The Deadly Streets

  Well, the Captain’s lady didn’t used to come on many voyages with her husband. Now she comes on every trip. Closes up her swank apartment and comes along. Captain Sefton thinks it’s because she wants to be close to him. He figures she likes the first class accommodations.

  Oh, maybe sometimes the accommodations aren’t first class, but then I’m just a belowdecks swabber.

  You know, even if she offered me the five hundred now…

  …I don’t think I’d take it.

  MADE IN HEAVEN

  “Chickie,” I muttered to myself, “it’s no wonder all the guys in the Poppers wanta make you. You’re a livin’ doll!”

  And I was, too. Long black hair tied back in a real flip-pin’ pony-tail; smooth white skin; black, flashing eyes; and eyebrows that hooked off like they wanted to get somewhere real fast. It was a cryin” pity that little compact mirror didn’t show the rest of me!

  It was the coldest day I remember. I’d put on my heaviest skirt and sweater, not really wanting to go out. I’d taken my time putting on my lipstick, stopping to look at myself in the compact mirror, just to kill time.

  Oh well, I thought, maybe I’ll fall over to the clubroom.

  I walked into the living room and made a small noise in my throat when I saw my old man.

  That guy is a real slob. He was layin” on the couch, all dirty T-shirt and scrubby beard and sweat-stink. I couldn’t see how my old lady could take him. He even had his shoes on the couch; layin’ there, snoring like a noon whistle.

  Yeah, I thought, when’s the last time that lazy slob heard a noon whistle close-up?

  I walked past him, spitting real faintly, so as not to wake him. Mom was out working, so I knew I’d have about three hours to kill till dinner time.

  I put on my heavy winter coat and went down the stairs. Everything was quiet. It was cold, sure, but that wasn’t any reason for as much quiet as there was. Then I remembered it was Saturday, and Saturdays around our block are always quiet in the late afternoon.

  I crunched off across the snowy sidewalk, making for the poolroom where the kids had their clubroom in hack. I fished in my pocket, found one, and put the cigarette in my mouth.

  The smoke followed me in a white trail. Christ, it was cold!

  It was quiet in the poolroom, too.

  I said hi to Fat Benny, who owns the place, and ignored his foul mouth. I’m good-looking, but he don’t have to make lousy cracks every time he sees me. One of these days I’m gonna have Torchy wreck this joint and put you down real good. Lard Tummy, I thought.

  “Anybody in back?” I asked.

  “You mean any Poppers, don’tcha?” he replied.

  “Is there anybody else I’d give a damn about?” I snapped at him. That wise slob, always mouthing off! If the Poppers didn’t need that room in back, rent-free, they’d of put him out so long ago he’d of been dust by now.

  “Yeah, Twist is back there. Nobody else, though.” He leered at me.

  You’d like to get your fat meat-paws on me, wouldn’t ya. Greasy-Lips? “Thanks—for very little.” I tossed the line over my shoulder, walking past the pool tables with the fluorescent lights above them. I didn’t want to stay in that guy’s sight for too long. No telling what he’d try when the joint was empty and he was alone with me.

  I knocked on the door, twice quickly, then once slow. I heard somebody swear, and the couch springs squeaked. “Wait a minute! It was Twist’s voice. Then the door unbolted and Twist opened it.

  It wasn’t hard to figure why they called him Twist. He wasn’t anything like my stud. Torchy. He was a long, thin character, with a pocky face. He had one of those half crew-cut, half d.a. haircuts, all greased and in place. I was sure he put it up in a net when he went to sleep at night, so it’d be smooth next day. Ugh!

  He grinned at me like I was his long lost, said, “Hey! Chickie, baby, come on in. Nobody’s here but me.”

  The way he said it made my neck itch, but there wasn’t any place else to go, and it was frigid outside—so why not?

  I went past him and sank into the big easy chair. He closed and bolted the door. “How come?” I asked, raising an eyebrow and hooking my thumb toward the locked door.

  He shrugged, watching me closely as I crossed my legs. Then he flopped over onto the couch. “Wanna make sure nobody thinks this is an open house.” He grinned again, and I didn’t like it. Not one teeny little bit.

