The Hoods (55 page)

I looked at him questioningly.

He said, “Look who we got as partners in this thing: some upstanding examples.” His sarcasm dripped with acid. “Yep, some examples: a police inspector, a big shot lawyer and this Supreme Court judge— Mater—Bater—Shmater—what the hell ever his name is.”

We sat silently smoking. I was thinking. Did that big shot lawyer do it? Why? Maybe on account of his wife? Or some other tomato they had a battle over? Yeh, they were both notorious on Broadway for their adulteries. Maybe it was somebody else the judge had double-crossed. A fixer? Yeh, it could be one of the many who hang around courts. Maybe it was a blackmail something or other? Yeh, the inspector and the shise must know all about it.

How come the “office” is mixed up in this deal? Nobody will ever be able to get the real story. They say murder will out. Some horseshit, plenty never do.

The cops are too dumb, at least the honest cops are. The crooked cops know plenty about unsolved murders, because they're in on most of them one way or another.

Rosenberg strolled in. I wanted to find out what he suspected.

I said, “Patsy's out with the hearse.”

“Oh, all right,” he said. “What time will he be back? I got a funeral scheduled for two p.m.”

“He'll be back in time,” I said. I lit my cigar. Carelessly I said, “What do you think Patsy's carting in the hearse?”

Max and I looked at him.

“It's none of my business. It's your hearse,” he said.

“Yeh, but what do you think?” I said.

“Booze. I guess you transport booze with it,” Rosenberg said.

“Yeh, keep it to yourself,” I said.

“Naturally,” he said.

Maxie came in one day with a pocket full of mechanical lighters. They were interesting gadgets made by Ronson. They had been on the market a short time. I had seen them, but had never owned one. Maxie gave one to me. It intrigued me.

I stood against the far end of the bar lighting my cigar and playing with it. I was watching the sparks as they flew to the wick, igniting it.

I glanced up. I caught a pair of large sparkling eyes shooting at me over a cocktail glass. They traveled over my body. It was as if a delicious hot spark had hit me. I pressed the lighter again. It attracted those beautiful eyes once more. They moved over me again as she sipped her cocktail. It was too much. I was on fire. I smiled at her. She seemed to smile back. She was slim, pretty, petite and deeply tanned. I walked over to her.

I said, “Pardon me, Miss, your eyes affect me as much as this spark.” I pressed the button to demonstrate.

“Burns you up?” She smiled, showing her bright, white, even teeth.

“No, puts me on fire,” I said.

“Oh, how very interesting.” She laughed.

Her voice was kind of sad and husky, but melodious and vibrant. Even when she laughed it seemed sad, as if it had an ache in it.

“Do you sing?” I asked. “You a blues singer?”

“Yes.” She showed her beautiful teeth. “That's why I'm here. I'm looking for a job.”

“Did you see the boss of this place about it?” I asked.

“I'm seeing him now.” She laughed. “You were pointed out to me.”

“I'm disappointed,” I said.

“Why?”

“I thought you smiled—well, now I see you have an ulterior motive.”

She laughed. “And what was the motive that made you speak to me? Don't tell me. I know.”

We both laughed.

The orchestra played a soporific waltz. The lights over the dance floor went out. The revolving globe in the ceiling was going round and round. The air throbbed with the sensual tune, “What'll I Do.”

“Shall we discuss it while dancing?” I suggested.

“I'd love to,” she said.

I led her to the floor. She slid into my arms. She put her left arm around my shoulder. Her eyes held mine. She had nothing on underneath her thin silk dress. Her body was hot and yielding. We did not talk. We could not. The moment was too thrilling and spontaneous.

She laid her head against my chest, and drooped her eyes in rapture. She squeezed my hand, and pressed hard into me with her slim hot body. In my embrace I could feel every curve, every smoothness, everything.

She was breathing in gasps from parted lips. Her arm around me tightened. She pressed her body tighter into mine as we slowly danced around. She raised her lips. Her eyes were closed.

She moaned a low “Ohhh” as I kissed her mouth. Her body began to tremble.

“Oh,” she moaned again. “Squeeze me hard. Hurt me, please,” she whispered.

I squeezed her hard. She trembled.

“Please, please,” she whispered, “dig your fingers in my back.”

She was feverish. I dug into her with my nails, just a bit.

She gasped, “Please, please, harder, harder.”

She looked at me with blazing, rabid eyes. I couldn't help it; her crazy passion was contagious. I dug my nails into her body harder. She shuddered, moaned and writhed. She gave me one sudden fierce hug. I kissed her panting mouth as we flowed into each other. I lost track of time, place, everything. It was terrific, but all too short.

I don't remember leading her off the floor. But I do remember easing her down on a chair at a far table.

A man was seated at the table. He seemed a bit familiar. He stood up when we came over. He bowed and smiled. He waved to a chair. The girl sat between us. He wore a white flower in his lapel. I looked at him closely. I tried to place him, but could not.

There was a mischievous glint in the girl's eyes as she said to me, “Honey, this is my husband, John.”

I looked from her to him. They were both smiling.

He said, “I was watching you on the dance floor. You had a good time, didn't you?” He laughed.

I guess it was the knowing way he said it. The three of us burst into laughter. I caught myself in the middle. What the hell am I laughing about? This cuckold is the husband.

I looked at him. He was middle-aged, tanned, well dressed and not bad-looking. I couldn't understand his friendliness under the circumstances.

“Didn't you mind?” I said.

“No of course not, why should I?” He smiled. His teeth showed up a startling white just like hers. That's because they both are deeply tanned, I reasoned. Contrast.

I said, “You had nice weather in Florida?”

