'll make you some lie first, the woman said on the verge of tears. You're asking for a boot in the ass, the first cop said. Now get that, I said. Captain Daniels didn't bring you here for coffee or to be hanging around the kitchen. The two of them looked me over, trying to figure who I was, if I was from headquarters. They both crushed their cigarettes on the... kitchen table and shuffled out. The maid took a rag and wiped the table, muttering, Pigs. I sat down and she said, What do you want? Ain't no murder been done in my kitchen.

Stay upstairs where you belong. I wonder if I could get a glass of milk, Miss Samuels. She looked at me for a moment, then said, At least you got enough menace to call me Miss, and it's Mrs. She took a container of milk out of the big spotless icebox, poured me a glass. I sipped it slow so as not to chill my guts. She asked, "'You a detective?' "'The detectives are upstairs.' "'Hem. A lot of good they'll do,

"'even if they find the killer. "'A lot of good that will do, they won't touch him.' "'If they find him, they'll take care of him,' "'I said, thinking how sure she was it was a hymn, "'wondering why she had hesitated before phoning the police. "'Will they?' "'They usually do. "'Cops like convictions.'

"'She grunted, turned on me, and said fiercely, "'They'll do nothing, not a mumbling thing you'll see.' I finished my milk and wondered if I could leave, go back to my hotel and get my nap. Waiting around the house would only get me a ride back to town and more of Max's pep talk. Mrs. Samuels kept puttering around the stove, mumbling. Them asking me all sorts of fool questions as though I wanted Miss Beatrice to die,

or hinting Mr. Henry murder his wife, like asking the earth if it killed a seed. Say that, to say this, wasn't a sweeter, more lovy-dovey couple than them, too. Fine people, good to work for. Woman keeps her dignity working for them. Why, I wouldn't do nothing to... Yeah, well, thanks for the milk, I said, getting up. The door wasn't stuck from the kitchen side.

My timing was lousy. I was crossing the hallway when Max and this Saxton came down the stairs. Max said, Matt, have something for you. And I didn't like that happy note in his horse voice. Saxon said in a selling voice, I understand you're a crackerjack private detective. If you mean I come with corn, yeah.

They didn't get my little joke. I used to be a private dick. Bye. Listen, Matt, Max cut in. Mr. Saxton mentioned he was so anxious to clean up the death of his sister. He was going to hire a private investigator to help us. Of course, I thought of you. I almost laughed in Max's puss.

That private investigator stuff. And a copper likes to have a private dick around a case the same way a rat loves to have a kitten around. But Max was going to rehabilitate me, as though the hospital hadn't tried enough of that. I can't take a case. I'm not licensed. I began, but Saxton boomed.

I know, and I want you to start at once this very second. Suppose I don't hire you as a detective, but as a secretary. I want everything possible done on this case. The smallest detail investigated. I'm willing to pay you $50 a day, starting as of this minute. Be wasting your dough, I told him. Been over a year since I've worked, and... Fine, fine, I like that.

Honesty. Rare quality. Saxton said. And you couldn't find a better man. Matt was tops in his field, Max said, giving me the eye. I didn't say anything, and Saxton said, I don't expect miracles, but thorough work. Now, Mr. Ranzino, Max said.

Are you working for me, Mr. Ranzino? Well, I was far from, flush. And even if I worked two days, it'd been a hundred, almost a month's pension. and this joker was too eager to give me his dough. Take it, Matt, Max said, giving me the double pat on the back that annoyed me. Wouldn't ask you unless I thought you could help. Okay, I said.

But you know in front where I stand. I'm rusty, and I was about to add, and not too well. But Saxton boomed, I understand, and shook my hand. He had a big hand and a powerful grasp. I'll give you a retainer. Hundred do? I nodded, and he pulled out a checkbook. looking around for a table and pushed the kitchen door open with one finger,

and we all went in and he sat down and wrote me a check. I waved it to let the ink dry, and Max said, Now let's go down to the station and talk, start from the beginning, and see what we end up with. I said I'd stay there, and Saxon told me to keep in touch with him. And I said I would, and they went out. I pocketed the check, and the maid asked, You a detective now?

Seems so. I went out and tried the kitchen door again. It was still stuck. For a man his age, or any age, Saxton was damn strong, or I was weaker than I thought. Outside I took a fairly deep breath and looked around for the nearest bus. I walked to the corner, noting to find houses on the block, thinking of that old line about the rich and poor having one thing in common, death.

I felt tired and hailed a cruising cap now that I was in the dough. In my room I undressed my underwear and went to bed. It took me some time to fall asleep. I thought of Harry and how the Nance in him was coming out more and more. I could see it after being away all this time. Flo got hooked up with the wrong guy this trip, even for the car and the money, and having to sleep with the creep as a topper. It was a crazy scared world I'd returned to, frightened worse than the world of the hospital.

There it was simple. Either you lived or you died. Here. Nothing added up. And I was the silliest joker of them all. getting 50 bucks a day for a case I didn't give a damn about, didn't intend to do any work on. Maybe that maid was right when she said nothing would be done. Maybe she had me in mind without knowing it.

But Saxton was crazier. He was paying me, and Max, the big brother, helping me rook Saxton. But I didn't feel bad about the rooking. I didn't feel anything, one way or another, except tired. End of part one. Part 2. Of Sin in Their Blood by Ed Lacey. This Librevox recording is in the public domain. Part 2. Tuesday.

I awoke early and felt pretty good. I'd had over 12 hours shut-eye. I took a warm shower, examined my body in the mirror as I dried myself. This was my second day out of the hospital, and I was still alive. After a big breakfast, I dropped in at Saxton's bank, identified myself with my VA pay. papers, cashed the check. Mrs. Wilson's murder was in the morning headlines, and the teller looked at Saxton's signature, said, "'Hard to believe Mrs. Wilson is dead.'

"'Know her?' She had an account here, saw her a few times. But Mr. Wilson came in every day. He's a swell guy. You know what I mean? Real friendly, even though he's a big manufacturer. Paper's a crazy hinting he did it. Never tell what makes a guy murder.

But not Mr. Wilson. Never heard Henry raise his voice. He and I are members of the same Masonic Lodge. I know him pretty well. There isn't a nicer guy. Ask anybody. I'm at time, I said, counting the ten tens and walking away. I stopped at the VA office and after waiting a while saw a snooty young doctor named Kent, who told me, report here every two months for a checkup, of course.

If you should feel sick, raise a fever, spit blood, have a bad cold, get in touch with us immediately. Want to look me over now? Why? Only 24 hours since you were released from the hospital. "'You'll all right?' "'Good as I can,' I said. "'He had a folder on me. The hospital must have sent along, and he thumbed through this, "'then stopped and read a page and looked up at me with puzzled eyes. "'So he knew. I didn't give too much of a damn about that.

"'Being called a coward never worried me much. "'Den't mean a thing now. "'No one had ever exactly called me that, still. "'It was in his eyes. "'But what the hell did he know, sitting here in his comfortable office? "'Probably had a bum-heart or a dock his age would be in the army. When I left him, it was only 11, and I started to look about for a room, but decided I ought to see Max, find out what was new on the great case.

Max gave me the double slap on the back before I could pull away and ask, "'Take up anything?' "'Plenty. Henry Wilson was a swell guy.' Max raised his eyes. "'Was?' "'Slipped at the tongue,' I said casually. Max had missed some gray hairs under his chin this morning. "'What's new on the murder?'

"'Not a damn thing. We'll pick up Wilson soon. Wired every police department in the country. Checking airlines and trains. Can't figure the motive. From all the dope we can turn up, they were a happily married couple. Both active in civic organizations, country club. Far as we can dig, he wasn't skirt chasing.

What do you know about him? Not too much. No record. He and Beatrix Saxton met in college. He was drafted in 1942, wounded in Africa, discharged in 44. they married then. He was born down south. Doesn't seem to have any relations.

All we can find out he's one of these clean living boys. Play penny ante poker and good bridge. Worked out at the Y regularly. Did the golf course under 100, stuff like that. Saxon took him into his chair business. Saxon seems to have liked the guy from the start.

And Wilson was good. Built a business up to where it is now. He had money. Made about 15 grand a year. Positioned a pretty wife was well thought of. Lovely, isn't it? Where was he wounded? In the head?

Check that. Bullet almost cut his leg off. But he held up okay. Maids alibi checks. As for the corpse, can't find any enemies of boyfriends. Of course, we're still looking into that. How's his nibs, Saxton, stand up? I asked. A little too anxious, but strictly a pillar of the community character. Big Joyner, member of the Chamber of Commerce, Lions, Rotary, Elks. Comes from an old family.

They were often when he was 20 and he took him. of his sister, work hard, sent her through college, loved her, and, as I said, liked Henry. This is going to be a tough one to crack. Where was Saxton Sunday night? Take it easy. His being anxious don't mean a thing. He spent the night with his girlfriend. A bachelor, but he's been keeping him Madeline Moore out at a white beach.

He came there for supper Sunday. They killed a bottle and went to sleep. He left a Monday morning at eight, drove to the factory. Max wrote an address on a slip of paper, gave it to me. Here's her address if you want to check. What have you been doing? Sleeping. Max looked hurt.

Oh, Matt, snap out of it. You're taking the guy's money and... I do my best work when I'm sleeping. I stood up. Check with you if I learn anything. Know where I can find a room. Around the beach. Saxton was asking about you this morning.

At least drop over to see him. He's at the factory. Sure. As I was waiting for a bus on the corner, a big car passed. and the guy at the wheel turned to stare at me for a split second, his sharp face full of hate. I vaguely remembered him as a junkie I once had pinched and roughed up, although the arrest hadn't held. I went to the nearest hawk shop and bought a pigskin shoulder holster. I wore it over my heart, and when I buttoned my coat, an experienced eye, could plainly see the outline.

It wasn't a bad bluff. The Saxton Chair Company, Inc. was a modest three-story factory, a squat old brick building that seemed humming with activity. It was time for a pill and I dropped into an empty bar across the street from the factory, ordered a glass of stout. The barkeep was a fat old man, busy reading papers. He was reading about the murder, and I asked, A juicy killing. Ever seen this Henry Wilson? Well, you bet, regular guy.

Dropped in here every afternoon for a cocktail. Why, he was in Friday, the day they say he disappeared. Doesn't seem to have a care in the world. Say, even the workers in the factory liked him. Salt of the earth, no heirs, or bossy ways about him. Why, he won a baseball pool here one day last summer and spent it buying drinks on the house. Saxon the same? The bar keep screwed up his fat face.

That dude cutter. He tried to have my license revoked when I opened. Didn't want his workers drinking. Know what he is. One of those babies that talks dry but knocks off a bottle at home. Always shooting off his mouth in public about the evils a drink. But I can spot a rummy and... Are he a friend of yours?

No. I'm merely passing through. The old man studied my face, his eyes worried. You're a dick. Sure, I remember you. When I was tending bar at the Silver Spoon on Fourth Street. Sure, you once flattened two guys who were acting loud and wrong. Now, listen, this is my own joint and everything is run according to the rule.

Quiet joint, no fights or dancing, never sell to minors. Stop running yourself down. I used to be a dick. I'm nothing now. He hesitated, then returned to his paper, and I finished my stout. and went across the street to the factory. The girl at the switchboard asked my name and what I wanted, and I said,

tell Mr. Saxton his secretary is here to see him, and she stared at me as though I was crazy. Saxon's office was large, plainly furnished, everything looking as though it had been there for years. He slipped me the iron handshake again, asked. Found anything, Mr. Ransino? Nothing the police don't know. I imagine these things take time.

I simply can't believe Henry would do this. Lord, he was like a little. brother to me. The police are so sure he did it, yet I don't think he could. Although frankly, he's been a bit upset the last few weeks. Once told me he and B were having a little family trouble, and I think he was gambling or something. You mean the two grand that's missing? Yes, and several times in the past month he borrowed from me, $10 and $20. Really nothing for a man of his uncommon. I'm sure his fight with Beatrice was just one of those things. If Henry would only show up, I can't understand it.

Saxton looked at me as if I should understand it. So to do something I made with a talk. You have a partnership, Will, where the surviving partner gets the entire business in case of the death of the other partner? I believe we have, Saxton boomed. That's the usual procedure in a partnership,

although according to law, we're incorporated. How about his insurance and bank accounts? All in order? Saxon nodded. Far as I know, of course, we can't open his vault box, or make much of an investigation till Henry returns. Mrs. Wilson, have any money of her own?

No, maybe a few hundred dollars. I couldn't think of any more silly questions, so I sat there waiting, and Saxton waited, and after a moment I got to my feet, and he asked, care to look around his office right through that door? Sure. I went into the adjoining office, which was about the same size as Saxton's,

but painted a canary yellow, had several paintings on the wall, abstract stuff, and a red leather couch with a magazine racked beside it. The chairs were red-webbed leather, and the desk was some sort of ebony wood and very modern. There was the usual framed picture of his wife on the desk, a picture taken several years ago, and she had a good face, not beautiful or flashy, but warm and attractive. I banged a few drawers loudly, for Saxton's benefit. There couldn't be anything in the office. The cops had been over it.

There was a closet with a raincoat hanging in it and an old pair of rubbers. Another door opened on a small bathroom. There was a hanging bookshelf above the John, and I grinned. This Henry loved his comforts. The books were a couple of bestsellers, and one titled A Study of Geometric Plains and Engels. It was a worn book, and I wondered why a guy would read that in the can, and when I opened it, a large folded paper fell out. It was a deed to a cabin up on Arrow Mountain dated two months ago.

I pocketed it. Couldn't be possible the cops were that sloppy. Returned to Saxton's office. He was leaning back. in his chair, dictating a letter into a machine. I stood there waiting. On his desk, among the morning mail, I saw a copy of America America. Saxon turned off the machine, and I pointed to the newsletter.

Is that any good? My former partner runs it, Harry Loughlin. Saxon looked at me with new interest. Oh, heard him speak. Energetic chap. I was one of his first subscribers. Henry was against it, but if we ever wanted to get in on defense contracts, had to be on the safe side. finished with the office. I dropped the deed on his desk.

He read it, his big face showing mild surprise. Henry never mentioned this. Sometimes went hunting, but I'm surprised he never said anything about buying a cabin. I beat him to the question. Want me to look the cabin over? Arrow's about 50 miles from here. Think it would be worthwhile?

Never tell what may be a lead. I haven't a car. You can take mine. He handed me the keys and told somebody over the interphone I'd be down. He said, I won't need the car before five. He'll be back by then. Probably a wild goose chase. But... He said it all very nicely, not too much of a straight face. He tried to break my hand again as we shook and I left. He had a heavy caddy about three years old, but well kept. I hadn't driven a car in too many months and it felt good to be behind all that smooth, steady power. The roads were empty and I made it in an hour. It took me another 20 minutes to locate the cabin.

A kid in a gas station pointing it out to me, said. said, you buy it? I heard it was sold months ago. Anybody lived there? No, you didn't buy it? It was a new cabin, made of logs or imitation logs, and set off by itself up on a wooded rise. I parked the car and walked up the slope, puffing a little. There were dark blue burlap curtains over the window, but nothing moved. I was a fine target for anybody in the cabin, but I had a pretty good idea whoever was in there wasn't in any shape to do much shooting or anything else. I knocked, to be polite, and there wasn't any answer. I waited till I had my breath back again, took my pulse, which surprised me by being normal, and tried the door.

It didn't feel like much of a lock. I put my shoulder to it twice. There was an overturned chair in the straight legs of a man, a man hanging from the rafter by a clothesline. The place had a slight stink, and I judged Henry Wilson had been dead for two days or longer. Some field mice scampered away from the remains of a loaf of bread and some moldy meat on the table. There was an open fountain pin lying there, several crumpled sheets of paper, none of them with any writing. Wilson stared down at me with the vacant look of the dead. He had on an open white shirt in the pants of a business suit. The coat was flung on a bed in the corner. Wilson was built like a welterweight, slight but compact, seemed on the handsome side.

I saw a key inside the door, tried the windows. They were easy to open and shut. I put my handkerchief back in my pocket, didn't touch anything else. I went back down the hill, drove to the gas station, called Max. He said he'd be right out. It was a little after one, and I drove back to the cabin, walked up the hill slowly, watching my breathing. I didn't puff much. Remembered it was time for my pill. I went to the sink and found the water off.

There was a small valve under the sink, but I didn't turn it on, swallowed the pill dry. I'd had a lot of experience lately, swallowing pills, wet or dry. I sat on the doorstep and it hardly seemed any time at all before I heard the only wail of sirens, and Max and Saxton, and half the police department were charging up the slope. They all were puffing. A dock cut Wilson down and said he had died sometime Sunday morning, and Saxton looked thoroughly upset. Max actually shook my hand, gave me a line about a job well done, and Saxton thanked me, gave me another check for a hundred for excellent work. I protested, lightly, that he'd already paid me for the two days I'd put in, but he shook his head and sat down

and stared at the floor. While everybody was gassing about the suicide and the case being closed and being busy, busy, I said goodbye, or maybe I didn't bother, and got a ride back to town in a radio car. I didn't blame Max too much. He had a solution, an answer that fitted. Why should he look for more work?

Of course, actually, Saxton had killed his sister and brother-in-law. The only reason he hired me was to make damn sure the cops found the body. Maybe I should have told Max about the water being off, not that it was conclusive proof of anything. Still, it could be enough for a starter, a real investigation. But what would that get me? I didn't give a damn about the case, who killed who. Didn't want to get on it in the first place.

Max was happy, so was Saxton, and I had $200 and was tired. I slept most of my way back to town, and it was only 3 p.m. And I decided I'd had my afternoon nap. I took a bus out to White Beach to look for a room. There weren't many vacancy signs out. and what rooms were for rent were either about the size of a foam booth or must have been built of uranium and priced accordingly. But it was sunny and it felt good to walk along the beach near the ocean. By five I was ready to give up and go back to town when I passed a cottage and the number stuck in my mind.

I got it after a moment. This was the house of Sexton's girlfriend, his alibi, Madeline Moore. I dug through my pockets, found the address Max had given me and my memory was right. more out of curiosity to see what a clown like Saxton went for, I rang the bell. I was surprised. A tall girl with a strong figure opened the door. Her face was good-natured rather than pretty with large frank eyes, a big heavy mouth and a lot of dark hair that reached her shoulders. She was wearing short woolen socks, sandals, and a skirt and a blouse she must have put on in the dark. There wasn't a trace of makeup on her face, not that it would have helped things much, yet it was a face I liked.

For a moment we didn't speak, while I quickly ran my eyes, over her body, as a guy does to every girl, and she did the same to me, but slower. Then she said, Oh, damn, another dick. I spent all day yesterday telling you guys all I know, and then it was the reporters. Why don't you leave me alone? Her voice was throaty, and for some reason excited me.

I'm looking for a room. Do you... Bullshit, you've got detective written all over your pan, and those big shoulders. I used to be a cop, but I'm not now. Honestly, I'm looking for a room. "'My, isn't it simply a ginger-dandy coincidence? "'You just happen to stop at my place? "'You see a vacancy sign around here?'

"'On the level. "'I was on the case as sort of a private eye hired by Saxton, "'but now that—' "'What's he doing, checking up on me?' she asked. "'Her eyes still roaming over my body, "'measuring my shoulders, embarrassing me. "'Look, the case is over. "'They found Wilson's body, and I—'

"'Her eyes looked shut. "'His body? Mr. Wilson dead?' "'Suicide, they say. Now, gee, he was a nice guy. Well, I guess he must have done it, but you'd never think it, looking at him. Never raised his voice, or... Anyway, I was down here looking for a room, and your address stuck in my mind. This isn't a rooming house.

Mr. Wilson dead? You know of any rooms, cheap ones? I'm on a pension, not very well, have to rest. I was hurt in Korea, and something in her face changed. I don't know exactly what, but she almost seemed as if she was going to weep. Come in, Mr. Matt Ranzino, Miss Moore. Mrs. Moore, you see, my, my husband was killed at Tegu.

Here. We were in a small living room furnished with the kind of stuff you'd pay a few bucks down and another couple of bucks a week for. She opened a thick leather-bound book and showed me a small black-bordered picture of a cocky corporal. The book was one of these regimental history things. I was surprised they had them out so fast. Usually takes a few years before they're issued. But a quick buck will always find an eager beaver. The guy was wearing a tank helmet, looked handsome and big, about 22.

