Shmucks (10 page)

The man looked up at him with glazed eyes.

“Sir,” Pelzic continued, “I didn't exactly tell you the truth. It's actually only my radio which has not been working.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, my car is working.”

“Well, then why in the hell are we still sitting here?” The man sat up quickly, suddenly awake. “Why aren't we moving?”

“I can't move.”

“But goddamn it, a moment ago you said you could move, now you say you can't. Which is it, can or can't?”

“Can't move because of him.” Pelzic pointed to the car thirty feet in front of him.

“What does he have to do with it?”

“He won't let me go.”

“Good God, man, start your car up and back the bloody hell out of here.”

“I will not back up, I will only go forwards.”

“Well, honk your horn at him, he'll move!”

“He won't move and I will not move either.”

“Act aggressively, lean on that horn. That's what it's for, isn't it?”

“It will not help,” Pelzic replied.

“Have you spoken to this chap?”

“No, we are both sitting here for several hours now.”

“Well, who has the right of way? You or him?”

“Who cares.” Pelzic shrugged. “Even if he is more right he is going to have to move first. I am ready to wait until next week.”

“I understand how you feel. As a matter of fact, you ought to be commended for your hard-headedness. If I were in your place I'd probably do exactly the same thing. But you must understand that I've got to get home. I really feel ill.”

“I'm sorry,” Pelzic replied, “but I cannot help you.”

As he said that, Pelzic saw the girl turn into the alley from Peel.

CHAPTER 11

LEVIN COULD FEEL HIMSELF
slowly building up into a quiet rage. For a moment he was afraid of doing something drastic, like flooring his car and hurtling into the taxi at full speed. The thought alone made him feel quite a bit better. What kind of gall could the man have to be still sitting there.

Levin was getting fidgety. He knew his hunger was making him even angrier. If only he could allow himself the pleasure of taking it all out on the shmuck in the taxi.

Suddenly he saw the upper part of a man's torso sticking out of the taxi's window. He watched as the figure hung downwards for a moment, then fell headfirst onto the asphalt. The person seemed to balance awkwardly on his head for a half instant and then crumple onto his back.

Levin saw the taxi driver get out and hurl the man back inside.

Levin didn't know what to make of it. He hadn't realized the taxi was occupied. That made the driver even crazier than he had thought. He was obviously dealing with a real nut. Maybe the girl who ran off earlier in the night was right. The taxi driver could very well be capable of assaulting him.

Well; Levin thought, that might be all for the best. Sitting and waiting like this was too boring and a little ridiculous. Let him come. Levin would be ready. He could catch him with a flying drop kick before he got halfway to the car. Mentally he measured off the distance between the two vehicles. It appeared to be about thirty-five feet. If he saw the driver get out he could probably exit before the man had moved ten feet. With a five-foot run he could build up momentum for his leap. By the time he jumped, the man would have moved another five feet closer. The jump itself would cover a good ten feet. It was perfect. He could drop him in his tracks.

“What's all this?” Levin looked up to see the girl. She was looking down at the pile of letters which Levin had thrown out the window. The girl prodded the pile with her foot.

“Most of them aren't even open,” she said.

“Yeah, it's my business mail, it's all junk. C'mon, jump in.”

The girl got into the car. She handed a brown paper bag to Levin who grabbed it eagerly.

“I'm hungry,” he said as he ripped at the paper and pulled out a sandwich.

“Here, I'll open the glove compartment. You can put the drinks down there,” Levin said. He opened the little door and the girl placed the two drinks on top of it. Levin took the paper covering from the sandwich and bit into the meat.

“I bought a sandwich for myself,” the girl said.

Levin stopped chewing. “Are you sure this is a lean?”

“I asked him for a lean. Isn't it a lean?” she asked anxiously.

“Might be a medium. Doesn't matter. They make lousy sandwiches anyway. You have to go to Schwartz's to get a decent sandwich.”

“What's Schwartz's?”

