The Big Gold Dream

19

A woman let them in to the third-floor apartment in Roger Morris. Dummy's hope of catching sight of his deaf porter friend in the vestibule hadn't borne fruit. He would have signaled him a message, if no more than to say "Watch out."

He experienced an infinite dread of going unarmed to a strange apartment with Slick and Susie. The woman did nothing to allay it.

Dummy thought that she was a very strange woman. Ordinarily she would have looked like any other sepia-colored well-kept women, of which there were millions. But her hair was dyed bright yellow and pulled so tightly in a severe bun at the nape of her neck that it stretched the skin about her eyes, making the lids slant like an Oriental's. She wore a high-necked, tight-fitting Chinese gown of deep purple silk. She was thin, but she didn't look anemic. Her nostrils had a pale pinched look, and the pupils of her brown eyes were so distended her eyes looked almost black. She carried her head unnaturally high, and she didn't speak. Silently she led them down a close-smelling, almost pitch-dark hall, past several closed doors, to the front sitting room.

It was a big room with three windows overlooking Edgecombe Drive and the rocky clifflike park dropping to the flats bordering Harlem River; in the distance the streets of West Bronx could be seen, rising like a terraced landscape fashioned of bricks.

In the brighter light Dummy saw at a glance that she was a junky; that she sniffed cocaine; that she had been sniffing it for so long she didn't know what life was without it and couldn't live such a life for one full day. That didn't worry him; but her silence did. That and something else about her that he couldn't figure. She never looked directly at anyone.

"Sit down," Slick ordered the two of them, and sprawled onto a chaise longue flanked by a glass-topped cocktail table. To the woman he said, "Fix my pipe and bring my rod."

The woman moved, as though flowing, through another door into another room.

Susie and Dummy found chairs on opposite sides of Slick, as far apart from each other as possible. Dummy sat on the edge of his seat with his feet drawn back and his leg muscles tense, as though prepared to leap in any direction the occasion demanded. But Susie sat sprawled out in his seat-his legs extended, his cowboy boots crossed and the brim of the beaver hat pulled down over his eyes, as though to give the impression he had been there before and was not impressed.

However, it was an impressive room. The furniture didn't match and didn't fit, but every piece was expensive and unusual. Everything, including the curtains and drapes-with the exception of the console radio-record player-television set-had been stolen at one time or another, and Slick had bought it hot.

Dummy's gaze roved from one piece to another. The furniture seemed to be trying to tell him something, but he didn't know what.

No one spoke. The silence oppressed Dummy and put his nerves on a screaming edge. Susie lit a fresh stick of marijuana, took out his knife and began strapping the blade on his boot. Slick didn't seem to be bothered at all.

The woman returned, moving so silently across the carpeted floor that no one saw her until she stood beside the cocktail table flanking Slick's chair. She placed a round, ivory-colored plastic tray on the glass top. The tray held a small nickel-plated alcohol lamp and a water-cooled pipe. The metal bowl rested on the alcohol lamp, and the bit was stuck into a coil of transparent tubing like the head of a sleeping snake. Nestled among the rest was a flat, vicious-looking, blued-steel eleven-shot. 38 caliber Colt automatic pistol.

The gazes of both Susie and Dummy focused on the pistol and didn't leave it.

The woman took the opium pill from her pocket, kneaded it skillfully with slim, delicate fingers and shaped it into a tiny ball. She fitted the ball into the shallow cavity of the metal bowl and lighted the alcohol lamp, and at the first bubbling of the pill she picked up the bit, unfurling the tube, and placed it between Slick's lips.

Four puffs and it was finished.

The woman cleaned up and removed the tray, leaving the pistol on the glass top. She flowed silently from the room without having once looked directly at anyone.

Slick lay back with his eyes half closed and seemed lost to the world. The silence ran on. He didn't give the impression of having any intention of breaking it.

Dummy swallowed nervously, making a sound like a baby burping. Susie gave a violent start and jerked up the knife. Slick looked over at Dummy sleepily.

"Don't make so much noise," he said in a slow lazy voice.

They sat waiting. The silence got on Susie's nerves. The windows were closed against the heat, and the room was in the shade. But the air was motionless, and a haze of marijuana smoke collected about Susie's head.

Dummy could sense the silence, although he couldn't hear it. His eyes rolled in their sockets, and his head turned slowly from side to side as though controlled by an eccentric gear. He looked at the knife in Susie's hand; his gaze traveled upward to Susie's face, then turned and ran along the wall, passed over pieces of furniture and focused for a time on Slick's face; it traveled down the length of Slick's reclining body, then slowly returned over the same orbit.

Slick gave himself twenty minutes for the hop to settle comfortably in his head. Then he came suddenly to life.

"Now," he said briskly, sitting up.

He picked up the automatic pistol, ejected the clip, saw that it was fully loaded, looked at the cartridge in the chamber and reinserted the clip. The safety was on; he snapped it off and laid the pistol back atop the table within easy reach.

