Benny Muscles In

Chapter Thirteen

He sat by the bed until he fell asleep himself, and when he woke, feeling stiff and sticky, he saw Pat through the dark of the room, on her side now, breathing regularly. It was nighttime and from the drug she had passed into sleep. He took her shoes off and covered her with a blanket.

There was none of the hardness in her face now, just the distance of a sleeping face, small and helpless.

He looked at her and it got to him. At that moment he couldn’t have thought of his deal, of his hates and his determination, even though they were a part of him, up through his whole anxious life. They had helped. They had helped him forget the father he had never known, and his mother, who had done nothing for him except to bear him. The easiest thing had been to run with the gang, the petty, raucous hoodlums whose mean little lives had only one solution, to be big now and to let everyone know it.

He’d done well in that game. He hadn’t been the biggest, but he’d been the sharpest. He hadn’t been the strongest, but he’d been the quickest. And then there was one difference between the rest of them and Benny. He didn’t care to stop at showing big. He had to be big.

Benny got up from his chair and walked past the bed. The girl was still sleeping quietly and not knowing a thing. He turned away and hunted for a cigarette.

She didn’t wake until morning. He had waited for her to wake, wondering how she would be. When she sat up and saw him, the change was sudden. The face he had seen in sleep froze into lines. She was Pendleton’s daughter now.

“Beat it, Peeping Tom.”

He stared at her.

“I want to take a shower.”

He left the room without a word. Perhaps he was imagining things. He hadn’t had much sleep. But then it came back to him why he was here, the real reason, the million-dollar deal that hung by one thin girl with brassy manners and a crazy temper. He went back to the room.

She had found a big white bathrobe and it made her head and hands look small and frail. It made him say it before she changed her face again. “You’ll be all right, Pat. Last night-”

“What do you want?” Her eyes looked flat.

His voice was changed too now and he walked up to her, hands in his pockets. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, Tapkow. Why?”

“You got drunk.”

“Act your age, Tapkow.”

“I just want to warn you about Tober. Stay clear of that guy.”

“Why, Tapkow?” She sat down in a chair by the bed and crossed her legs. “Because he’s a hop-head?”

All he did was bite his lip, but she caught it. “Because of the heist ball concoction?” She smiled, watching him.

He took out a cigarette, started to fumble for a match, forgot about it. “Look, Pat. Let me set something straight. You and me came here together. So I’m watching out that-that nothing should harm you. I’m trying to say-”

“If you’re not going to smoke that cigarette, give it to me.”

He looked at that face with the smile on it and almost lost his temper. Then his voice came very low. “For one minute I want you to shut up and listen.”

“Look, Benny,” she said, and got up to put one hand on his arm. “If you’re worried about that concoction he gave me, just ease your conscience.” The honey in her voice was something new. “It was nothing, Benny. Hardly enough of a pinch to flutter a hair.”

He stepped back and his eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Heroin, darling.” Before he recovered she went on. “You shouldn’t be all up in the air about it, Benny. Poor old Tober never breathed a word. He was your trusty old friend through and through.”

“A pinch,” he said finally. “Just a pinch!” His voice got sharper. “Do you know how long you’ve been out?”

“I can guess,” she said. She was still smiling, and she stepped close again. With a slow motion like a caress she pushed back the thick sleeve of the bathrobe. “But don’t blame Tober, darling. I fixed that dream myself.”

And inside the frail-skinned crook of her arm he saw a red dot.

She watched his face, enjoying it.

“You what?” It was hoarse at first, then a roar. “You what? You fixed that jolt yourself? You crazy bitch, you went ahead and shot that filthy junk-”

“I didn’t mean to go to sleep on it, really. But how was I to know how little it was cut.” It was a grin now, not a smile any more.

“Christ in heaven, you stupid dame, don’t you know what this can do? Don’t you see what happened to that blithering Tober, what made him the jackass he is now? A wreck! A cheat! A lying, stupid jackass who-”

“A cheat, a liar, a stupid lying jackass?” Her voice was a sudden scream. “You sanctimonious crook, you call him a liar?” She was crouching now, talking with an angry speed that hit him like a gust of hail. “You ugly runt, you can stand there in the daylight, talking like a judge, talking like a holy saint who’s shocked when somebody goes to pieces, breaks, goes under!” There were tears in her eyes, bright tears she didn’t try to hide. “You stinking swine, you can stand there telling me to be a lady and not mind the filth you brought along? What filth? The filth last night, Saint Benny, the filth the day before, that lying act you worked up in that cabin, that noble deal to make me think Saint Benny is a saint. He doesn’t take advantage of a crazy dame who’s throwing it around because she’s crazy. He wants to make her pure and clean instead, and later maybe have an unspoiled act of love-so pure, so rare, so-” She couldn’t go any further. Her raw voice cracked and she sobbed.

He saw it now. She’d gone to bed that night in the cabin, thinking of him with a kind of love. She’d…

“Don’t bother, Tapkow.” He had started to reach out for her when her voice stopped him. “You’re forgetting yourself. This is Miss Pendleton, the piece of business you got on your hands. Your little Big Deal Pendleton dame all neat and cold and so important.” Her laugh had a nasty ring. “You didn’t tell me, Saint Benny. Tober didn’t mean to tell me, Saint Benny. But learn something, Saint Never trust a hophead.”

After she had slammed out of the room he stood a while. He ran a hand over his tired face and just stood.

A week, maybe, Alverato had said. A week maybe, or perhaps a little more, because Big Wheel Saint Benny had the right dame and everything under control.