“Schwartz's delicatessen on the Main.”

“Oh.”

Levin stuffed a handful of french fries into his mouth. He was feeling better already. Now he was ready for a long night's stand. He reached over and grabbed his drink.

“This is a gas,” the girl exclaimed. “Do you think I ought to bring the guy his cigarettes?”

Levin smiled inwardly and thought about it for a moment. It would be fun to simply sit there while the taxi driver watched them. It would drive the man wild thinking that the girl still had his cigarettes, his money and the handout, and wasn't delivering the goods. It would drive him up the walls. There was no way he would be able to sit there and take it. Eventually he would do something. Levin knew it. It would be game over, with Levin the obvious winner. But, thought Levin, that wouldn't be fair. He wanted to come out of that alley frontwards, feeling that he had won cleanly through his own sheer fortitude. That would make the eventual victory all the more rewarding. Besides, he didn't want to encourage the girl to do something which he felt was essentially unlawful.

“Oh, we might as well let 'im have his lousy cigarettes. But let's let him wait for another few minutes.”

“Oh wow, is he ever going to get uptight,” the girl said laughing at the idea.

“Yeah, he'll be uptight alright.” Levin chuckled. “Of course,” Levin said, “I think it only fair that he offer us a cigarette or two for your trouble.”

“Oh wow! That's heavy,” the girl laughed.

“You didn't tell me your name, by the way,” Levin said.

“It's Margie.”

“I'm Mike.”

“Hi,” Margie said, and smiled sweetly.

Levin smiled back unable not to. “What kind of cigarettes does he smoke?”

“Buckingham,” Margie replied.

“Buckingham! God, the man has got to be mad. I didn't even know they made those things anymore. He's probably one of the three or four people in the world who smoke them.”

Then Levin thought, even if they had been his own brand it wouldn't be right to take even one. He had never done that type of thing, and he wasn't about to start now even though he was more than a little tempted.

“Ah, forget it, we won't take his cigarettes. It's not really fair.”

“I guess you're right,” Margie said. “Should I bring them over to him now?”

“Yeah, you might as well. The dumb ass is probably frothing at the mouth by now.”

“Okay.” Margie got out of the car and began to walk down the lane towards the taxi.

CHAPTER 12

PELZIC HAD WATCHED THE GIRL
head down the alley and get into the other car. She had been sitting there now for almost ten minutes. His passenger had been talking constantly but Pelzic hadn't paid any attention. His mind was filled with images of violence. If he had been angry before, he was in a rage now. He was aware that the fingers of his right hand were twitching nervously; and although he was paying no attention to the ramblings of his back-seat passenger, the droning monotone was beginning to bother him. He had an urge to spin around in his seat and give the millionaire a backhand smash on the face. That would quiet him down, Pelzic thought with some satisfaction.

He had to make a strenuous effort to control himself. Besides, he didn't want the man's blood all over the seat. It was enough that the man would probably vomit before he was through.

The possibility that the man could very well spoil his seat seemed to make Pelzic frantic. He was so furious that a little moan of frustration escaped as he tried to control his violent thoughts. He flicked on his headlights and put them on full beam. He could make out the girl and the man inside the car. They seemed to be eating. He saw the girl lift a bottle to her lips. They're having a party, he thought–smoking his cigarettes, eating, living it up. Pretty soon, who knows what else they'll be doing? He didn't even want to think about it, but he couldn't stop himself.

Why! he wondered. Why couldn't it be me having the party? If only he hadn't acted so boorishly. He blushed at the thought of how he had exposed himself to the girl. He should have controlled himself, talked nicely for a few minutes about the weather or politics and asked her a little bit about herself, showed some interest in her as a person and
then
pulled out his prick. That was the trouble with him, he thought–always trying to move too fast.

He winced again in embarrassment and then felt a slight chill of fear. He was so stupid, he could have been arrested for doing that. Exposing yourself to a minor was a serious offence. They could send you to jail for that. Maybe he was better off that the girl was in the other car. Let
him
get arrested. He was probably a pervert anyway.

