Chapter 2
ACROSS THE STREET FROM THE HOTEL A CAR WAS parked at the curb. It was parked just past the neon sign. In the red flash the old, faded paint looked even older. It was an eight-year-old Ford that had had a few owners and needed a few repairs.
Behind the wheel sat a man who looked like he could use a few repairs himself. His complexion was faded like the car. He had gaps between his teeth that looked like the radiator. His eyes were dull the way that the headlights were dim. His face was long and thin and his hair was long and lank. A cigarette was stuck between his teeth. It fitted very conveniently in the space between the center top teeth, as though nature had build the man that way for his smoking comfort.
But, at the moment, he was not comfortable. He was angry. This man had just lost fifty dollars in the crap game in which Pete Trask had won two hundred and this was not a man who could laugh off a loss. He had, quite possibly, never had more than fifty dollars at one time in his life. He had never held a steady job, and he had never wanted to. He was the type who boasted of the fact that he had never worked a day in his life. He could boast of this with four dollars in his pocket and nothing else in the world, without seeing the pity of it. But then, the men to whom he boasted were not the type to see the pity of it either. They probably had no more than he did. He did not know anyone who had very much money except gamblers. Gamblers usually took what little money he had. He was a notoriously poor gambler who had no conception of the odds, and backed his hunches fiercely, losing continually. He thought it was bad luck because he knew that his hunches were always right, and he knew that sooner or later his luck would change. Then he would have the respect that he wanted, and he could boast more positively that he had never worked a day in his life because he would be able to buy a drink for the man he was boring with his story. He looked forward to that day.
So did the girl who was seated beside him at the moment. He told her that it was just a matter of tin:, until his hunches began to pay off, and she had no reason (other than the fact that they never did) not to believe him. But then, she had even less idea of odds in gambling than he did, if that were possible. And she had the same dreams of glory, the same patient hope that some day there would be money and that her man would take her to the best night clubs (the best in this bad section, of course). Her imagination could not move beyond that sphere. But then, she had never been out of that city in her life except once when a man took her to a motel four miles out of town and another time when she went with another girl to a city seven miles away to meet two business men from Kansas who seemed to have a great deal of money. She knew that they had a great deal of money because she had seen one cash a ten dollar bill to buy them all a drink and she had seen the other leave a fifty cent tip for the barmaid. Ah, that had been a day! She had remembered that day with pride and warmth ever since, even though it had not turned out so well in the end because her businessman had told her she wore too much perfume and not enough deodorant and she had been a bit angry with him.
However, this was not a girl who suffered false delusions. She was nicely resigned to what she didn't realize was a tragic existence. Her man might even buy her a dress when his luck finally changed and they were rich. And that was why this girl was every bit as angry as her boy friend was that his luck had been so bad and he had lost fifty dollars. That morning he had showed her the money. He had three tens and three fives and five singles and she had gasped in amazement.
"Tonight we do the town, baby," he had said.
"Your luck really changed," she said.
He smiled his particularly ugly, spread-toothed smile and let her think that because he didn't want to let her know that he had worked for the money. He had run some betting slips for a gambler named Deacon who always seemed to be very lucky even though he gave odds (say, two-to-one against any crap?) and he had been paid fifty dollars.
She had put her best dress on and spent a long time piling her hair as high as it would possibly go and putting dark make-up on her eyes and plenty of nice coral lipstick on her mouth. She had used deodorant liberally and tried not to use too much perfume. She knew that she looked very good and she waited for him to show up and then he came and told her that his luck had dealt him a low blow and that all the money was gone.
Even her resignation quivered at this. It was like an actual blow to the stomach. It was very nearly the last straw, too. She was very sick of waiting for his luck to come in and she had told him so. And it worried him, too, although he didn't let on, because he did not want to lose her. He knew that he was not a particularly attractive man. In fact, he knew that he was hideous. But that had never much bothered him because he also knew that it was money that won hearts, not handsome ness. Deacon the gambler was even more hideous than he was and Deacon had a showgirl with golden hair. And his own girl, despite her make-up and ridiculously high hair, was pretty. He liked to be seen with her and to have everyone know that he slept with her and that she was in love with him and now he was afraid that he might lose her. And that, combined with the frustration of losing all his money, was frightening. He felt desperate.
But he had a plan.
He was going to rob Pete Trask.
"Can't we have a beer while we wait?" she asked.
He growled.
"Just one beer?"
"I got to keep an eye on the hotel."
"But we could watch it from the bar down at the corner. That would be better than sitting here."
"I can't afford even a beer," he said.
She sighed. Usually, when she sighed, it meant that she was submitting. But this time he seemed to detect a different tone. It sounded as though she were exasperated. He turned and looked at her and she frowned.