Madeline's head was near mine, and I realized she couldn't be much more than that herself. A big kid. A big kid with a faint odor of whiskey on her big breath. Staring at the picture for a long moment, she said, We were jobbed. Hardly had more than a few months of marriage. Then... Tell me about Korea if you want to talk about it. I don't.

Those yellow savages. What do they do to you, boys? "'They gave us a rough time when I was there. "'But let's forget the war,' I added, "'afraid she was getting ready to cry on my shoulder. "'Let's get back to now. "'Do you know of a room?' "'I have an extra bedroom here.

"'Been thinking of renting it out, but... "'I never got around to it. "'I wanted a girl, but the hell with it.' "'She never got around to it because Saxton didn't want anybody else in the house. "'If she would take me in, she must be washed up with Saxton. but if she wasn't I didn't want to get into any messy deal I said

That's right Would look odd having a male rumor in this small cottage Best I Forget that I gave up worrying what the neighbors thought a long time ago You want a room? Take a look at this We went through the kitchen And into a fairly large bedroom

With a big double bed A chest of drawers and a small table bookcase beside the bed The sun was streaming in past the red polka dot curtains And the whole room had a sort of homey atmosphere something my hotel room lacked. I said, How much you're asking for? Whatever you want to pay.

I'm so far behind on my mortgage payments, it won't make much difference. Well, I wanted to say six bucks, but I knew that was too cheap. Eight a week, be okay? You have a room, Matt. And call me, Madeline. Using last names is silly.

You can use the kitchen any time you feel like cooking. Guess the bed will be big enough for you. You've got some pair of shoulders up there. worked in a warehouse when I was a kid, got the shoulders juggling trunks. Biggest I ever saw, she said, and ran her hands over my shoulders, felt of the muscles in my arm, poked her finger against my stomach. It was the first time I'd let a girl so brazenly fill me up, and I felt like blushing, and then like laughing.

I'd like a man to be a man. Ah. And a woman to be a woman? I asked. This kid was really something, or she was drunk. All right, stop making like clever. Sure, a woman to be a woman. But a man should be big and hard.

Billy, my husband, he used to hang around Muscle Beach, did acrobatics. Gee, hard to think a lousy little hunk of lead could kill all that man. Want a drink? No, thanks. I took out my wallet. Here's two weeks' rent. She took the sixteen bucks, and I said I'd be back in an hour or so with my suitcase. And she went into her bedroom, which was furnished about the same as mine.

didn't even have a dressing table and took a key out of her pocketbook, said, Most times I forget to lock the door, but here's your key, and if the front door's locked, the back door's always open. I said thanks and tried not to laugh. I took the bus back to the hotel, checked out, and was looking around for Abe to see if he could get the desk to cash my check, but he was out to supper. On second thought, I figured it would be a mistake to let him know too much of my business.

I had a light supper and two glasses of milk and got to the cottage at about seven. There was a burly joker sitting in a back. battered car parked near the house and he gave me the eye, but I couldn't recall ever having seen him before, told myself I'd have to get over the jittery feeling every time some big ape looked at me. Madeline wasn't home and I hung up my few things, wrote the finance office and told them where to send my checks. I'd had a big day and was pretty tired, but figured I should mail the letter at once. The stars were just coming out and the air was clean and cool and I left the mailbox and walked along the beach, kicking up the sand with my big feet. It

It reminded me of machine gun bullets ripping up the ground. Tomorrow I thought I'll get a lot of sun and some swimming wouldn't hurt. I was watching the Pacific, thinking of Korea on the other end of the water, when I heard footsteps in back of me. And as I turned, I was tackled from behind and went sprawling on the sand. I felt like I'd been hit by a ton. My breath shot out of me with a terrified shh. I tried to turn over, and then I saw this burly guy jump in the air and land on my chest,

and I could picture my lungs collapsing. I went limp, fighting for breath, afraid to move, and this goon was half astride me, cursing and punching, working his knee toward my groin. His blows didn't hurt much, except for one, I stopped with my eye, and I kept rolling my head from side to side trying to escape the punches. But it didn't work. There wasn't enough space. There wasn't much point in lying there getting crushed to death while he found out he had made a mistake, unless this was a robbery, which I doubted.

So I got my left hand over his mouth and nose and pushed. He went backwards a bit, and I raised my shoulders and hips off. the sand and slugged him in the belly. His grunt was loud in the quiet of the beach and he dropped his hands to his stomach and rolled off. I sat up and got a solid left cross on his big jaw and he fell on his side, out cold. I jumped up and looked around to see if anybody was with him, but the beach was empty, just the lights of the cottages across the road. The guy was still out and I felt my chest, surprised it was still there, took a deep breath. I was puffing and sweating, but otherwise okay. I sat down in the sand again, watching him and resting.

My right eye was swollen and there was a small taste of blood on my mouth. For a moment the blood gave me a hell of a fright. I was sure I had hemorrhaged. I ran my tongue over my lips and felt a cut there and nearly cried with a relief. Bully boy started to stir and I opened my coat and sat so the moonlight played on my shoulder holster. I got to my feet and when he started to sit up I slapped him sharply across the forehead and he tried to kick me and fell over backwards. He was just a big, fat, soggy slob.

He laid there, staring up at me with angry eyes, and I knew that slap had left him dizzy. I asked, What's your story, fat boy? Why the rough and tumble play? Got me mixed up with some other guy? I know who you are. He rubbed his jaw, touched his stomach. Jesus, you hit hard. Talker, I'll give you a real going over. Who the hell are you? I was short, rusty. I hadn't even frisked him.

Stay away from Madeline. What? Why, you dummy? I'm only rooming at her house. I'm not... Stay away from her. I never saw her till a few hours ago. I'm not cutting in on your time, or... There ain't no time. I'm a brother. I touched my holster. Get up. I warn you. Get up. He scrambled to his feet, and I looked him over closely in the moonlight, and could see the resemblance. The same careless features. I dropped my hand. Listen, Madeline's brother. You got something awful wrong. Told you, I never saw her till this after. I was looking for a room and she rented me one. That's all. He sighed, worked his jaw, then said, that's what she said. How come you picked her house? I was working for Saxton,

on the Wilson murders, remembered Madeline's address when I came down here for a room. He spit out a gob of blood, straightened his suit and tie. That lousy bastard, what you're working for him for? For a hundred bucks, what's your angle in all this blubber? Yeah, let's sit down. I feel shaky. Like there's a hole in my mouth. stomach. Never even saw that punch to the jaw, he said, and I followed him across the sand to a bench. A licking, as though I haven't got enough troubles. Got plenty of my own troubles, and I got to watch Maddie, too. She's a good kid, only people don't understand her. She's been hitting the bottle. Don't like that, but I can't blame it too much. She's at a rough time.

He lit a cigarette, offered me one. I shook my head. I didn't mind listening to his family troubles. I was curious about Madeline. He said, I'm Joe, the oldest one, Joe Shelley. Then there's Pete, a few years older than Maddie and her. I was almost a man about 15 when she was born. And I always been looking out for her. You know how it is with kids' sisters. I never had none.

Pop died two months before she was born. Heart attack. Ma died when Maddie was 10. Me and the wife raised her and Pete. I've been like a father to her. Okay, Pop, so what? Maddie's a good. good kid, but with a lot of spirit, and that gets her in trouble because guys don't understand it.

What kind of spirit? Besides the bottled ones. Independence. She's on this equality for women line, like some people get religion. See how it was, and Pop's will he left some insurance to see Pete through college, but none for Maddie. Suppose she resented that, especially since Pete lit out east when he graduated. Then Maddie was just finishing high school at the end of the last war. Got an after her hours job in one of the plane factories, did something with the wires on the wings. She was pretty good with her hands and made fine money. She quit school, I was against that, but she thought she had a solid future in the plant. But after war, all the women workers were fired, and that made her boiling. Just like they wouldn't make her a foreman because she was a woman, even though

she knew more about the work than her foreman, and where does belly come in? Oh, not a tough break, Maddie got. They started going together back in 45, both about 18 then. Tell ya, I never thought much of him. One of these muscle-happy kids. But they hid it off. A little wild, but in a clean way, you know. Wanted to get married. But first he thought he'd be drafted so they should wait.

Then when the war was over, his folks wanted him to finish college before marrying. They waited four years, finally married. A few months later, he was taken in the army, killed in Korea. Poor boy was killed a long way from home. Maddie sort of went to pieces, turned to the bottle. Along about then, she met this loud sack. How? She was working in his factory, Clarking in the stock department.

After a while she went in to see Saxton, the big boss, asked to be promoted, that she could do the same work as the men, get the same salary. She wasn't drinking much then. It was only a few months after Billy died and she was taking it out in hard work. She... No Wilson, too? Sure, just as one of the bosses, but Saxton got interested in her. Maddie's kind of outspoken about things.

And some guys mistake that for being loose. She ain't. I think she really went for Saxton for a time. Of course, a lot of people might think it's wrong for a girl to be living with a man like that. Maybe it is. But then it was wrong for Maddie to lose her husband after a couple months of marriage, too, wasn't it? Yeah. Me and the wife thought it was okay, even though Saxton was twice her age.

He was single, an important man. It looked like what Maddie needed. I thought in time they might get married. That important man. He put her on the bottle, kept her liquored up, treating her like a kept woman. You slug him, too? Joe shook his head a little sadly. Wished I had.

I went to see him a couple months back. Maddie wants to live with the guy. Well, she's over 21, and that's her business. And Maddie isn't the kind you can tell anything. But once you quit work, slobbered around the house, tanked up all day with him doing out all the rent and food money. Well, I had to talk with him. He was nasty, and right after that, three days after, to be exact, my own trouble started. Haven't any proof, but I feel sure Saxon is mixed up in it somehow.

You in a jam? I'm a postman. Thousands of guys take exams to get in that kind of jam. Look for Ranzino, I... Ranzino, and call me Matt. Matt, I've been carrying mail for nearly 20 years, that's all I know. You never get rich, and it's no job for a guy with ambition, but I like it. people in my route are my friends.

Why, for Christmas, they gave me... Look, three days after I see Saxton and almost get told out of his office, I get a telegram from a Harry Loughlin who runs an outfit called America America. I go down there, he tells me he knows I was a union delegate in 48. Talked about the postman going out on strike for more pay.

He says that makes me a red. He's going to report me to the loyalty board. I told him, they can't do anything to you for being a union man. Hell, they can't. Joe said his voice coming. alive. It's against the law for postal workers to strike. I was going to have everybody

call in sick. Anyway, in these hearings, most times you don't even know what the charges are against you, even who informed. And this lawful and outfit's powerful. I begged him to leave me alone. My wife had a bad heart, and if I lose my job, what else can I do? Besides, what did I do wrong? Cost of living was going

up. Everybody else was getting raised, so why not the post? You fired? Joe shook his head. No, but he has me over a barrel. I got to prove what a hundred and fifty percent American I am by buying some big books on American history. The set costs a grand and I shell out a couple hundred months. Almost half what I make.

When prices so high, taxes. You're in a real swindle, I said. A grand for a set of books. Harry was playing a big-time con game. But it doesn't pay to give in to blackmail. Better than losing my job. This Loughlin is a shrewd shop, and I know all about him. He'll bleed you to death, then toss you out of the wool.

I don't know which way to turn. I already hawked my car. My TV set, I can't even tell the wife it would worry or sick. Many other post office men in the same jam? I asked getting up. Who knows? Any civil service guys, a wide open sucker for this racket. Joe stood up, rubbed his jaw.

You wounded in the hand? No. Feels like you have a silver plate in your fist. Look, Matt, I'm sorry I made a mistake about you. And try to keep Maddie off the bottle. I'm only room in there. Don't involve me in anything. I came down here for a rest. Well, do what you can, he said hopefully. I said I'd see him around and walk back to the cottage. The living room light was on, and Maddie was sitting in the one big chair looking at some snapshots of her husband.

The thick outfit history book opened on her lap. She had a fifth of rye on the table beside her, a glass, and a pitcher of water, and one look at her eyes and I knew she was loaded. It was expensive, Rye. bonded Canadian stuff. When she saw me, she asked, Want a shot, Matt? Where do you get the eye? Guy claims he socked me by mistake. And I don't want to drink.

So you don't want to drink. More for me. Thought you weren't a cop. Why you're carrying a gun? My coat was open, the holster showing. That's empty. Then why do you wear it? Keep myself warm. She shrugged.

You don't want to drink? Good night, rumor. Good night. I started from my room and she called out, Hey Matt, you know, I like the solid way you walk. I kept walking. If that was an invitation to anything, I wasn't buying. I undressed, went to the bathroom to wash. Maddie seemed to be dozing in her chair. A cold towel helped the eye. It was turning purple, but the towel reduced the swelling. It wasn't going to be too bad.

When I hit the bed, I couldn't sleep even though I was tired. For one thing, I could see the light. in the living room and that annoyed me. I thought about this poor slop, Joe, never asking for much, and the rooking Harry was giving him. Harry would be all right if he didn't push all the time. He never left a single stone unturned, especially if there was a fast buck under the stone. When I did fall into a light sleep,

I dreamed I was sitting in the Wilson kitchen again, and there was a close-up of the maid yelling at me over and over, They'll do nothing, not a mumbling thing, you'll see. And I kept telling her not to shout and asking why nothing would be done, and when I woke up I had a head sweat. The house was quiet, but the light was still on in the living room. I reached over and got my t-shirt, wiped my head dry, then lay there, wondering what the maid had meant. She must have known Saxton did the killings.

Maybe that's why she hesitated before phoning the cops. But that didn't make sense. She seemed angry at the killing. So why should she protect Saxton if that's what she was doing? I tried not to think of the colored maid, or the killing, or Saxton, or Joe. tried to get some sleep. I got up and shut my door, but I could still see the light outline the door through the cracks,

and after a while I put on my slippers, straightened my pajamas, and went into the living room. She was out cold and I was about to turn out the light, but then she'd wake up later and fall over something in the darkness and wake me anyway, so I put an arm around her shoulders, pulled her to her feet. She was a heavy kid. Maddie opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and sloppered.

Hello, big little. shoulders, big wonderful shoulders. Go to bed. She tried to nod and put an arm around me and I walked her to her room without too much trouble, put her on the bed. I didn't undress her and if she had to go to the John, that was her business. I put her legs on the bed and she stared up at me with that serious comic look drunks have and I laughed at her and she smiled and sat up and said, Matt, you're so ugly, you're handsome. I sat down on the bed trying to push her back into the pillow, as I said. Why don't you go to sleep? She felt nice to push. Sleep. Egg-eg-k-k-k-k-k-k. What? Listen. She said trying hard to collect her thoughts,

her big lips struggling with the words. Listen, I'm drunk. You sure are. Listen, please get me a glass of milk and three eggs. Three. She held up three fingers one at a time. And sugar. "'Tomorrow, no hangover, see, my secret remedy.' "'And I don't know what it was. "'Either the warmth in her drunken voice did things to me. "'Or maybe I felt sorry for her. "'Or maybe it was because this was the first time

"'I was with a girl in a long, long time. "'A girl I knew I couldn't have picked up the bugs from. "'When she tried to sit up again, her big eyes, staring at me, "'I took her in my arms and we kissed awkwardly. "'I could sure feel those heavy lips working. taste the rye on her breath. She pulled away and I couldn't tell if she had enjoyed the kiss or even knew I'd kissed her, but those lips felt hot and wonderful and it was fine to hold a girl in my arms.

She said, I'm tired, and fell back on the pillow. Do you want that milk concoction? She nodded, her eyes shut. I went into the kitchen, broke three eggs into a glass of milk, added a spoonful of sugar. It was a slimy mess. I sat on her bed again, pulled her up. Her eyes had a hard time making me out. What's the matter? she asked.

Here's your milk, the secret weapon. I said holding her up with one arm behind her back, putting the glass of milk to her mouth with the other hand. She took a long gulp and began to cough and choke. I slapped her on the back and she neatly spit out a mouthful of the mess. All over me. I jumped up, spilling the rest of the glass over myself. Maddie fell back on the bed, looking away from me, embarrassed,

mumbling she was very sorry. and passed out. My pajamas were damp and cold, smelled like a dairy truck. I cursed her, almost yanking the switch off the wall as I snapped out the lights and went to the bathroom. I removed my pajama top, washed myself. As I dropped my wet pants, there was a gentle knock on the front door. I stood there waiting, not sure I had heard right, and then the knock sounded again, louder. I walked through the dark living room and looked out the window.

Saxton was standing there. I was nude and thought the expression on his face would be worth the risk of a draft. When he knocked again, I yanked the door open. The moonlight hit me, and I felt like a strip-tease artist facing the final spot. Saxon's thick mouth actually dropped open as he said, What the devil? There wasn't any boom in his voice now. The cool night air was chilling me, but I asked in a matter-of-fact voice.

What's on your mind, Willie? We stared at each other for a moment, his glance resting on my black eye. Then he said softly, You work too hard at your job, Ranzino. The case is solved, closed. After a fashion? What do you mean after a fashion? Exactly what you said.

The case is over. I'm not working for you any longer. Any other questions? Willie Saxton III? You're rather peppy tonight. Weren't like that yesterday or this... I delivered. You got what you paid for.

A body. Now, if you want me to do some more work on the case... I can think of a few. few angles that haven't been touched. He didn't say anything, merely stared at me and I was getting cold. I said, good night, Willie, and shut the door. And he boomed, you tell Madeline to call me in the morning. I stood behind the door, shivering a little, and he knocked again, said, Matt, open the door, want to talk to you. When I opened the door, he said, no hard feelings, you know, all's fair in love and war and gall chasing. He held out his hand. I wasn't completely fooled, only I thought he was

going to swing on me, and I was watching his feet as I shook hands. My left was faster than his any time. I should have watched his shoulders. The strong ox suddenly yanked on my hand, and I went sailing past him off the steps on my shoulders and face in the cold, damp grass. It took me a moment to get my bearings, and Saxton walked by, chuckling, said, a little something to go with that eye. I'm a damn fool, I thought, playing hero, lying out here like a fallen statue. Cold grass will fix me but fast. When my head stopped spinning, I dashed back into the house. I tried to wipe the green grass stain from my shoulders and shoved a thermometer in my chattering mouth as I put on long woolen underwear and climbed into bed, waiting for the cold to come. I didn't have any temperature,

but I was too worried to be angry at Saxton. I was mad at myself for being a prize patsy, risking my health by sticking my full nose in other people's business. I turned off the table light and lay there worried stiff, and when I opened my eyes again it was daylight in 8 a.m. End of part two. Part three. Up sin in their blood by Ed Lacey. This Libravox recordings in the public domain. Part three. Wednesday. I dressed without washing and was on the bus to town and ten minutes flat. I was at the VA shortly after nine waiting for Doc Kent. He asked,

What's the matter? That's the right car. colorful eye you're sporting. Got into a fight yesterday, case of mistaken identity on the other guy's part, but I got a pounding around the chest. And later in the night, I was walking around the house and the nude, and there was an open door, and I was in a draft for quite a long time. I realized how stupid it all sounded. Kent looked at me as though I was making it all up. Coughing? No. He stuck a thermometer in my mouth, took my pulse. Then he read the thermometer, said, Normal, so was your pulse? What was wrong? Well, nothing was wrong, but after all that I thought, thought what? How do you feel? Okay, I guess, but I...

Then what are you running to me for? Get this, Renzino. I know all about your case. Interested me, so I made a point of studying it. I'm here to help you, but don't make a pest of yourself. Remember, there's nothing wrong with you now. You've had TB. While this office is always open to you, there's no need of running here every time you take a fast breath. Okay, Doc, cut the lecture. Sorry, I disturbed you. It isn't a question of disturbing me.