  “Seen Torchy today?” I asked.

  “You still soft over that carrot-top?” he asked right back.

  “Any your goddam business?”

  “You can do better. You’re a smooth-looking kid.” His eyes shifted up and down my territory. That grin looked like it might split up his kisser any minute. That, and his pimply, scarred face made me want to puke.

  “I’ve always liked ya, Chickie,” he said, sitting up.

  “So?”

  “So…maybe you and me can—”

  I never let him get finished. “Look, Lover,” I said, “you just keep your gutter-track ideas to yourself. Torchy ever hears you makin’ a pitch at me, he’ll split ya from your jock to your top!”

  He kept smiling and got up, started walkin’ toward me in the easy chair. I could smell a wrestling match coming up.

  “Don’t finger the merchandise. Twist!” I growled.

  “That tone ain’t becomin’ a lady,” he said. That slimy smile of his seemed glued on. I wondered, if I used a good strong, smackin’ fist, if it’d come off. I got ready to find out.

  “Why don’t you and me marry up?” he said. I knew what he meant. Marry meant to go steady—for me to be his girl. In the Poppers, when a drag ties up with a stud, she carves his initials in her breast or arm. I had T.N. on my left arm: I was Torchy Nelson’s drag. That was the way I liked it. If I carved Twist’s name on me, I’d look like a goddam totem pole, and by the gang-laws, I’d be “married” to him.

  “Marry, hell!” I bit out. “I wouldn’t do it with you, with mine, if yours was gold-plated…”

  Then he smacked me.

  He got in close and brought his hand around so fast all I saw was a blur of finger and wrist, then he connected. It snapped my head around, and made my eyes water. By the time I could turn back, that creepy slug had his hands all over me.

  “Goddam you!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.

  “No good, Chickie, honey.” he mumbled, his face pressed up to my sweater. He was practically in my lap in the chair. “The room’s almost soundproof, remember?”

  Then I did remember. The gang’d done it to make sure no one could hear meetings outside the door. Damn it!

  I couldn’t stand it any longer. He was almost panting in my pocket, his lousy hands inside my sweater, everywhere! “Off me, off me,” I kept mumbling, pushing at him.

  Then he tried to get into a better position on me, tried to get more than what he had already, and I broke loose. I slipped out underneath him, almost pulling my sweater off in the process. “You bastard!” I screamed, and kicked him good.

  I caught him right at the base of his spine, and he arched his back, clutching at himself with both hands, behind. I kicked out again, this time cracking the metal toe of my loafer into his hand. He screamed real high, whiney like, and sucked on the knuckles.

  I kept kicking him, till he was sitting on the floor, his back against the base of the chair, hands over his face, too hurt to move, too scared to try and stop me.

  I was panting by the time my mad was worn off, and I pointed a shaking finger at him. “I’ll make it easy on you this time. Twist,” I gasped. “I won’t tell Torchy or any of the studs about this. But you come near me again, so help me I’ll have them lean on you real good!”

  He was a big boy, and what I’d said was part bluff. I was sure Torchy could take him, but there wasn’t any sense making Torchy stand with this crumb if I could kill the bit right here.

  I looked down at him. I must have really hurt him, because he was crying. It was the first time I’d
ever seen a guy bawl, and the tears rolling down his cheeks made tracks in the dirt of his face. A guy as big as that, man, it made me sick to see him.

  He looked up at me, rubbing his arm where I knew I’d caught him with a good one, and the tears oozing out of his eyes, and sobbed, “You wait, you bitch! You wait! One of these days you’ll beg me to hook up with ya! You’ll beg me to marry you, ya lousy stinking—”

  I kicked him right in the groin, when I saw the words forming. I can’t stand foul language.

  We were dancing, in the malt shop—Perky’s Place, they call it, though nobody named Perky has anything to do with the joint—when Sparkplug and A. J. fell in.

  Right off we knew it was good news. We gathered around them, when they sat down in a back booth. “Ding, ding!” said Sparkplug, holding his thumb up in a salute to victory. His little blue eyes were glittering. He was a cutie, real small and lovable, like all the girls dug him much.

  “We got it?” Torchy asked, pulling me closer to him.

