the Onion Field (1973)

by Wambaugh, Joseph

  They parked in the lot next to the first liquor store they came upon.

  "Okay, Billy," said Greg. "Here's your chance to prove that you didn't do what you did."

  Jimmy later said, "I was gettin scared again and mad too. I didn't understand what he just said to Billy. I didn't know if I was stupid or just scared, but it burned my ass that Billy understood the things Greg said and I couldn't."

  "Just simulate a gun," Greg said. "Pretend you got one in your jacket."

  "I can handle it," Small said in a drunken slur and staggered across the street toward the liquor store.

  "Greg, you think you oughtta let him go in?" asked Jimmy. "He's pretty drunk."

  "He knows what he's doing," said Greg.

  Then Greg got impatient waiting and stepped out of the car and started walking across the street. Then he turned and came back.

  "I'm not giving Small any more breaks, Jimmy," Greg said as they waited. "If he can't knock off the little liquor store he ain't much of a robber anyway."

  Minutes passed. Greg was getting impatient, Jimmy frantic. Then Small appeared.

  Jimmy knew he hadn't done it by the way he walked slowly across the street with a bag in his hand. There was only whiskey in the bag. And soda pop.

  "No dice, Greg. There was three clerks in there and one guy who knew me from a long time ago."

  "You sure?" asked Greg coldly.

  "Sure. Sure as rain. Even Jimmy's been knowin this cat. From down on Fifth Street. He used to have a record store down there." And Small looked toward Jimmy, who saw the fear on him.

  "Don't get tight jawed, Greg," Jimmy said before Greg had a chance to speak. "I can go check that story."

  "Do it," said Greg with the same voice he used on Small at the house, and Jimmy leaped from the car and jogged across the street. He went in the store, saw only two clerks, total strangers, bought a pack of Chesterfields, and ran back to the car saying, "He's right, Greg. It's that guy all right. Same guy. Owned a little meat market on Fifth and Towne."

  "I thought you said a record store, Billy," said Greg.

  "That's what I say, Greg," Jimmy babbled. "A record store."

  "I thought you said a meat market," said Greg.

  "He said a record store," said Small.

  "Oh fuck it," said Greg. "Let's get the hell outta here."

  So they went to their next job, this one on Jefferson. "This time you get the piece," said Greg, handing Small the four-inch Colt revolver. "Put it in your belt. This is a ripe one. Don't muff it, Billy."

  Small got out of the car and reeled drunkenly for a few steps, righted himself, and with the instincts of an alcoholic, proceeded on a reasonably straight course to the door. Greg followed and stood on the sidewalk outside. This time Billy Small came out fast, almost running.

  Jimmy slid behind the wheel, jammed it in low gear and once again crawled from the curb, engine racing, clutch slipping. As the gears finally caught up with the racing engine, Small reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of crumpled bills. Then he reached into his other pocket and did the same. Then he threw the whole pile into Greg's lap.

  "When I tell you I'm gonna do somethin I'm gonna do some- thin," Small announced. But he didn't give the gun back to Greg. Instead he reached for the whiskey and took a drink.

  "Looks like a few hundred, partner." Greg grinned. "You handled that like a real pro. Was there a safe?"

  "He was in the fuckin safe when I got the drop on him." Small giggled.

  They rode silently, Small drinking, Greg counting the money, and Jimmy unable to take his eyes from the green in Greg's lap.

  "This is the last job I pull with you along, Jimmy," Small suddenly blurted.

  "What?" said Jimmy.

  "You tryin to break up the partnership I got with Greg. Greg and me is partners and you can't come between us with your jiveass ways."

  "Listen, you bastard," Jimmy said, careful to see that Small's hands were not near his waistband, "I ain't gonna take that from you. Jist cause you pulled your first job and you got a gun in your belt and a gut full of whiskey. I don't need to get your okay to be friends with Greg, damn you."

  "Take it easy. Easy." Greg laughed, looking strangely elated. "Don't fight over me, boys. Let's not go off half cocked. Look, we've done enough for the night. I think we got maybe six hundred here, and that barber shop's closed by now."

  That was what Jimmy was waiting for. He made a right turn, hit the freeway, and headed for the hotel and his cut of the money.

  "We could knock off four more places," said Small, full of bravado now.