"All that money wasted," she said. "Sometimes I wonder if your luck is ever going to change, Ken."
"Just you wait."
"It's been two years already."
He took the cigarette stub from his mouth and ground it out in the ash tray. A wisp of smoke and a burning smell twisted up and filled the car. It mingled with the moldy smell of the seat covers.
It had been two years. She had been faithful as far as he knew, and it would be terrible to lose her because some jerk had been lucky betting against him. But it wouldn't be much longer now. He was quite determined to rob Trask. He had seen him pick up the girl and take her to the hotel and now he waited for him to come out. He had a knife in his pocket, a big flick knife. He wasn't particularly courageous, and he was nervous. Trask had been a big, mean-looking man. But his determination overrode his fears. He needed that money!
His name was Ken Fee. The girl's name was Belle. He had never known her last name. That wasn't important. In this section there were a good many men who did not even know their own last names. Paternity was a vague thing. Belle had not, in fact, been strictly faithful to Ken. But she had been as faithful as could be expected of her. When he was out gambling and a man bought her a drink or two she knew that it was only right that she should go to bed with that man. After all, fair is fair. But she saw that Fee might not understand this and so she never told him about those other men. Sometimes they gave her a few dollars afterward, and she never told him about this, either. It was little enough. He would have taken her money and used it to change his luck, and although she had faith in his hunches she did not want to trade money for them. And he might have asked where she got it, too. That could have been embarrassing.
"Well, can I walk down to the bar while you wait here?" Belle asked him.
"You got money?"
"Someone will buy me a drink."
"I don't like no other guys buying my woman drinks."
"You never do, Ken."
"Wait, just wait. As soon as this jerk comes out of the hotel we'll have plenty."
"Are you really going to rob him?"
He smiled in what he knew was a confident and cold manner. It was his gambling smile, the one he used when a particularly strong hunch came to him.
"Sure. I've done it before."
"I don't want you to get hurt, Ken."
"Don't worry, baby. Old Fee can take good care of himself. I been around a long time and I ain't never worked and I know all the ropes."
"Well...."
He reached over and touched her breast. He squeezed the nipple between thumb and forefinger in an affectionate little manner that he knew she liked. Her brassiere was very thin and very old and he could clearly feel the little bullet respond to his touch. He wanted to get her mind off the money.
"You worry about your man, don't you, baby?"
She shrugged.
"I like that. I like to know that you care about the dangers and the chances that I take."
"I'd rather you got a nice safe job," she said. Fee looked rather hurt at that sacrilegious desire.
Sometimes he didn't understand this girl.
His fingers moved to the other nipple.
She put her hand over his as though she were going to stop him, but she didn't move his hand away. She did like him, in a way. She liked to have him make love to her better than she liked that with most men. Her desires were not basically physical, it was the need to be loved that inspired her, and she felt, somehow, that Fee liked her more than the men who bought her two beers and later, sometimes, gave her two dollars. She wasn't sure why this was, but then she had never given it much thought.
"We got some time to kill," he said.
"Not here."
"I got to wait here."
"Someone might come past and see."
"So what? You ashamed of me?"
"Of course not, but...."
"I don't care if the whole city sees us together, baby. I like to be seen with you. And pretty soon I'm going to take you where everyone will see us. Maybe even tonight since you're already dressed to kill. Just as soon as I smack that lucky jerk in the head and earn me some money. Earn us some money, baby. Maybe we'll even go to The Golden Parrot tonight."
"Really?"
Her eyes lighted and she smiled. "You mean it?"
He showed her his smile again. He knew that he had her now; he had found a very soft spot. The Golden Parrot was the most expensive night-spot in the district. Some people with lots of money went there. Deacon the gambler went there sometimes. Sometimes even a few people from uptown went there when they were slumming. There was even a floor show at The Golden Parrot.
"Sure," he said.
"I've never been there."
"You'll like it."
"Have you been there?"
"Sure. Plenty of times."
She looked puzzled. He saw his mistake.
"Only on business, though," he said. "That's why I never took you with me. It was always on business the times I've been there since you were my girl."
"Oh," she said. "Business...."
"But tonight, you go too. We might even have a bottle of champagne."
"Oh, Ken...."
"Whiskey, anyway. None of that beer for my gal. Nothing but the best for my woman."
She moved nearer to him then. Her dress rustled on the rough seat covers. She wore a pink dress that clashed with her coral lipstick horribly but matched the extraordinary pink color that had resulted from the latest attempt to dye her hair blonde. It was partly blonde but it was a little pink. She thought that it looked rather nice that way. The dress had a high neckline and she didn't like that so well but it was a nice dress that she bought a second-hand store, and so she had to put up with the neckline. Anyway, it was tight and her breasts stood out neatly beneath it. Everyone knew that she did not wear a high neckline because she had no bosom.
