Mike Shayne's Torrid Twelve

by editor Leo Margules

  “What’s happening?” Elmo says to me.

  “Nothing. The clock stopped.”

  “I saw the P. D. car up the street.”

  “Them cops is just taking the air, Elmo.”

  We’re still talking when this boiler screeches up and stops on a dime. Out pops Cooch and walks toward us.

  The car busts away. Cooch greets us. He got on a red china-collar shirt loud enough to blind you. This boy is always well-pressed. He’s our War Counselor, but things is quiet. We got nothing special on with no other cliques.

  “Where you come from, Cooch?” Elmo asks.

  “No place. Me and Digger was just riding around.”

  “In whose car?”

  “Damned if I know. Digger took a liking to it, so he borrowed it for the night.”

  “You should have stayed with him.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause there’s no excitement here.”

  “I already had mine driving with Digger. That’s a two-headed maniac for speed. He’s going to end up dead and wrapped around a lamp-post.”

  That brings a laugh, but it’s the truth. The talk goes on about Digger. When that’s finished, we’re back where we started with nothing to do.

  Everybody’s kind of quiet. I’m bored, so I say, “Who’s got any ideas for fun?”

  “Let’s get some chicks and go down to the clubhouse,” Stovepipe suggests.

  “Hell, there ain’t no chicks around. Behind that, it’s too hot to breathe in that funky old cellar,” I tell him.

  “Best is on the roof,” Elmo says.

  That’s it. Everybody’s for the idea, so we hit for Elmo’s house and go on up to the roof. It’s fine up there. Kind of dark and nice.

  We lay around and light up. My lips is feeling dry. A cool drink is in order. “Elmo, you like beer?” I say.

  “Hey, you got some stacked away?”

  “Nay, but I know where some lonely bottles is to be had.”

  “You want to haul and get them?”

  “I’m kind of lazy tonight,” I say, and I nod to Stovepipe and Fandango. That’s the cue. Old Elmo picks it up.

  “You two studs got a job,” he says to Stovepipe and Fandango.

  They both pop on me, and I get on my feet ready to bust heads.

  “You hear what the President says,” I tell them. “You’re elected. Don’t do what he says, and I’ll throw both of you headfirst off this damn roof.”

  They ain’t talking now, cause they’re scared. They just look at me uneasy like.

  “Okay,” Elmo says, “where’s the beer?”

  “Back of Rivera’s grocery. I saw them bottles from the roof today.”

  “How you get to them?”

  “Best way is over the fence from the other street.”

  “You hear that?” Elmo says to Stovepipe and Fandango. “You got the word from the man who knows.”

  “Yeah, I’m the best spotter around,” I say. “Now get going, and don’t come back without the suds if you want your heads.”

  There’s no argument now. They take off, go down the stairs. I light up another butt and laugh.

  “What’s the joke?” Cooch asks me.

  “Them is two real stupid studs.”

  “Yeah, and they don’t like each other for nothing.”

  “That’s the truth. Me, I hate both their guts.”

  “What you got special against them?”

  “I don’t like Stovepipe’s long neck, and Fandango, I don’t feature the way he looks at me.”

  Everybody laughs on that, and we wait it out for the beer. If Rivera catches them, they’re both dead and buried. If it wasn’t for the beer, that’d be a good idea.

  Fifteen minutes passes, and there’s thumping on the stairs. The roof-door busts open and them two cats is back with bottles.

  There’s all kind of grabbing, and Elmo blows his top. “Put them bottles down,” he says. “I divide.”

  That’s done quick. Elmo counts bottles and heads. He don’t say nothing then, just hands out the loot.

  First comes himself. Cooch is next. I’m third in line. There’s seven bottles and eight guys. That leaves one lonely bottle between the two flunkies, and their tongues is hanging to the floor.

  “Divide it any way you want,” Elmo tells them.

  The rest of us is already knocking off caps, lifting elbows. That beer is kind of warm, but it’s a free load, so who cares?

