Kiss Your Elbow (16 page)

“Hey, Mac. Got the time?” I didn't have the energy to answer. He walked over to me buttoning his fly. Then
he saw my face. “What hit you, Mac?” He couldn't be more than twenty.

“Accident,” I mumbled.

“You can say that again, Mac. Hey, Lou, get a load of this guy.” Lou came over struggling into his shirt. He whistled when he got a close-up, too. Then he laughed.

“You oughta see the other guy, huh, Mac?”

“Yeah.” I tried to smile but my face was too puffed and sore.

“What time did you say it was?” I held out my wrist and they looked at my watch. “Four-fifteen. Hey, Lou, get the lead out. That bus leaves in half an hour.” He clumped back to his basket. But Lou was fascinated with the condition of my face.

“How'd you do it, Mac? Fight?”

“Sort of.”

“Where?” Before I could answer him a hulk of a man appeared at his side and shouldered him out of the way. I couldn't see his face, but his huge sloping shoulders seemed to be bursting out of a white underwear shirt. The light behind him through patches of fur formed an aura around his arms and shoulders that made him look even bigger. He had on soiled ducks and sneakers like the basket man. Lou glared at him, but the sheer massiveness of the guy quickly overcame any ideas Lou may have had of taking a poke at him for shouldering him out of the way. Lou went back to his dressing grumbling. The rubber picked me up like a dummy and propped me against the wall and started to take off my clothes. He
was evidently used to drunks, which he must have assumed I was, because he was very efficient.

“The guy outside said he'd get these fixed up by morning,” I said as he threw my clothes in a chair. He pulled off my shoes and socks as if I were a baby and then kicked a pair of wooden clogs out from under a bench and jerked his head at the showers. I slipped on the clogs, picked up the soap and towel and scuffled across the room to the showers. He followed me. His rubber soles made no noise on the linoleum.

The shower room had a row of small individual shower stalls and one gig stall for the hose. Standing under the rushing hot water felt wonderful. The rubber stood outside watching me, apparently to see that I didn't fall over. I examined as much of my body as I could see. There wasn't a mirror around. As far as I could make out, it didn't look as bad as I had expected. Bruises were starting. My face stung a little, but not too much, and there didn't seem to be any blood. I just stood under the roaring water soaking in the heat until my fingers started to shrivel. When I came out drying myself, the soldiers were still dressing. The rubber took a sheet from the cabinet and spread it on the table, then sat on a corner of it with his tree-trunk arms folded, waiting for me. The light was on his face. He'd have to have been a third-rate prizefighter for a good many years to get a face as cut up as that. One of his ears, the nearest to the light, had a cauliflower tinge. His nose was pushed in and there was a white line running from it to the top of his lips where it had once been split. It
twisted his mouth like a harelip. He was, all in all, about as tough-looking a customer as I have ever seen. His puffy eyes stared at my face. I must look bad, I thought. As I came over he got up from the table and I stretched out on my stomach.

“Take it easy,” I said. “I'm not feeling so good.” He didn't say anything but poured some oil on my back and started rubbing. He knew his job and the long heavy strokes of those hands pushed away the soreness. I tried to think about what had happened, but the strokes began to get monotonous and I started to drift off. A slap on the buttock brought me back and indicated that I was to turn over.

I turned over and closed my eyes again. He'd finished with my chest and stomach and arms and legs and was standing at the head of the table working on my neck. That was still the sorest from the rabbit-punch. For some reason I began to think about Life Savers…. That struck me as a funny thing to be thinking about and I wondered why I should have thought of that. Then I remembered vaguely that I had wakened myself up in the alley saying it over and over again. The rubber's hands were moving slowly on the back of my neck. The fingers probing into the soreness—gently, for such an ox. My head was pressed into his stomach as he would pull my neck toward him. The oil he was using reminded me of football and basketball games when I was in school. It was cool…a nice smell, a relaxing smell…back and forth went his hands on my neck. I felt myself dozing off again…almost purring…The smell reminded me
of something else, too. Something I couldn't quite remember with the smooth rhythm of his fingers on my neck. It was the smell of something like…Life Savers—and suddenly my eyes flew open. Upside down over me was the rubber's face, his puffy slits of eyes fixed on mine…watching them. I'd awoken mumbling “Life Saver” after being slammed in the face with a hand…. And the hand had smelled like…Life Savers.