Fee put his free arm around her shoulders and continued to play with her nipples.
Belle placed her mouth against his neck. He smelled like tobacco and alleys. She supposed that he smelled like dice and cards, too. Her hand came down and rested lightly on his leg and she let her breath warm his ear.
Two men walked past. They passed the car without looking in.
"No one' will notice," Fee said.
Belle didn't answer. Visions of The Golden Parrot occupied her.
Fee moved her hand along and then put his own hand on her leg. He slid his hand beneath the hem of her dress. Her leg was thin and hard.
"I don't want to take my clothes off here," she said.
"Don't have to," he told her. His hand moved, palm downward, on her leg. Her legs tightened for a moment. Her hand moved, too. It rested on him and then pressed. At first he was not ready because he had been thinking of other things, but as her hand caressed him she knew his need.
His fingers slipped past the cheap black panties that she wore. She was warm and soft. Her breath came faster and much warmer at his ear. She half turned so that she was facing him, sideways.
"Let me take these off," he said.
He started to draw the panties down.
"Wait a minute," she said. "Wait. Not here. I'll do something else for you. Something that you like. Because you're going to be so nice to me after you get the money."
Fee grinned. It was not a cold grin this time. It was a leer. He leaned back against the door and she smiled and her hand worked on his clothing. On his bare flesh her fingers felt like fire. He unfastened his belt and stretched his legs out.
"Shall I?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said. His voice was high pitched. His hand came away from her. One hand rested on the steering wheel and the other rested on her back. He pushed gently. She moved willingly. She still thought of The Golden Parrot. She thought that he deserved a special treat because he was going to take her there, and she knew that he particularly liked this way of making love. She was rather neutral about that, herself. She didn't dislike doing that, but then again she got no great thrill from it. It was something she saved for when she was affectionate and wanted to give him pleasure without demanding any for herself. It was the same as when she did it for a man who had bought her two whiskies instead of two beers. And she had found that they were always nicer to her afterward and more likely to give her a couple dollars.
Men were funny that way.
But fair is fair.
She touched him. Fee went rigid all over. His head leaned back against the seat, and he looked at the roof of the car. He didn't close his eyes. They no longer looked quite so dull. His tongue came out and moved over his lips and he squirmed. He pressed against her back a little harder, urging her on, wanting that to last a long time, but wanting her to hurry, too, because the urgency was building up rapidly now. She was building him to the peak. She just touched him lightly at first. She held him, but her hand did not move. Her other hand rested on his hip, the fingers tapping lightly, inside his clothing. He looked at her for a moment. He saw her and became all the more thrilled. He watched for a moment and that became almost unbearable. She looked up at him while she caressed, and her eyes were smiling. He moaned softly and looked at the roof once more. Then he closed his eyes.
"Nice?" she whispered.
"Umm."
"And this?" She lowered her head.
Fee heaved until he was arched, barely touching the seat, leg muscles aching with the tenseness.
He could hear the small, soft, warm sounds. They drifted to his head and then seemed to explode there, to pound like drums. He knew that he was moaning steadily, he could feel the moaning in his throat, but he could not hear himself.
She shifted. Her fingers pressed his tight buttocks. He could feel each fingertip distinctly. One strand of her hair had come free and it brushed him. She moved faster.
He was quivering at the very top now, and she knew that he was ready, and she moved, gentle but quick, anxious to give him pleasure. His body hummed with tension.
She paused for a moment, startled. She whimpered softly. And then she moved again, starting to slow down now but making sure he was exhausted.
When she moved from him Fee was relaxed and very nearly unconscious. She snuggled against him and he put his arm around her lazily. She kissed his neck. Her lipstick was smeared. Her hair had begun to come out of its ridiculous and intricate pattern. But she smiled. She felt good because she knew how much pleasure she had given him, and because she knew that, in return, he was going to take her to The Golden Parrot. Everything seemed wonderful. Later, when she was full of good whiskey, or perhaps even champagne, she thought that she might even do this again for him in the comfort of her own room where they could undress first and play for a while and make that last a long time. She thought about this and snuggled against him and he didn't move for a long while. He was thinking how lucky he was to have her, and how necessary it was to keep her. He would take almost any chance to keep her. After quite a while, when he felt able to move, he reached out and began to fasten his clothing. He felt the knife in his pocket. The thrill of danger came again, but much less now because his emotions were drained and stupefied. He kissed her and she began to redo her lipstick in the rear view mirror and Fee watched the front door of the hotel once more.