Pelzic began to feel depressed. This wasn't the first time he had lost in a battle for a girl's affection. There had been others in Romania, in France, in Italy, in Poland. Of course, he had been successful with many, but unfortunately never with those to whom he was really attracted.

He wanted the refined woman who could talk intelligently and play the piano, but he always ended up with the brawny type whose cultural tastes were not overly developed. If they played any musical instrument, it was usually something like the snare drum, or the tuba.

He remembered one girlfriend in Romania who was crazy about him. Her idea of a perfect evening was to stay at home and wrestle in the parlour. The arrangement was–he had to pin her in order to possess her. All he ever got was a broken nose and a bruised ego. They must have wrestled at least a hundred times and he never even won a single bout. Mind you, he recollected, she outweighed him by a good twenty-five pounds.

She was typical of the kind of woman that went for him. Why? he wondered. Why did he always get the wrestlers, the soccer players, the discus throwers?

Pelzic's thoughts were interrupted by the slamming of a car door. He felt his heart begin to pound. The girl was coming back. Maybe she would get in this time and keep him company if he approached her properly. He cursed, remembering his passenger. Not only was he still there, but he had stank up the entire car. What an impression that would make! The girl would probably think Pelzic was to blame for that. Well, he could explain once he had her in the car. If he was successful, he'd throw the millionaire out. In his drunken state, the man would probably want to get at the girl himself. He could see the next edition of
Montréal Matin
: Romanian taxi driver and drunken millionaire attack young Canadian girl.

They would deport him for sure even if the millionaire was the guilty one.

“Here are your cigarettes.” The girl stood beside the car.

“Thank you,” Pelzic smiled ingratiatingly. “Please,” he said, cocking his head and lifting a hand in a gesture of sincerity, “please come inside and sit down, I would like to apologize.”

“That's okay, mister. I accept your apology.”

“No, please, I must explain,” Pelzic continued, trying not to appear over-anxious.

“Look, it's okay. I mean, there's no need to go into a song and dance. I mean, if that's your thing that's cool.”

“Who's that?” Dunsmore suddenly shouted from the back. He hurled himself up and leaned forward towards the window.

“It's just a friend of mine,” Pelzic said, trying not to show his anger and at the same time attempting to push the man away from the window by leaning back against him.

“He's leaving in a minute,” Pelzic told the girl, motioning toward Dunsmore.

“What do you mean by that?” There was an incredulous and angry sound in Dunsmore's voice. “You damn well said I could stay.”

“Before, yes. But now you have to go.”

“Up yours. You can't welsh on me. You said I could stay and I'm staying.”

Margie stood by the window looking slightly confused.

“You stinked up my whole car,” Pelzic exclaimed.

“I did not stink up anything. If anyone stinked it, stanked–you stank it up!”

Pelzic looked imploringly at the girl. “I swear it was him who did it. Don't you remember how nice it smelled when you got in before?”

“Mister, are you on dope or something?” the girl asked.

Before Pelzic could reply, his passenger's stomach rumbled loudly as though there was some heavy fermentation going on inside.

“You see. I told you it was him,” Pelzic shouted exultantly, pointing at his passenger. “That proved it.”

He turned back to the window in jubilation. The girl was gone. He watched her walk to the other car and get in. Pelzic almost cried. He gritted his teeth so hard that he could feel some of them shift about in the gums. Speechless with rage he turned to look at his passenger. How could he make him pay? It was because of him that the girl had left. How could he make the millionaire pay?

In the back, the man had begun to grunt and groan again. Pelzic looked at him and, trying to continue their earlier conversation, he said, “If you really want him to move maybe he'll listen to you. Go over and speak to him. Tell him you are not feeling well. Explain to him that you have to go home. Maybe he will feel sorry for you and back up his car. If he does this then I will be very happy to take you to your home at once.”

“You may have something there,” the man replied, scratching his head.