The fingers on my neck were no longer soothing. I was conscious of them now as part of a hand, a hand that could be like a brick. The eyes were still staring down at me. I could see the hairs in his nose and the long, healed cuts over his eyes. I wasn't sleepy anymore. I began to get panicky. If this was the same guy—! Lying stark naked on a slab with him fingering my neck was as good a time as any to get panicky. I sat up and swung around till my feet were touching the floor. He made no effort to stop me, but he kept one huge hand on my shoulder. Maybe it was my imagination but it looked as though the packs of muscles in his shoulders were getting ready for something. He just stood there and looked at me. The cracks of his eyes glittered.

“Okay, I feel better now. That'll be all. I'll be going.” I started to stand up. The hand on my shoulder didn't give and I couldn't budge.

“You got alcohol coming.” Those were the first words he had spoken. It might have been the same voice that said, “Hold it. Someone's coming.” I couldn't be sure. All I could be sure of was that I wanted to get the hell out of this place now. The room seemed even hotter
and the glistening walls felt as though they were moving nearer. It was an effort to breathe. Sweat started running from my armpits down the side of my body.

“Never mind the alcohol,” I said. “I'm going.” He took a step toward me. I couldn't hear his feet on the floor. He just moved next to me. Panic started squirting up in my throat. I fought it back. I wasn't alone in an alley, this time—what was I being so chicken about? The two soldiers dressing on the other side of the room would make three against one—that was enough for even Jo-Jo, the dog-faced boy. God bless the army. Uncle Tim needs
you….
Of course! But Jo-Jo was one thought ahead of me. My yell didn't even get a good start around the paw that was slapped over my mouth and before I knew what was happening I was flipped neatly over on my stomach and both my wrists clamped in one of his hands behind my back and being forced up toward the back of my head. I tried to bite the hand over my mouth but my teeth slipped on the grease. I tried thrashing from side to side, but he pinned me down the rest of the way with his chest. One of the soldiers must have heard part of my yell or saw me kicking my feet, the only part of me still free.

“What's eatin' ya, Mac?” he called over. The stupid son of a bitch. Why didn't he come over and find out what was eating Mac?

“Just goosey,” said the rubber. His mouth was next to my ear and I knew now. It was the voice of my good Samaritan who had suggested the Turkish bath in the first place. The soldiers thought his remark was very,
very funny. Just to make sure I couldn't attract their attention again, the rubber pinched my nose together with his thumb and forefinger till I couldn't even kick anymore.

The soldiers must have finished dressing. Even through the pounding in my ears I could hear them call good-night to the rubber and me and stomp out. Only the rubber could answer. When a door slammed, he unpinched my nose and let me breathe again. In the distance I could hear the sound of a cash register and then a muffled door slam and then…quiet…except for the hissing of pipes and my struggle for breath. Still holding my arms behind my back and his hand over my mouth, the rubber straightened up. He made a noise like a chuckle.

“You need some steam,” he said. “Good for you. Sober you up.” He jerked me to my feet. I tried to kick him, but I slipped on the wet floor. He jolted me upright with a knee in my back. Slowly he pushed me toward the steam room. I tried hooking my leg around a table but he yanked me loose. He kicked open the door to the steam room and threw me in. I bounced on a wall and crashed on a bench. He slammed the door. I rushed at it but he had locked it and was standing with his back covering the window, I tried to grab one of the benches, but it was bolted to the floor. I hammered on the door. It was so hot when I touched it I could feel my skin burn. I tried kicking but my bare feet wouldn't budge it. I yelled and the back disappeared from the door glass. I groped around the walls frantically searching for some
thing I could use as a weapon or to break the glass. Suddenly my hand was caught in a loop of chain which swung my arm against a scalding pipe. I tugged my arm away and the chain broke and something tinkled to the floor. The familiar tinkle of dogtags. They were at least something. Maybe I could pry the lock with them. I fumbled around on the floor for them but they had fallen into a mass of steam pipes and I only burned myself more before I had to give up trying to find them.