Then she came back. She had a pair of shorts in her hand and a halter. “Beat it, Tapkow. I want to dress.” She turned and saw him still standing there. “Don’t worry about me, Tapkow, I’ll be around.”

He stayed there and lit a cigarette. “I just learned something,” he said. “Never trust a hophead.”

She shrugged. Then she let the robe fall to the floor. He saw her pull the shorts over her hips and then fit the halter around her breasts. She patted herself, ran a hand through her hair, and went to the door. “You don’t believe me, Tapkow?” She opened the door. “Then just remember. I don’t like Daddy any better than you do. Less.” She banged the door.

He went downstairs and stood in the hallway. When he saw the short girl from the day before, the one with the wet sheet, he followed her to the terrace, because she was pushing a cart with a coffeepot and other things on it. He had a cup of coffee and let it burn his tongue. It helped.

And what had happened in the room upstairs, that had helped. He was back to the time before, thinking only of the things that mattered and the way he’d made them all come true. The big deal in the palm of his hand and nothing to stop him from keeping it there.

Then he went back to the hall and sat down where he could see the stairs and the cars beyond the open front door. Never trust a hophead, she had said.

When he saw Pat again the shock made him stare. It was the same girl with her long legs tanned and the sun suit and the rumpled hair. Only the hair was rumpled as if it were on fire, her eyes were deep glittering stones, and she was screeching as if the air around her were all spikes and nettles. She came jumping down the stairs and when she came closer Benny saw that she was laughing. She passed him with a wild jump, ran to the door, then back, and stopped before him. Her hand shot out and he felt a sharp pinch on his check while she crinkled her eyes in laughter. Then she was up the stairs and gone.

Before Benny got halfway up she came back. Tober was with her. Somehow his wasted frame managed to look sodden and they both were giggling like maniacs. Benny gave no warning. One hand grabbed the front of the shirt, the other drew back like the kick of a wild horse.

But it never came through. He let go of Tober and lunged for Pat, who was climbing over the railing ready to jump. How she got away he never knew. The next thing was her wail, then the smack of her bare feet on the tile below. Before Benny got down she was racing through the front door and into the yard.

Benny came to a stop at the open door. He saw her in the car, behind the wheel, and she was looking his way. She sounded quiet and hostile. “I’m leaving,” she said. The motor was racing and her hand was on the shift.

He didn’t know how she had got the keys, but that wasn’t important now. Tober had come up to the door and he looked at the car with interest. “I never drive when I’m high,” he was saying. “I’m an old bore and I have a number of cardinal rules.”

“Tober.” Benny talked low, afraid to move. “Make her stop. She mustn’t get away, Tober.” A drop of sweat stung his eye but he didn’t even blink.

“Oh, Patty!” It was a singsong, like the voice of a nurse calling a child. “Before you leave, Patty-”

She was listening.

“Before you leave, Patty-”

Both men advanced slowly. She threw the car into gear with a crash.

“I don’t want that Tapkow pig to come any closer!” She sounded fluttery and shrill. “I don’t want that Tapkow pig. You never give up, Tapkow, do you?”

He didn’t have an idea what she was talking about. He had stopped next to Tober, and he spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Tober, tell her to wait. Tell her to have one farewell drink and spike it hard. Do you hear?”

“But, Benny, all I got is-You didn’t want me to give her-”

“Load her till her top flies off, but stop her!”

The three figures in the hard light of the sun were immobile. The motor was murmuring, then it howled, then it murmured again.

“Oh, Patty…” The singsong again. “One for the road, honey?”

“What?” She blinked at them in the sun.

“Running out is one thing, honey, but running dry is another.”

She sat still, thinking. Only her foot was nervous, making the motor growl.

“Oh, Patty…”

“Stop that yammer,” Benny whispered. “Tell her again.”

“All right,” she called across the yard, “but that Tapkow swine mustn’t move. I don’t want that Tapkow piggy to come any closer.”

“He won’t, Patty-cake,” Tober called. He went into the house and Benny stayed where he was.

It seemed an eternity in the white sun, each muscle an ache of its own, and the cold sweat a slippery itch on his skin.

“Clink, clink, Patty-cake!” Tober came down the stairs and into the sun with a tray that held a pitcher. The liquid was almost green and it slopped with each step. When Tober got to the car she took her foot off the clutch and the jerk made her head snap back. Then the motor was dead. There was a discussion about it for a while, and then she started the car again. She said, “You didn’t bring a glass.”

Benny watched her hold the tray while Tober bounded back to the house. She stared at him while they waited, staring to see that he didn’t move.

Tober got back then and he poured her a glassful. “Now this’ll jolt you a little, but don’t let it throw you. I’m here to catch you when you land.” He giggled.

Pat lifted the glass and drank.

She didn’t cough or shudder or do any of those things. She drank it and said, “How did you get it so bitter?” and then she finished the rest of the glass.

“Now we need about five minutes of silence while that heavenly stuff starts to pop.”

Was that hophead going to give away the show? Benny started to tremble. He heard Patty say, “I haven’t got five more minutes,” and he couldn’t hold it any longer. He kicked up dust when he started his sprint, dust almost like the cloud that churned up behind the car as the gears crashed again, the car lurched, and Tober weaved to balance the tray. Benny heard the buckling sound of the straining motor, the cough of the exhaust while the car tried to make it in high. Pat’s head was nodding with stubborn jerks, and as the motor died she slumped out of sight. Then Benny was at the car and looking at the blank eves that were not yet quite out. He opened the door, picked her up, carried her into the house. He noticed how limp she was but he hardly gave it a thought.