Benny Muscles In

Chapter Twenty-Five

Pat got excited the way he had seen her a few times in the past. The night club would be great, she said, and her eyes were sparkling with a sharp, nervous light. She hadn’t been getting that way much lately. She didn’t really get crazy any more.

Pat had wanted a strapless and a hairdo, so when she was ready she looked different than Benny had ever seen her look before. There was a sudden cold beauty about her that hardly reminded him of all the other times. Only her smile reminded him. In the cabin, in Louisiana, sometimes she had smiled that way.

Until ten it was fine. They drank, they danced. She danced with a lilt in her body that was as old as love, but Benny never let go. It was the hook sunk deep, he was thinking. It was the hook that had magic, worming forward, even reaching for him.

And then he began to get the signs. Calling him Tapkow instead of Benny, drinks tossed down too fast, and a few times that thing she did with her ear lobe.

And it wasn’t eleven yet.

He looked over the crowd again, but Alverato had been right. It didn’t look as though anything would happen here. Bare arms and tuxedos, some of the tuxedos with chesty bulges on one side. Birdie had done a fine job.

“We don’t have much fun any more, do we?” Her voice made him start.

“No fun?”

“I’ve always loved you for that keen repartee, dear. Where is that waiter?”

“Look, Pat, you’ve had enough. It’s getting late.”

“You’re just the escort, Tapkow, so be polite.”

“Pat, I’m telling you for your own good. We better go.”

“Is this Saint Benny speaking?” she said, but he ignored the sting in it and got up. He held her wrap for her.

“It’s hot.” Her voice was edgy now.

He must have got the dose wrong. She was running down too soon. Or maybe not. The dose had been right, but all the time she was running down sooner and sooner.

“Outside, Pat. It’s cooler outside.”

She followed him then and he didn’t bother to wonder why she suddenly obeyed.

Past eleven now. They stood under the marquee outside and waited for the car. It wasn’t a warm night and the crickets in the dark sounded slow.

“It’s cold,” she said, but when he tried to lift the wrap over her shoulders she stepped away from him.

The Mercury came up with a quiet hum. The got in and Benny locked the doors.

“I want the windows open,” she said, but he didn’t have to argue with her. She went right on. “What’s that humming noise?”

“The radio. It’s stuck or something.”

“Well, turn it off, Tapkow. Are you trying to drive me insane?”

“It’s stuck, Pat Here, take a cigarette.”

“You know, Tapkow, I don’t like the way you’re changing the subject” She had turned to him, looking pinched and mean. “Drive faster,” she said.

“Half mile.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, Pat. Just reading the mileage.” He drove carefully. There was nothing in the rear-view mirror.

When a raccoon scurried through the headlight beams, Benny almost ran off the road. Pat bounced against her door but she didn’t say a word. She sat up slowly and then she began to scream. “God, my God!”

“Pat, it’s nothing.” He tried to see the road, and the mileage, and the screaming girl. “Pat, enough now.”

“God, God.”

He called the mileage again, controlling his voice, then reached over to the girl.

She stopped as suddenly as she had started and her voice was a hard, low sound. “Don’t touch me, Tapkow.”

“We’ll be home soon. Try to relax now.”

“We’ll be home soon; try to relax now,” she mimicked.

“Just stay calm. I’ll take care.”

“Of me, Tapkow?” Her laugh was like a rattle. She had started to pluck at the fur of her wrap. “I can do without you, Tapkow.”

He watched the road. “Sure,” he said.

“I’m through, Tapkow. You can start looking for another-”

He wished she were right He wished she would stop talking, digging.

“I want an answer, do you hear me?”

“Pat, you’re just wrought up. In a short while-”

“In a short while you’ll regret ever having laid eyes on me, Tapkow.”

She was building up to something.

“You don’t mean that. Really, Pat, you’ll be all right.”

“With you around?” That irritating ring had come into her voice. “With you around much longer I think I’ll die, Tapkow.”

It gave him a start and he almost missed calling the mileage. “You don’t want to talk like that, Pat.”

She laughed.

“You’ll make things worse, Pat.”

“Impossible!”

“You’ll be fine soon. I promise you, Pat” He had meant it.

“The sight of you makes me sick,” she said in a low voice, and then her hand shot out, knocking his hat off. “Sick, Tapkow, sick!”

“Sit in your corner.” He sounded hoarse.

“Sick, Tapkow, sick!”

