His legs were beginning to cramp. Without standing, he straightened first one and then the other, trying to ease the kinks.
It wasn’t that he really hated Al and Frank. Hatred implied feeling and he felt nothing at all for them. They existed only insofar as they posed a threat to Mac. They wanted to kill him. The very thought made Johnny shake deep inside, and he pushed it away quickly.
After what seemed like a very long time, the back door of the Cove creaked open. Johnny tensed, then leaned forward a little, until he could see two dark profiles standing just a few feet away. They talked together in muffled tones as Al struggled to light a cigar in the wind.
Johnny rested his arm across the top of a crate, sighting carefully as if he were throwing a dart at a target, and squeezed the trigger of the .45. The first bullet struck Frank in the back of the head and the big man toppled over, already dead. Al lifted his head in startled reaction. Johnny fired again, the sound of the shot nearly swallowed up by the wind and the music, and this bullet hit Al in the chest. He fumbled inside of his coat desperately. Johnny fired again, and this time the bullet smashed into Al’s forehead.
Johnny waited a moment, the gun still poised, but neither of the men moved. He slipped out of his hiding place and knelt next to Al, rummaging through the dead man’s pockets until he found a fat money belt. Quickly he counted out exactly $375, then shoved the rest back.
An instant later he stepped out of the alley, mingling once again with the crowd on the sidewalk. Inside the jacket pocket, one hand still clutched the gun.
Now that it was over, he felt numb. Two men were dead and he was the one who’d killed them. It wasn’t the first time he’d killed, of course. But, no, he wouldn’t think about that, wouldn’t try to focus on the grey memory that haunted him. Mac said it didn’t matter.
He stopped to buy an Orange Julius and carried it down to the subway to wait for the train that would take him home. That was all he wanted. To get home, back to the small room that meant safety, back to Mac.
Chapter 14
He woke once and stirred restlessly, feeling strangely alone. But that was stupid, because he knew that Johnny was there, sound asleep probably, just across the small room. It was senseless to wake him. Mac wanted to turn his head for a quick look, just to be sure that everything was okay, but the effort involved in such a maneuver seemed beyond his meager resources at that moment. With the thought still half-formed, he fell asleep again.
The next time he woke, Johnny was there, sitting next to the bed. Mac grunted a greeting, trying to focus his fuzzy gaze. Johnny, he noted, idly, was fully dressed and holding the gun in his hand.
The gun?
Now Mac was wide awake. “Hey,” he managed to say through a dry throat.
After a beat, Johnny glanced up. “Hi,” he said dully.
“I could use . . . some water, babe.”
Johnny nodded, but otherwise didn’t move.
Mac was bewildered, as if the beating had scrambled his brains and maybe it had. “Johnny? What’s wrong? What’re you doing with the gun?”
Johnny looked at the gun in surprise, as if he’d forgotten that it was clenched in his fingers. “Don’t be mad,” he whispered. “Promise you won’t get mad at me, Mac.” Before Mac could respond, Johnny set the gun carefully on the floor and went over to the sink. He let the water run for a minute to get cold, then filled a glass, and brought it back to the bed. “Here.”
Mac raised himself a little and sipped tentatively. Everything seemed to be working okay, and he relaxed slightly. “Why should I get mad?” he asked when his throat felt better. “Johnny, what’s going on?”
Johnny sat on the edge of the bed. He ducked his head, staring at the blanket, fingering a small hole in the cheap material. “Please, Mac. Promise.”
“I promise,” Mac said after a moment, suddenly afraid without knowing why.
Johnny sighed, watching his fingers enlarge the tear in the blanket. “I killed them.”
“What? Who?” Mac realized that the poor guy was having another nightmare about Tan Pret. There hadn’t been so many lately, but they still upset the kid a lot. “Hey, we’ve talked about this before, right?”
“No. This is something else. I killed Al and Frank.”
Mac heard the words and even understood them, but the meaning didn’t register. “What?”
“I killed Al and Frank a little while ago. I shot them both.”