Frankly, you're as big and healthy as a horse. While I wouldn't advise you to go in for marathon running at the moment or anything that places an abnormal strain on your body, there isn't a damn thing wrong with you. If you'll simply regain confidence in yourself and your body and... So long, Doc. You should use slides with your talks. I said walking out of his office. I cashed Saxton's check, and the teller said,

See, they solved the murder. Can't believe Mr. Wilson would do something like that, but got to hand it to the police fast work. They've been great since Buck Rogers joined the force. Who? Hop along Cassidy, I said, counting the money on the way out. I felt better on the bus back to White Beach. Felt I really must be getting healthy

if I didn't show anything after that night. Of course, I didn't pay any attention to the Doc's pep line about me being well, normal. That was a standard pitch. By half-past ten, I was back in my room undressed and in bed, resting as I read the morning papers. Wilson's suicide was all over the headlines, but I only read the comics and the sports page. After a while, I heard Maddie get up, the flush of water in the bathroom, and then she was in the kitchen and in my doorway. She had a light red house coat on and looked fresh for a babe who must be well. hung over. There was a kind of Mona Lisa

cat-like expression on her face, the large mouth forming a real smile as she said, "'Good morning, lazy. Where'd you get the papers?' "'I've been up and into town and back, didn't you hear me?' "'I could sleep through an air raid, especially when I'm sleeping off a gutful.' "'What time did you wake up Sunday, morning or afternoon?' She stared at me, her eyes suspicious. "'Why?'

"'Forget it. The detective in me slips out now then. Seeing the papers? I spread the front page out for her, and she sat on the edge of the bed, read the headlines. It doesn't seem possible. Mr. Wilson was always so lively and gay. Nothing phony about him. And here he murdered his wife and killed himself. I can't believe it. Neither can I. Did Wilson and Saxon get along okay? Far as I knew, Mr. Saxon always spoke highly of him, and Mr. Sexton? I grinned and she threw the papers down, asked, why the cross-examination? I told the cops everything. You're right.

No point in talking about a dead case. Skip it. You look very pretty. Do I? Didn't I look pretty yesterday? Not as pretty as you do now. She stared at me, an amused expression on her face. Then she giggled like a kid.

Did I give you that Shiner? Nope. She stood up. Tell you what I will give you, rumor. A whopping breakfast on the house. A deal? You've sold me. She went back to the kitchen, and I put on the blue army robe I'd swiped from the hospital,

the only thing about the hospital I'd liked. She had orange juice on the table, was whipping up some eggs. I sat down, and she said, You're lucky that I have eggs. White prices on, nobody has to worry about dieting. She gave me some whole wheat toast to butter, and I went to work. She put the eggs in the frying pan and said, We make a cozy little scene.

By the way, I gather I was potted last night. How did I get to bed? I walked you there. That explains my dream. I dreamed you were making love to me. Why don't just stop it? Stop what? Those double meaning cracks, the sexy chatter.

You don't have to prove anything to me. Who the hell's proven anything? She asked, voice high with anger. You men and your lousy conceit. Let a man tell a girl she has a nice shape that he dreamed he was laying her. He's supposed to be manly. But if a woman says that,

she isn't being womanly, only a slut. That's bull. And you don't have to prove. how tough you are either, I added. She strode over to the table, and I watched the graceful movements of her body under the robe as she walked. Will you stop telling me I have to prove anything to you? And if I want to be tough, hard as any man? What about it?

Look, baby, don't give me a pitch on women's rights. I agree with you. But... But what? Cork the tough talk. It's... Maybe I'd like to talk tough, she said. Okay, okay.

but in some things, women aren't the equal of men, or men the equal of women. For instance, you have more vulnerable parts to your body than I have, but more desirable parts. Cut the coy bunk. The average man is as soft as a woman. It's tough only because he assumes he's tough, born to believe it, or he packs a gun or a knife. Why don't you stop talking like a dope, I asked?

Maybe I'm nuts, but America is becoming tough, punchy. In the movies, a guy can't romance a guy without slapping her around. In the so-called comic books, violence is a big laugh. Even kids, little ones, go around packing toy guns. Toughness has become a virtue, like honesty. When we're going back to normal, think of peace and love between people. Stop trying so hard to be a nation of Humphrey Bogart's. Who puts on the tough act?

You men. You big, big heroes going off the war, to glory and adventure, while we're supposed to stay home and keep the home fires burning. Let me tell you something. You give us the worst end of the stick. It's tougher staying here, sick with worry and fear. When you men die, your life is over, but we're the ones who have to go on living broken lonely lives. I stood up and shook her.

Damn it, stop all this talk about glory and war. You think we were playing a game over in Korea? It was dirty, brutal. The worst lousy nightmare, I... Stop talking about it. We stood like that for a moment. My hands on her shoulders, excited by her nearness. And then I took her in my arms and kissed her.

Above the mouth. I didn't want to give her any bugs. But she moved her lips over mine and a hard, complete kiss. Then she began to struggle, and I held her, and she said, Take your arms away. You think because I talk and joke about it that I'm easy? A push-over? Maddie, will you stop all this silly talk?

If you were deaf and dumb, never opened your trap, I'd want you. I know this is quick, but what's the point of delay in anything? Can't you see where a likis can be? Both hurt by the war, both trying hard to get hold of someone. something once more, both adrift, were past the candy and flowers, the dates, all the normal stuff. We're too late for that. She stared at me with wet eyes, then burst into tears. I hugged her tightly, aware of the softness of her body as she whispered in my ear.

Oh, Matt, I do like you, and it has to work. I don't know. Nobody understands me. I've only had two men in my life, Billy and Saxton. With Saxton, I was always humiliated, made to feel. I... Forget it. I'm not Saxton. I know, darling. I know.

She said and covered my face with little kisses that drove me crazy. You're honest and true. Real. Like my Billy. He... Cut that, too. This is all new for both of us, starting from now. I'm nobody but Matt Ranzino, like nobody else, and... Honey, don't you think we're talking too much? It was early in the afternoon when we finally got around to the eggs and orange juice. I was too happy to worry about my lungs, whether all the... the wonderful energy I'd used up with her would hurt me. And although I didn't know why,

could hardly believe it, I had a deep sense of peace and relaxation being with Madeline. She wasn't just another girl to me. Okay, I didn't believe it either, but that was it. After we ate, we went back to bed, and when I was lying there full of that happy, tired feeling, she told me about Saxton. This goon didn't know what he had in Maddie, could think of her only as an easy lay, treated her like a whore, although she must have offered him a sincere love at the start. As she whispered, At first I liked him. He was older, steady, and I didn't have anybody

to turn to. I wasn't a romantic kid. Didn't think of it as love, but we could have been good friends. Then he made me feel dirty. It's a horrible feeling to feel ashamed of yourself. He saw me only when he knew I'd be dependent upon him. Would toss me a few bucks

now and then. Send out a couple of bottles before he'd come so I'd be liquored up. He sent those bottles last night. He was here. I threw him out. I lied. He came here? I'm glad you threw him out. I don't know what came over me. Why, I stood it. I must have been crazy.

When the murder happened, the police and the reporter's bothering me, made me snap out of it. I told him we were through. It all sounds so wrong and stupid now, but it seemed so easy to take a few drinks and forget everything. When things became too clear, all I had to do was reach for a bottle. Reality went down with the chaser But that's over I'll find a job

Get back into the routine of living again I'll get off the bottle Sure you will honey You're a long ways from being a rummy I said trying to make it sound true Matt don't leave me What I mean I don't know if marriage is for us

But if it isn't don't leave me for a long time I need you Need you to To lean on Feel I have something worth living for To don't talk about it it, you and me both will lean all over each other, I told her. We slept for a while, and once I remember telling her about my being a physical instructor in World War II, volunteering for Korea

because I wanted to see action, told her about the Korea I knew, before the Chinese came in, before the great battles and retreats. Somehow it was good to get it all off my chest, tell her about the leveled villages, villages which hadn't been much to start with, the burned and frozen bodies about the almost naked people facing the fierce winter, living in caves like animals, how you saw an entire area burned black by a jelly gasoline bomb, and American boys splattered over a rice patty. I tried to explain what it felt like to be surrounded on all sides by people hating you, the very people we were fighting for, without them ever asking us in.

Like in all wars, it was the civilians who got the worst deal. I managed to even tell her about the time I was on the side of... Of that hill. The rice paddies below us laid out so neat like a draftsman had cut up the ground. And then these people came struggling along the road toward us, blurry figures and white. I was scared stiff. They were infiltrating guerrillas. We'd been told again and again not to take any chances.

I yelled at them. Maybe I didn't yell loud enough. Maybe they didn't hear me. And in any case, they couldn't understand me. Finally, I opened up with a submachine gun. Later, when we advanced, I passed them. Two old women, a very old man with a feathery white beard and a crazy square black formal hat, and a couple of kids, a boy and a girl, not over ten or eleven.

I stared at their dead, bullet-torn bodies and my insides turned over. I kept thinking, I've shot down women and kids. Maybe the Airboys never saw what their bombs did, but this was what I'd, done. I kept brooding about it. I told myself it was all an accident, but I kept seeing those dead bodies. Fighting was one thing but kids and women. Afterwards, when we dug in, I blacked out, and three days later I came to in a Tokyo hospital, started to run the fever that puzzled the hell out of the docks till finally the bugs showed up in my sputum. I told Maddie about the dock telling me we all have the germinous. I probably picked it up before the

the army, but under the strain of combat, the bug had eaten into my lung. She wept as I talked, and I didn't tell her what the psychiatrist said at the VA hospital in the States, that I'd willed the sickness, any sickness, on myself to get out of battle. Battle was a storybook word to him, an army manual expression. He didn't know it meant killing women and kids. I didn't tell Maddie about this, because I wasn't really sure. I believed it myself. It was nearly three when we got up, drank a lot of milk and ate cookies, took a shower together, like kids. And I said, Maddie, you're so tall and beautiful. I'm tall, but not really pretty.

You are to me. Honestly? Honestly, you're the most beautiful girl in the world to me. I told her, and we kissed under the stream of water. And then as we were drying each other with rough towels, she turned my head and I saw the two of us in the back. through mirror and she laughed. Matt, did you ever see a homely a couple? Never. That's why we each think the other is so good looking. Matt, you are, well, beautiful. I burst out laughing and she said, I mean it. You're a lot of man. Where'd you get that build, those wonderful and possible shoulders?

I'm soft now, should have seen me before. You're leaning hard and big, like a fighter. When I was a kid, I stole a picture of Max Bear from my brother Pete, was mad about his muscles. I used to be a pug. Pops stopped all that. Tell you about him someday. Your father? No, I don't remember my folks. Pops was a funny old bum. Let's skip the talk. The crackers and milk didn't do a thing for me. I'm hungry enough to eat this towel. But I do love your body. I'd like to take a picture of you in the nude, just as you are now.

I laughed and kissed her. She was a wonderful kid. I said, that's a very womanly idea. And she laughed till she cried. Happy, warm laughter, and the warmth went deep inside me. For the first time in a year, I felt at ease. Happy. Maddie cooked a light snack as I dressed. I took one of my pills, and my pulse and heartbeat were steady and normal.

Despite all the excitement I'd been through with Maddie. After we ate, I told her I was going into town, and she asked, Why? I'm getting curious about... Things. That's a good sign for me. I used to make big dough as a private dick. Maybe I'll make it again. We need money. I have to find a job. I'll look this afternoon. Well, forget that. Why? Maddie asked. Her two eyes warning signals. I kissed her. Okay, honey, you go out and be womanly and work yourself to the bone if you wish. I glanced at my watch. I'll be back about five.

If I'm not home, you'll know I'm out job hunting. What do you want for supper? Steak. I put ten bucks on the table. A big, thick, juicy steak. If ten bucks will buy one these days. We kissed again and I left and there was a bust nearing the corner. And without thinking, I sprinted toward it.

It scared the hell out of myself. But after I stopped puffing and huffing, I seemed okay. I dropped in to see Max. He looked worried. Had forgotten to shave half his chin. I asked, What's cooking? You look bad.

Developing a conscience? "'A what? Where'd you get that Shiner?' "'Forgate that. Wilson murders troubling you.' "'He picked at his teeth with a fingernail, said over his fingers. "'That's history. My kids have a cold. Get me up all night with their coffin. "'Why, the Wilson case worrying you?' "'Not exactly, but Saxton gets in my hair lately. I'm living with his girl.' Max stared at me for a thoughtful moment, laughed, slapped me that double pat on the back.

I knew he'd slap back. Now you're talking like the old man. Saw this Madeline when we questioned her. Looks like, never mind what she looks like. This is serious with me. Max raised his heavy eyebrows. Quick work. Love it.

Forget my romance. What about Saxton? Look, Matt, you've been a cop long enough to know we don't go looking for extra work. There's things about the Wilson job that might be re-examined. What case doesn't have bugs? But then it was a clean case. Solved fast. Looks good in the papers on my record.

And nobody hurt. That's a picture. You're getting old, Max. He fidgeted around in his chair. I'm not in love with Sexton's girl. That's it? Max sighed. Hell, Matt, I've no reason to go off on a goose chase.

You know that suicide in the cabin was phony? Wilson hadn't lived there. The water was off. Max sighed again and lumbered over to the file cabinet, took out a folder. He leaped through it for a moment, said, "'wrong, Matt, according to the report it was on.' "'I grinned. "'That proves I'm right.'

"'I told you I didn't get much shut-eyed last night. "'What the hell does it prove?' "'That Saxton is the killer. "'After I found the body while I was waiting for you, "'I wanted a drink of water. "'Time to take my vitamin pill, "'and I stopped and looked at my watch. "'I'm a pill behind now,'

"'I said, shoveling a pill down my mouth "'and reaching for the water flask on his desk. "'Max yelled, "'Hey, that water hasn't been changed since the last election. get the water in the can. I swallowed the pill, cleared my throat. The point is, up in the cabin, when I wanted to get a drink, I found the water shut.

You want me to go to court on that evidence? Maybe Wilson shut it off before he hung himself. Hell, I'll act, but give me something. It fits. Saxon came in with you, and in the excitement must have noticed the water was off and turned it on. It was something he overlooked.

Also, that ham bologna about me finding the deed. You know, that's a plant on his part? "'What's his motive?' "'He had me there. "'I don't know. "'Except Saxton's a... "'I can't put it into the right words, "'but he's no good.

"'He had a swell gal and Maddie, "'but he went out of his way "'to treat her like a two-bit whore. "'Told you, I'm not in love with this girl. "'Make you happy, you slug him.' "'Okay, Bright boy, while we're talking to motives, "'what was Wilson's? "'You checked.

"'Everybody in town said they were a fine, happy couple. Everything to live for. Where's the motive there? Don't talk, stupid. Who knows what really goes on between a man and his wife? They can look happy and still be hating each other's guts. Maybe Wilson blew his top. Who knows?

He's dead. So is his wife. We'll never get the answer. Go ahead, Matt. Find me something I can dig my teeth into, and I'll bite. I told him what he could dig his teeth into, and he laughed. Said I was the old Matt again. And I told him to go to hell and headed for the door.

He came after me with that surprising speech. the deed Max can put on when he wants to. Easy, Matt. I'm a cop with too many cases as it is. The Wilson case was a soft touch, maybe too soft. But I haven't time to dig deeper without a damn good reason. Saxton is a big apple in the community, and I'm too old to start pounding a beat again.

That's movie stuff, but I'll do what I can to help if you want work. What's the address of the Wilson made? What's she got to do with it? He asked, looking through the file again. I don't know yet, I said as Max wrote her address on a piece of paper. I pocketed it, and Max said, Stick to love in the girl, it's more fun. Keep in touch with me, boy.

I said I would and went out. I took a bus to the colored section of town. This was several square blocks of old houses, mostly tenements, a few new houses and a lot of stores and bars, some new and flashy, most of them crummy-looking, despite their bright neon signs. At one time this had been a fairly swank residential neighborhood. Then the swells had moved to another section of town, as the city expanded, and Irish immigrants had moved in.

Then the Jews and the Italians. I'd lived there when I was a kid for a while. Later, a few factories had been built and Negroes moved in. Mrs. Samuels lived in a two-story wooden frame house, and when I rang a little brown-skinned kid opened the door and immediately yelled for her mother. A tall dark woman who couldn't have been 30 and already had a worn look about her. When I asked for Mrs. Samuels, she looked at me suspiciously, glanced at my eyes, said, She rooms here, but she ain't in, out looking for a job. When's the best time to get her in? I don't know. She comes and goes.

I knew what she was thinking. Look, I'm not a bill collector or a cop. I'm a friend of Mrs. Samuels, and it's important I see her. Tell her I'll be back in the morning, and I want her to wait for me. Who shall I say, called? She doesn't know my name. Thought you were her friend. I am, after a fashion.

You know the name of everybody you're friendly with? I only met Miss Samuels once when she was working for the Wilson's. Tell her Matt Ranzino called. Name won't mean a thing to her, but tell her to wait for me in the morning. If she misses a day's work, I'll make it up to her. Got that? You just told me. I can hear. I'll tell her. Thank you. I'll be back tomorrow, before noon.

I walked back to the bus stop. I was lucky when I was a cop. I was never assigned to this district like most rookies. It's a tough beat for any cop, white or colored. Whenever the brass or city hall wants to swell the records, they order a roundup in dark town. Since this happens most of the time, there's no love between the cops and the people. Not that there ever really is in any section of town. Then, of course, you have some cops who are raised on hating Negroes.

Try to make a history down there and usually end up dead. It was a little after five when I reached the house and I was tired and hungry. I'd forgotten all about my afternoon nap. Maddie was sitting in the living room and I could smell the whiskey before I saw her. She wasn't tanked, merely high. She said, Hello, darling, and grand at me weekly. I kissed her lightly, tasting the whiskey.

Supper ready? Gee, mad, I forgot all about that. There was a heel of last night's bottle left, and I poured that down the sink, and she said, You're angry with me? What if I am? I hate a liquorhead, and I can't stand you drinking. It shows you're unhappy about something.

What's the matter? Joe, I'm sorry I forgot the steak. Go and get one now. Still time to make a fine supper and... What's wrong with your brother? How do you know he's my brother? I touched my sore eye. We met yesterday. What's up? He's stony.

Last night, Ruthie, that's his wife, or do you know that too? She had a fainting spell last night and he had to get a dog. No money. He's in some kind of swindle, won't talk about it. Thinks I have Billy's insurance, only I haven't. Spend it? She didn't look like the kind that could have gone through ten grand in a year. or certainly hadn't spent any of it on clothes. He never took out any insurance.

I didn't want him to. I don't know why, but insurance seemed so to be an omen that he wouldn't return, she added gently. Billy, the cocky jerk, not even bothering about free insurance. I didn't believe Maddie's. I didn't want him to bunk. I asked, what's Joe going to do?

Wish I knew. He always used to brag about his job, not being much, but at least he had security. And now... I gave him what money I had, told him to wire Pete, our younger brother, for a touch. I'm sorry, Matt, but I felt too low and beat down. I took a drink to relax, and it's always the next drink that's the relaxer. Okay, go out and get us some supper, I said, giving her another tin.

Can you make it to the store? Oh, I'm not drunk. Air will do me good. She put on an old jacket, and I stood at the window and watched this tall, gawky girl walk down the street, trying to hold herself in, walk steadily. There was something drab about her. She wore clothes the way you throw a towel around yourself as you rush from the shower to the phone. She was the type to grow fat and thick. Maybe have a floppy Hitler should have themselves as tonsils, bosom.

Yet although my eyes called me a liar, she was beautiful, even voluptuous to me. It was almost funny. With Flo and the other sharp chicks I'd been fooled by their beauty, and it took me time to realize they didn't have much else. The beauty alone is empty as a gaudy paper bag. But with this call, clumsy kid, I first went for her honesty, her warmth, and then suddenly realized she was a beauty. Maybe this is what they call love, I told myself. Only one thing has to go. The bottle. A lush drives me

wild. I stood there thinking about Joe and how he probably had my ten bucks and what a poor slob he was when I got a cute idea. I went to the phone and changed my mind. Harry was the kind of Sharpie who might have his phones tapped, and I didn't want the call traced here. Somehow, as even knowing about Maddie would dirtier. I went down to the corner drugstore and dialed, wondering if he'd be in at this hour. A whining voice said, America, America. It was the creep.

Amen. Harryin? Who's calling? This is personal. Who is this? Mind your own damn business and put Harry on. I will hang up unless you tell me who's calling. Tell him Matt is calling and be very careful, Thatcher.

I've got my eye on you. A lot of people are watching you. I added, knowing it would worry a backward joker like him. What do you mean? There was a pause, then Harry's smooth voice asked. Hello, Matt. Harry, I'm in a small jam. Can you lend me a hundred? It tickled me to take some of Joe's dough away from Harry and give it back to Joe.

Want to work for me, Matt? I only want to put the bite on you. Sorry, be more than glad to give you the dough, Matt, but the way you act, don't know if you're on the bomb or not. Might as well put my foot down before you make this a habit. You understand, chum, now, if you want to work, I'll advance you. I cursed him, and he giggled like a schoolgirl. It always pleased him to be called certain names. It was an unfortunate giggle for him.