  “Man!” answered A.J. digging out a butt. “It’s sewed, snowed, and set to explode!” He lit the butt, drew in deep, blew the cloud across to Sparkplug.

  “We talked to the old guy. Told him it was a ‘Youth Recreation Center’ and he bit like a big fish! No rent, and we get the joint next week! No more Fat Benny’s poolroom for the Poppers! Man, we’re Big Time now!”

  We all started cheering then, and Torchy kissed me hard. It was what we’d been waiting for. It had been coming for a couple months, ever since we’d been having trouble with the cops on the beat hushing us outta the poolroom—saying it was indecent for kids to be in such a joint.

  I thought so, too. Particularly since Fat Benny and that slob Twist found it easy to lock doors on poor, helpless babes like li’l Chickie. Now we had an apartment on the ground floor of a sharp building, and we could use it for drags, or pads, or anything! The coolest!

  We broke then, fed the juke box, and started fishing. I danced close to Torchy, sockin’ it to him, and lettin’ my thoughts tickle my head. It was great being in the Poppers. It was great having a stud like Torchy. He was on his way up in the Poppers. Soon as Corks moved out or was canned, Torchy was in line for prez. That was smooth!

  Then I thought of two months back, when Twist had locked me in, and made passes. That bastard! He hadn’t looked at me cross-eyed since then, and damned lucky for him, too!

  As if I’d sent out a signal, just by thinking of him, Twist came into Perky’s. I saw him give Torchy and a couple of other studs the motion, and we made it over to a booth where he’d sat down.

  He still looked greasy.

  “I got a sweet rumble,” he said, fingering the plastic squeeze-bottle of ketchup.

  “What’s the bit?” asked Ace, a slim, good-looking boy with dark curly hair. I liked him too, but not as much as my Torchy.

  “Look, we been in Fat Benny’s quite a while now. Almost eight months. That sloppy robber’s been taking all our change for the pool we played. He didn’t charge us no rent, but he made more off us in pool, than if he had. Right?” We all nodded.

  “Okay, then. Here’s the move: tonight, when that greaseball closes up, we knock him a good one, swipe the till, and get all our pool money back!” He was grinning that sick grin again, and I cooled the idea fast, but the other Poppers seemed to dig it.

  “It’ll only take five, six of us to cool him,” Twist said. “He’d never tell the cops it was us. If he did, he’s afraid we’d tell the bulls he was selling us pot on the side. Is it a go?” He looked around anxiously.

  I heard all those cats say, “Yeah, yeah, it’s a real kill!” I didn’t like it, and I liked it less when he leaned over toward Torchy and me and said, “Torch, how’s ’bout you running sideboy with me? You can even bring Chickie with!”

  Torchy grinned right back at the slob. I hadn’t told him about the deal in the back room at Fat Benny’s, and he thought Twist was okay. I nudged him to show I wanted out, but he thought I meant yes, and said, “Okay, man! You got a sideboy. Chickie’d just love to accompany us, wouldn’tcha, babe?”

  I couldn’t face down, then. “Yeah, sure,” I said, like I was eating lemons.

  They set it for one o’clock that night, when Fat Benny closed; then we broke up. I didn’t like it. Uh-uh. Not a bit. But I was in for the whole ride.

  We walked in just as Fat Benny was slapping all the dough into a sack. He always carried it over to the bank and put it into the night vault after he’d closed up, so we wanted to get him before he hit the street.

  “Hi, Benny!” Ace says, walking in.

  We came right behind him: me. Torchy, Stick, Twist and another deb named Loolie. “Hi. Poppers!” He wasn’t too sure what we were doing there that late, since we’d told him we were moving out of the back room in a few days.

  “Just thought we’d drop by, say hello,” Twist said. He moved toward the counter. Benny was behind it, and we could see through the glass of the candy case his hand going toward the drawer under the register.

  We all knew he kept a Luger in there. He used to take it out. flash it on us, chuckling like a baby with a rattle.

  Stick saw him go for it first. He jumped, then, slid across the counter, right into Fat Benny. He hit him right in that blubber stomach, and Benny went back up against the wall with a whoosh!

