Manhunt. Volume 6, Number 4, June, 1958

The Chips Are Down by Wilfred Alexander

His dame bad called him a punk, but she wouldn’t be calling him that any more. Not after he’d clipped a hard guy for eight grand...

“Punk!” That’s what she called me. “Punk! You’re nothing but a two-for-a-nickel punk! That’s all you’ll ever be. Punk! Two-bit punk! Pushing dames around, because that’s all you’ll ever have: two bits! Punk! P-u-n-k!”

I let her have it, my hard fist, right in the kisser, and she went down; she came up with a busted lip and bloody nose.

I hated it when she came up bleeding and cut like that, because in that condition she refused to go to work, and when my broad didn’t work, I often didn’t eat.

Now I wondered what she would say when she saw me with eight thousand smackeroos in my pockets. Ha! Ha! I rushed along over the broken, slippery wet cement pavement. Tall, dirty, gray stone tenement buildings towered over me. I met sleepy-eyed men and women who had left their homes at five o’clock in the morning to go to work. The crisp and wrinkled bills of money, genuine U.S. currency, of various denominations to total more than eight thousand bucks bulged three of my pockets: legal tender, none of it counterfeit or hot.

I plunged down the street at a pace faster than walking, but I did not run. Every half dozen steps or more, I turned my face over my left shoulder to see if Raven’s men were following me. Soon as he caught on to the cross, he’d be hot on my tail with his goons. No one tailed me. Several times I stumbled on the broken sidewalk and my legs kicked wildly about under me. Passers-by turned to stare at me; no doubt, they believed I had been out all night no a spree and was now too drunk to go to work.

But I didn’t care what they thought. A man with eight thousand dollars in his pocket was above the suspicions of these stupid slum faces, these dumb punk faces. I turned off the street and burst through an apartment house vestibule door. In the vestibule I hesitated. I had to be sure. I stuck my head out the door and looked up and down the street. I detected no one following me and murmured, “Good,” to myself.

Turning, I ran up the stairs and beat on the door marked B2 at the top of the stairs. I hammered on the door with my fist and kicked it with my feet. Where was that dumb broad? I hadn’t all day. She usually woke up easier than this.

“Anna!”

An impatient voice sang out to me in a grumbling tone.

“Wait a Goddamn minute, will you?”

When she opened the door, she was wearing a pink pajama top. She never wore the bottoms. Her long bare legs always seemed much longer than they actually were when she wore just the pajama top, with her breasts holding the material out in front. She had gone to bed without putting her hair up and it was falling over her face. Her red toe nails turned up, as if to point at me, and for a minute, as if I really were a punk, I forgot that I was on the run. I imagined what those wide hips of hers would look like draped in the silk I was going to buy her, a dress cut so low at the neck that it showed off her magnificent breasts. A pretty pair of shoes for her tiny. feet would make all the guys stare.

“Don’t just stand there panting, out of breath, like the cops are after you,” she said. “Come in.”

I stepped in, kicked the door close, and grabbed her shoulders, squeezing them tightly. I quickly forgot her body, concerned with myself.

“We’ve got to hurry,” I said. “We’ve got to go away.”

She knocked my hands off her shoulders, pushed me back, and picked up a pack of Camels from the dresser.

“I ain’t got to go nowhere with you, punk!”

The words cut me deep, and I bled inside. I grabbed her wrist, the wrist of the hand in which she held the cigarette, as she tried to climb back in bed, and fire from the cigarette fell on the sheets, burning a hole in them.

“You’re going with me!”

She stood on her knees in the bed. “Going where?”

“Chicago first.”

“I’m not going to any Chicago. I’m staying right here in New York. Now either come to bed or get out. I’m tired after slinging drinks in a tavern all night.”

I had no time to argue. But she was my girl, and a guy’s girl is supposed to do what he says. I slapped her face. That’s the only kind of arguments some broads understand. Anna’s one of them. Her cigarette went flying across the room. I grabbed her pajama top and ripped it off her back. She didn’t try to cover up, but she got mad. Before she could open her mouth, I had jerked her off the bed and sent her sprawling over towards her closet.