All at once I noticed that there was more steam and the room was getting hotter. The hissing that had been faint at first got louder and louder. I could no longer see the square light in the door. Almost-boiling water started leaking out on the floor from somewhere and I had to keep jumping from one foot to the other. I pounded on the door again and screamed, but the steam got in my lungs and I ended up in a croak. I couldn't even sit on a bench—it was red hot. I burned my hands again trying to find a cut-off switch to the steam inlet as none of the knobs I found would turn. So this was how it was going to happen to me…This was the one that had my name on it—and it wouldn't even be my name when they found me but the name on the dogtags I couldn't find in the pipes. I crouched by the door on all fours holding my head as near the floor as I could get it. The heat came lower and lower. The steam was like molten steel clogging up my nose…sliding down my throat. I crouched gasping for breath…waiting…waiting until the cloud of steam would swallow me completely.

S
OMEONE WAS SLAPPING
my face. I didn't want to open my eyes. I didn't want to face what was going to happen next.

“Hey, Mac,” said a voice. “Hey, Mac, snap out of it.” The slapping got harder. I opened my eyes. A soldier was slapping my face. It was the one with the dogtags. “He's coming out of it now.” The face of Lou, the other soldier, bent down over me.

“You want to be careful, Mac,” he said. “You could have been hurt bad.”

“A damn fool thing to do,” said the first soldier. “You oughtn't to fall asleep in a steam room. It ain't healthy.”

“He tried to kill me,” I said.

“Who tried to kill you, Mac?”

“That rubber. He locked me in that room. He tried to kill me.”

“Look, Mac, you wasn't locked in no room. The door wasn't locked. Was it, Lou?”

“Hell, no. The guy's screwy.” I tried to sit up and fell back down again. The two of them helped me to a sitting position. I was back on the rubbing slab. I looked at the door of the steam room. It was wide open and clouds of steam were billowing out.

“Come on, Lou,” said the first soldier. “Mac's okay now. We got ten minutes to catch that bus.”

“You okay, Mac?”

“For Christ's sake,” I said, “I tell you he tried to kill me.”

“Aw, he's still goosey,” said Lou. “Come on.” He started for the door.

“Wait a minute,” said the first one, “this crap about someone trying to kill you, that on the level?”

“I'm trying to tell you. That rubber tried to kill me in an alley and then he locked me in the steam room.”

“I told you he was screwy,” said Lou. “Come on. If we miss that bus we're AWOL. You're just hungover, Mac, better go in and sleep it off.”

I looked around the room. It was empty except for the three of us.

“Where's the rubber that was here?” I asked.

“How the hell should we know? Lou here forgot his dogtags. He left 'em in the steam room and we come back for 'em—and the door wasn't locked, either.” He started for the door, too. “Lou's right. You better try and sleep it off…but not in a steam room. Come on, Lou.”

“Wait a minute,” I yelled. “Don't leave me here alone. Help me out to the street.”

“Look, Mac,” said the first soldier. “We got ten minutes to make the bus back to camp. We don't know nothing about you. If you say someone tried to kill you, okay, someone tried to kill you, but we're getting back to camp. So long.”

“For God's sake just help me get out to the street,
won't you? That's all I want, I can get a cop there and prove it to you.”

“We ain't got time to prove anything. If you want we should help you out to the street, come on. We'll hold your hand out to the street but we ain't got all day.”

“Aw, leave him alone…he's nuts I tell you,” said my pal Lou.

“Naw…we'll get you out to the street if that's all you want—two seconds to get into your clothes or you go out bare ass.” I didn't argue. I ran across the room and got in my clothes that were still bundled on the chair. I didn't bother with socks or underwear or shirt. The soldiers watched me throwing on my clothes.