It gave me a real bang, bang idea. I went back to the house and called Joe, told him to park in front of the house at 7th Sharp. I wanted to talk to him. What about? Tell you then, don't let Maddie know your part, I said. It wasn't impossible, Harry was tapping Joe's phone, too. You worry about a phone tap, and you're not. you can go crazy. I said, you might be able to stop paying off the mutual, uh, friend of ours.

He said, oh, then, I'll be there, Matt. Maddie returned with bags of food and a lot of talk. Some people try to pull themselves together when high by chattering. She was complaining about the high prices of food, and I sat in the big chair in the living room and watched her moving about in the kitchen. I felt tired, missed my afternoon nap. I must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew she was shaking me, telling me supper was on. She wasn't a bad cook, although it's hard to spoil steak. And we ate, and she asked, You find out about what you wanted to in town?

Nope, I said, waiting how much to tell her. If Saxton got wind of what I had in mind, he'd kill anybody who was in the know. She was waiting for me to go on, so I said, I suggested to the cops, to my buddy Max, that the Wilson murders ought to be checked over again. He didn't think so. But do you mean checked over again? As you said, Henry Wilson wasn't the type to kill his wife.

I merely thought there were a few angles might be looked into. Just to be sure, I said carefully. Well, I still can't believe he did that horrible crime. Why won't the police look into it? Because it's all wrapped up in a neat package and they don't want to bother untying the pink ribbons, too busy with parking tickets. Seems to me if you have ideas about a crime, the police... When a man becomes a conventing,

he changes. They say a criminal is outside the law. Well, a cop is worse off. He's outside everything. He's either hated or sloughed off by the public. Any law enforcement officer is nothing but a human blackjack. And even if a sap is a tool, it's hardly anything you have any love for or real use. Like a gun? Don't interrupt the professor. No, a gun can be a thing of beauty. A lot of fun at target practice, but a blackjack, you can only use it as a club and it's always ugly. That's the way a cop gets. His job is so big, if all the laws were enforced, and he knows he's hated. So he does only what he can do the easiest and best in the hours he has.

I guess that isn't too clear. No. Well, look at it this way. What I was asking Max involved extra work on his part. Because of the bull and red tape thrown at him, a good cop isn't concerned about justice, but only about closing a case. I don't mean Max would frame an innocent man, although some incompetent. competent cops would, but unless he can see a clear angle. Here, maybe this will show you how a cop's mind works.

When Max and I were detectives, we went to a bar one night where some guy claimed a 16-year-old whore had rolled him for 10 bucks. According to his story, he had picked her up at his skid row bar, gone to her room and given her half a buck. He had a roll at 200 bucks on him. While he was sleeping, she took the 10 spot. Cheap bastard? Exactly what Max said. he was taking advantage of this kid, even if she was peddling it. We'd have to send the girl up to a reform school for whoring,

only if we had a theft should go to a tougher place. Max looked at the guy and asked, Sure you want to press charges against this girl? And the guy was full of righteousness and said, No little bitch could roll him and all that. So Max said, Then I hereby arrest you for statutory rape since this girl's under 18. The guy got a year in the can.

That was Max's way of helping the girl, punishing the jerky mug. But it never occurred to him, slap the guy in the mouth, let the kid off. Could have given her another chance. That only works out in the movies. A kid whores only because she's hungry. You don't give her a new shuffle unless you figure a way for her to work and eat.

A cop can't change all that. He figures that in a reform school, she'll be out of his way, and at least eating regular. Maddie shivered. It's the city. Too many people live too close. Like decent houses. You ever have any desire to live in the country? The country's as crooked as the city.

has all the same vices, only maybe in a different shape. And the quiet gives me the jitters. It's too loud. I like being around things. See something happening all the time. Maddie shook her head. It's money. Everything's money, I said brightly.

But the city is all money, and that causes people to go wrong. You know, when you wake up every morning, it'll cost you a couple of bucks just to be alive. You have to be on the make all the time for dough in the city, and that scares me. Why, each day before I get out of bed, I know it'll cost me about three bucks that day for rent. A couple of dimes to have my dress clean, under things laundered. I must spend two bits for car fare. And even if I eat at home, I have to spend at least a buck fifty for a scrimpy meal. In the city it costs all the time.

And in the country, they live on air? Am I talking too much? I laughed. No. Maddie smiled. Sometimes how I love to gab. To get to the country, that's what I want. A place not too isolated.

where we could walk around and wrinkle clothes, pull up our food from the garden, go fishing and hunting. Where if I feel like it, I can wake up and say, today I don't have to worry about making a dime. I can live around my house, eat and walk and breathe, and all for free. None of that city drive and strain once you get your house paid for. Living in the country is okay, I said, for a weekend now and then. But how about all the other days when you go nuts for lack of something to do?

Why, I got a bang out of just walking down the main drag, a part of the crowd, even if I haven't got a place to go. You're practically in the country now. Got a backyard here. Why don't you raise a garden if you go for that? Isn't the same. Got to make money here all the time. Say, I do go surf casting, catch me a couple fish now and then.

Ever try that? No. She began counting on her long fingers. Be the end of high tide about four a.m. I'll set the alarm. We wear boots. I have several pair around. Take a thermos of hot coffee.

stand on the edge of the ocean and cast. Let the tide take our bait out. First we dig a couple clams for bait, but that's hard. I'll buy some tonight. It's great fun, and by daybreak we'll have enough fish for a whopping breakfast, and hungry is... Let's do it tomorrow morning. Well, I never was one for getting up early.

I began. And sanding in water isn't the best... Oh, please, Matt, it's such fun. She had all the eagerness of a school kid, a wonderful change from the loose, lush look. If I didn't get wet, couldn't do me much harm. Sure, set the alarm.

Now let me help with the dishes, and an auto horn sounded outside. The red clock on the kitchen wall set seven. I have a kind of business appointment. Be back soon, about half an hour. The Wilson killings? Not exactly. A new angle I'm exploring.

Don't be long. I'll take care of the dishes, have some ironing to do. Went through your stuff and washed some shirts and underwear for you. See how domestic I can be? "'It's frightening. "'Trying to trap me into marrying you?' "'I asked with a corny smirk. "'Now that you mention it I might at that,' Maddie said gently.

"'I stared at her as the horn sounded again, and we both smiled. "'I suddenly realized I'd proposed for the first time in my life, and been accepted, "'and I liked the idea. "'We'll talk about that some more. "'Maybe soon,' I said, slipping my coat on as I made for the door. "'Joe had a light old roadster that hardly seemed big enough for his bulky figure. and when I climbed in beside him, I expected the tires to explode. He said,

Let's make this snapping. My wife is sick. What about our mutual friend? He's getting to my hair via Maddie. He worries, she worries, and hits the bottle, and I don't like that. He grunted, said, Damn, so it's like that between you and Maddie. One, two, three stuff. I warned you.

I like you, Joe, so before you run your big mouth, let me tell you it's no jump and run stuff with us. Maddie and I have a lot in common, and we'll hit it off. You damn well better. I'm warning you, Matt. I won't see Maddie ending up as a tramp. Not only because she's my sister,

but somehow it would make Billy's dying in vain. That's a cracked crock of slop, I said. Everybody dies in vain. Once you're dead, you're out of it. And whether you're dead made a better or worse world doesn't make your corpse taste any better or worse to the worms eating it. I don't like that kind of talk. After all, there are boys who died.

Died because of some old men who didn't know how to make the world run right, played checkers with the other guy's lives. A coffin can hide a fool or a hero. The idea is to stay alive, watch the show. But let's not get off on that. The only way you can shake Harry Loflin off your back is to tell him to go to hell. I'll lose my job. That's a great solution.

Other ways of telling him to lay off. You can fight blackmail with blackmail. Harry has a king-sized skeleton in his closet. Yeah, how do you know? Used to be his partner a couple years back. We had a detective agency. Joe was silent for a moment. I don't like this.

You claim you picked out Maddie's place. Just like that. Then it turns out you work for Saxton. Now you're Harry Loughlin's partner? You... Was his partner. You FBI? I laughed.

You've been to too many movies. Let me straighten you out. I'm only interested in you because it will help Maddie. You want to keep paying Harry off? Fine. Only don't come whining to us every time he socks your pocketbook. I started to open the door and he said, Wait a minute, as I knew he would.

What do you want me to do? Harry has a bit of pansy in him, and these days a man will do anything to keep that quiet. Doesn't look clear to me. He isn't, all the way. But it's in him, probably come out in the open when he's older. Works that way with some of him. Point is, I know he has his fag moments.

Framing a guy as a pansy is about the lowest, and easiest form of blackmail. First, is there anybody else in the PO he's after? A young kid or anybody else who would be willing to work with us. Somebody we can really trust. What do you mean trust? I don't want to get mixed up and nothing shady. Listen, chances are 99.99% Harry won't run to the cops.

Never do in this type of swindle. By trust, I mean I don't want to run from one blackmail into another. Got anybody we can use? Joe thought for a moment, grunted. No. Then we'll have to do it ourselves. Although you're too old and ugly for queer bait, listen to me carefully. Tomorrow morning you call Harry.

Make sure you speak to him personally. Tell him you've been thinking things over that you know of a slew of PO guys that are in the same boat as you. We're in favor of that stuff about going on strike. Be careful you don't go into any details. All you want to do is talk this over with Harry, but not on the phone. Just tell him enough to get him interested. Understand? Yep.

You want to meet him someplace for lunch. Tell him you can't take off time, so it must be a bar around the PO. What we need is a place where you're known, but Harry isn't. Any place where you drop in regular for beers? There's a joint two blocks from the post office, but I don't get... You arrange to meet Harry there. You have a few beers with him, string them along. Give him a line about what's in it for you if you stool on the other,

and... If you think I'll stool it, shut up and listen, you don't mention any names, merely hint you have something to sell. Ask Harry what it's worth. See, you want to make a deal. Give him some stuff that you want a statement from him clearing you of any subversive leanings. And a grand in cash. He'll counter with a lower offer, whatever deal he offers you tell him you have to think it over.

We'll call him later in the day. The important thing is that when Harry comes in, you either introduce him to the bartender as your friend, or talk loud, anything so the bartender notices you. Then, this is all over my head. Why should I... For Christ's sakes, listen. As soon as Harry leaves, you have a beer with the barkeep. Make some crack about Harry being a fag. That's for protection.

In case things go wrong. You call... I'm not interested in this. Joe said. Some of the dough Maddie gave you today's mind, so get interested. You call Harry later. Agree to meet him in the evening, about seven, and some lonely spot in the park.

Since we can't get anybody else in on the deal, I'll be there. Hiding with a camera. Infrared film and a flash. It means I can take pictures without being noticed. When Harry comes, you have to get him on your lap for a second. What? What the hell are you saying? Either you sit down before he does and pull him down in your lap,

or if you can't work that, pick him up. He's small, place him on your lap. I'll get the picture. Then you push him off, slug him, make a hell of a scene about he was trying to kiss you. Harry may be armed, but I doubt it. If anything like that happens, I'll step in and help you. Now, if a cop should come along, you insist Harry try to. to kiss you, but don't press charges.

What will probably happen is Harry will realize he's been framed and run like a rabbit. Joe shivered. No, I don't want no part of that. It's dirty. It sure is, but once we send Harry a print to the picture, he'll never bother you again. No, he'll take the print to him, tell him that's the deal. He lays off you and you forget the picks. That's better.

I couldn't do anything like that. I'd feel like a queer myself. You want to keep paying off the bastard? No, but... Harry's playing the rat. We're fighting fire with fire. Suppose something goes wrong. What if he arrests me?

It'd make me look like a dance. That's a chance we take, but it's almost a sure thing. He... We take. I take. We. It's a thousand to one. He won't go to the cops.

I know. Harry framed a joker like that once. Look, if worse comes to worst, I'll testify in court. He's a pansy, and I can get other proof. Hell, what if you are taking a chance? I'm only doing this to get you straight so Maddie and I can have a little peace, okay? He didn't answer, and finally I said, he's killing your wife with his crummy blackmail, and you...

All right, all right, he blurted out. I'll do it. And God forgive me. You call me at the house tomorrow, about three. I'll have the camera and we'll go to whatever park you pick to meet him. I went over things again to be sure he didn't screw up. Harry was too sharp to make even a small mistake. Joe didn't like it. Neither did I.

But I knew he'd go through with it. When I came back into the house, Maddie was ironing in the kitchen. For some silly reason, it made me feel good to see her ironing my shirts. She asked, Finish your business? Was she pretty? Sure, she was a corn blonde. Want to take a walk, I'm tired, but I could use fresh air. She turned the iron off.

I'd love to walk. Next week it will be your turn to iron and wash. It'll be what? You heard me. No reason a man shouldn't do his part of the housework. Wait till I get a sweater. I could picture myself behind an iron or washboard. We walked along the beach holding hands like school kids,

and I really felt tired. She knew all about the shells and seaweed pointed out the spot where we'd go surf fishing in the morning. I said, Best I go home and pound my ear, I had a big day. for me. It won't be easy to get up early. In the house she returned to her ironing and I took my pill,

got into my pajamas, asked, I have a problem. Where do we sleep? In my bed or yours? Mine, of course. The landlady always has the softest bed in the house. I kissed her good night and dropped off to sleep as soon as I hit the sheets. The next thing I knew, she was shaking me. I awoke with a start and she was sitting up in the dark stillness beside me. The room was full of early morning cold and I, yawned, asked, time to go fishing?

No, she said, hell with that, it's time for something else, and pulled my head down into the wonderful warm firmness of her breasts. End of Part 3. Part 4. Of Sin in Their Blood by Ed Lacey. This Liberbox's recordings in the public domain. Part 4. Thursday. It was nearly noon when I ran outside Mrs. Samuel's house. When I rang the bell, she answered the door, said, So you're the one who called.

Yes, I remember you. Glad of that. You're late, she said impatiently. I've no time to wait around and gossip. I have to look for work. We went into the only free room in the house outside of the John, the community kitchen. And as we sat down, I asked, anybody around? What I have to say is strictly private.

Everybody's where a body should be, working or calling for their kids at school. or calling for some white woman's kids. I'll pay you for the day you've lost, I cut in. Now, what kind of policeman are you? Paying for my time? I'm not a cop. I'm a friend. I need your help. For what? I want to know William Saxon's reasons for killing the Wilson's. She stared at me for what seemed a long time. Her dark brown face rigid as a mask. Only her eyes moved, or seemed to move as they cut through me.

Finally, she said, "'You're not a cop?' "'No, I used to be, and—' "'Look, I know he killed them, and I think you do, too. "'Knew it when you took your time calling the police. "'Tell me why he did it, and I can send him up. "'I think you want that, too.' "'Don't be foolish, son.

"'You'll never send Mr. Saxon up. "'Not in this town? "'My, listen to me. Even now, I call him Mr.' "'Why not? "'You said that once before in the Wilson kitchen. "'That's why I'm here.' "'She didn't answer. We sat there for a moment, the quiet of the kitchen heavy upon us,

broken only by the ticking of an old wall clock. I sat there waiting, smelling the stale odors of recent meals, as she decided whether to trust me or not. She asked, You hate Saxon real bad? It isn't hate. I'm fed up with his kind, that's all. Her eyes studied mine and I tried not to look away,

began counting the wrinkles around her eyes. I said, Why not tell me what you know, Mrs. Sam, Let me decide if I can convict Saxton. She said softly. You keep calling me, Mrs. Maybe you will do something. It was a lynching.

Henry Wilson was a colored man. What? I must have shouted my surprise. The kitchen filled with the sound, echoed it. I shouldn't have told you you act like it was a crime. She said, it's something I never thought of. You sure of this? Sure, I'm sure.

Sure as can be. Henry was one of these very light ones, more white in him than colored. See him around whites, and you'd never think of him being colored. But see him around Negroes, and you can just naturally know he's colored. Henry was passing. Well, that was his little red wagon, and he was pulling it. I don't blame nobody for trying to escape. Me, I'm too dark to run from that old Jim Crowbird, so I tries to live the best I can.

More our folks stood up for themselves, we'd... Take it slow. Henry ever tell you this? Of course not, but I knew. And he knew I knew. There was nothing to tell or talk about. You think of his wife? Miss Beatrice knew. I kept house for the Saxton since 1938. She was in college then, but she came home weekends.

This was the old house over on Ridge Street. She lived there with Mr. Saxton. Henry Wilson was in the same college, too, working his way through, and she took a real liking to him, started bringing him over for supper. Miss Beatrice was in love. You can tell when a gal is in love. Of course, as soon as I laid eyes on Henry, I knew. tell her? What was there to tell? You think being colored meant he was no good? I didn't mean that.

They were in school. What happened? One day she come home all sick, in bed for near two weeks, and after that, Henry don't come around no more. I know what happened all right. He told her about himself. Her soul hurt, even though Doc says he can't find no reason why she's sick. When was this? About 1940. In the spring. Then I hear Henry go away during summer, get himself working another town, never even send her a card. All time Miss Beatrice is full of misery, nervous. Mr. Saxton worried about her. Kept sending her to doctors. No doc can help love sickness. The old woman stopped as if lost in thought. She pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, lit one without offering me any. School starts and fall and Miss Beatrice began phone him every day. Then weeks go by, Henry come over

to his house once again. Late in the evening and they thought I'd gone home. But I was dozing in the kitchen, waiting for some bread dough to rise. Want to bake that night. I hear Miss Beatrice cry, and she say, What you mean, it won't work out? Why don't you give me the chance to decide that, to try it? Henry, don't put me out your life. I'll go to pieces. I heard that, then they both crying and kissing, make up.

That's what you heard. Those exact words, I asked, thinking she'd have to have some memory. She looked at me angrily. You think I'm a liar. That's what I hear. I never forget it. I like Miss Beatrice. She good, for a white woman. and I sit in the kitchen, think best they marry before she moons herself to death. He can pass, and anyway, being colored ain't no disease. Well, all rest of that year the next day see each other like before,

and Miss Beatrice all fine and glowing again. Way I hear, they're going to wait till Henry graduates, then get married. Mr. Saxton, he likes Henry, all for it. She got up, knocked the ashes from her cigarette into the sink, sat down again. Henry never graduate, war come. He drafted. Miss Beatrice almost crazy again. "'Mr. Saxton, he's so busy making money, he didn't notice it much, but that girl's sure nervous.

"'Next I hear Mr. Henry is wounded and coming home, and Miss Beatrice tell me she glad she has him again. "'He wasn't wounded bad, and soon he's out of the army, and they marry. "'Saxton take Henry into the factory, and I hear he do very good. "'Soon they move into the new house. Mr. Saxon, he gets himself an apartment. "'I go with him. Things run smooth as silk. "'Then about three, four months ago, the letter come. "'This—what letter?' "'Mr. Henry got his self-elected as some committee.

and his picture in the paper. One night, he comes in all upset. I got good ears, and they whisper, but I hear plain. The letter is from some cracker doctor down in Georgia where Mr. Henry was born, said he recognized him and want money. He and Miss Beatrice discuss what they should do, that's all. That's all? What happened after that? Did they pay? She shook her head. No, they say they're going to wait till they hear again. Mr. Henry has no folks, and he say he don't believe Doctor could recognize him. Doc last seen him when he's He was a young boy. They don't hear no more.

That's the end of it. Where's the letter now? I asked. Lost. One day he asked Miss Beatrice if she see the letter, but he can't find it. They look and she say not to worry. Probably destroyed or lost to forget it. Any idea when that was, when the letter was missing?

She sent out a cloud of smoke, pursed her thin lips as if thinking aloud. I'd say about two months ago. We could two after they first get letter. I drummed on the white man. metal tabletop of my fingernails. It added up. Saxon got hold of the letter, started working on the murder at once. Two months ago it was when he purchased the cabin and Henry Wilson's name. I asked, you remember the name of this place in Georgia or the doctor? Never did hear the name of the place. Doctor was called Snell, I think. Snell? Sure about that? I'm sure. I stood up.

Thanks a lot, Mrs. Samuels. Think this is what I've been looking for. Don't take it. Tell anyone else about this. It's important to keep it a secret. What's you going to do? She asked her voice, wary. She went over to the sink and held a cigarette under the dripping faucet, threw the butt into a paper bag full of garbage. Suppose it all comes out.