It was the drug she didn’t have. It was hard to remember sometimes, but it was the drug.

“You’ll see, Pat. I’ll help you.”

“Sick, Tapkow, sick!”

“Stop that, damnit.” He took a deep breath and tried again. “We’ll go away together. And after a little while, Pat-”

“Why try?” It sounded casual at first, but then her tone became strong and sober. “Don’t you know how I hate you, Tapkow?”

It must be the drug.

“I mean this. Such hate, Tapkow!”

For once it was almost more than he could take.

“I hate you, Tapkow. Like this!” and with her scream her fist flung out, jarring his head.

He struck out like a hurt animal. “Sit there and shut up! Shut up!”

Mileage. An empty road.

“That’s all you can do, isn’t it? Hit and run.”

“I never have!” It was almost a scream. “I mean it, Pat, I’ll try all I can to make good what-I’ll help you, I mean it!” He had never felt quite so deeply before, so when she leaned forward and grinned, it hit hard.

“Saint Benny,” she said.

It hit. His eyes seemed to slant with the grimace that tore his face and he came back with a harsh yell. “You crazy fool, can’t you tell when it’s real? Can’t you tell when you need me, you crazy hopped-up fool? You’re hooked and don’t know it, a hophead, a poor crazy junkhead who never knew what it was, when it caught, when it ends. And I’m trying to tell you, for real, Pat, I’m trying to tell you there is a way out.”

She was still grinning; only her eyes had changed. “Hophead,” she said.

He hadn’t been watching then, but when it suddenly happened it was almost a relief. The black shape roared up from the side, veered hard, and for a moment the two cars were edging each other. Benny pushed the accelerator and shot ahead. But that wasn’t on the program, and besides, it wouldn’t have done any good. The other car came out ahead, making a spray of the bushes by the road, and Benny called his mileage. “Five even, it’s now!” and he slowed the car. He wasn’t sure if Pat had noticed. She was sitting still and even the grin was there yet Then he jammed on the brakes just in time not to hit the car in front It was angled across the road, looking shiny and new in the headlights. Just in case, Benny thought, and flipped into reverse. Then he crashed behind. They were all around now, coming through the beams and moving like shadows once they had passed. They tapped on the windows with their guns and motioned to him to come out. One had jumped on the hood. The gun he was holding was big and black and pointed straight at Benny. He raised his hands. The taps on the windows got sharper. Nothing rough yet, just sharper. And no Alverato.

Pat made it easy for them. Her window was down suddenly and she leaned out of the way. “Kill him!” She pointed a finger at him as if she were shooting him. “Kill him!” She called loud and clear without hysteria, just “Kill him!”

Benny lunged over and grabbed her waist. She was safe. He felt her strong movement and saw the door go. They were pulling her to get her into the open. And Pendleton had probably not insisted on bringing him back alive. Benny held on, listening to her voice. “Kill him, kill him!” There was nothing else to do. Alverato had planned it that way, his show, his dumb and useless show of brawn.

Except nothing happened. They were out now, in the headlights, and they didn’t even bother to frisk him because there was nothing but guns standing around, pointing at nothing but Benny.

“Kill him,” she said again, but they pushed her ahead of them.

“Get in the car, Miss Pendleton. You’ll be all right now. Here, we’ll help you.” When somebody said that, she started to break.

It was a thin laugh at first. “That’s what he said,” she laughed, and louder: “That’s what he said,” again, until the laughter got shrill and unhinged so that they didn’t know what to do.

He caught them at the right moment, the old slob with the big bravado in his voice: “Stand where you are!”

It came from somewhere. He had a loud-speaker along.

“This is Big Al, you punks, and I’m all around you.”

At least one of the punks didn’t believe it. His. 45 made a respectable crack in the middle of the night, but that was nothing compared to what came next The machine gun gave a sharp, roaring burst and four men fell on the pavement In the second of silence that followed, the hood of the car in front dipped up, dipping with a lonesome creak of the springs.

“I said this is Big Al! And just to show you-” The machine gun chattered again. This time only one man fell, close to Pat.

“And I don’t give a damn if I hit my own man or the dame. Is that clear?”

It was clear. Nobody moved. Until the motor of the car in back kicked over, raced, and careened backward with a painful whine. That’s when they moved. All at once the wild movement broke in every direction, in heedless panic, and the machine gun spoke again.