“You got it bad, Mac. You ought to give it up.” Lou jammed my hat on my head and grabbed up the rest of my clothes while I was still putting on my coat, which was stiff as a board. They dragged me through the hall and as we flew past the counter the basket man yelled something after us but we didn't wait to find out what it was. The fresh air was wonderful. Lou threw my clothes at me and they both started running down the street.

“So long, Mac,” Lou called back. “Be a good little boy and lay off the stuff.”

“Wait a minute,” I yelled after them. “I'll get a cop and prove it to you.”

“Some other time, Mac.” And they ran around the corner.

I tore after them for a couple of blocks but had to give it up.

I was mad. I wanted to brain the soldiers. I wanted
to brain the rubber. I wanted to hit somebody. I was the maddest I've ever been in my life. But even that wasn't mad enough to make me go back into the Regal Baths by myself. I set off to find a cop. We'd get this thing settled once and for all, I thought.

I eventually flagged a patrol car over on Eighth and told the cops my story. They did agree to come back with me, but they wouldn't let me soil the sacred precincts of their shiny patrol car, I had to hang on the outside while we drove back. We pulled up in front of the Regal Baths and one of the cops got out.

“So you think some guy tried to lock you in a steam room after he beat you up in an alley. The same guy, huh?” It was heaven just to look at that uniform…the pretty shining buttons…the beautiful badge…the city's finest…As far as I was concerned he didn't have a face—just that wonderful, wonderful, reassuring uniform.

“Yes,” I said. “There were witnesses, too.” He wearily pulled out a notebook.

“Okay. What are their names?” The first fine flush of reassurance began to fade. Where had I played this game before…? At the Casbah after I'd found Kendall in my room…In Lieutenant Heffran's office…Always they want names, and always I don't know them.

“I—I don't know their names.”

“Oh. Well, where can we get in touch with them?” Where could we?

“I don't know that, either.”

“Say, what's going on here?”

“There were two people….” I said hurriedly. “A man
and woman—he was a musician I think—and then there were two soldiers…One of them was named Lou and the other one had a big scar on his stomach….”

“That's fine. That's great.” He put the book away disgustedly. “Well, come on. Let's see about the rubber guy.” We entered the Regal Baths and we'd no sooner got through the doors than the basket man rushed up to us and started in.

“Where did you catch him, Officer? I was just calling the station.”

“So you were just calling the station, were you?” said the cop with a suspicious look at me. “And why were you doing that?” For some reason the basket man didn't seem hard of hearing now. He answered the first time.

“This punk tried to run off without paying. He tried to run out on me.”

“Oh, he did. Well, we'll get around to that later. Tell the rubber to come out here.”

“What rubber?” said the basket man.

“This man says your rubber tried to cook him in the steam room.”

“He's nuts. We don't have no rubber on at night. I told him that when he first come in and asked for a room. That's a buck and a half he owes me for the bed and shower.”

“Come on back and I'll show you,” I said to the cop. But even while we were going down the hall I knew it was no use. The room was empty. We looked in the shower stalls and the room with the beds, dormitory-type, see, even the toilets. There were a couple of padlocked clothes
lockers where the basket man said the rubber that works only days kept his stuff, but there was no rubber.

“I told you he was nuts,” said the basket man. “He come in drunk as a skunk and wants a bed and shower and rub. I tell him no rubber so he settled for a bed and shower and then tries to run out on me. Ask him if that ain't so. That I told him we don't have no rubber.”

“Is it?” said the cop. What was the use? I said it was. “Okay, get it up. A buck and a half he says.”

“So now I got to pay for almost getting killed?”

“Wise guy, eh.” The cop started to look mean. “You got a fat lip, son. Maybe you'd like to go down to the station.”

“Never mind. I'll pay.” I handed over the money. “No charge for the steam?”

“Still punchy,” said the basket man. I started to go. There wasn't much else I could do. “Wait a minute,” said the basket man. “Now that you're paid up honest, I'll give you these you dropped back there.”

He handed me a pair of harlequin glasses.