  I have me a real good swig when arguing busts out between Stovepipe and Fandango. Both want first lick at that bottle.

  They’re ready to fight, but Elmo cuts in, “Cool it, you studs,” he tells them. “I said cool it!”

  They shut up now, both standing like sticks, both with a hand on that bottle.

  “Okay, that’s better,” Elmo says. “Now, you want to settle it peaceable?”

  “Let ’em fight it out,” I put in. “That’s a better idea.”

  Elmo don’t hold with that. “Flip a coin,” he says. “Let the winner take all.”

  “Good enough for me,” Stovepipe says. “You want to flip once for the whole?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Stovepipe reaches in his pocket for a coin, fetches it out.

  “Call, man.”

  “Heads is the winner.”

  Stovepipe flips the coin, catches it on his palm and slaps it flat on his wrist. They both look, and Stovepipe lets out a whoop.

  “Yeah, tails on top. That beer is mine.”

  Fandango blows his lid. Everybody laughs, and that does him in. He’s so sore he busts down the stairs.

  Nobody cares. We go back to our drinking. After a while, Stovepipe wanders over to the roof-edge with his bottle.

  I turn to Elmo and say, “You had a right to let them two fight it out for the bottle.”

  “What for? It’s settled.”

  “Hell it’s settled. Fandango’s going to hold that against him.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. Wait and see.”

  “Okay, we’ll see.”

  What I don’t tell Elmo is in my mind. Being I don’t like them two flunkies, and they don’t like themselves, I figure to set them against each other.

  About an hour later, we move down from the roof. Me and Stovepipe is last. On the way down, I say to him, “You hear what Fandango accused you of? He said you cheated him out of that beer.”

  “I didn’t hear him say that.”

  “I know, ’cause you was too busy being happy.”

  “Yeah, how could I cheat him?”

  “I ain’t said you did or didn’t, ’cause that ain’t my business. But I thought you’d like to know.”

  “Thanks for the info, Johnny.”

  “Okay, you going to let it stand?”

  “Hell, no. I’m going to put that back down his throat.”

  We hit the bottom of the stairs and come outside. Stovepipe busts away for the corner fast.

  “Hey, where you running?” Cooch yells. “The night is hot.”

  “Let him go, excitement’s coming. He’s looking for Fandango’s head,” I tell Cooch.

  “What for?”

  “That quart of beer made him feel brave and strong. Come on and see the happenings.”

  We all take out after Stovepipe and reach the candy store. Stovepipe’s inside already. I hear his voice above the juke.

  Next thing, both of them is heading for the door. They come out on the sidewalk, stand off and do some fancy name-calling. I give them a little help and say, “Don’t talk it out. Fight it out and settle the issue.”

  That does it. They move together, start swinging. For a couple of minutes, it’s a wild fight, better than I expected. But it don’t last. The squad car shows on the scene. The cops don’t get out. They sit tight and let Elmo do the work.

  He busts up the fight and waves to the cops. They know him pretty good, so they move off, and that’s it.

  There’s no more fighting. To make sure, Elmo ma
kes Stovepipe and Fandango shake. They do that, but only ’cause he says so. Otherwise, you can see they hate each other worse than ever.

  The rest of the night is pretty slow, so I go move off for home early and hit the sack…

  Saturday rolls around. It rains in the afternoon, and I lay in the house, listen to some records, nap a little, get up again and listen to some more sounds.

  By evening, I’m a pressed stud. Got on my best and standing in front of the candy store. The air’s cool after the rain. It’s a good night for some fun.

  The mob comes around. Being there’s no dance on, and nothing special set, we pass around the hat and decide to have a ball down to the clubhouse.

  Naturally, the chicks hear about the party. It ain’t too long before they’re drifting through the door. It’s all going fine. There’s only two interruptions. One, some strange cat tries crashing the door. We crash him out on his head, faster than he came in.

