He Won't Need it Now (17 page)

     Duffy dropped his head back on the pillow. He said, “Lock the door.”
     The little guy said, “Leave it, Joe. He won't squawk if she can get in easily.” He smiled at Duffy, a tight little smile.
     Joe wandered over to the bed and jerked off the blanket. His brutish face lit up when he saw the strapping. “You hurt?” he said. “Ain't that too bad.”
     Duffy said nothing; he just fixed joe with hot, burning eyes. Whatever Joe did to him, he mustn't let Alice hear.
     Joe reached out a hand. Duffy stiffened, then realizing how futile it was, just kept his eyes on Joe's face. Joe took the pad in his fist, and ripped it and the strapping away.
     The little guy giggled.
     Duffy sank his teeth into his lower lip. He was very pale. The six little wounds began to ooze blood, running down Duffy's ribs on to the sheet.
     Joe sat down on the bed beside him. “Listen, pip,” he said. “First you got Clive, then you fixed Morgan. You got a lot coming to you, ain't that right?”
     Duffy said through his clenched teeth, “Go ahead... only quickly.”
     The little guy said, “Yes, Joe—get going.”
     Joe said, “I wanta take this guy apart an' see what makes him tick.”
     “That jane'll be in,” the little guy said.
     Joe grimaced. “I'll spill her insides all over this punk,” he said.
     Duffy lay flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling. His face and chest glistened with sweat. He was afraid, not for himself, but for Alice.
     Joe put his big hand on Duffy's throat and squeezed. The little guy got off the window-sill and came over to watch. His mouth hung open a little. He stood on the far side of the bed, his eyes screwed up, watching.
     Joe said, “Have a little air, lug,” and eased the pressure, then he tightened his grip again.
     The little guy suddenly cocked his ear. He said, “Listen.”
     Joe sat very still. His hand slightly relaxed. The only sound was the soft thrashing of Duffy's legs on the bed. A muscular reaction he had no control over. From the other side of the door they could hear Alice moving about, and they could hear the faint sound of crockery being moved.
     “She's getting him a meal,” the little guy said.
     Joe grinned. “He's losing his appetite, ain't you, bright boy?” The effort of keeping his grip tight was making his face a little red. Then, drawing his lips back in a snarl, he threw his weight on his arms, savagely squeezing.
     The little guy moved restlessly from one foot to the other. The room was absolutely silent now, except for Joe's heavy breathing. Then Joe got off the bed, flexing his thick fingers. The little guy stepped to the window, then he jumped back quickly. “Joe....”
     Forms darkened the window, as three policemen, guns in hands, raced up the fire escape. They slipped into the room with paralysing speed.
     Joe stood there, his mouth open, and the whites of his eyes suddenly yellow with terror. “Don't you shoot,” he said with a jerk, putting up his hands.
     The Sergeant pushed forward. His small eyes startled. “Quite a party,” he said.
     The little guy giggled. He stood close against the wall, his hands high. “You ain't got nothing on us,” he said through white lips.
     The Sergeant walked over to the bed, and stood looking, The other two officers remained motionless, their guru menacingly still.
     The Sergeant said, “Well, for God's sake.”
     He walked over to the little guy and hit him in the middle of his face with his gun butt. The little guy's head thudded against the wall, and his legs spread, sliding him to the floor. He put his hands over his face, but he couldn't make a sound; he seemed to go into a fit.
     Joe buckled at the knees. “Okay, boss,” he quavered. “We didn't mean anything by it.”
     The Sergeant hunched his shoulders. “Sure, you didn't, you dirty rat,” he said. “I've been waiting to nail you for a long time. Well, you've got it coming to you.” He jerked his head to the other two. “Get the bums outa here.”
     Just then the door jerked open, and Alice stood there. The Sergeant stepped in front of her, and crowded her into the kitchen. She retreated, her eyes growing big.
     She said, “You can't take him away... he's too ill.... Please.
     The Sergeant said, “That guy on the bed—Duffy?”
     Alice nodded dumbly. “He's been shot... he's bad... please leave him there. Look, I'm getting him some soup. It's ready... you'll let him have that?”
     The Sergeant pushed his cap to the back of his head, and blew out his cheeks. Her terrified face embarrassed him. “It don't matter about the soup,” he said. He fumbled with his gun, pushing it into his hip pocket. Then he added, “He won't need it now.”
    

 THE END