  "No, it's been hectic tonight," said Greg. "And Jim's a little nervous. After all, we only took him out tonight to get him broke in.

  It was midnight when they reached the hotel and Greg handed Jimmy a ten-dollar bill. Jimmy was stunned. Ten scoots! Ten lousy scoots! Of course he didn't expect a full share. But if they'd been busted he'd have been busted too. And for what? For this he drove that miserable car with that miserable slithery clutch? For ten stin- kin bucks? But he saw Greg grinning again, and he thought of how he'd grinned at Small just before he pulled down on him, and he remembered those eyes, how they'd changed. Cold. Blue. Staring. So he said nothing, and put the ten dollars in his pocket.

  "Take this too, Jimmy," said Small, offering the paper bag with the half bottle of whiskey inside.

  "Thanks," said Jimmy turning and walking into the hotel, with a last futile hope that they'd call him back and give him some real dough, maybe a hundred at least, which he deserved. But he heard the car clunking into gear and the whine as it slipped down the street.

  Linda was in the lobby. She too was just coming home.

  "Hi, Jimmy." She smiled. He liked the way she smiled openly, like a kid. It made him feel a little better.

  "Hi, baby."

  "What's in the bag, Jimmy?"

  "Now, you're gonna have to come to my room to find that out."

  "Wonder if I dare to?" She giggled.

  "Oh, baby, I had a rough night," Jimmy said, and his smile faded and he felt exhausted and defeated and put his arm around her waist. They climbed the stairs together.

  Linda looked as though she understood and said, "Okay, I'm coming to see what's in the bag. And you better let me see whatever I wanna see."

  "Okay, baby," said Jimmy and kissed her on the cheek, and it was a struggle to climb the darkened staircase. He was dog tired. When they got in the room he drank deeply until his throat and stomach burned and his eyes watered. She took a coffee cup and poured in half an ounce of whiskey and half a cup of water and sat on the bed sipping demurely.

  "Don't like to drink?"

  "Not very much." She smiled.

  "You're a sorta sweet baby," Jimmy said, putting down the bottle and stroking her red hair which was now snarled and stiff, and lint dotted.

  "You're a sweet guy, Jimmy," she said, putting down the cup.

  "Know what, Linda? I got a feelin for you. Like, I was thinkin. All night I was thinkin. I got a feelin for that chick. That's what I was thinkin, is all."

  "Kiss me, Jimmy, but don't hurt me," Linda said, lying back on the bed and closing her eyes.

  All the time he was getting her clothes off, Jimmy was thinking about what she said. What the hell's she talking about? Hurt her, my ass, he thought. Her box ain't no rose blossom. Then he remembered: Shit! That's what the Roman broad said to the big gladiator dude when he poured her the pork in that orgy movie they saw. Shit!

  The lovemaking wasn't too good, he decided, after they were finished, lying naked under the covers. It wasn't even as good as last time. It was those two fools that did it. Making him so he couldn't think of anything else except how they cheated him, used him, took advantage of him.

  "What's the matter, honey?" Linda asked, cuddling closer to him, rubbing her face on his chest.

  That's another thing that Roman cunt did in that movie, Jimmy thought. "Nothin," he said.

  "You're so quiet."

&n
bsp; "I'm tired, honey. You took it all outta me."

  "Glad to." She giggled.

  Then they were quiet. He smoked and looked out the window. It wasn't smoggy and he could see stars over the city. He tried to think about the stars. But instead he thought of how he was going to start boosting tomorrow. That's the way to make it, of course. Shoplifting was his game. Fuck this robbin and gettin shot at and gettin cheated by a drunk and a turkey-necked freak who was at least half off his bean and . . .

  Jimmy.

  "Huh?"

  "We're sure having a tough time, Jimmy. Pat and me. We just ain't making it. We're two weeks behind in our rent and all. I just don't know what's gonna happen if I don't get some bread, Jimmy."

  "Well, you just keep bein my sweet lil baby, and I'll take you with me when I get outta this dump. Now you better run on down to your apartment cause Pat'll be worried, and anyway, I gotta lay here and think out my plans. Tomorrow I go to work on my own and that's when the bread starts comin in."

  "What're you gonna do, Jimmy?" asked Linda breathlessly, and she slipped her dress over her head. "Can you tell me?"