“Get some clothes on and let’s get out of here!” Her flesh was trembling. “Look!”

I pulled the crumpled bills of money from my pocket, first from this pocket, then from that pocket, now from another pocket, and threw them in a pile on the bed. She approached the bed slowly, and picked up one of the bills gingerly, as if it contained a deadly contagious poison. “Dick!” she whispered. So much money frightened her. I searched my pockets for more money.

“You still think I’m just a punk, huh?”

I sat on the bed beside her. She put one hand on my shoulder and spoke with her face so close to mine that her breath tickled my face.

“You won all that in one night?”

I began to smooth out the crumpled bills, putting them in a pile on top of the straight ones.

“I’m taking you with me,” I said. “I’m not asking you if you want to go. You’re my woman, so I’m taking you. Now if you got nothing you want to take, put some rags on your bare tail and come on. Any other skirt’d be glad I even considered taking them, but no, not you. Not Miss Anna!”

She stared at me suspiciously, then at the money. Her voice quivered.

“You cheated Raven with crooked dice!”

“I won!”

“He’ll kill you!”

My fist lashed out and caught her in the mouth. A shock went through me as though I had struck myself. Quickly I picked her up and looked at her face. I didn’t want her bruised up, not when I had so much money and we could really live a while. Luckily, I hadn’t hurt her. I held her in my arms. Slowly her smooth, soft arms came around my neck, embracing me like a chicken’s wings embraced a chicken’s body. I felt her cheek against mine. Her face was hot.

Within a few minutes we were hurrying along the wet streets down which I had fled not half an hour ago. Near the subway entrance, a Pontiac, blue over white were its colors, with white walled tires, pulled up besides us. A short, stocky man in need of a shave jumped out in front of us. He kept one hand in his pocket.

“Blackie!” I said.

Anna carried the largest suitcase; I carried the smallest. I felt her other hand squeeze the muscle in my arm.

“Raven wants you,” Blackie said.

I knew the driver, too: Slim. He kept the engine running. I measured the distance to the subway entrance. I could probably knock Blackie down and beat it down the stairs before Slim got out of the car. But then where would I go? A goon like this Slim or Blackie had no better sense than to fire in a crowd.

“I’ve got to take my girl to the train,” I said. “I’ll be right around.”

“We’ll take her down.”

The goon took my arm and pushed me toward the car. I was ready to take my chances on belting him one and sprinting it a bit, when Anna spoke.

“Give me my bag, Dick. I’ll take the subway alone.”

Anna was a stubborn broad you had to hit on the head before she obeyed you, but she wasn’t dumb. I carried the suitcase with the money in it. I gave it to her and got in the car. Slim leaned out the window.

“Better bring the girl, too,” he said. His eyes were on the two pieces of luggage Anna carried.

“Now wait a minute!” Anna said. “I’ll have you arrested—”

“Shut up!” Blackie shoved her into the car and threw the luggage in after her. He crowded into the back with Anna and me and the luggage and slammed the door.

Slim kicked the car into gear with the heel of his right hand, raced the motor, and sped down the street. The tires made a sizzling noise on the wet pavement. Blackie smiled in the mirror at the face of the driver. I held Anna’s small hand. Her nail polish had chipped. She trembled. Her hand was cold. Blackie opened the small suitcase and discovered the money.

“Hey, Slim.”

“Yeah.”

“Ace here is really loaded. Old gentleman trick with his lady traveler by his side.”

“Wonder what Raven would say if a grand was missing when we got there?”

“He’d probably beat hell out of Ace here until he coughed it up.”

I looked at the side of Slim’s face and saw that Slim was smiling. An idea began to ferment. I turned to Blackie.

“What does Raven want with me?”

“Raven wants his money back. Queer bird, that Raven, wanting his money back.”

“I won it.”

Slim laughed. “I guess that makes Raven a sore loser. He’ll be sorry to hear that.”

Blackie sat the suitcase on the floor and took a revolver from his coat pocket and began to inspect it.

“I’ll split with you,” I bargained. “I’d rather split with you than give it all up to a sore loser. Tell him you couldn’t find me.”