What good will it do? This town ain't too bad for colored, but it still ain't good. What town is? You think any jury convict Big Shot Mr. Sachs for killing his sister and her negro husband? No, he only get off. That'd be worse, his getting off. Why, never tell police anything? Maybe he won't get off.

You know the old saying, more than one way to skin a cat. Let me think about it. Did Sexton take a trip in the last two months? Go out of town for a couple of days? Not that I know of. Always around. Not even a business trip.

He ain't left town in years. Okay. Remember, we never had this conversation. I took out my wallet, removed a tin spot. Here's for the time you lost and "'Put your money away, son,' she said gently, her voice full of dignity. "'You think you can do some good? A jury will—' "'Forget about a jury. Forget everything. Let me handle it.

I think I can make the murder stick on Saxton. Be around to see you again in a few days. The most important thing we can do to get Saxton is to keep quiet. Not a word of this, even to your son, or—' "'I ain't got a son or anybody else. I ain't talking about it before. Why, I talk now? What's your name again?' Ranzino. Matt Ranzino. Funny sounded name. You Italian?

Yeah, call me Matt. That isn't funny. Good name. My husband named Matthew, and he was a good man. Cook on a ship. Love the water. Even when he'd come back from a trip, we'd rent a boat and spend all day fishing, him telling me about places he'd been. He on a tanker that went down back in 1931. On a Thursday morning, right out in the goddamn Pacific, he drowned 2,000 miles away from me. I've never been the same since. Well, sorry to hear about it.

I have to run. Sit tight till you hear from me again. I went out, took a cab to Max's place. I tried not to think of Saxton. There wasn't much to think about, except how rotten he was from his heart. I thought about the old woman, looking at her you'd never think she had known love and romance. But she and her Matthew must have had something the way she said it. Something like Maddie and I should have. I looked at my watch.

It was nearly one, and I had to be back by three to get Joe's call. I told the cabby to drive me to a camera store, I remembered. I put down nearly all my cash, $120, as a deposit on the rental of a candid camera, developing kit, a flash attachment, and some infrared film and bulbs. When I finally got to the precinct house, the desk sergeant told me Max was out to lunch. Over at Roma, Captain Daniels likes that eye-tie food,

and so does his stomach. The Roma was an old restaurant, not much to look at, but real food and expensive. As I passed the big pot at plants at the door and stepped inside, I walked smack into Topps Anderson and two loudly dressed hoods. Topps had just paid his tap. He was sober and gave me a big grin and gave the hoods one of these, Catch this, it's going to be good glances. The punks grinned slightly.

They were both small and dapper, spent a lot of time on their clothes and slick-brushed hair. Topps said, Will you look what we have here? the Wop Sprinter, best Allie Runner in town. Cut it, I said, looking for a place to put the camera down. If I busted it, I'd not only be out of the deposit, but Joe's plans couldn't wait. What if I don't? Topps said like a kid, moving behind me, blocking the door.

Ain't no Allie here for you to do you, going with the wind act. The hood showed their delight with this piece of sharp wit. I started for the nearest table to put the camera case down, when Topps slapped me across the side of my face. It wasn't much of a slap, I was going away from it, and the cashier looked at the headwaiter who came over and one of the punks snarled something at him. I put the camera down gently, picked up a napkin and started to wrap it around my right fist,

when Top said, Guess you didn't run fast enough. Not a bad black eye. I'm going to match it. And he came at me. He was a brawler and came in wide open. I slipped the obvious right and crossed my left to his nose. It was the first solid punch I'd landed in a hell of a long time, and it felt good.

It broke his nose. Ducking under his left, I split his eye open with a short right, and his face was covered with blood. Tops stupidly raised both hands to his bloody pus, as some women screamed. And I banged him in the gut so hard the food he had just eaten came bursting out of his open gasping mouth as he went down. Only a little of it sprayed on me. Good old Matt, the mess target. The two punks stood there, undecided as to what their move was, and I grabbed the first one, spun him around, got a grip on the bottom of his coat, and split it up the back to the collar.

The Joker went as pale as if he had been socked. I had to hit the other jerk. He was reaching for something. I jabbed him in the middle of his striped vest, and he sat down. Max, the waiters, and a few of the patrons came over. Max flashed his badge, assured everyone things were under control. He winked at me, said, Clear case of assault and battery, I'll...

Forget it. But, Max began. You want these clowns for anything special? I asked, knowing they wouldn't be eating in the Roma if Max was looking for them. No, but if you... Then forget it. Tops was sitting on the floor bent over,

blood and vomit dripping from his mouth. The hood on the floor was pressing his stomach, about to get sick. The other punk was holding his torn coat about him like a girl caught undressed. I pushed the door open and tops fell out backwards. Taking the sick punk by the collar, I lugged him outside,

dropping him on tops so his clothes would get dirty as they threw up over each other. Motioning for the bus boy, I told him. clean up this mess, and turning to the slob in the torn coat, I said, Give him a fin for his trouble, and get your two jerky pals off the street, tell Topps to stay out of my way, all the way out. The guy nodded and shoved a bill at the delighted busboy, then ran out, helped the other two into a flashy car parked at the curb.

I picked up my camera and followed Max to his table. I ordered a glass of stout, brushed a few spots off my coat with a napkin, and holding my hands under the table took my pulse. The ticker wasn't pounding. too much. Max said, That's more like the old Matt who... Stop it. I'm through with the rough and tumble act, just a special lesson

for Topps. I knew Max was glad I hadn't pressed charges. Topps swung too much weight. Max hadn't even frisked the hoods. They probably had gun permits. I sipped my stout and felt better, although I could feel the sweat running down my armpits. Max pointed

at the camera case. Taking pictures? Hobby I picked up at the hospital. Part of my adjustment. to civilian life. Max nibbled on a celery stalk. Still packed the old wallet. Bet you could take most of the heavies in the ring today. That's all I need.

When you get in your license again? I don't know. Way taxes are, I'm better off living on my tax-proof pension. Max, you know a good private dick down in Atlanta that I can use for some confidential work? Anything I can put through an official request to the Atlanta police for? Be glad to... No, this isn't anything for the country. cops. In fact, want you to forget you ever gave me the guy's name.

Saxton! I looked him in the eye and laughed. My girl has a lost uncle down there. I'm tracing him. In case he dies and leaves her a million. Max shrugged and rubbed some whiskers he had forgotten under his nose, then wrote a name and a dress down on a paper napkin, gave it to me, asking a hoarse voice. Anything else? Uh-huh. Where was Henry Wilson born? He threw his pencil.

on the table. Why don't you lay off? he asked warily. I finished my drink, took a vitamin pill as he got up and used the phone on the cashier's desk. When he returned, he said, According to our records, he was born in Savannah, Georgia. Why? Nothing. And thanks. I stood up. By the way, can you lend me 50 till I get my pension check? I'll have to go home. Libya has money. I only got 20 on me. 20'll do, for the time being. I thanked him for the two tens and went to the nearest bank and changed one bill into silver and found a phone booth. I called the dick in Atlanta, person to person, the coins ringing so many bells it sounded like a one-armed bandit paying off. This dick had a shrill voice, or it could have been the connection.

I told him, a friend, Captain Max Daniels, recommended you. Want you to put in a day or two getting some confidential info. There's a doctor someplace in Georgia named Snell, probably lives in practices in some small country village. I want the name of that wide spot in the road Also the doc's present address He's an old man and I have a hunch There's more than an even chance he died a few months ago I want all the towns he ever practiced in

Especially the towns he worked in about 30 years ago Also want to know if there's a birth record of a Henry Wilson in any of these towns He's about 29 or 33 Don't know if he's colored or white Also see if you can find any of Wilson's relatives If he has any All on the quiet

Got that Why sure that'll be 50 a day and expenses. Okay, but don't run up too many days, and if you can get all the info in one day, I'll pay 150. You got a deal. What address shall I send the dope to? I'll phone you again in the morning.

There was a moment to hesitation, then he asked. When do I get a retainer? I'm wiring you 50 at once. I'll get started soon as I get the 50. You haven't told me your name. It's Smith. John Smith. It's that kind of a case.

"'Get your money here. Money don't know no name.' I hung up and waited for the operator to tell me how many more quarters I had to drop in. There was little chance the guy would call Max and check. He wouldn't waste that long-distance money on a hundred-buck case. When I paid up, I got Harry Loughlin's home number from instruction, and Flo's sexy voice said, "'Hello?' "'Hello, baby. I—' "'Mad, no you'd call.'

She said it so loudly. Harry couldn't have been home. He should be drinking with Joe. Look, I'm calling as a buddy-buddy. I need a hundred bucks for a few weeks. Can... Be on my horse and wherever you are in five minutes, darling. I told her to meet me outside the telegraph office,

and I only had to wait a few minutes when she drove up in a roadster. I told her to park, and soon as I got in, she threw her arms around me, and I kissed her hard on the cheek. Fondled her breast slightly, and she said, Ah, honey. Don't start that. This is only alone. The romance is still out. Her perfume smelled great.

and I wondered what it was called, wanted to buy Maddie some. The kid never used perfume. She opened her bag, took out a wallet stuff with folding money. She tossed it in my lap. Take 200. Take it all. Matt, I... Slow down, I said, counting out 520s. Be back in a moment. I went into Western Union and wired the guy's $75 bucks,

and when I came out and got into the car, she asked, Where to, hon? The Lagoon. This was a cheap bathing resort in amusement park not far from my... White Beach. As she drove, she kept playing with my thigh with her free hand, and when I told her to cut it out, she asked, Matt, when are you going to stop teasing me? Was I ever a tease? Romances out. I told you that. Things are different since I came out of the hospital. It told me that, too. I'll wait. A little longer. Need any more cash? Baby, don't be over, sweet.

No. When we reached the lagoon, I told her to stop in front of a small hotel, and she asked, you living in this dump? Not exactly. I'm scratching around trying to get located. Matt, tell me, true. There isn't another dame. She leaned toward me. Stop that, I said watching her mouth.

She sat back. Harry says he offered you. I don't like Harry's workflow. What kind of perfume you're using? Why? Like to give you a bottle. It's interest when I pay back the hundred. You know what I want you to give me, Matt.

She started for me again, and I opened the door and slid out of the car. It's easier for me to give you the perfume. What's it called? It's called, go to hell, you two-time and son of a bitch. She snapped and drove off. I got a bus to White Beach, wondering how women knew these things so damn fast. When I got to the cottage, Maddie was waiting, and I kissed her, mumbled. Baby, you don't need any perfume. What?

She sniffed at me, said, You've been around some chick-yves and heavenly drumble. drops. Ten bucks a dram are some such fantastic price. I grinned. All in line of duty. Don't worry. Anybody call for me? No. And you can't make me jealous. As you said, we're alike. Bet you never get along with a girl so well before. That's so, I said, hugging her and thinking how damn true it was. Never cared for a girl before, except to sleep with. And I suppose that's how they felt about me. Always got restless with me. had to keep themselves busy,

or furnishing my place or go on a clothes bench, or one even went in for a correspondence course, anything to keep them busy. Of course, they were all hitting jump affairs only playing me for a meal ticket. Not just 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.

Maddie 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 a cashier in a movie house near here. Forty a week. Means about 28 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 over 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, Maddie 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. Maddie 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?' Maddie 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. a great dislike to him. So, exit Saxton the third. Justice shall triumph, praise the Lord, and pass the gas chamber. Maddie 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 annoyingness. Does he mean anything to you? What kind of a crack is that? stood up, took her hand. It's just that you seem upset over my gunning for him. Maddie 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 Saxon lessons on how to be a nasty joker if I want to. Now, forget everything I told you. You'd think I'd let anything like Saxon's, 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 to bed. You dust the living room. Yes, ma'am. She took a dustcloth 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 Maddie I was going out again.

She said, "'No, some more free work for a friend.' "'You're sure friendly. My rival with the stink water?' "'Rong again. A man.' "'One you scanned 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.'

"'Maddie laughed. Fine deep laughter that tickled me. "'Watch out for Joe. Those civil service characters, 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. Doctor slap and walked out of the house. Joe had on his blue-gray postman's uniform,

and he looked as sloppy as his regular suit. I sat beside him, asked. How did things go? Lofloon was sore about stall at him in the bar. I'm to meet him tonight in Seward Park at Seven Shop. Fine. Pipp me up at the house at 6.15. You tell the bar.

keep 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. As 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. A lot of magazines and ads. "'See you at 6.15. And beyond time,' I said opening the door. "'I have to return to my dusting.' He smiled for the first time. "'Maddy 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. Maddie 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 of 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, walked 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 forget the smell I checked the camera again licked the flashbulb 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 snafooed everything. I'd put in a regular flashbulb instead of an infrared 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? 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 are 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 as heavy pounding footsteps louder than the clean, sharp report of the gun. I laid there, afraid to crawl and make any noise. Harry didn't pay any attention to Joe, but waited outside the bushes, the little lead throver 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 flashball 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 the 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 picks 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 backbired. Do 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.

We'll do a damn thing more. No. He was bawling a little, and I didn't argue. There was a 50-50 chance we'd scare the bejee-jus 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.

Maddie 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 and 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...

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, Mattie 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 yourselves at all times. Maybe 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, Maddie said. I would have in a second if we could have gotten a way.

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 and not checking the bulb, and with Joe. But then I couldn't blame him. He was in a mess and scared, probably never seen a gun before except in the movies. I went into the kitchen, drew the shades, set up my developing trees. Maybe the regular flash hadn't been too strong for the infrared film. I got everything ready, then turned out the lights, and went to my room, took it. 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 taken out the negative from the phone ring, and a minute later Maddie came in as I said, don't open the door. What? She snapped a light switch, flooding the kitchen. What do you... Oh. There was no point in curate. Hercing her, whatever chance I had of getting a picture was ruined. Seems as though that picture was never meant to be made anyway. She asked,

Did I spoil anything? Nothing. Now? You're wanted on the phone. Who is it? A man? I don't know who. Joe was sitting around like a living hangover,

and as I picked up the phone, I wondered if Harry was smart enough to know where I lived. Or had he seen me in the park? Did he know I was living with Joe's sister? Max's hoarse voice said, Max, got news for you. Harry Loughlin jumped out of his office window a few minutes ago. Is he dead?

A 21-story fall isn't a tonic. Any reason why he made like a bird? Not that we'd know of. No notes or anything. Thought you'd want to know. I'm in his office now. I'm sure you're heartbroken. Maxie, I couldn't care less.

He laughed. Me too. Didn't think he had the guts for a high dive. Has he any relations? Never told me of any. No reason for the suicide? Harry wasn't the one to knock himself off. Joe jumped from his chair, his face dead wide as he heard my last words.

Max said, One of those things, no doubt of it being suicide. Night elevator man says Harry came rushing in about 20 minutes ago. Seemed sick. In fact, the guy followed him into the office to ask if he wanted anything. And he saw Harry taken off. his hat, looked at him for a moment, then Harry said it was stuffy and he had a headache. Harry opened the window and went out, all with the same motion.

Have another witness, a steno, who was working late in the building across the courtyard. Well, send him a big wreath. Nothing in his pockets to indicate why he jumped. No, usual junk. Thanks for calling me, Max. See you in the morning. I hung up and Joe and Maddie were staring at me. Joe's still pale, Maddie's eyes big with fear.

I grinned. Every cloud has that well-known silver lining. Hell with a picture. Friend Harry has splattered himself all over the sidewalk. Straight suicide, nothing to connect us with. Oh, God, I killed him. Joe moaned. Shut up.

The cops don't even know he saw you. Anyway, it was my idea. I did it! Joe said, his voice rising. I went over and slapped him across his fat face, hard as I could. Cut that slop, you fool. Harry's dead. Good riddance.

I didn't see you moaning so loud when he was killing your wife, when he bled you so you couldn't pay for her doctor. You were worried so much you were getting everybody else sick. Joe rubbed his face, the red imprint of my hand on his pale skin, sat down heavily. Maddie gasped, But this, this, Harry is dead. Good. He won't blackmail any more poor slobs like Joe.

She said slowly, You really are tough. And then burst into tears. I'm not tough, but I don't go for sloppy sentiment or dramatics either. Look, you're sorry when you run over a puppy, but you don't feel a thing when crushing a snake. Harry was a rattler. I turned to Joe.

And you, stop whining. Probably won't happen, but there's just a chance Harry could have told that creep he works with. He was going to meet you. The creep might tell the cops, and they might check. I doubt if they'll do anything. It's plain suicide. But if they do talk to you, don't lose your head. and don't lie. Your story is Harry was trying to sell you his hate sheet and you were thinking it over.

You met him in the park at his suggestion, told him you weren't buying, and you parted friends. That's all you know, understand? What, don't you leave me alone? Yeah, I understand. And don't tell anybody else about this. Not even your wife. And stop acting like a mope. You got a tough load lifted off your back tonight. Off or on my back, Joe mumbled. I went into the kitchen and cleaned up the chemicals, then went to bed. I was angry, but didn't know who I was sore at.

I couldn't really blame Joe or Maddie. They still didn't know how cheap a life was in our world. To my surprise, I fell asleep quickly, and then I had a nightmare. I was back in Korea, and down the empty road that ran by the hill where I was dug in, came these figures in white. It was very hot, and I sweated and watched them through the sights of my submachine gun. And then the red-headed beer driver from St. Louis, who had the sight of his head completely blown off a few days later, telling me, "'Maybe they ain't soldiers, but don't take no chances, Matt. Be careful, be careful as hell.'

And then the stammer of the gun as it trembled in my hands, and I awoke, sweating. I grabbed my t-shirt from the chair, wiped my head dry. It was a dream I often had, and the bark of the gun always awoke me. I was thankful for that. Glad I didn't dream about it. out seeing the bloody faces of the little girls, the boy, the women. I couldn't hear any noise in the house or see a light, and I lay back on my pillow, started to doze off, wondering if Maddie was sleeping in the other bed and why. I was just floating off to sleep when I saw this tall, white, ghost-like figure coming toward me, like the figures on the road, only taller, closer.

I sat up and screamed, and the figure rushed toward the bed, and it was Maddie in a white nightgown. Maddie was sitting on the bed asking, What's wrong, Matt? Nothing. A dream. I was back in Korea. How's Joe? All right.

He's gone home. She slipped in the bed and put her arms around me. I asked, How do you feel? A little frightened. You're so hard, so, so frightening hard. Why? Because a louse dies and I don't.

cry. That's crap. I've seen too many people die to... Don't, she said, placing her hand over my mouth. Don't talk about that. It makes me cold inside. I lay there, surrounded by the wonderful warmth of her. And she started to talk softly in the darkness, but I fell asleep. End of Part 4. Part 5. Of Sin In Their Blood by Ed Lacey. The Sliber Bonds Recordings in the Public Domain.

Part 5. Friday. I awoke at 9, and it was the start of a bright sunny day. I sat up and looked over at Maddie, and she was lying there with her eyes open, and she looked like hell. I kissed her lightly. What's the matter? Been awake all night. Yes. Why? Thinking about us.

I stretched and grinned. How do we come out? I ask, yawning. I don't know. Matt, last night. night. What happened? Frightened me. Forget about Harry. He... I never knew Harry. I'm thinking of you. You can't live with that slogan.

I yawned again and swallowed to get wide awake. What slogan? Protect yourself at all times. Life isn't a boxing match. Well, this is a new side. Maddie, the philosopher. Matt, I'm serious. You sound like everybody in the world was trying to... to fight each other. Not fight, merely get a foothold on the other guy's back. She sat up and I helped her prompt a pillow behind her back. How about us? Do you have to protect yourself from me too? Yes and no. Loving and have you loved me as a kind of protection.

Look, I've been living by that slogan long before I ever thought of becoming a fighter. Ever since I was old enough, be called a wop or a dago. Then it was Pops who kept drilling it into me. He must have been a hard man. Pops? No, he was soft. The only true friend I ever had. Man friend. He was a little skinny guy and a worn gray suit, battered brown felt hat, no tie, and a torn dirty sweater. His face was leathery, his hair all gray. He was a wino and stunk most of the time. But he wasn't a lush. And if he had a tin ear, a busted nose, a cruel mouth. His eyes were fine, quiet, peaceful eyes,

like yours a little. Maddie said, You sound like you are in love with him. Lack of sleep makes you nasty. He was like a father to me. I meant love him like a father. He adopt you? Guess I adopted him.