“Ohmygod,” Mac breathed, drawing back a little. “You did what?” He gripped Johnny’s arm with a strength he didn’t think his battered body still had. “Is this a dream, John? That’s it, right? Some kind of a crazy dream?”
But Johnny shook his head. “No,” he said, still whispering. “It’s not a dream. It really happened.”
“What happened?” Mac realized that his voice was cracking. He finished the water in a gulp and took a deep breath. “Tell me all about it, Johnny. From the beginning.” Something in Johnny’s face made him add, “I’m not mad, kid. I just want to know.”
Johnny relaxed a little. “After you fell asleep, I took your gun and caught the subway over to the Cove, ‘cause that’s where they hang out. I waited in the alley for a long time. It was really cold, too,” he added. “Finally they came out, Al and Frank. I shot Frank first, because he was the closest. I shot him in the head. Then I shot Al, but the first bullet didn’t kill him, so I had to do it again. They were both dead.” He fumbled in his pocket. “I got your money back. Three hundred and seventy-five, right? He had a lot more, but I only took yours.” When Mac didn’t reach for the bills, Johnny dropped them onto the floor next to the gun. “Then I bought an Orange Julius and caught the subway home.” He made the entire recitation flatly, without the slightest trace of emotion, sounding like a TV anchorman delivering the evening news on a dull day. Finished, he raised his eyes and met Mac’s gaze. Now his voice was strained. “I had to do it, Mac. They hurt you and they were going to kill you next time; you said so.”
Mac suddenly remembered the expression in Johnny’s eyes the day he tried to grease Crazy George; that same look was there now. The water he’d just finished threatened to come right back up. “Oh, Johnny,” he said helplessly. He shook his head. “Ohchrist, kid.”
Johnny’s brow wrinkled anxiously. “You’re not mad, are you? Please, don’t be. You promised.”
Mac released his hold on Johnny’s arm. “No,” he said absently, his mind on other things. “I’m not mad.”
Johnny smiled a little. “Okay, then, it’s all right.”
“All right?” Mac leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to think. There was no way that the weapon used could be traced to him. He’d won the gun in a poker game in Nam, won it from a guy who’d bought it on the black market in Da Nang. At least they were safe on that front. “Nobody saw what happened?” he asked, opening his eyes. “You’re sure?”
“Nobody saw, Mac. It was dark. The music was so loud that they couldn’t even hear the shots.”
“Well, thank god for that, anyway. Maybe we can pull this off.”
“You understand why I had to do it, don’t you?”
Mac stared into the guileless blue eyes that begged for approval like a child would, or a pet dog seeking the loving attention of its master. “Yeah, Johnny,” he said finally, “I know why you did it.” That was a lie, of course, because he didn’t understand, not really, not completely anyway. But the blue eyes needed reassurance and so he lied. “Don’t think about it anymore right now, okay? It’s over and done with, so now things will be better. Understand?”
“Sure, Mac, just as long as you’re not mad at me.” Johnny stood and began to undress.
Mac watched him absently, rubbing the bridge of his sore nose gently. Well, it wasn’t as if those two bastards would ever be missed by anyone. And, hell, they really might have killed him. Probably would have, if he hadn’t come up with the rest of the cash. He sighed.
Johnny, stripped to his shorts, stood in the center
of the room, looking around helplessly, as if he couldn’t remember what the hell he’d been doing. Then a frown crossed his face. “Mac?”
“Huh?” Mac replied vaguely, still finding it hard to believe that this bewildered man-child had just finished blowing away two of the toughest collectors in the city. “What, kid?”
“Could I . . . could I stay over here with you for a while? I don’t want to be by myself.”
Mac hesitated, then attempted a shrug. “Okay, come on.” He scooted over to make room, grimacing a little as his body protested.
Johnny turned off the lamp and stretched out next to him, giving a long sigh. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Everything. For not being mad, and for letting me stay here with you.”