“Yes, splendid,” she said.

“Yes, fine boating and fishing,” he said.

Now I had a funny feeling about both these two. It seemed I had met them somewhere. She bent over and whispered something to her husband. They looked at me and burst into laughter.

“I seem to be the topic of conversation,” I said.

“My wife Betty remembered a particularly interesting part of the dance.” The man laughed.

“It appeared to me your wife Betty wasn't aware of dancing at all,” I said sharply. “What part was particularly interesting?”

They both tittered. A couple of queer characters, I thought to myself.

“Haven't I seen you somewhere before, John?”

“Yes,” he smiled, “and you also have met my wife. Guess where?”

“I give up. You tell me,” I said to the shmuck.

“Well, all right,” he said. “I am John, your friend Maxie's dear friend.”

I looked at him, puzzled.

“From the insurance company,” he said.

“I'll be goddamned,” I exclaimed. I looked closely at him. Yeh, it was the John Doe, the “finger” on that insurance job we did a good many years ago.

Instead of appearing older, he seemed younger. And his wife, I remembered her. Yeh—the masochist. She was a washed-out and dried-up piece then. I looked closely at her. Yeh, false eyelashes, and she had had her nose fixed. I guess plenty of beauty parlors, too, rouge and heavy make up. Yeh, and no glasses. She don't look bad at all. In fact, she looked like a good piece, a lively piece.

I said, “You both look different. You look well, very well. What's your secret?”

“Rest, complete rest and plenty of sunshine. Florida, as you have guessed,” John said.

“Retired?”

“Something like that,” he said.

“Must have made a killing in the stock market,” I suggested.

“No,” she said. “A dear friend of John's passed away and left me his insurance.”

“Did you charming people push him off a cliff or something?” I laughed. “And here I thought you were a blues singer in need of a job.”

She laughed with me. But John didn't. He gave me a cold look. I did not like the bastard. I remembered one time I felt like cutting his throat.

I taunted the shmuck. “John, old lad, don't you mind your wife getting familiar with other men?”

I was curious how a cuckold's mind works.

“As long as she enjoys it, why should I mind? I love her,” he said simply.

“Yes, of course, John doesn't mind.” She smiled up at him. “Do you, dear?”

“No, of course not, dear.” He patted the back of her hand. “Have all the wonderful times you wish.”

“See, honey?” she said to me. “Besides, I tell him all about it afterwards. He enjoys hearing all about it. Every detail. Don't you, dearest?”

She kissed him.

I almost puked, remembering I had kissed her on the mouth while dancing.

I persisted in my probing. “Don't you mind your wife having sex relations with other men, John?”

“No, not at all,” the dope said. “I'm not the provincial type.”

The guy was proud of it. He gave me a supercilious smile.

“What do you think love is? Sex? Sex has nothing to do with pure love. Anything Betty does and has pleasure in, gives me pleasure. Can you understand that?”

“Yeh, it's just a new approach to me.” I laughed.

“I'm afraid you can't understand true deep feeling. Let me try to explain it to you this way. I love my wife. For example, she craves a mink coat. I buy it for her because she wants it very much and enjoys wearing it. I don't wear it. But I enjoy it if she enjoys it because I love her very much, understand?”

He looked at me with his silly smile.

He continued. “It doesn't matter what she has pleasure in. If she has pleasure, I have a pleasure because she has a pleasure. Do you follow me?” I shrugged. I was getting a little dizzy, trying to follow his line of reasoning.

Betty patted my hand. “I feel the same way about John. Exactly as he does,” she said.

“Now then, if she enjoys having relations with some nice decent person like you, even sex relations, I don't mind her having it, because she wishes it. If she enjoys it, I enjoy it. In the same sense of her enjoying a mink coat.”

“But a man ain't a mink coat,” I argued weakly. “Then again, sometimes that's all he symbolizes to women.”

“Possibly to a lot of women. That's all their husbands mean to them, a mink coat. That type of woman is shallow—she's devoid of the feeling of true love—and all decency.” Betty gave a snort to emphasize her contempt for that type of indecent womanhood.

I looked at her. She really meant what she said. She was serious, goddamn serious.

I laughed. “Well, I guess everybody to his own definition of the meaning of decency. I guess mine must appear just as ridiculous to a lot of people.”

“Oh, let's stop discussing unimportant things, honey.”

Betty moved her chair closer to me and caressed my thigh. “Why not come up to our apartment tonight? You won't be sorry.”

Her saucy smile implied everything and anything.

“How about friend husband, John?”' I said.

“Oh, he won't be home, will you, dear?”

“No, dear, I have an appointment.”

“With that sweet little blonde of yours, dear?” Betty teased.

“Yes, with that lovely little girl,” John said.

Max walked by. He gave me a look of curiosity.

I motioned him over.

“Remember these people, Max?” I said.

John jumped up, his hand extended. “How are you, Max?” he exclaimed.

Max took the proffered hand, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Don't you remember me, and Betty here?” John said.

A smile of recognition broke over Maxie's face.

“Why, yes,” he said. “How are you, John? And you, Betty?”

Betty jumped up and kissed Max full on the lips. “Honeybunch,” she exclaimed.

“I didn't recognize you two. You both look swell. What are you doing in here?”

“Oh, we made inquiries, and we were told we could find you in here.”

“Swell,” Max said. “I'm glad you did.”

John offered Max his chair. Betty moved away from me, practically on top of Max. She sat with one hand around his neck and the other playing with his thigh.

“Mmmm, you handsome big thing.” She kissed Max on the cheek. “I love you.”

I chuckled.

“How many big things can you love in one night, Betty?” I asked.