Blackie was preoccupied. Slim did not answer.

“You could tell him you never found me.”

They were each thinking over my proposal. Quickly I divided eight thousand dollars three ways. A pretty good haul, I thought. But neither of the goons knew how the other felt; both were willing to cross Raven but who would speak first? I could read their minds. The silence was revealing. When Blackie looked up, I thought, “This is it!”

“Hey, doll,” Blackie said. “What’s your name?”

“Just call me Anna.”

The goon reached over and felt her bare knee. She pinched his wrist and bent his thumb back.

“Ouch!”

Slim laughed. “You let him do that to your girl, Ace?” He winked. “How did a punk like you get a broad stacked like that?”

I leaned forward, over the front seat. What could I do? I couldn’t face Raven, get roughed up, and lose all the money. I’d lose the girl, too, because I did nothing when the men talked to her this way or put their hands on her. Now where did that leave me, up the creek without a pot to pour. She wouldn’t stand me a meal or throw out a drink to me on the cuff when I dropped into the joint where she worked. Raven would spread the word that I was poison; my name would be mud all over the city, if I survived with my life.

“What’s Raven going to give you when you bring me in?” I was desperate.

Blackie leaned in front of Anna, pointing the Revolver at my stomach. I pushed back into the seat as far as I could.

“Listen, thief! One more word out of you, and I’ll let you have it. If we wanted to cross Raven, all we’d have to do is tell him you put up a fight and got hit too hard, croaked, and we couldn’t find the money. We don’t have to split nothing with you! We owe you nothing! Now shut up!”

He pulled the trigger of the revolver. I nearly fainted when I heard the hammer snap home. The snap was like an explosion to me. Pleased by the sound, Blackie put the revolver in his pocket and offered me this advice.

“Never try to corrupt an honest guy, chum.”

I had nothing more to say to these studs.

Slim turned into the parking lot of the Congo Club and stopped the car outside of Raven’s garage. Blackie picked up the small suitcase and got out. He held the door for Anna and me. The rock graveled earth made a crunching sound under our feet as we moved toward a rear entrance of the club. Anna trusted no one, with her woman’s mind; she carried the suitcase which contained her clothes. We went through the kitchen, into the club with the chairs on the table, and toward their boss’s office. Raven’s door was cracked. A light shone through the opening.

“We found them, boss.” Blackie threw the suitcase on Raven’s desk. “Just before they flew the coop.”

Raven was growing to be an old man. Already his hair had turned grey and his shoulders drooped. He stood behind the desk, a short man of five feet-five inches tall. He wore a gray suit. The collar of his white shirt was open, without a tie. He was sweating, though the office was not warm. Without replying to Blackie, he opened the suitcase and took the money out, placing it in piles on the desk.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I asked. “Are you a sore loser?”

“Under the circumstances, I’m a vengeful loser,” Raven said.

From his desk he took a silver cup. In it were six dice, three pair. He rolled the half dozen squares on the desk. I recognized the loaded pair and stared at them.

“Pick up one pair,” Raven said softly.

My breath was short and difficult. I leaned across the table, my face close to his.

“Why do you think I cheated?”

“Nobody’s accusing you.”

“You act like it.”

Raven pointed at the Dice. “Select a pair.”

Gingerly I picked up two of the dice. Anna stared at my face; instead of being afraid now, she seemed confident but bored, impatient.

“Now roll them,” said Raven.

I dropped the dice into the cup, shook them, and emptied the cup on the table.

“Pretty good point.”

He picked up the two dice, leaning forward against the table, and said: “Now once again. Two more.”

“What’re we playing for?” I tried to sound poised.

“The jackpot.” He pointed at the money.

“That’s my money. What do I get if I win?”

“Your life,” he said. “I’m giving you the odds.”

Taking a chance, waiting for a clue how to play my hand, I picked up two more dice. “I never cheated you, Raven.” I shook the dice in the cup and rolled them on the desk.

“Hummmm!” Raven sucked his teeth. “Not so good this time.” He picked up the second pair of dice. “You get one more chance.”