  But it didn’t cool him. The fat man locked his hands together, raised them over his head, brought them down crack into Stick’s face! Stick slid off the counter, behind the case, onto the floor. Then Fat Benny went for the Luger. He had it out, pointed at us, just as Ace slid his switch out of his jacket sleeve and lunged at him.

  Fat Benny, real cool, put a slug into Ace’s kisser. Ace’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes opened wide—there wasn’t hardly anything left of the lower part of his face—and he turned around. I felt like vomiting.

  He looked so surprised. Like it was his birthday and he’d gotten a present he hadn’t counted on. He had!

  Then he started toward us, took one step, twisted his legs all up, and fell forward. He fell across Torchy’s dirty white bucks, getting them all red and sloppy, and Torchy let out one helluva scream, started for the door in a dead run!

  Then we all broke.

  Twist had his switch out, was making faint slashing motions toward Fat Benny, even as he ran out the door. I stayed kind of rooted to the spot for a second, still shook by the sight of Ace, till I saw that tiny barrel point at the spot between my breasts. Then I let out a howl and ran for my life.

  I took off, ran out of the poolroom. I got to the alley and turned down. I ran like the wind, till I was stopped by the rear wall. I prayed he wouldn’t come looking in here. It was damned dark; it took me a minute to see there was someone down behind the garbage cans.

  “Who’s that?” I mumbled.

  “Twist!”

  I didn’t care right then who it was—even if it was that crumb. I just slid in next to him, whispering, “What happened to your big deal. Big Man?”

  Then I felt him handing me something long and cool. It was his switch. It was closed, but I knew it was a shank. My hand closed over it automatically.

  “Take it!” he said, his voice rough. “The cops come after us, they won’t search you. Shove it in your bra! It’s a good one, so don’t lose it, for Christ’s sake. Give it back when…”

  He trailed off into silence and I looked up, saw why.

  There was a big fat shape blocking off the faint streetlight shine that flooded the front of the alley. It was Fat Benny.

  He moved down the passage, slow, waving the Luger in front of him, like he was cleaning away cobwebs.

  I got scared white, then.

  “What’ll we do? He’ll find us!” I whispered.

  “Not me,” said Twist. Then he was up, running for the wall. Suddenly Fat Benny did something I never thought he could do. He ran like a bat outta hell! He was faster than anything that big I’d ever seen.

  The fat bum didn’t know I was there, but he
saw Twist trying to climb the wall. He didn’t shoot—probably scared at what he’d done to Ace with that one bullet. But he jumped, grabbed Twist’s legs just as he started to scale the wall, and pulled him back.

  He had Twist down in the alley, laying on his back. He bent over and raised the Luger. Then I heard him bring it down with a crunch into Twist’s kisser. He was beating the living hell outta Twist.

  I don’t know what made me do it. I swear I don’t. If I had had time to think it out, I never would have done it. But I didn’t, and without even realizing it, I crept up behind Fat Benny. He was so intent on smashing in Twist’s face with that Luger blackjack, he wouldn’t have heard a DC-6 coming up behind him.

  I pressed the stud. The switch went snick! and opened long and thin and smooth. I saw the streetlight shine off the length of it, then I shoved it into Fat Benny’s fat, fat neck. The thing went in so softly, I wasn’t sure I’d stuck him. So I did it again.

  Then once more, just to make sure. Because by then I didn’t even know what I was doing.

  Fat Benny turned half toward me, his mouth open like a fish out of water. He gabbled something I couldn’t make out, bubbled a little, then started toward me. He got about three steps in my direction, as I backed to the wall, then he tumbled forward.

  He bounced, so help me God, he bounced. He was like these rocking horses that go forward and backward on curved boards. That’s what he did for a second. Then he kicked his left leg. Then he bubbled a little more. Then he was silent. Then he died.

  I heard Twist getting up, crying again, blood all over his face. He wasn’t hurt too bad, though. His nose had been broken, but I’d gotten to Fat Benny before he could slam Twist too much. I’d saved his life, and I didn’t know why.

  I couldn’t stand the sonofabitch, but I’d saved him!

  Then I looked down at my hand. I still held the switch. I couldn’t let go.

  “He’s cooled,” I heard Twist say.