Mac wanted to smash somebody’s head against the wall, but whether it should be his own or Johnny’s, he didn’t know. “Ah, shit, Johnny,” he said finally. “Go to sleep.”
“Okay. Things are gonna be better now, huh?”
Mac closed his eyes. “Yeah, kid, sure,” he said. “Things are gonna pick up.”
“Good.”
“But for now go to sleep, willya?”
Johnny didn’t answer, but in only a few minutes, his breathing had taken on the regular pattern of sleep. Mac finally turned his face to the wall and slept as well.
Chapter 15
Despite the morning chill that touched the room, the two bodies lying together in the narrow bed created a damp heat of their own, and it was that warmth which woke Mac finally. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease out from under the weight of Johnny’s arm across his chest. The pressure and the heat combined until he felt as if he would suffocate. He moved again and Johnny moaned a soft, wordless protest, but didn’t awaken. Mac finally managed to plant both feet on the floor and get up from the bed.
The cold air hit like an electric shock against his hot, flushed skin, and he stood still for a moment, feeling strangely breathless. At last he began to move, albeit slowly. His body ached all over, and the brief glimpse he took in the mirror revealed a face that would take two weeks to heal. But despite all that, Al and Frank were—had been—pros, and they hadn’t really intended to do him any serious damage last night. This first time was only meant to serve as a warning. Well, there wouldn’t be a second time. He glanced at Johnny, still curled in the bed, sleeping as deeply as a child. It was still almost impossible to believe what he’d done.
Moving carefully, Mac got dressed. When he’d donned cords and a sweater, and finished a can of flat soda pop he found on the table, he went back to crouch by the bed. “John?” he whispered.
Two bleary eyes snapped open. “Huh?”
“I have to go someplace. You stay inside today, understand?”
Fear flickered through the sleepy blue gaze. “Where are you going?”
“Just out. I want to see if there’s anything going down about what happened.”
“About what I did, you mean?”
“Yeah.” Mac picked up the money from the floor where Johnny had dropped it the night before. “You okay?”
“I guess so.”
Mac patted his shoulder absently. “Sure you are. See you in a little while.” Grabbing his coat, Mac left the room quickly. Outside, he paused, taking deep gulps of the icy air. He felt like a drowning man being given oxygen. The cold seemed to steady him a little, and he was able to walk almost briskly to the Coffee Cup Cafe three blocks away.
Taking a seat at the counter, he ordered coffee and a Danish, and reached for the communal copy of the morning paper. Of course, he realized that it was too soon for there to be anything on the shooting, but he read each headline anyway, just in case.
When that task was complete, he gestured for another cup of coffee and glanced down the length of the counter, spotting a familiar face. “Working so early in the morning, Shirl?” he asked lightly.
The scrawny blonde grinned. “Rent’s due, Alex. A girl’s gotta keep a roof over her head.”
“Yeah, I guess.” He watched Shirley sip Coke through a straw. She was young, about Johnny’s age, but she looked older. Not bad, though.
“You walk into a door or something?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“Your face. Looks like a meat grinder worked you over.”
“Close.” He grimaced. “You know how it is.”
She nodded glumly. “Sure do. How’s John?”
“Okay,” he replied, feeling the familiar tightening of tension in his gut. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Just wondering. I like John. He’s funny.”
“Funny?”
“Uh-huh. He makes me laugh sometimes.”
Mac didn’t particularly like the idea of people laughing at the kid. He was weird, yeah, but he had feelings like everybody else.
Shirley must have seen the disapproval on his face, because she suddenly spit the piece of ice she’d been sucking on back into the glass. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything bad, you know? I don’t laugh at John because of . . . well, because of the way he’s kinda slow and all. I just meant that he makes jokes sometimes.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Johnny’s a regular Bob Hope once he gets going.” Shit, if the kid ever made a joke, it must have been an accident. He probably wondered why the hell everybody was laughing. “He’s not really slow, you know,” he said. “Johnny was the valedictorian of his high school class.”
“Yeah? That’s good, huh?”