I stared at the loaded dice. The dice stared back at me, black eyes glaring out of white faces, many eyes on many faces that seemed to stare in every direction of the room. But I could not touch them. Every spot on the dice was an eye accusing me of cheating, ready to betray me. I could not touch the dice. I raised my hands, but the dice frightened me. Raven stared across the desk into my eyes. He leaned toward me slightly.

“Roll the last pair!” he shouted. His face was drenched with sweat.

I backed away from the desk. Raven picked up the crooked dice and ran around the desk.

“Why did you save these? Because you know about them? Because they belong to you and you didn’t get a chance to take them with you?”

He shook the dice in my face. They knocked against one another, rattling in my ears, like the devil knocking at the door of a doomed man’s heart.

“You damn crook!”

He raised his knee into me and when I bent over, he uppercutted me in the chest. In pain I sank to the floor. Agony made me double my knees up against my chest. I clenched my teeth together to keep from crying out in pain. Every beat of my heart seemed to send a pain through my stomach. Raven kicked me. I grabbed my side, groaning on the floor. My one thought was that if I did not fight back, he might let me go lightly. If I fought back, I hadn’t a chance against his goons. I lay on the floor waiting for him to tell me to get up.

“Get up!” he said. “Stand up like a man!”

He slammed the top down on the suitcase and threw it across the room. Anna ran to pick it up. Her pocketbook dangled from her shoulder by a long strap. I pulled myself to my feet. Blackie and Slim stood watching me.

“You mean I can go now?” I asked.

“Go? You’re going all right,” Raven said. “When you go, you’ll be so marked up, the whole world’ll know not to trust you.” He turned to Anna. “Don’t you think guys like him ought to be marked, so people will know how to be more careful?”

“What about the broad?” Blackie asked.

“She can keep me company while you take smarty pants here down to the cellar and put some identification marks on his face.”

They seized me by my arms. Anna ran up to Raven and grabbed his arms, pleading into his face.

“What are going to do to him?” she cried. “Don’t hurt him. He didn’t mean to cheat you or anybody. He did it for me. He was only trying to be a big guy for me. Please! Please, Mister! Let him go! I made him do it by nagging him and driving him. I’ll take him away, anywhere, only let him go. I... I’ll do anything you say!”

The tears running down her face, the whimper in her voice, gave me strength; I could take anything they gave me. They couldn’t hurt me.

“Don’t beg for me, Anna!”

That hurt me more than anything, having her beg like that, and offer to do anything. How many guys had a girl like that?

I was sorry for all the times I’d beat her.

“Go ahead, you idiots!” screamed Raven, as if he had not heard her cry. “What are you waiting for?”

They turned me around and pushed me toward the door. There was a noise behind us, a cry from Raven, and a cry from Anna. The goons turned me loose; we all whirled around. Raven lay on the floor, and Anna was pulling at the drawers of his desk. The goons each went for their rods, but I was behind them. I grabbed them and knocked their heads together, before they got the rods out of their pockets. By that time, Raven was on his feet, and Anna had found a revolver in his desk, and was pointing it, waving it wildly about the room.

“Over here! Over here with your boss!” She ordered them around like a cop might do. Then to me: “Get their guns.”

I lifted their rods.

“Now hunt around to see if you can’t find something so we can tie them up to keep them for a while.”

I searched around the office but could find nothing.

“Try the cellar,” she said.

Raven and his boys stood against the wall with their hands hanging loosely at their sides.

“You don’t get away with this,” he said. “This is robbery.”

“Move,” Anna said, “and I’ll shoot you.”

Even though she’d never picked up a bottle or drew a knife or pulled a gun on me when we fought, I knew she’d shoot.

Somehow, though, I didn’t believe I’d ever have the nerve to bust her one in the mouth again.

On the train, she turned to me; the soft pressure of her thigh increased against my leg.

“Darling,” she said, “you were going to let them beat you and take the money, weren’t you?”

“What else could I do?”

“But it was your money. You won it. You did win it, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” We both smiled.

“I hate a sore loser,” she said. “I hate a sore loser worse than I hate a two-bit, two-for-a-nickle punk.”