Benny made only one leap. He grabbed Pat and stood with her in the strong light from his car. There was nothing to do but stand. This was Alverato’s show and perhaps in the light he wouldn’t just shoot them down, being busy with his chase on the dark road and among the bushes.

It took a while, with the car in the back catching fire, the yelling and stomping, the loud cackle of the machine gun.

“O.K., this way, kids.” Alverato stood in the light, big and sweaty. They ran across the road, through the woods, and stopped on a dirt road.

“Stay here,” Big Al said. “The car will be along in a second. How’s the girl?”

Nobody answered. The two-way speaker that hung by a strap around Alverato’s neck started to rasp, and then, “A.A., this is Zimmer. A.A., this is Zimmer. Over.”

“Yes, damnit, what’s what?” Alverato had snatched the instrument up and was roaring into the microphone.

“A.A., this is Zimmer, this is Zimmer. Who are you? Over.”

“This is Alverato, you jerk. Cut out that bomber-patrol crap and talk!”

“Big Al? I can’t start the car. I thought you’d want to know because-”

“Can it, can it, you sonofabitch! I’m coming over and it better be fixed when I get there. Uh-over!” he yelled, and started to crash off into the black undergrowth. “Benny?” Alverato had stopped. “Stand still and wait, and better take this.” Alverato was back, handing Benny a gun. “And stay put.”

They listened to him get farther away. Pat was shivering. Benny could hear her mumbling and she was plucking the fur of the wrap.

“Soon, now, Patty, soon.” He put his arm over her shoulder, pressing her close, and she let him. “Soon, Patty.” But she didn’t answer. He could hear the mumbling getting clearer, and it was “Kill him! Kill him!”

He tried to pay no attention. Once he let go of her because the gun was between them, in his pocket. He took it out and kept it in one hand.

Then he heard the sound of a car. It came without lights, a long humming shape. It stopped.

First the lights went on, like a white explosion, and then the doors opened. They went thunk, thunk when they closed, and Benny started to push Pat forward.

“Al, cut those beams.”

There was no answer. There was no sound till the lights made a face materialize with hard lines from the nose to the mouth and close-set eyes that had a maniacal glint in the light. “Baby!” said the mouth, and Pendleton raised his arms. “My dearest-”

What stopped him was a scream that arched Pat’s body until she trembled like a spring that had suddenly been released.

She had seen the man she hated. Pendleton knew. There was a gun in his hand now. He came steadily toward his daughter.

“Kill him,” she kept saying. “Kill him.”

“Pendleton. Stop!”

Pendleton didn’t stop. He took another step and reached for his daughter. Only when Benny had jerked the girl back did Pendleton seem to wake up. He raised his gun. Benny had never seen Pendleton with a gun before.

“You’ll kill her, Pendleton.”

It stopped him.

They weren’t listening to Pat any more. Their eyes met and the question was who could hold on longer.

“Pendleton,” Benny said, “you’re through.”

Benny had never seen the man stand that still before. Not even his shoulder moved.

“Pendleton, you’ve lost. You lost Pat.”

“Kill him,” she said.

Then Pendleton opened his mouth. “Tapkow, don’t try. I’m going to keep you alive-forever, Tapkow.”

“Kill him,” she said.

There was nothing to answer, no more to say, but first Benny laughed. He laughed straight in the old man’s face and it sounded as hellish as Pat’s scream. Benny could see it hit the man, saw him stir, while Benny tightened his grip on the girl to shift for the kill.

That’s when Pendleton broke. He flung himself forward, with arms flailing, so crazed he never thought of his gun. It came down like a stone, missing everything it was meant to kill, but then it did part of a job. The barrel caught Pat on the skull, glanced sideways, and the only thing that could stop Pendleton happened. Pat slid to the ground. There was blood on her hair.

Benny waited till they were both together, the unconscious girl breathing raggedly and Pendleton sobbing.

The hate made Benny hold it just a little longer, the hate that knew it had found its way. Then it moved Benny’s foot. The foot pushed at the man, pushed him till he was free of his daughter, and looking up with crooked eyes that didn’t see the gun. It spat in his face.

It spat and bucked and then it was empty.

Benny stood in the white light. He bent over Pendleton and found the small paper and saw the numbers on it and the names of the Italian cities. Then he just stood again. He didn’t notice when the gun dropped from his hand. He stood, feeling empty.

When he lifted Pat and carried her, holding her close and tight, the feeling came to him that with her so close the emptiness might not last much longer.