I was about 17 then. A big tough kid, living with a second aunt. I weighed 185, and I figured I'd go into the ring, make the big money the heavy's got. I was working as a shipping clerk and going to night. night school, taking all the civil service exams I could. I wanted a steady income. Like Joe. With this big difference, I was hungry most of the time. Really hungry? You look like the kind that will always get along, she said. What's got into you? I asked, lying down and pulling her on top of me.

Under the cover, I ran my hand over her leg and she said, slap me on the can, man. That's all I'd need. The he-man touch. What is this? I don't know. Sorry, I'm jumpy, she said, kissing me. She lay across my chest and after a while said, You were talking about this Pops? Yeah, I said, wondering what had come over her. I went to a gym, began to work out, but I could only go between five and six in the afternoon after work and before school.

Pops was an old-time lightweight. He once fought Woolgast, and Leonard C-Oed him when Pops was going out and Benny was starting up. Now, he was a porter at the gym, on the bomb doing anything to make a buck. But he knew boxing, knew it like few guys know it today. He wanted to be a manager, but every time he found a kid to manage, began to teach him, bring him along slow, the kid would get over-anxious,

leave Pops for the two-bit managers who rushed them into a lot of quick bouts. The kids made small change, took too many beatings and were usually finished in a year or two. See, Pops never had a contract with them. That's the way he was. Instead of two men had to be bound together by law, they weren't worth being partners to start. Then he didn't believe in that. Protect yourself at all times,

Maddie said to the hairs on my chest. Well, yeah, Pops sure didn't protect himself with his pugs. But then if a guy is going to rat, well, the contract gets you about a lawsuit. Pops watched me working out, began to give me pointers. When I told him I wanted to be a pug, he said, Why, it's a tough way to make a buck, the worst way. So I asked him, you know an easy way to make the dollar?

That tickled him, He said he liked the way I moved about, and if I wanted to, he'd be my manager. We shook hands on it. Every day for ten months, I was at the gym, and he coached me. During the winter, he looked so bad I bought him a suit and an overcoat, told him it was old stuff my uncle was throwing away. In every payday, I took him out for a decent supper. I was getting pretty good as a boxer, and Pops thought I was ready for the amateurs.

Had five fights, won them all by knockouts. They'd give me a watch for winning, and after every fight we'd eat the watch, as Pops called it. Hock it for ten or fifteen bucks. In my sixth fight, I got a small cut over my eye, and Popps stopped it. I was sore, was beating the guy easily when he threw a lucky punch I didn't pull away from in time. Pops exploded at me. Anytime you get a cut eye, even if you're fighting Lewis for the championship, I'll stop it.

Hell with the fans and the sports writers, you can't buy eyes. He used to hate the fans something awful. Why? Natty asked sleepily. They support fighters. Called them a pack of bloodthirsty animals. Cowards scared to fight themselves. and a couple of fancy cuss words. Anyway, I fought this guy a month later.

And, of course, you won. Stop riding me. Catoed him in one round. When summer came and there wasn't any school, I got a job working nights and started training during the day, with pros for experience. Big demand for heavies, and all the chiseling managers tried to get me away from Pops,

but he kept telling them I wasn't ready for money fights yet. I never double-crossed Pops, but I was getting impatient, kind of frustrating, sparring with guys I knew I could beat, and reading about them getting 500 or a grand to fight, and I hardly had coffee money. Then it was a Tuesday. Guess I'll never forget that day.

Got a letter in the morning that I was appointed a cop. That same, Maddie's side, got off my chest and nestled up to me. You listening? Uh-huh. That same day, a big-time heavy named Porky Sanders came into the gym on his way east for a fight with Lewis. Lewis later knocked him kicking in three rounds. Sanders manager was a shrew guy with a big inn,

and he was looking for sparring partners. Ten bucks around. Pops had no dice, and one of the hustlers hanging around said, Get old Pops turning dough down. What's the matter, your big boy made out of cut glass? Pops so high and mighty. And throw it out of his fleabag room two weeks ago.

Ask Pops where he's been sleeping at nights, Matt. Right on the gym benches. I told Sanders manager I'd go three rounds, told Pops, Hell, might as well see how good I am one way or the other. Only time Pops and me had words. Well, Porky was a big name, and at first I was too cautious, but when he floored me in the second round, I got mad. I outboxed him, floored him, and had him hanging on the ropes when his manager stopped it.

Didn't want his boy cut up, spoil that big payday with Lewis. Ranzino was the white-haired lad around the gym that day. As I was dressing and Pops was clucking over me like a mother hen, I told him about getting the cop job, But of course that was out. Now, you know what Pops told me? Natty sighed. What?

Why, he bawled the hell out of me. Told me to quit the ring and become a cop. Said I was a cinch to be police department champ. Get myself a soft racket. When I argued, Pop shouted, Get out of this dirty racket. If you have the chance. Man shouldn't make his living, beating people, taking punishment.

And they all get their lumps. Lewis, Zale, Robinson. They get punishment. The good ones just take less. Man only becomes a fighter because he can't make port chops any other way. Get out of the game while you have the chance. It stinks. I know. Hell of it was. Sanders' manager offered Pops five grand for my contract. Then offered me the dough, and he learned we didn't have it in writing.

When I insisted Pops was my manager, he offered the old man three grand for a half interest. I was tempted to take it. Five grand and this guy could get me the right bouts. But I kept thinking Pops needed the dough worse than I did. And if he could turn it down, so could I. So, that was the end of my career as a pug, before it ever started. Maddie's even breathing told me she was sleeping. I lay there and thought of the time I'd caoed Max for the department championship a month after I was on the force. Pops had been right, about the soft details.

I was made a plain clothesman, given desk jobs, all the time I wanted to train. I was a pretty honest cop. I only took a few bucks and graft, enough to give Pops 15 a week. I added another ten out of my pay. Pops, that strange old man, once we were having supper, we always ate together a couple times a week, and I asked how the mugs at the gym were. He winked at me, said, them dumb studs, and they keep asking me, Pops, where's that good heavy you had, the speed kid with the punch? And I don't say nothing, and they laugh and say wise like,

He ran out on you, become a dumb bull. Oh, Pops lost himself another boy. I don't bother answering him, Matt, because these jerks don't know a long last I've really found me a boy. He was a swell, old bum, and when I was busted from the force, he was heartbroken. Wouldn't take a dime until I convinced him I was making more as a private dick. In the Army, this last time I kept sending him his weekly dough. When he died, in his sleep, Max sent me the little packet of money orders they had found in his crummy room. Never cashed a one, even though he was back to scuffling for eating money. I was in the hospital then, and I lost all the dough in a crap game the day I got to pack it.

I almost wanted to lose. seemed to me the money was no good. If he had used it for food, he might have still been alive. I stroked Maddie's soft hair, ran my hands over her strong neck. She'd a liked, Pops. Whenever I thought of him, I also couldn't help but wonder how I would have made out with Lewis. What it would have felt like being heavyweight champ of the world? Or would I now be a broken-down has-been, working as a bouncer in some dive?

I got up, took a pill, and went to the bathroom, and then back to bed. Maddie slept till eleven. It was a hot day and we took a quick dip in the Pacific. The water as cold as I expected it to be. Maddie seemed to have snapped out of her mood. She was a good swimmer and I clowned around with my few strokes and worried about the cold. Then we dried ourselves and raced across the sand to the cottage and the hot coffee that was waiting. There was a small item in the papers about Harry's death.

Joe called and still was jittery, but nobody had been to see him. I took the camera and went down to the corner drugstore and put in a long-distance call, to Atlanta. My boy said, Been waiting for you. Got all the answers, and in one day. What'd you learn? First, that there's another $75 do me. I'm good for it. I'll wire it to you immediately. Sure, Mr. Smith, or is it Brown or Jones this morning? Stop playing and tell me what you have. Captain Daniels will vouch for me. I'll send the money.

I have a better idea. Suppose you wire me the rest of the bundle, then call back. Even let you reverse the charges for prompt payment. Best you buy that, Smithy. Okay, you great big believer in your fellow man. Says on a buck and God we trust, and that's good enough for me. Be waiting. Don't be too long. I have a big day ahead of me here. He hung up and I was sore, but I couldn't blame him.

Besides, I didn't want him calling Max. I took the bus to town, returned the camera, and got my deposit. I almost patted the dumb clerk for giving me the wrong bulb. He'd done us a favor. I wired the dick another 75, and having a few hours to kill, I dropped in to see Max. His face looked too neat. He must have taken a store shave. He said,

Flo was in, looking for you. Kept nagging me for your address. Bet she wants to cry on my shoulder because poor Harry is gone. Max grinned. She slings some fine stuff. Man be kind of tempted to try it, even a happily married man like me. You wouldn't have to try very hard with Flo.

I know, Max said sadly. The tough part would be shaking her off. He bit into a cigar and shook his head all in one impossible motion. Man goes after a new woman like she was something unknown, all the time expecting to find it different. Think women go after it the same way? Why don't you ask Libby? Max laughed.

I can see that. She still blushes when I pinch her ass. Speaking of ass, Flo said to call her at Harry's office. Anything new on Harry? What can be new on a suicide? That jerky office boy has... Uh, had, Mr. Austin, was ranting about the Reds must have pushed him out the window. But that's crazy. You think Harry was on the stuff and his junk told him to jump?

Sometimes his eyes looked as watery as hopheads. Maybe. Always was on the verge of blow in his top. Last night he did it. Always nervous. You mean he was always jumpy? Max said, roaring with laughter. Television is calling you Max. Maybe I'll see Flo. Maybe not. If she calls, just say you told me. I went out and stopped for a glass of milk and took another pill, then walked slowly over to Grace Building.

Flo couldn't know anything, but it was best I see her. The bag of bones at the reception desk was red-eyed, and there was a wreath of flowers on the office desk with some small black lettering across it. Harry would have been astonished that anybody cried for him. She said, We're closed today due to the death of... Where's Flo?

Miss Adler. Miss Florence Daisy May Adler, she tossed her head, asking. Who's calling? Matt Ranzino. She announced me over the phone, then buzzed the door. As I opened it, the creep came out of what had been Harry's office and solemnly ushered me in. Or he could have been playing guard. He had on a dark suit and a black tie and didn't look any more dismal than usual.

The jerk had his honorary ten cops badge pinned to his vest for some reason. Flo was sitting behind Harry's desk, a cigarette pasted to her sultry red lips. There wasn't anything funereal about her, or the dress that seemed to cut down to her belly button. She said, Matt, baby, take a seat. I have much to talk for us. I sat in one of the new chairs that felt like you'd fallen into a bucket. At first, Thatcher blinked and didn't sit down.

Miss Adler, he said, I don't think it's proper to discuss business so soon after Mr. Loughlin's tragic death. Couldn't this wait? Oh, shut up, Flo said. And beat it. Austin looked as though he was going to whimper, but took a walk. When he was gone, Flo flashed a happy smile at. me. How do you like the setup? I'm boss here now. How come? Harry had some old judgments against him,

so he kept his stock, 75% in my name. Now it's all mine. I stared at her. Harry did that? Sure. Come on, Flo. Harry wasn't that simple. She shrugged. He was covered. Had something on me. A real tough rap that... No sense telling you about it. Why do you think I stood for his being a louse? For the car, the clothes? Well, that helped, but he had me against the wall. Oh, I had to make out a will in his favor. A lot of other legal rassel-dazzle, but he didn't bother changing anything before he tried the wild blue yonder.

That's something I can't figure. Harry wasn't the kind to... Hell with it, and him. Man, I want you as a partner. No. Harry was knocking down a clear $20,000 a year, and he was only starting. I'll give you a tin.

That's a good shake. And if we're together, we have all the 20. Baby, I don't want any part of this outfit. Flo shrugged again and everything was like jelly. I don't know what it's all about, but it's big dope from the back pocket. Matt, I need you to operate, need a strong man to run things. What's the matter with the creep? Him? You kidding?

Look, this racket is all a bluff. I need a hard guy who can walk a tightrope, drive hard, and know when to pull in his horns. Harry always used to say a good libel suit would ruin him. In short, I need a tough guy. with common sense. That's you. My God, Matt, we'll live big, plenty of jack coming in for a few hours work. Time to travel, and... Look, honey, we're done. I told you that.

You have another girl. I know it. That's okay. I still want you. Let me hang around long enough. I'll take my chances. You'll be apart. There was a knock on the door, and Thatcher came in, holding a file card. He whispered something into Flo's ear, his eyes trying hard not to travel down into her dress. She said, Oh, for God's sake, shut up you. But it's true, he said loudly, waving the card before her. In 1946, a Matt Ranzino signed a petition to the governor,

asking that the use of tear gas be outlawed and strikes, and he was bending over the desk his can within reaching distance. I gave him a little goose, and as he jumped and turned to look at me, I slapped his thin face. He and his glasses went sailing across the room. As he picked himself up, I got up and took the card out of his hand, tearing it into little pieces, I told him, Don't stick your nose into my business, Jr.

But that proves, he began as he put his glasses back on. That, it proves what I said. I signed a petition. Now get out of here. He turned to flow. We can't hire anybody. She waved him away, crushed her cigarette in a fancy bronze ashtray, shaped like a nude woman, probably one of Harry's pet possessions.

You hurt the man. Get out. When he left, I asked him. A creep own much stock? No, he's just an employee. I can fire him any time. That's an idea. By the way, what's the time?

I asked, nodding toward the tiny diamond-studded watch on her wrist. It was a corny way of getting out of there, but it was time to call Atlanta. Flo held up her hand so I could see it was 220. Don't rush off, Matt. Got to. Then think it over. It's important, for both of us. I told you, I don't.

You don't lose nothing by thinking it over. Let's talk again. in tomorrow, okay? I'll think about it. I waved and Flo blew a kiss at me as I went out. I dropped into the first phone booth I passed, called Max, asked if he ever heard of Flo being wanted for anything or in a jam.

Not that I know of, Max said. I'll check if you want, what's up? Nothing, but check. I hung up and called my expensive buddy in Atlanta, reversing the charges. He said he had received the money and in a few short sentences told me what I wanted to know. I took a cab out to Mrs. Samuels, and we had another little talk.

Can you leave town? Do I have to? she asked. I don't know. Be better if you do. Could you move to L.A. or Harlem? Get lost there? I know it's a lot to ask, and if you can't, why? Why is it a lot to ask? Haven't anything to hold me here? Any relations? She shook her head. I'm nearly 62. All my kin has died. Had two boys, but they never grew up. Never reached 12. Lost one at childbirth. Hospital didn't want no colored.

Other got sick when he was 11. One of these flu epidemics. Guess can't blame that on his being colored. Maybe I'll go to L.A. Sick of this old town anyway. Need money? I have some savings. Listen carefully. Then forget what I'm telling you. I'm going to see that Saxton gets the works. I don't want you to return if you should read about the case. Even if it says they're looking for you.

And we never talked about this. Get that? Yes. Now, in case they should bring you back to the case. testify, you never had an idea Henry Wilson was colored. They'll cross-examine you pretty hard on the witness stand, but you must stick to your story, and don't worry about perjury. After all, you haven't any proof Henry was passing. It's merely an idea of yours. From now on, you must think Henry was white.

All right, but he wasn't. You just think he wasn't. Tell me, in all good faith, could you swear in court that Henry wasn't white? Shucks, I'm sure. "'Pretty sure he was passing. I can tell what you got in mind to do.' "'I was afraid to tell her. You never know when and why a person will talk.' "'I said curtly. You're wrong. I have definite proof he was white.' "'You sure?' Are you?'

"'Well, if you say—' "'You see, you're not really absolutely positive.' "'The thing to do is convince yourself, from now on that he was white. "'I can't tell you what I'm going to do, lest you know better off you are.' Understand? I don't mean I don't trust you, but I can't have anybody else in on this. It's my play. I believe you. And if you ever do get on the witness stand, you left town to look for work and you never even suspected Henry of being colored. Chances are you won't be called back, but if you are, I only saw you that one time out at the house. And I'm surprised anybody should think Mr. Henry wasn't white.

I grinned. Fine, and don't write to anyone. Not even me telling them where you are. You have to disappear. "'Who am I going to write to? "'Got a few friends I see in church, that's all. "'Just Sunday, friends.' "'I stood up.

"'How soon you leave him?' "'To not. "'Have it much to pack. "'When you work as a maid, you don't have no real home. "'The house you work in is a sort of home, only it isn't. "'This is merely a room.' "'We shook hands. "'I said,

"'Good-bye, Florence. "'You're quite a woman. "'You look mean and nasty, but you're a good white man, Matt. "'I hope we win. "'We'll sure give it a try.' At the door, she asked, You really got proof Henry was white? I winked at her, put a finger across my lips, like a kid.

When I reached the bungalow, Maddie gave me a big kiss, asked, Everything all right about, this hairy? Sure, forget it. We got a gift. She pointed to two bottles of bonded rye on the table. Liquor store kid brought them, said Saxton called and had them sent over. I examined the seals, the bottoms of the bottles.

Don't seem to have been tempered with. Wouldn't put it past that bastard to send you poisoned rye. Although that would be too obvious. Think he's going to visit us? No, probably doing it to annoy me. Keep you lushing it up. I'm not a lush. How are you doing with Saxton?

Don't know yet, she said. Don't be so clam-mouthed about it. What are your plans? Tell you when it's done. Why? Because I'm a woman. Maybe I can help you. And here are you...

I'm not. I'm tired, baby, don't start that woman line. I don't tell you because you're not a dick. Hell, I haven't told Joe either. Being a detective, despite the movies, isn't a game. It's a business, a trade. I think you ought to let me try and help you. After all, suppose you were a butcher. You'd talk your problems over with me, even though I don't know a lamb shoulder from a hole in the ground. Okay, okay. I can trip Saxton if I locate a certain letter he has. That's it. A letter? This letter will prove he murdered the Wilson's? No, that's easy to prove.

You're not much as an alibi. Then there's the water in the cabin. That was off. And if Max digs a little, he'll find a lot of other things that won't check. But the letter will make the murder wrap stick. I don't get it, Maddie said. What's in this letter that? I'm not too sure myself, and forget I ever said anything about a letter. All I have to do now is figure out how to get it.

She thought for a moment. He sent those bottles. Suppose I call him now, say I want to see him. While I'm stalling him, you could look his apartment over. Look, hun, Saxon is a killer. A little off his balance, probably, but a killer all the same. I don't want you dead. I can handle him.

I laughed and kissed her big mouth. That's what I mean about the layman not knowing what he's talking about. But your idea might work. Maybe he is coming out. After supper, I'll leave the house, watch outside. If Saxton should come, I'll flatten him, search him. Can I always say I was jealous, and he won't know I hit him to search him. Can't let him know I know about the letter.

It either has to be on him or in his apartment. Or in a safe deposit vault? I kissed her again. Then I'm screwed. We had supper and listened to the radio for a while, and Maddie complained about my never taking her dancing, and I said maybe next week. And how did I know she loved to dance? At eight, I left a house.

and took a plant in the corner drugstore. Sitting in the phone booth, I could see the front of the cottage down the block. The movies ought to show more of the routine work of a detective, like the dull hours you spend watching a house. I sat there for about half an hour, and the druggist looked at me suspiciously, so I dialed Max's home, talked to Libby for a while, and Max got on the phone.

I put in another nickel, ask if he'd found anything about Flo. Nothing certain. Remmer slipped McCarthy? No. I guess he was a year or two before you, a time. Slic con man. We knew he took a sucker for ten grand, using the old horsewire gag. We knew and couldn't do a thing. The sucker had never pressed charges. Flo was in on that. How? You know how she gabbs, never mention it to me. She was a kid then, working in a fancy call house. You knew she worked in one for a while? There seemed to be that nasty delight in

Max's voice that all men get when talking about horrors. I knew. So what? Slip took a fancy to her, kept her for a time. He was one of these old-school con men, smooth, polished, big front. His specialty was the horsewire con. He'd have a buddy in a store fixed up as a telegraph office. The supposedly crooked telegraph employee given them the track winners before the book he's got it. You know how it works. They still pull that ancient gag now and then, even these days.

I know. Where does Flofit in? Slip latched onto a sucker. let him win a few bucks, the old come on, then took him to the cleaners. In this case, they put the finishing touch on the mark by having slip put a bag of chicken blood on his mouth. He let the mark sock him, fell down hard, played dead, blood flowing from his mouth.