  A wino is next. Them guys can smell drink-stuff a mile. Elmo punches him on the jaw. Me and Cooch drag him out to the sidewalk and leave him there.

  The party continues like nothing happened. It’s real cool. There’s a run on the drinking stuff, the hat is passed again, and more is sent out for.

  But fun is with the chicks. Ain’t none of them angels, but none is tackheads either. We don’t never allow dog-faces in the clubhouse.

  Me, I take them as they come. All is the same to me. Play the field and never get burned is what I figure.

  But there’s this Tabby. For my money, she’s the best around. She’s kind of tall, kind of light, kind of thin. Got them melting kind of eyes.

  I dance with her first. It’s just dancing, no talking and no kind of monkey business.

  That’s the way it always is with her, only this time, she holds a little tighter, comes a little closer and gives me that staring business.

  I catch that and let it pass. Next dance is with somebody else. That’s to cool her off.

  She got cat eyes, watching me dance with China. The whole record slides, and she don’t stop looking.

  I play up to China, lay it on thick. That pays off when I go back to Tabby.

  She’s so damn jealous she can’t answer when I ask her to dance. I grab her wrist, pull her up and make her.

  After a while, I say, “What’s biting on you, Tabby? You sore about something?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Okay, why you bother to dance with me?”

  “’Cause I like the way you dance.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I like other stuff about you, baby.”

  “Is that the same line you gave to China?”

  “Hell no, nothing like that.”

  “It looked to me that way, the way she was cuddling up”

  “That’s her personality. She likes to cuddle. Plus, she goes for me.”

  “Then why you bothering me?”

  “Maybe I prefer you.”

  That’s the bombshell. She don’t know what to say to that. I let it sink in good and deep.

  Finally she says, “You only said maybe.”

  “You know I mean more than that, Tabby.”

  “Yeah, maybe you do, and maybe you don’t.”

  “Hey, why you talk like that?”

  “’Cause you’re a known playboy. You fool around, but you’re all lies to the girls.”

  “Sure, ’cause I don’t like none of them. But with you, it’s different.”

  That kind of talk’s got to hit, and it does. She gives me a small kind of smile, and I know I got her on the run.

  “You really mean all that?” she asks me.

  “Well, talking ain’t going to prove it.”

  “What does?”

  I got to show so I pull her closer. She got a real small kind of waist, nice to hold. I kiss her ear, put my lips on her neck.

  That seals it. She been kind of stiff. Now she comes in real close without no help, snuggles up like we going to be married by morning.

  We dance out a couple of records like that and then sit it out with a beer.

  What I noticed before, I notice again. Stovepipe and Fandango both have eyes for Tabby.

  She’s so blind for me, she don’t see nothing. But my mind’s working overtime. I don’t know why I hate them two guys, but I do. Behind that is all this fussing with Tabby.

  It’s set now. Just got to wait for the moment to be ripe.

  Stovepipe helps out by walking over and asking Tabby for a dance. She looks at me to see how I feel. I’m naturally burned, but I cool it and say, “It’s okay, Tabby.”

  She kind of don’t want to, but she can’t do nothing about it. So she gets up to dance.

  I keep one eye on them, the other on Fandango. Fandango looks fit to bust. That’s fine. Something’s got to happen out of that.

  The record ends, and Tabby comes back to me. Stovepipe is with her, and he got that real hungry look now, like he tasted a bite and wants all.

  He plays it real cool, thanks Tabby and thanks me, like I done him something.

  A new record comes on, and I catch hold of Tabby. We dance and don’t talk for a while.

  Finally, I say, “How was Stovepipe?”

  “What do you mean, Johnny?”

  “Did he behave himself?”

  “He didn’t do nothing out of the way.”

  “He might, ’cause he’s liking you.”

  “Tough! I don’t like him.”

  I laugh on that and say, “After all, you can’t blame him. You’re so pretty, and he ain’t got no steady.”

  Tabby gives me a funny look, like she’s figuring what this is all about and can’t get to the answer.