“Means he was the smartest one there.” Mac glumly crumpled the last of his Danish. It wasn’t even noon yet, and the rest of the day stretched out endlessly in front of him. He could spend the time walking the streets trying to find out what anybody might know about the killings. Or he could go back to the room, that damned room that threatened sometimes to suffocate him, and try to carry on a conversation with Johnny. Right at the moment, though, he didn’t feel up to that challenge.
“You feeling down, Alex?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Why?”
He sipped the cooling coffee and wondered what she would do if he actually told her all his problems. Fall asleep, probably. “Why not?” was all he said.
“I got a couple of joints, if you’re interested.”
“No. Thanks anyway.” Not about to mess up my mind like that, he thought. Booze is one thing, but I don’t need any of that other shit. Hell, one spaceman in the family was enough.
Maybe there was something else he could do to kill some time until the late editions hit the street. “Fifty bucks pay your rent?”
“And then some.”
He shoved the empty cup away. “How about I pick up a bottle and we go to your place?”
She pushed blonde strands out of her eyes. “Sounds good. Beats the hell out of standing on a street corner in this weather.” She grinned. “Besides, sometimes it’s nice making it with a friend, you know?”
It was already dark when he finally left Shirley’s place, still a little drunk, groggy with too much sleep and sex and alcohol. He walked home slowly, stopping at a candy store for a paper; as an afterthought to appease his guilt over having left Johnny sitting alone in the room for so long, he also bought a candy bar.
Johnny was slumped in the chair, half-asleep, a copy of TV Guide open in his lap. Crazy kid read the guide every week, even though they didn’t have the set anymore. He woke with a start when the door opened, then smiled. “Hi.”
“Hi, buddy.” He tossed the candy into his lap. “I got that for you.”
“Thanks.”
Mac grunted and sat down on the bed, opening the newspaper. The story was on page three. “Two men found shot,” he read aloud. “You want to hear this?”
“I don’t care.” Johnny was carefully unwrapping the chocolate.
“ ‘Police are investigating the shooting deaths of two men reputed to have ties to local gambling interests. The bodies of Francis Muldair and Albert Nueman were found behind the Pirate’s Cove Ba
r in Manhattan. According to a police spokesman, there are no leads thus far in the double slaying. The two men reportedly worked for Daniel Tedesco, local gambling kingpin.’ ” He looked up. “That’s all it says.”
Johnny nodded. “They don’t know I did it.”
Mac threw the paper aside and began unlacing his shoes. “Everything go okay today?”
“Yes. I stayed here, just like you said to.”
“Good boy.” Mac grinned. “To tell the truth, babe, I’m a little drunk.”
“I know.”
“You can tell, huh? How?” Mac pulled off his sweater and pants.
“Because whenever you’re drunk, you have this stupid-looking smile on your face,” Johnny said mildly.
“Thanks a lot.” He flopped back onto his bed. “Tomorrow, Johnny, we really gotta talk.”
“Sure, Mac, whenever you want.”
He lay there for a long time in a sort of fuzzy glow, all the tension of the morning gone, watching Johnny finish the candy bar and then undress for the night. It was a pleasant moment, and he wished it could be like this all the time. Johnny pushed the chair and footstool together and spread out the blanket, as Mac still watched. “‘Night, Johnny,” he mumbled as the light went out.
“Good night, Mac. Thanks for the candy.”
He nodded, although Johnny couldn’t see him in the dark, and fell asleep.
Chapter 16
They didn’t talk the next day after all. Somehow the right moment never seemed to arrive, and as several more days went by, they both seemed more than willing to simply forget what had happened. Although deep inside himself Mac knew that a day of reckoning would have to come sooner or later, he decided to just go with the flow as old Wash used to say. Go with the flow. Mac’s luck was on an upswing suddenly and he was winning regularly, winning big. He got the TV out of hock and even blew a wad on a pair of genuine leather gloves for Johnny. The kid, meanwhile, was overdosing on soda and television.
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