"What do you think of this?" he asked in a conversational tone of voice, took the first of the three pages from Dummy's scratch pad and held it out toward Susie.

Susie stared at it. His babyish face did not change expression. No intelligence showed in his dilated eyes.

The play took Dummy by surprise. He hadn't expected that development. He had overplayed his hand. Now he was caught running a bluff, facing two armed men-and all he had were his fists. The fists of a prize fighter are considered lethal weapons in New York, but they won't stand up to a gun and a knife.

His body froze and his intestines knotted into a hard lump of gristle. Except for his gaze jerking back and forth from the sheet of paper to Susie's face, he might have been petrified. Now was the time when he needed all his wits, but his brain felt frozen, too.

"Here, rockhead, take it and read it," Slick said to Susie. "And get your brains thawed out; you're going to need them."

Susie stood up slowly, stepped over to Slick and took the paper in his left hand. He looked vaguely puzzled. The dead marijuana butt was glued to his bottom lip like a shred of stained paper, and he held the open knife in his right hand like a riding crop. From a sitting position he looked bigger than he actually was; his shoulders looked a mile wide, and his legs resembled building piles.

His lips moved as his slow, drugged mind spelled out the words: the punk is doublecrossin you.

He frowned and looked down at Slick. The cold, repelling expression on Slick's face made him blink. It was obvious that he didn't get it. He read the line again.

"Do it mean me?" he asked incredulously.

Slick didn't answer.

Susie's gaze swung to Dummy. He pointed with the forefinger of the hand in which he held the note as though aiming a pistol. "He wrote it," he said thickly.

All of a sudden he went berserk. His babyish face contorted with insensate rage. He leaped at Dummy and cut at his face with a slashing motion. It went so fast no one was prepared. The big brutal blade moved faster than sight.

A hair-raising noise issued from Dummy's tongueless mouth, sounding like a wild horse screaming in terror. But his body moved automatically from an instinct born in the ring. He gripped the arms of the chair and pushed back with both feet, shifting his full weight to his shoulder blades braced against the back of the chair, and kicked out with his feet tight together. The canvas sneakers didn't carry the impact that hard-soled shoes would have, but the pushing power did the trick. They caught Susie at the top of the thighs and sent him crashing backward into the television set as the arc of the slashing blade passed within a fraction of an inch of Dummy's eyes.

With the same motion, Dummy came down on his feet as Susie bounced from the heavy television set as though his flesh were made of rubber. Susie came in, stabbing sideways in strictly an amateur's thrust, and Dummy wove beneath it and right-handed him in the solar plexus. Spit-drenched air spewed from Susie's stretched mouth in a rush of whining sound, and his eyes bugged out.

"Cut it out," Slick said in a level voice as he picked up the automatic pistol.

Dummy didn't see him, and Susie didn't hear him. Susie moved in a rage that didn't need breath and stabbed backhanded at Dummy's crouching figure. It was a desperate, unbalanced, half-aimed thrust, but it would have caught Dummy in the back of the neck if he hadn't made a blind, headlong dive. He dove into the cocktail table and smashed to the floor, landing, belly flat, on top of the broken glass.

"Cut it out, I said," Slick repeated without moving from his seat. He acted as though he had seen a lot of fights and had command of the situation.

But still Susie didn't hear him. The blood was beating in his ears, and his vision was blurred. He doubled to the floor, retching, his neck muscles swollen and corded from his effort to get his breath.

For a moment the tableau held.

At that moment the woman opened the door and took one step into the room. Her gaze darted about as though to locate the source of the commotion, but she didn't look at anyone in particular.

A sudden pool of silence dropped into the room like an air pocket in a raging storm, and she said in an anxious voice, "Honey, you all right?"

Lying on his belly, Dummy read her lips and felt his hair rise.

Susie got his breath with a sound like hissing steam and straightened up. He saw Dummy and started toward him. Dummy pushed to his feet and ran, doubled over, past the woman and through the door. She didn't look at him, but when he ran past her she screamed.

"I'll kill you," Slick said in a flat, absolute voice.

Susie pulled up as though he had run full tilt into an invisible wall.

"Put that knife away and sit down," Slick ordered. Then he said to the woman, "It's all right, baby."

Susie folded the knife, stuck it into the watch pocket of his corduroy pants, went back to his chair and sat down. But he wasn't looking at Slick; he was looking at the woman and frowning.

"The other one," the woman said hesitantly.

"He's all right," Slick said, adding as though by way of explanation, "he's a dummy."

"Oh," the woman said.

Dummy could be heard working with the locks on the outside door.

The woman returned through the door she had entered and closed it behind her. She lay on the bed, reached over to the bed table and turned up the small gilt radio she had been listening to.

Dummy had passed through the room to the hall, but he couldn't get the outside door open.