  “Why you talking up for him?” she finally asks me.

  “’Cause he’s a friend of mine. That’s all. So you be nice to him.”

  I get a real popeyed stare on that and no answer.

  “You hear me talking?” I say.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, good.”

  We dance out the record and sit down again. I spot Stovepipe watching, like he’s figuring on asking Tabby for another dance. Across the room is Fandango with a greedy look in his eye.

  He’s the hungrier, so he moves first. Two seconds later, he’s standing in front of me and Tabby with a silly look on his face, like he don’t know what to do with himself.

  I put him at his ease and say, “You want something, Fandango?”

  He moves his head like a rooster, and the words don’t come for him at first. He’s all screwed up. Finally he gets it out.

  “You mind if I dance with Tabby?”

  “Hell, no,” I say. “It’s all right with me, friend.”

  That goofs Tabby. She looks at me like I’ve gone crazy, so I tell her, “It’s all right, baby. It’s only a dance he’s asking for. He ain’t going to bite you.”

  Tabby gets up on that and closes with Fandango. It’s a cool record. I watch them. Fandango can’t dance for crap.

  I look across the room and watch Stovepipe. That boy is watching with daggers. It’s like I figured. He’s on the jealous side.

  It’s all working out pretty. When the record goes off, Tabby comes back to me. Fandango’s grinning so big his face is like to split.

  “Thanks, man,” he says to me.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  I look away and light a cigarette. He takes the hint and moves off.

  Tabby’s sitting next to me. Got that funny look on her face again, like she’s putting things together. Another record’s on.

  “You want to dance this one with me?” she asks.

  “Naw, let it slide. You want some beer?”

  “I’d rather dance, Johnny.”

  “Well, I’m going to have me a beer.”

  I get up, walk off and catch me a can of that stuff. When I come back, Tabby looks kind of worried. “Something wrong?” I say.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Yeah, something is
. Tell it.”

  “Okay, since you say you go for me so strong, how come you don’t mind me dancing with others?”

  “You want a true answer?”

  “I don’t want no lies.”

  “Okay. One is, we ain’t married yet. Second, if my friends ask for a dance, there ain’t no harm in that. I don’t expect you to turn them down.”

  “But I don’t care to dance with them.”

  “Does that mean you don’t want to?”

  “I didn’t say that, Johnny.”

  “That’s the way it sounds. But that’s okay. Have it any way you like it.”

  I say that real cool, stand up and finish off the can of beer. After that, I just walk away and leave her there.

  China’s not dancing. I walk up and ask her to dance. She obliges. This is a real slow number playing, and one thing about China. She know how to do like a snake with them slow discs.

  I’m all for that, and we do some real grinding. At the same time I keep watch on Tabby from under my eyes.

  Man, she’s fit to be tied. The number ends, I give China a pat and grab me another can of beer. When I got half it down my gut, I feel somebody tug on my arm. It’s Tabby. I swing around and say, “Hey, you want something, girl?”

  “I want to talk to you, Johnny.”

  “Yeah, go ahead. My ears is open.”

  “You ain’t sore at me, are you?”

  “Sore at you? Naw.”

  “Then why you going for China so strong?”

  “Maybe ’cause she appreciates me more than you do.”

  “Yeah, how could she when she’s for anybody?”

  “And you’re for somebody?”

  She drops her eyes on that and don’t answer.

  “Say what you mean then, girl.”

  “You know I’m liking you Johnny.”

  “That don’t seem so when you start right off telling me the score and all that.”

  “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then everything’s like before?”

  “Yeah, baby, it’s all like before.”

  “You want to dance?”

  We move together, but it ain’t dancing she wants. That’s just an excuse to be in my arms. She holds tight, like nobody can get us loose.

  The situation’s all mine. I ain’t too bad, either, ’cause having Tabby is a nice feeling.

  A little later, Stovepipe comes back to ask for a second dance. He’s just as stupid and a little bolder this time, but not enough for me to slap him down.