Old stuff again scares the sucker so bad he'll never talk about it. Keeps a million miles from the cops, thinks he's a murderer. You still haven't told me about Flo. Max laughed. Oh, she was the bait for the mark, and of course, in on the kill, only they never forgot to tell her it was a fake.

Slip must have been tired of her and saved her cut by not telling her, skipping town. Technically she thinks she's a party to murder. Slip's still alive. Oh, he's doing five to ten in a federal pen out in Kansas. That what you want to know? I said thanks and hung up. The operator was asking for another jit.

I sat there for another half hour and Saxton didn't show. The druggist was looking at me again, so I took a walk around the cottage. There was a little chill in the air and I knocked on the back window, told Maddie to give me a shot. a rye. It was the first drink I'd had in a long time and it warmed my guts. Felt good. Maddie said, Does Rye always put that contented smile on your face? And laughed. Don't let the bottle get too good to you. Leave the stuff alone. It gives you a silly expression, I said, giving her the glass back.

She slammed a window and I went back to my prowling. I sat on the back steps for another hour and nothing happened. I called for another shot. It was really chilly. I walked around some more, then sat on the back steps again, thought about Flo. Harriet sure played her for a fall guy. Poor Flo. If she'd been born plain or ugly, she would have had a happier life. A couple of times I heard a car stop

or people walking nearby, but it always turned out to be some neighbors coming home. By midnight I was chilled to the bone and afraid I was getting a cold. I decided Saxton wasn't coming out. I went in through the kitchen door, stopped in the bathroom to take my temperature. It was normal.

There was a light in the living room, but Maddie didn't call out to me. I figured she was asleep. I was right. She was sleeping off a load in the big chair. The big history book about Billy's outfit open on her lap, the remains of a bottle on the floor beside the chair. I tried to slap her out of it, but all she did was open her eyes, saying that loose way of drunk talks. You got no right, right now. Order me, bow. Tell me not a drink. I can't handle it. I. I. Then she passed out again. I have a blind spot about drunks. Don't know why. Maybe I need a couple of sessions on the couch. I was so damn mad at her.

I picked her up and carried her into the bathroom, and she was heavy as hell. I stood her up in the tub under the shower, but she kept slipping. I got her balanced against the wall for a moment. Ran back into the living room and got the thick military history book. Jamming that against the tub and the side of her legs, I hadn't Maddie nicely balanced,

sleeping, standing up. I pulled the curtains and held my arms around. in case she fell and turned on the cold water. For a moment, nothing happened. Then there was a gasp, a choked cry, and a scream. I grabbed her, turned off the water. I lifted her out of the tub, her clothes sticking to her body, her hair wet and stringy.

She looked awful. Maddie sobered up fast, began to cuss at me, her voice very clear, her eyes getting angry bright. She came at me, punched me a few times, before I pinned her arms down. What the hell's the idea? She asked loudly. The idea is,

simply that I don't want you getting loaded and sentimental sloppy every time you smell a cork. I... You don't. What do you think I am? A pet dog you own and can order around. Get your clothes off before you catch a cold. Suppose I want to get it cold. Stop talking like a child, I said.

Look, Maddie, we'll hit it off swell, and I want us to. But it has to be you and me, not the bottle makes three. You know I can't stand seeing you drunk. It means... "'Aren't you happy with me?' "'Yes, only—' "'Mat, sometimes I feel like a total stranger to you, "'as though you'd withdrawn into that tough shell of yours.

"'Last night you were so hard. "'And now, out there, when I gave you the drink, "'you barked at me not to take a shot like I was your servant. "'Mat, sometimes I feel you don't need me.' "'Don't think that, ever. "'I need you badly,' I said, kissing her. I took off her wet clothes and rubbed her down with a big towel and she didn't talk. Then she said,

I didn't mean to get high, but I felt so, so alone and lost when you barked at me that I... Honey, I was working, watching for Saxton. There wasn't any time for sweet talk. I know, but I took a few to relax me, and then... You started mooning over Billy's picture, I added. What else have I to turn to when I feel you don't want? For the first time, she saw the soggy book at the bottom of a... the tub, colored inks, streaking out of it.

The book! She sobbed. You've ruined it. I grabbed her shoulders as she bent to pick it up. That's right. It's ruined. Now you have nobody to lean on but me. I want it that way, because I haven't anybody but you, and all we need is each other. Matt, Matt, don't be so tough. So hard, Maddie said, crying.

I slid my hands off her shoulders, her skin so fresh and cool, I hugged her, whispered, "'Baby, I'm not tough, and I don't want to be. I'm not hard, but you're all I have, and I'll hold on to you with everything I got.' We kissed each other hungrily, her big lips exciting, demanding, as they fiercely covered mine. As we started for the bedroom, I thought I heard a noise at the front door.

I told Maddie to go to bed, and I turned off the lights and went over to the living room window. There wasn't anything to see. I tried the door, and it was locked. probably the wind rattling the door. Maddie was calling softly, and as I passed her chair, I picked up the bottle and took a quick swig to cool off this time, and started to undress.

End of Part 5. Part 6. Of Sin in Their Blood by Ed Lacey. This Libra Box recording is in the public domain. Part 6. Saturday. It was a lousy morning, cold, raining on and on. We stayed in bed till ten when Joe rang the bell. He was in a good mood, didn't even look with disapproval at Maddy and me running around in pajamas.

His wife Ruthie was feeling fine, wanted us over for Sunday dinner. He had coffee with us, drove me downtown. In his struggle buggy, he told me, Matt, I'm sorry about the way I acted the other night. Running away, crying, I was a jerk. I still don't like what we did, but... But when you play with crap, some gets on your hands. Yes, I guess we couldn't help it.

I said, we could have if you had a decent union or whatever you postmen have to go to bat for you, point out you didn't do anything wrong. That's the big if. A shake racket is only successful when people are afraid to tell the blackmailer to hump off. I still feel a little guilty about Harry's death, but I suppose that will wear off in time. I wanted to laugh. Joe was a comic. His little guilty was like being a little pregnant.

We made small talk till I told him to let me off at the Grace building And when he looked at me big-eyed I said I'm going up to Harry's old office See you and Ruthie tomorrow About 1.30 Thatcher Austin came running out of the building Looking more crazy than usual Soon as he hit the sidewalk he stopped

Looked around wildly then walked down the street as fast as he could Joe said, I know that guy, Mr. Austin How do you know him? Lives on my route, a sort of communist What? I ask laughing. What's the big joke? I shouldn't go around

calling people's politics these days. But a postman can tell how and what a guy thinks by the mail he receives. Austin. Now he gets a lot of radical papers and magazines, even some from abroad, along with a lot of jerky flag waving rags. Always have a heavy load of mail for him.

I told Joe about the creep and he was shocked. Always thought he was a little nervous. But a quiet guy like that, behind this crummy stuff, doesn't seem possible. Just stay away from him, I said getting out of the car. As I took the elevator to Flo's office, I had an idea to play for laughs. I'd accused the creep of being read on the basis of the mail he received. Of course, he used the left publications for his files.

But it was an amusing angle. There was a new receptionist, a young redhead with a gay loose mouth and the wrong kind of clothes. A lot of frilly stuff that made her look like a warring Christmas tree. When she buzzed me into Flo's office, I asked, "'Why, though, a welcome change out there?' "'Got fed up with that snippy-looking bitch. "'Glad you come, man. I got troubles. "'Supposed to have the newsletter to the printers tomorrow,

"'and I don't know what to write. "'Had a run in with Thatcher after you left yesterday. "'Fired him, too. "'He got so mad he took some of the files with him, "'said he burned them to spite me.' "'You can have him arrested,' I suggested. "'Hell, with that little bastard just was in here "'all sorry begging me to take him back.

"'Wants me to marry him. "'I told him off. "'Mad, I'll up your cut to... I'm not your boy, I said, thinking that in no time Flo would run this racket into the ground, which was where it belonged, deep underground. Please, Matt, for a favor. Take it for a few months. Set me straight. Flo, I'm not giving you any straight from the shoulder sermon, but this is a wrong racket. One of these days, people are going to get sore at you, run you out of town, if they don't shoot you first.

What's a good racket? I don't know, but you have to draw the line someplace and you're way over the line. You have a bundle put aside, get more when you sell hairy stuff. Won't you forget this dirt? Forget this town. Start over in some other town. You can still have that house full of kids. She began to cry, spoiling her makeup, as she said, You crummy bastard.

What is this? A new kind of brush off. A pat on the shoulder and sweet advice in my ear while you boot my can. I don't want you. Slip McCarthy will be out of the pen soon. She did a double take that would have looked good on the screen, whispered. What did you say? Slip never died, and Harry knew it. Slip pulled an old gag to quiet the sucker,

and jobbed you out of your cut, played dead with a sack of chicken blood in his mouth. Harry, that louse! Floo yelled. You sure of this? Ask Max. Slip is doing a stretch and a federal pen. See, that's the kind of a rat Harry was.

But it isn't for you. Get out while you can. Stowe the do-gooder act. There's a lot of easy dough floating around. I'm going to pick it up. Have fun, I said heading for the door. Send you the hundred I owe you as soon as I can. She told me to tear it up into little pieces and shove it up my sleeve.

As I opened the door, she said, Matt, I won't ask you again. I'm offering you a swell setup for the taken. Here's another piece of free advice. Don't put any more dough into this. You'll fold soon. I left her cursing me. Downstairs, I wondered if Saxton worked Saturdays.

I called his factory, and when a girl asked who was calling, I hesitated, finally gave her my name. There wasn't any harm. Mr. Saxon is in his usual Saturday labor management conference. Can you call later, or can he call you? Can I reach him about three? Oh, yes, he'll be here all afternoon. It's not important, a personal call.

I'll phone later, maybe Monday. I was out at Saxton's apartment by one. He lived in a modest four-story house, one apartment to a floor, looked expensive. You had to buzz an apartment to open the hall door and I rang his first several times in case he had a maid. Then as I was wondering which apartment was the top floor to buzz that to get into the house,

a voice behind me said, Mr. Rand Zeno. I jumped and spun around, but it wasn't Saxton. It was Doc Kent. He asked, looking for me? Why, uh, no, you live here? Have a room with some friends on the third floor. How are you feeling?

Fine, I guess. Haven't given my health much thought recently. Fact is, should be taking a nap now. I said, a little astonished to realize it was the truth. Glad to hear that, he said, unlocking the door. I said, people I was looking for are out. I'll leave a note in their mailbox. I walked in with him as he said again.

He was pleased I felt all right. He went into the tiny self-service elevator, and I stood by the mailboxes. Doc Kent, living there, could be a break. Goad or bad. I walked up. to two flights to Saxton's apartment, tried my skeleton keys. His lock wasn't much, and I was inside within five minutes. He had four large rooms all furnished in strict magazine style, showing no

imagination but lots of dough. His maid had been there. The place was clean, the bed made. I walked around and suddenly fell flat on my face, bruising my shin. I sat up and rubbed my leg, stuck my hand in my pocket to find my bottle of vitamin pills unbroken. Swallowing a pill I saw what made Saxton and so strong. He was a barbell man. I tripped over a big ugly barbell line near the couch. There were a couple of smaller dumbbells around, and as I stood up, I almost felt sorry for Saxton. There was something pathetic about this middle-aged skull exercising like mad in the privacy of his lonely apartment. And what did he need the muscles for? Confidence? I spent two hours going over the apartment, checking as thoroughly as I could. I didn't find the letter.

I went over the place again to be sure everything looked as though it hadn't been touched. then left. I took a bus to the center of town, then another out to the beach. It was muggy and hot now, the sun battling to come out. There were even a few sun-baters on the beach. Maddie was sitting on the front steps like a kid, she said, waiting for you so we can take a walk. Want to go fishing? Tide will be changing soon. Let's walk. She locked the door and we started walking along the edge of the beach. Maddie said, Saxton sent me, us, another two bottles. How long do you think you'll keep this up. I want you to call him. He's still at the factory. Tell him you must see him tonight. About nine. Say the cops have been questioning you about whether you might have been

doped last Sunday night when he was with you. That should bring him running. What do I do when he gets to the cottage besides scream? I'll be outside like last night. I'll stiffen him, search him before he comes to. I didn't find the letter in his apartment, so let's hope he's carrying it around. And what happens after he comes to? It depends on what I find. If the letter is, I'll take him to Max, charged Saxton with the murders. We passed a dress shop and I walked Maddie across the boardwalk, stopped in front of the window. Soon as I get my license, start working again, going to buy you some clothes. You're tall, should be able to wear any. Isn't that sweet of my great big man's? Listen, I dress to please myself, not for you. You dress like you were something tossed into the corner of

the room. I'll buy you some dresses, and you only wear them when I'm around. Would you like me to buy you some shirts? Sure, I grinned at her, the dizzy kid. She squeezed my hand. I'll get myself some clothes, out of my own money when I start working Monday. You want to buy me something to wear? Make it a mink. Maybe I will, one of these days. And I'll throw it right in your face. Imagine walking around with two or three grand on your back. I'd be afraid to move a brush up against anything. What you can buy me right now is a soda. My little child bride, I said, walking her into a luncheonette.

You have the hips for it, but don't ever get fat on me. I hate sloppy women. And I can't stand, stout men. We had our sodas, and then she called Saxton. He wanted her to tell him exactly what had happened over the phone, but she told him to come to the cottage, said I was going to town, and she'd be alone. Then she bought an ice cream cone, and we walked on. Any minute I expected her.

her to start skipping or play jacks. After supper, I washed the dishes, and she poured a drink out of one of the fifth Saxon had sent on Friday. Maddie sat at the kitchen table watching me, nibbling at the drink. I didn't say a word. We sat around for a while, listening to the radio, and she had a second drink. A small one spiked with a lot of ginger ale, and waited for me to say something, but I didn't pay her any mind.

At eight, I put on my coat, told her, I'm going outside. Look, if by chance things go wrong, I mean, if I should miss Saxton and he comes to the house, well, stall him. I'll look in on you every few minutes. That's wonderful. Don't miss him, big shoulders. Maybe I ought to have the bottle handy so I can sock him.

Stop baiting me. And leave the bottle alone, listen to the radio, or read the headlines, and frighten yourself. Make a better scene if you found me darn in your socks. I kissed her, whispered, be good, and left. I sat in the drugstore phone booth for a few minutes, and the druggist looked at me, as if asking, what is this a habit? At 8.20, I walked back to the house. She still had the bottle out in a full glass. I didn't know if it was the same drink or not. I was a little annoyed, and after circling the

house, I stood by the side window watching her. I stood there for several minutes when I heard a soft step behind me. I didn't turn around or move. There was a gun in my back. Saxton said, Her phone call. That was stupid on your part. Easy to figure. Guess it was. But we should have a talk. In my apartment. My car is around the corner. Start walking and don't try anything brave. He jabbed the gun in my back again, and it felt like an automatic. There wasn't a chance of tapping on the window, and what good would that have done? Maddie would have come to the window, and then we'd both be in the soup. As it was, she didn't expect. Saxton for another half hour and with the bottle beside her she'd probably be cropped by then.

I walked. Saxon was at my side but a little behind me. He said, you searched my apartment today. I'm sure Rusty. I read a good deal. Have my books in a certain order. You put them back wrong. When we reached his car, he opened the door and I got in. He said, keep your hands up on top of your head. And he ran around the back and got in beside me. The street was empty in. and anyway, it was too dark for people to notice us. He held the gun on his lap, in his left hand, pointing at my side, started the car. He was cute, hadn't made any mistakes, yet. He drove toward town, watching me in the windshield.

I asked if I could put my hands down, and he said, Certainly, place them flat on the top of your thighs. What do you read, detective stories? Keep still. When we reached his place, he told me to open the door and step out, and pushed over into the seat and got out after me. I walked ahead of him, and he held the gun in my back with his left hand and reached around me and unlocked the door. We walked up to his apartment.

I suppose he was afraid we'd meet somebody in the elevator. We didn't see a soul in the hallway. He went through the same routine unlocking his door, then switched on the light, grunted for me to step inside. He made his first mistake closing the door. He should have kicked it shut with his foot. Instead, he made a half turn to close it, leaving me at his side. instead of in front of him. I pivoted on my left foot and slammed his chin with my right.

It was a tough punch. I felt it right up to my shoulder. Saxon pitched to the floor. I picked up the gun and locked the door. His feet were trembling a little, a sign he was still out. I went through his pockets. The letter was in his wallet. I put the wallet back. The letter was written in neat, dignified, thin strokes, like an old model used in a penmanship lesson. Old Doc Snell probably never saw a typewriter in his life. The dock came right to the point, told Henry Wilson he had recognized his picture as a baby he'd brought into the world, that he hadn't been paid for his services and needed the money, to, please send me via airmail $500, in cash at once, or I shall be forced to go to the courts and the papers.

The dock was a real amateur. $500. Saxton was starting to groan, but it would be a lot of seconds before he knew what was happening. I tore the letter in the little pieces, ran to the bathroom, and flushed them down the john. When I came back, Saxton was sitting up, his eyes still glassy, rubbing the side of his jaw. There was some bloody spit at the ends of his mouth. I told him to get up. He got to his feet slowly, shook his head several times, then glared at me.

I waved the gun. Sweet little 38, ever use it? I have a permit. Good for you. Now, as you said, we'll have a bit of talk. Sit down on the couch. And be careful, I'm lousy with marksman's medals. He sat down and I back.

I backed away toward a chair and the next thing I knew I was falling backwards. I tripped over one of his damn barbells again. He was still too dizzy to be fast, but he came charging at me. I landed flat on my back and I pointed the gun at him through my legs and he stopped short. Sit down and be smart, I yelled getting up. You shouldn't be tossing weights around at your age. Strain on the heart. Razino, what's your game?

He asked. I sat down facing him, brushing off my trousers. My game is? I don't like you. I don't give a fat damn what you like. Saxon, your big mistake was a not minding your own business. Fact is, the world is in a mess because everybody is sticking their snoot into other people's business. I...

Then why don't you mind your own business? I did. But you... Well, you kept spoiling things for me. Like the way you treated Maddie. I kept annoying me. Other little things. Of course, I knew all the long you killed your sister and Henry,

and I didn't do a thing about it because it wasn't any of my... That's a lie, the police know Henry kill poor Beatrice, then took his own miserable life. Saxton boomed. Stop it. I'm the guy you hired to find the planted deed, the body, remember? It was so... The police...

You'll get a chance to talk to the police soon in a few minutes. The police haven't really dug into the Wilson case. There's the water you turned on while we were in the cabin, and if they really work at it, they can trace the rope to you, a lot of other things. The odds are always against. to perfect crime because the more you plan, the more chances you have to make a mistake. Then two, you're only one man, while the cops can put 20 or 30 trained men on a case.

They always find everything you've overlooked. He sneered, you're angry because of Maddie. Everybody in town knows I was fond of Henry, loved my sister. Sure. They also knew Henry and Beatrice Wilson were a happy couple, swell people. Were you jealous of their happiness? I don't know what you're talking about. And Maddie, were you jealous of her,

spirit? Is there some kind of crazy urge in you that makes you crush everything that's free and happy? Really, Mr. Anzino, you're talking like an ass? I laughed at him. We're under control now, got the slick veneer and polish back on again, hey? I've done a lot of thinking about you, Willie, as to what makes you tick. Why I figure you with Maddie is this. You were having what you call an illicit relationship with her. That's a sin. And therefore you had to see her unhappy, crushed as a sort of punishment. Just as you probably felt uneasy about the affair. Never really enjoyed it.

The great god Willie Saxton III. I think you'd better leave. And be impolite. You brought me here, at the point of a gun. That will sound interesting on the witness stand. Only your word against mine. The word of a busted cop. I can also testify Maddie sleeps soundly when potted,

so your alibi isn't worth repeating. and a little routine checking will probably show she was doped last Sunday night too. I thought you were so fond of her, yet you're willing to smear her name in the papers. Can that slop, she's already been smeared by you as your alibi, and that good name junk went out with your ideas. But let's get back to the Wilson's. You'll get the gas chamber for that. Although you might plead insanity and spend the rest of your life in a padded cell,

which is where you belong. If I were, Saxon's, set up. Mr. Ranzino, I don't know what the hell you are talking about. If you're trying to scare me, I'm merely amused. And if this is a shakedown, you're wasting time. I shall protest to the police, have both you and Madeline arrested for blackmail. Listen to you. How do you sound? I asked softly, motioning toward the phone with the gun, call the cops. He sat there, staring at me for a moment. Then he relaxed, took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his mouth. He said, You had hard, for a tubercular.