Finally Slick got up from his seat and went through the other door and down the hall, carrying the pistol loosely at his side. He touched Dummy on the shoulder and said, "You can't get out without a key."

It was too dark in the hall for Dummy to read his lips, but Dummy knew what he wanted. He turned, walked docilely ahead of Slick back to the front room and resumed his seat.

Slick returned to the chaise longue, ignoring the broken table.

"Let's don't have any more of that," he said. "It disturbs baby." He placed the automatic on the floor beside him, then took the other two pages from Dummy's pad and held them out toward Susie.

"Now read these and let's talk about it," he said.

Susie got up, took the pages, sat down and read them, his lips moving as he spelled out the words.

"Well, what about it?" Slick demanded.

"About what?" Susie muttered sullenly.

"Where's the money?"

"I ain't talking in front of this dummy," Susie said. "He's a stool pigeon."

"So what?"

Susie began to puff up; his neck began swelling as though he were choking, and his cheeks puffed out. "Look, man, what is you trying to do?" he challenged. "You and him ain't trying nothing like a frame on me, is you?"

"Not me," said Slick indifferently. "I just want the money."

"Because if you is," Susie went on, "you're going to have to use that rod 'stead of just waving it 'round."

Slick nodded toward Dummy. "Ask him what he's trying to do."

Both of them turned and stared at Dummy. He sat forward on the edge of his seat, gripping his knees with his hand, and looked from one to the other.

"What you want?" Susie asked in a threatening tone of voice.

Dummy shrugged and made a V with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

"What's that mean?" Susie asked.

Slick turned his stare back to Susie. "You're not very bright, rockhead," he said. "He wants to cut himself a slice of our pie."

"He's going to get more slices than he's looking for," Susie threatened.

"You worry too much," Slick said. "I know what I'm doing."

"Maybe you does, but I don't," Susie said.

"Let him alone," Slick said. "We might need him."

"Need a stool pigeon?" Susie echoed.

"Why not? If he's really a stool pigeon, it's a damn good thing we got hold of him in time, with what he already knows," Slick pointed out.

"I just ask you, don't oversport yourself," Susie said. "I ain't nobody to play with."

"We got that settled," Slick said coldly. "Now where's the money?"

"Listen, I told you what was what," Susie flared.

Again Slick nodded in the direction of Dummy. "He doesn't believe you."

Susie turned and looked at Dummy again. "You're going to be sorry you ever messed in my business," he promised.

"I'm getting tired of this," Slick said in his flat, deadly voice. "I asked you where was the money."

"I ain't got it," Susie said, giving him a straight answer.

"Okay-I hope you're leveling," Slick said.

"I'm leveling," Susie said.

"Okay, you haven't got it. Let's start from there. What did you find in her joint?"

"Nothing. Her joker had already searched it again before I got there, and if anything was hid there he'd been sure to find it," Susie said.

"How do you know he didn't?" Slick asked.

"He didn't," Susie said. "I found him sleep on the floor, and I looked around and saw he'd searched the joint; then I searched him. He didn't even wake up. You can bet if he'd had anything worth stealing, he'd been wide awake."

"Let's get back to the mattress," Slick said.

"I has told you, there wasn't nothing in that mattress," Susie flared angrily.

"So you did," Slick said. "You also said you saw her put it there."

Susie corrected him. "I said I seen her sewing the mattress up. And I took it for granted that would be the only reason she'd be sewing up a mattress in the middle of the night."

"Too bad you didn't get it then," Slick said.

Neither of them noticed Dummy leaning forward with his eyes stretched.

"I couldn't have with her joker hanging 'round," Susie said.

"And it wasn't in the mattress when you got it," Slick said.

"It weren't there, and the side of the mattress had been cut open again," Susie said. "One of them beat me to it," he added. "But I don't know which one."

Grunting sounds issuing from Dummy's mouth drew their attention. He had gotten out his scratch pad and was writing in it. He got up and showed Slick what he had written.

Slick looked up at Susie. "He says neither of them got it."

Susie's face swelled with sudden rage. "If he keeps on trying to frame me, I'm going to stick him," he threatened again.

Dummy moved away from the broken table so it wouldn't be in his way if he had to protect himself.

Slick reached out a foot and touched him on the leg. "How do you know neither of them got it?" he asked.

Dummy wrote in his pad: i know alright.

"He just says he knows," Slick told Susie.

"He knows more than what's good for him," Susie said. maybe she still got it on her, Dummy wrote in his pad and showed it to Slick.

"Not in jail, she hasn't," Slick said. "And it was you who said she didn't know where it was."

Dummy shrugged.

"Maybe she took it out the mattress and hid it somewhere else," Susie said.

Dummy shook his head in the negative.

"I got a feeling that we ain't being very smart," Slick said.

"You're supposed to be the brains," Susie reminded him.

"That's right," Slick acknowledged. "And I'm going to start using them."