  "Naw, I can't tell you, sweetie. Like, what you don't know won't hurt you. Dig?"

  "Oh yeah, Jimmy," she said, carrying her underthings and shoes and gathering up her purse and cosmetics. Then she leaned over and kissed him long on the mouth, wrinkled up her nose, stuck her tongue out, smiled, and opened the door.

  "Later, baby. Catch you later."

  "Jimmy," she said before turning.

  "Yeah?"

  "It don't matter to me, but I was wondering. You're so light and all. Are you maybe only part Negro? Maybe just half and half or something?"

  "Baby, I don't know," he said in a tired voice. "I honest to God don't know, and that's righteous."

  "Well it don't matter to me anyway, honey. You know that."

  "Yeah, I know that."

  "Bye, lover."

  "Bye bye."

  Jimmy lay in the darkness until 4:00 a. M. before he went to sleep. He slept only when he finally tired of watching a sliver of golden light in the hallway under the door. His heart beat fast and he watched it until his eyes fell shut.

  Jimmy had a large and filling restaurant breakfast and three cups of coffee the next morning. By nine o'clock he was hustling down Hill Street heading for the shine stand with no clear-cut idea of what he was going to say to Small when he got there. The department store boosting could come later, but first he had to see Small. There would have to be some kind of showdown and he would have to be paid something. Ten bucks! For risking his life! Now that Small was sober he would have to agree.

  And then Jimmy had another thought. Would he be sober?

  "Say, Youngblood," said the grizzled black man leaning against the wall of the stand. "Lookin for cousin Billy?"

  "Yeah."

  "Ain't seed him."

  "Listen, I know where that sucker be layin up," said Jimmy, consciously changing inflections and dialect depending on whom he was with. One way with Linda last night, he thought. Or with his parole officer. Or with that fuckin square Greg Powell. Another way with this dude. Nigger talk for this dude.

  "I don't give a fuck where dat sucker be," said the man, drinking out of a paper sack.

  Jimmy knew the man to be Billy's real cousin. Or were they play cousins? Probably real cousins, he thought. Whole fuckin family's probably drunks.

  "Listen, brother," said Jimmy. "Billy be layin up wid dat white dude, you know? And dig, I was with em, and Billy got him some coin. And baby, I mean com!"

  "Say what?"

  "Yeah. And he owe me some. And I needs me a ride."

  "Le's go," said the drunken cousin and in ten minutes they were turning off the Harbor Freeway, heading toward Sixty-fifth. Jimmy had the cousin drive past the house and told him to park around the corner and wait.

  "Listen, I ain't sure which pad," Jimmy lied. "You wait here and I be comin back after I knocks on a few doors."

  "Righteous." The cousin winked, slumping back in the seat and sucking on the bottle inside the brown paper bag.

  Maxine opened the door for Jimmy, who thought her friendly smile made her looks almost passable.

  "Lookin for Small," Jimmy said.

  "Come on in," Maxine said. "Have some breakfast."

  "I'll have some coffee," Jimmy said and saw a tangle of blankets on the floor and Small snoring on his back with his knees up in the air, elbows bent, and hands thrown back beside his head, palms up.

  "Looks like a dyin cockroach, don't he?" Jimmy mused as he stood over Small, who was buzzing and drooling saliva over his chin.

  Max shook her head as Small cut a window-shaking, boozy fart, and Jimmy followed her into the combination bedroom-dinette where Greg was having coffee.

  "Hi, Jim." Greg smiled. "Glad to see you. Have some breakfast. How'd you get here?"

  "Had a guy bring me," said Jimmy. "Cousin of Small's. Had him park around the corner. Didn't think you'd want too many dudes knowin where you stay."

  "Good thinking, Jim," said Greg as they heard the knock at the door.

  Maxine peeked out and whispered, "Greg, it's some old colored guy. Looks drunk."

  "That's Billy's cousin," Jimmy said into his coffee cup, feeling Greg glare at him.

  "All right goddamnit, let him in," said Greg. "Might as well invite the rest of the neighborhood while we're at it."

  "This is Greg," Jimmy said when the cousin staggered in. By then Small was snorting and groaning as he raised up on his elbow.

  "Billy got to make my car payment for me," the cousin explained. "Billy know he got to make it today."