You see, I've done a little checking, too. I didn't say anything, but the very sound of the word made my heart pound. After a long moment, he asked, Let's get this over. What do you want? To convict you? Get you out of my hair for good? Too many of your kind in the world these days. Everywhere I turn, I see the smug, self-righteous, self-appointed.

I stopped. There wasn't any point in making a speech. About the Wilson's. "'Good Lord, Ranzino, what possible motive could I have for killing them?' He said angrily. It nearly sounded real. "'A motive good enough for a jury is that you got full control of the factory by knocking off Henry. "'You kill Beatrice to make Henry's suicide stand up, look good, "'and also being her brother, in only relation, you get her share of the factory and her money.

"'Want to buy that?' "'That's ridiculous.' "'Sure, but it makes a little sense. "'A jury could understand it better than your real motive. You knew Henry Wilson had some Negro blood in him. That shocked the hell out of your bigoted mind. Why, I hear you had a Negro in your family. Your brother-in-law was the guy you were telling the Rastus

and change your luck jokes about. For a split second, his fat face went white, then the color crept back and he said smoothly, You must be crazy. One of us sure is. A couple months ago, a doctor tried to shake Henry down for five yards, and you learned about it, probably by snooping around Henry's desk. you're the type.

Tear away of thinking Henry couldn't have committed a worse crime. A negro daring to marry your sister. So you decided to do Beatrice a big favor. Kill Henry. You took your time, went over all details. Had a lucky break with Maddie, a ready-made lush, a ready-made alibi. You bought the cabin in Henry's name,

and a little concentrated digging will prove that. You took two grand, petty stuff, to make it look like Henry was in some kind of mess. That was the only truly smart move you made. Two grand wasn't big enough to make the cop suspicious. It fitted in. I suppose it wasn't much trouble getting Henry up to the cabin Friday, was it? Saxon smiled.

This is a fascinating story, do you take dope? Wait, it gets better. There you tied Henry up. Probably had a hard time resisting the urge to give him a going over. But you had something better in mind, a personal lynching. There must have been a sweet, one-way conversation between you two up in the cabin. But when you told Beatrice about the horrible thing you'd learned on Sunday night, she shocked the hell out of you by saying she'd known all the time.

Didn't care. In fact, she told you to mind your own business. Leave them alone. You were ready to explode with anger. You smashed her head in with the lamp. Did I? Why, you let your imagination run? You didn't plan to kill Beatrice. It was a crime of passion, of intense anger, as the books say.

You drove back to the cabin, hung Henry, then raced out of. out to White Beach. All told, less than five hours passed, and there you were in bed when Maddie woke up. I was in bed with that all night, Saxon said with a big forced smile. Now, if you're done raving, I'll know something, I said calmly. The druggist across the street forgot to turn off a gas burner, returned to a store in the middle of the night. He left at 4 a.m. Says he saw you come back to the cottage, then. That's a damn lie. He couldn't have. Saxton's face actually got waxy like a corpses. I laughed.

Maybe it's a lie, maybe it isn't. Merely want to convince you how thin your story is. How nobody can cover all the angles, for sure. You'd have to be awfully lucky, even if you didn't make any mistakes. Once the cops start working, they'll dig up a hundred things you never counted on. He was silent for a few minutes, sitting back against the couch as though exhausted. Then he asked in a hoarse whisper, "'How much do you want?'

"'Got much cash on you?' "'A few hundred. The banks are shut, but on Monday I'll give $10,000. Or do you want a check right now?' "'A check?' Willie, do I look that simple? I swear on Monday. Soon as the bank's open, I'll give you $10,000.'

"'You hold your life cheap,' I said, torturing him like a bastard but enjoying it. Fifteen, that's all I can raise. No, it isn't. You got Henry's insurance via Beatrice's death and hers, if she had any. That will take months. Look, I can raise $20,000. That's my final offer.

You're not in any position to make a final offer. How you got that couple of hundred and pull out your wallet slowly. In twenties and tens and five, he said taking out his wallet. throw over $160 just drop the dough on the floor, near me. He counted out 5-20s, 2-5s, 2-5s, and 5-10s, leaned over and tossed them on the floor. The bills made dizzy circles till they hit.

I picked them up with my left hand, looked to see if they were marked, then shoved them in my pocket. Saxton said, I'll get the rest Monday, by noon. There isn't any rest. I don't understand, you said. I'm not shaking. you down, Willie. This represents

about what I spent, getting the goods on you. I'm turning you in. His soul and mouth dropped open, and a stupid expression covered his face for a second. Then he burst out laughing. Real roaring laughter. When he finished, he snapped. You idiot! You don't get a dime now.

I detest scandal, but it won't ruin me, and I'd rather that than paying you off for the rest of my life. Have me arrested. There isn't a jury that will convict me for killing a nigger who tricked my sister. And there's nothing to pin poor Beatrice's killing on me. Why, I can claim I killed Henry in revenge. His voice grew more confident. I'm a big man in this town.

People will sympathize with me. Important people. I killed a nigger who tricked my sister into marriage and then murdered her. It will be better than any unwritten law. You can't touch me. But to avoid the headlines, I'll give you 5,000 to forget it. Back on the payoff kick again, I don't want money. Then call the police.

Henry murdered Beatrice when she discovered he was a nigger, and I killed him when he told me that. I might even plead self-defense he tried to kill me too. The odd part was, Saxon sounded as though he believed this hogwash he was inventing. I said, "'No, where that yarn will land you in the loony bin, if you beat the death wrap. Why, I'll be a hero, no jury would.' You just might get away with it, Willie, if you could prove Henry was colored,

considering you'd get a blue ribbon jury with all the trimmings, Only what makes you think Henry Wilson was colored. Come, Brancino, you just said... I never said nothing. I never knew Henry, the only one time I saw him he was dead. But lots of people in town knew him well. Played cards and golf with him. Did business with him.

Liked him. They'll call you crazy when you say he was colored. He glanced at his wallet, opened it. I asked, looking for something? He tore at the wallet with frantic fingers, then looked at me and asked in a rasping whisper, where is it? Where is what?

God damn it, Renzino. Where is it? In little pieces, floating in the sewer with the other garbage. I took it when I flattened you at the door. Might as well tell you what I spent that hundred odd bucks for.

You're paying for it. Doc Snell is dead. I was pretty sure of that since he only sent one letter, let the deal drop. He was a very old man, and he died in a drunken sleep three days after he mailed the letter.

Guess you know that, too. probably tried to get in touch with him. Henry Wilson was born out of wedlock, to use a silly term. He hadn't any relations. Also in the one store wide spot in the road where he was born, they never bothered with birth certificates for colored kids or poor whites. So it boils down to this. There's only one person in the world who knows about that letter.

Me. And if you call me to the witness stand, I'll act as astonished as anybody else. From here on in, I don't know what you're talking about. How much do you want? Saxton asks shrilly. Not a cent. I only want to see your kind get the works for once. Now we'll call the cops.

We both stood up and he said, Please, Ranzino, I'll give you big money, and lunged at me. I was watching his pigeon-toed feet and I caught him with a left hook that knocked him down. It was a stupid move on his part. He sat on the floor for a moment, shaking his head and got to his feet slowly.

"'You, when,' he said. "'He rubbed the side of his face. "'I'd hit him too high to do any real damage. "'I slipped a gun in my pocket. "'I was afraid he'd try to make me shoot him. "'Then I'd be in a spot, "'and I could handle him easily with my fists. "'He shook his head several times, muttered,

"'I can't think straight. "'Everything's fuzzy. "'Before you call the police, can I douse my head under the shower?' "'Sure, only don't try anything super clever. "'This isn't your racket.' I followed him into the bathroom. He brushed the shower curtains aside with one hand, turned on the cold water.

It ran on his head and part of his collar. I stood several feet behind him in case he tried yanking off the curtain, throwing it around me. Bent over the tub, Saxon was a comical figure. His broad, fleshy can facing me, water splashing on his head over his clothes. He shut the water off, reached over towards the towel rack beside the tub, came up with a towel,

and one of those big forty-fives. For a split second I had to admire him. He'd found a new place to park a gun. His eyes were cold and overbried as he advanced toward me as dripping wet face, giving him an insane look. He growled, Keep your hands up high. You wop scum thinking you could match your lousy brains with mine.

Turn around! I turned and there's always that horrible second of waiting when you know you're going to get conked, wondering if it will be the barrel of the gun or the butt. Will your brains be splattered? But I couldn't make a play. With a forty-five, even a slug in the shoulder will knock you flat, maybe take off your arm. He was too close to miss, or...

I heard the faint swish the gun made through the air. A flash of terribly bright pain swept over me, and then I was drowning in heavy, mushy darkness. I must have been out a long time. When I came to, I thought I was still up in the clouds. I was naked and hanging from the doorway by my wrists, which were roped to pipes someplace on the bathroom wall. I was standing on the floor, but Saxton had pushed heavy barbells in front, and in back of my ankles, anchoring my feet.

I stood there as though crucified while Saxton took off his coat and shirt, exposing his heavy muscle-bound arms. I pulled at my wrists and only succeeded in burning them with the ropes. Things were still fuzzy from the sock on the head and the entire back of my skull seemed miles away. I mumbled. You must be a scoutmaster, Will you're good at tying knots. And nooses.

Bet you're a whiz at camping, and... He stood in front of me and started slugging me in the stomach and chest. Willie didn't know how to hit, thought muscles meant power. His blows weren't love taps, but except for knocking the air out of me, he wasn't doing much damage. I forced myself to pee on his floor. A bladder full of urine can burst under a punch, and then you're in real trouble. The side of me relieving myself seemed to drive him into a spurt of wild punching that left him puffing after a few seconds. And he stopped, dropped his hands, and glared at me.

I gasped, and you crazy son of a bitch. You're going to have a hemorrhage and die, Ranzino. Look very natural for a person suffering from TB. He said, breathing hard. Won't go. You'll never get away with this, I said, the word sounding odd because my mouth was open like a fish's eating air.

I'll chance it. There's something else I planned in advance. Even though you haven't much confidence in plans, I... Don't be a fool, Saxton. Natty will miss me. Call the cops. tell them. Maddie is drunk right this moment. We both saw her at the bottle. I've arranged everything.

He'll be found dead in the street of natural causes. But you know as well as I do that I have to kill you, Rancino. There's no choice for me. Saxton said, coming at me with his big arms out like a bear, he put them around my chest and began to squeeze. The pressure on my ribs was unbearable, and all I could think about was the delicate X-ray pictures of my lung, the left one with a scar on it. I tried to wiggle out of his hold and almost wrenched my arms out of their sockets. I managed to pull a leg out from between the barbells, ripping my skin off my ankle. I brought my knee up, but missed his groin. I caught him inside the thigh, high up, and he let go and staggered away, bent over.

I thrashed about wildly, but couldn't get my spread-eagled arms loose, and finally I just hung there exhausted. Saxton straightened up, said coldly, "'Unfortunately, I can't hit your face. Don't want you marked.' You already marked me with that cloud on the head. I mumbled, wondering why I talked. When you had your hemorrhage, you fell and struck your head on the curb.

I shall leave your body in the proper position. Saxon suddenly grabbed my free leg with his left hand and hit me in the gut with his right. Without knowing it, he got in a lot of leverage, and I thought his fist would come through my back. I must have passed out. When I came to, he had my foot anchored again and was beating a steady blow of clumsy punches on my chest and stomach. He was sweating and huffing like. a bull and he stopped and got more rope and tied my feet down. Then he opened the bathroom window behind me, in all the living room windows, and sat down to rest. I suppose I could have

yelled. Maybe I tried. Maybe I didn't, knowing he'd only put a gag in my mouth. I hung there limply, and a draft of cool, damp air went through the room, chilled my body. Saxon gave me an evil grin, and I knew the draft was on purpose. Willie knew what he was doing. Back in the hospital, they used to leave us in beds on the open roof in the middle of the winter all bundled in blankets, woolen caps on our heads, just our faces exposed. They had the blankets pinned down in case we fell asleep and twisted out of the blankets. The orderly used to crack. Keep undercover, fellows, in this cold you'll be a corpse within an hour, and you'll keep so well, I wouldn't even know you're dead for two days. The orderly thought his sense of humor was part of building up our morale,

but we were careful to keep bundled up. It wasn't that cold in Saxton's apartment, but I I knew I couldn't last more than a couple of hours in this draft. He rested for what seemed hours, then got up, flexed his shoulders, and squeezed past me through the doorway and into the bathroom. As an afterthought, he sucked me in the kidneys, and the pain made me scream. Only a cotton-dry sound came out of my lips. Saxon untied one wrist, bent my arm behind my back, and held me up as he untied the other, tied my arms together behind my back.

My arms were numb, no longer a part of me, and I couldn't have lifted them if I wanted to, and I couldn't think clearly enough to want to do anything. I heard a grunt, then a sort of whistle as Saxton took a deep breath, and lifted my 200 pounds off the floor and let me slide into the clammy cold tub. He turned on the shower and a stream of cold water cleared my head. I could hear a funny sound, and it took me a minute to realize it was my teeth chattering. He yanked the shower curtains off, and that damn draft of air hit my wet body like a shroud.

"'Saxdon sat on the john and lit a cigarette. "'He pulled his wristwatch out of his pocket, said calmly, "'Only ten-thirty. "'By three in the morning, you'll be ready to dump in the street.' "'I opened my mouth and told him to go to hell, "'but I'm not sure any words came out. "'He sat there watching me, that satisfied gleam in his eyes. "'When he finished his butt, he thumbed it at me.

"'I didn't feel it. "'I suppose the water put it out. "'The room was beginning to swim before my eyes "'when he turned the water off. pulled me out of the tub and hung me up again. As from a great distance, I felt his blows and I must have blacked out. When I came to, I was back in the tub under the water once more. I knew I was delirious and so numb I couldn't feel the cold water.

I passed out again. I remember being strung up once more, dimly aware of the blows. And then I was in the tub, the water beating down on me. Saxton was sitting on the commode, looking at his watch. Suddenly he jumped up, went to the bathroom door. Through the fog, I heard it. A knock on the door. I tried to yell, to get loose.

As though gazing at the world through a hazy film, I saw Saxton get his gun. I made one last effort to scream, but only muffled and human sounds came out. As Saxton stepped out of the bathroom, there was a flash at the window, and the gun spun out of his hand. He grabbed the hand with his left hand, and both were bloody. Then I saw Max coming through the window, gun in hand. The Marines to the rescue. Things happened faster. Maybe I blacked out again.

I opened my eyes to see the bathroom full of cops, and Maddie was bending over me, her face a strange mask, and somebody had untied my hands. I seemed to float through the air. I was being carried, and then I was on a bed, and they were piling blankets on me. The room grew foggy, and then somebody was fooling with my lips, and Maddie's anxious face came into focus. I couldn't hear the words, but her lips were forming. Drink some brandy. The brandy roared down my guts like a welcome fire. I whispered. I thought you'd be crocked.

She said, Oh, Matt, I can control that. I waited for a while, then called your friend, Max. At least I thought she said that. I also wondered if I was dead and this was all a dream. I motioned for her to bend closer, and when I tried to talk, she put her fingers on my mouth.

I wrenched my head away, worked my lips, asked, you tell him about letter? She shook her head. I kissed her fingers and she gave me more brandy and I rested for a moment, told her, Get Max. The brandy was doing great. She faded from view and the room was very bright. Then it went black.

In the darkness I could hear Max saying, Matt, Matt! I opened my eyes and after a while I made out Max's ugly face. Only at the moment he looked like Mr. America to me. I said, There's a VA doctor, Kent. Lives in the building. Get him. Don't worry. Got an ambulance coming.

Get him. Talking was a great tiring effort. I dimly heard Max bark in order at a cop and Maddie came into view again. Her face wet with tears, her big lips working. She put her hands under the blankets, rubbed my cold body. I could just about feel them. I let myself go into the pillow, seemed to drift out of the room like a boat slipping its mooring. I came too, hearing Doc Kent.

saying, far as I can tell, he's all right. Lucky he's so strong, I've given him penicillin. Keep him covered and let him sleep. Mustn't be moved. I felt much stronger. Talking was easier. I said, Hello, Doc.

He was trying to get the bugs working again. Did he? I could even hear my own words. Forget about the bugs. You've had a terrific beating. Maybe a slight concussion and a thorough chill. Rest for a few days, and then we'll know for sure. But I feel certain the worst you'll have is a few stitches in your

hard head. Still the same old pep-throwing, Doc. Max asked, Can I talk to him, Dr. Kent? Not long. Max come into view, leading Saxton, who had a bandage around his right hand. Max must have smacked him, his nose swollen and a little bloody, too. Max asked, what's this all about, Matt? I gathered my strength, said, with the energy running out of me like air from a balloon. He told me he killed Henry and Beatrice. Wilson to get control of the business. Tried to make me me emmerge and die.

When he found out I knew the truth about him. That's a dirty lie, Saxon yelled. He was trying to blackmail me. You'll find money in his pockets. I was busy collecting my strength again, as I heard Max say, Oh, he found 180 bucks on him. That's not blackmail, though.

You're in a jam, Saxon. Better come clean. I advise you to take care of in talking to me. I have influence in the city, Captain, Saxton said. I managed to get my right hand out of the covers, let it hang down the side of the bed. I had all the strength I could summon for then.

I heard Max say, Don't threaten me, Saxon, I can send you up for trying to kill Matt. He got sick. I was trying to revive him under the shower when he took sick. Fell in the tub, and I said, Saxton. And let my voice fall as I mumbled to myself.

Again, I said, "'Saxton,' pretty loud. He looked at Max and took a step nearer me, asked. "'What is it, Matt? You want to tell the truth? "'Tell them I didn't do any harm to you, or anybody else.' I motioned with my head, and for a moment I was afraid I didn't have enough strength left. "'You want to confess, Ranzito?' "'Saxon asked, and the nuts sounded like he meant it.

"'As he put his face down near mine, I turned on the bed, "'bringing my right fist up from the floor. It wasn't much of a punch. It only cut his eye a little, and about caoed me. He started to club me with his fists, when Max jumped in and knocked Saxton down with an overhand right that must have broken his jaw.

As I drifted off into the darkness, I kept thinking, poor Max, never learned to hold his left higher. I guess I was out for a few minutes, for when I opened my eyes again, Saxton was standing, blood streaming from both ends of his mouth, saying something.

It's tough to understand a guy with a broken jaw. I said as loud as I could. I'll swear on any witness, Stan, he told me he killed the Wilson's, when he thought I was dying. Wilson was a nigger. I had the right to kill him. Saxton suddenly screamed. I don't know how he managed to open his mouth, but his voice sounded inhuman. A nigger! He screamed again.

Max looked shocked, glanced at Doc Kent, who nodded. I couldn't hear what else Saxton was screaming. Didn't want to hear that horrible sound. I said, you haven't the right to kill anybody. Maybe I didn't say it, for all I could hear was Max's hoarse voice bellowing. Tell him to bring up a straight jacket. We got a madman here. Keeping my eyes open was an effort. I finally got them open as they led Saxton away.

I tried to sit up but couldn't make it. Saxon turned and glared at me with an expression of solid hate. His jaw was already out of shape. Blood was running all over his shirt. He gave me an awful look. I didn't mind. I winked. at him. I wanted to laugh in his bloody face, but Doc Kent was suddenly bending over me, pushing my shoulders back into the bed. That's enough. Lie down and keep quiet. Want me to give you something to make you sleep? I tried to shake my head. Sleeping wouldn't be the slightest trouble. It was keeping awake that was rugged. Closing my eyes, I started to drift off. As from another room, I heard Maddie say, I'll cover his shoulders. Aren't they wonderful, Doc? Hasn't he got the biggest

shoulders you ever saw. I knew Doc Kent must be staring at Maddie, thinking she was a dizzy kid with her talk about big shoulders, but then what did Doc Kent know about a real woman? He probably wanted his women to be like tame little lap dogs. Maddie would frighten him straight through the ceiling. I fell into a wonderful lazy sleep to the sound of her loud voice. Even if she was a dizzy kid, it was damn good knowing she'd be there when I awoke. End of part six and end of Sin in Their Blood by Ed Lacey.