  "Well get him the hell up and go on and make it," Greg said, tucking his shirt in his pants, and Jimmy wondered why he was so damn skinny. After all, he was making good scores and yet Greg was no more than a hundred and forty, about Jimmy's weight. But Jimmy had an excuse, he was starving, hustling, broke. He guessed he'd dropped ten pounds in the week he'd been out. In fact, Greg was five feet nine or ten, just about Jimmy's height. But the similarity ended there, Jimmy thought. He's a nut and I ain't.

  "What kinda car you got?" asked Greg as Small struggled into his pants, groaning and taking a drink out of the cousin's bottle. "T-Bird."

  "Yeah?" said Greg, apparently interested.

  "Wanna drive it and go with us?" the cousin asked, looking at his bottle which Small was now draining.

  "Sure," Greg said, and Jimmy shook his head as the cousin continued making small talk, about the car. Kissin the white man's ass all over the place just to get another fuckin bottle, Jimmy thought disgustedly.

  As the four men left the apartment Jimmy got up his courage and tried to put a little steel in his voice as he motioned Greg aside. But it came out a plea and not a command. "I'm really on my ass, Greg. I just gotta have a little bread. I mean, I think I should have a little somethin anyway. Like, you know what I mean, Greg?"

  "Sure, Jim," Greg said. "Here. Here's ten bucks. Go around the corner to the liquor store and get some more Schenley's and wait here until I get back. I got plans, Jim. Big plans. And Small's such a drunk, he just ain't reliable. Have patience, Jim."

  "Sure, Greg." Jimmy smiled. "Like, I'll wait for you."

  Maxine was glad that Jimmy was going to stay and wait for Greg to return. "Gets lonely here when Greg goes out," she explained. "You know what, Jimmy? I'm gonna fix you a real home cooked meal today. How'd you like that?"

  "Oh yeah," said Jimmy. "I ain't had one in years."

  "Okay." She smiled, pouring him a tall cool whiskey and soda. "But first, let's go shopping."

  Jimmy drove her in the station wagon to a market and while she did the grocery shopping, he bought the Schenley's, and by the time they were back at the house he was hot and tired and grateful when she fixed him another drink. Then she changed into a pair of shorts despite her stomach, and a flimsy halter, and sat down on the couch next to him. She turned and smiled and he could see she wore nothing beneath the red shorts whi
ch were unbuttoned at the top and pulled apart in the seam.

  "You know, Jimmy, I didn't mean to get Small in trouble with Greg about the roll of dollar bills. Nor even about him patting my fanny. But he's so drunk all the time and clumsy. He really smacked me on the butt. I didn't say nothing to Greg, but it really hurt. Left a bruise."

  Lot to bruise, ain't there? he thought, getting more excited than he should by this dumpy little pregnant broad with her big white belly and homely kisser. Maybe it was those swollen titties. But now, he could see they'd hang like a cow's bags if she dropped the halter. No, he guessed it was because she was his woman. I'd love to fuck his woman and kick those fish eyes shut if he opened his mouth. And I would. I'd fix that fuckin giraffe. If he didn't have that gun.

  "You know, Jimmy, you sure got a bold eye." She smiled, fingering a ferocious pimple on her forehead.

  "Sorry if I was starin," said Jimmy. "But you know, like, I just got outta the joint, and after five years, you know?"

  "I don't mind." Max laughed. "In fact when a woman is all swole up and ugly like this she appreciates a man's approving look. Especially a handsome man. You're a handsome man, Jimmy."

  "It's downright painful for me," Jimmy smiled.

  "Oh, you're naughty." Max laughed and curled her legs under her and dipped forward, letting the halter slip.

  Jimmy had only intended to play with her a bit, but now things were getting out of hand. He was aroused like he hadn't been since he got out. And the more he thought of Greg, and the fear of Greg which he hated to admit, the more excited he became.

  Suddenly Max got up and waddled into the kitchen to make fresh drinks. When she returned she was looking directly at the bulge in his pants and when he reached for the drink she reached past his hand and set the cold glass right on his crotch.

  "Wow!" said Jimmy.

  "Did I hurt you, Jimmy?" asked Max.

  "Naw, but turnabout is fair play," said Jimmy in a husky voice, running his hand up and down her thigh.

  "Oh what the hell," Max said, as she unzipped the shorts, and Jimmy was panting before she got them off.