DUFFY’S PLACE WAS a three-room affair on the top storey of an old-fashioned apartment house.
The taxi-driver drew up at the kerb, just under the street light. Duffy got out of the cab, letting the door swing on its hinges.
“This it?” the taxi-driver asked.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
The taxi-driver looked at him. “You been havin’ a good time?”
Duffy shifted his head a little so that he didn’t breath over the taxi-driver.
He said, “You don’t know the half of it.”
The taxi-driver said, “The first half’s good enough for me.” One of those smart guys.
Duffy paid him off and slammed the door for him. He slammed the door so hard that the cab rocked. The taxi-driver scowled, but said nothing. He was smart all right, but he wasn’t dumb. He rolled the cab away.
Duffy walked up the steps, fumbled for his key and fumbled at the lock. “Jeeze, that Scotch was dynamite,” he said, as he poked at the lock. The key sank suddenly, and he turned it. I he hall was in darkness, but he knew his way up. He started to climb the stairs as the wall-clock struck four. The wall-clock hung in the hall. It had a little brittle chime that always irritated Duffy. Treading carefully, one hand on the rail and the other just touching the opposite wall, he went up silently. He had to go up four flights, but he was used to that. When he reached his landing he paused. A light was burning in his apartment. He could see the bright light coming from under the door.
Two things crossed his mind. First, the cleaner had forgotten to turn the light off; and second, McGuire was waiting for him. It gave him quite a shock when he remembered McGuire. He had forgotten all about the poor guy. Too bad. He wagged his head. Maybe he’d be as sore as hell. He fumbled for his key again, and opened the door. The light quite blinded him for a second.
Two men were sitting in his room, facing the door. Another one was standing by the window, looking into the street, peeping round the blind.
Duffy jumped.
“I bet you’ve been stealing my whisky,” he said.
The man who was looking out of the window turned his head quickly. He was big. He had Mongolian eyes and a loose mouth. He had that battered, brutal face of an unsuccessful prize-fighter.
Duffy looked at him, then he looked at the two sitting in the chairs. The nearest one was a little guy with tight lips and cold,, hard eyes. His face was white as cold mutton fat, and he just sat, with his hands folded across his stomach.
The other one, sitting on the little guy’s right, was young. He had down on his cheeks and his skin had that peculiar rosy tint that most girls want, but don’t have. He looked tough, because he had screwed up his eyes and drawn down the corners of his mouth. Duffy thought he was just movie-tough.
The little guy said, “He’s here at last.”
Duffy shut the door and leant against it. “If I’d known you were coming,” he said, “I’d been here sooner.”
The little guy said, “Did you hear that? The bright boy said if he’d known we were coming, he’d been here sooner.”
The other two said nothing.
Duffy said, “Now you’re here, what’s it all about?”
“He wants to know what’s it all about,” the little guy said again.
Duffy slowly closed his fists. “Must you repeat everything I say?” he asked. “Can’t these two birds understand what I say?”
The little guy eased himself back in his chair. “You understand him, don’t you, Clive?” he said to the youth.
“Clive?” Duffy was getting annoyed. “That’s the name for a daffodil, ain’t it?”.
The youth sat up. “Listen, you long stick of ”
The little guy giggled. “How do you think of such things?” he said.
“What is this?” Duffy demanded. He looked across at the tough bird by the window.
“Come on, come on,” the little guy said, suddenly looking bleak again. “Give it up.”
“Give what up, for God’s sake?” Duffy demanded.
“Did you hear him, Clive, he wants to know what to give up?”
The youth called Clive slouched out of his chair. He stood over the little guy, his face viciously angry. “You won’t get anywhere with this stuff,” he said. “Turn Joe loose on him.”
The big bird on the corner took a step forward. He seemed to be holding himself in with difficulty. The little guy waved his hand at him. “Not so fast,” he said, “we ain’t got to get rough with this lug.”
Duffy thought they were all screwy, and he wished he hadn’t socked that pint away. Clive stood away from the little guy and glared at Duffy.
The little guy looked at Duffy with stony eyes. “Get wise, bright boy,” he said. “We’ve come for the camera.”
Duffy pushed his hat to the back of his head and blew out his cheeks. So that was it, he thought. He wandered over to the wagon and picked up a bottle of Scotch. “You gentlemen want any of this?” he asked.
Clive had a gun in his hand. Duffy looked at it surprised, then he said to the little guy, “Tell that fairy to put his rod away, he might hurt someone.”
The little guy said, “I should care. What’s it to me?”
Duffy said very sharply, “Tell that punk to put his popgun down, or I’ll do it for him, and smack his ears down.”
Clive made a high whinny sound like a horse. He looked as though he was going to have some sort of a fit. He stood there, his face white, and his eyes dark with hate. Duffy went a little cold at the sight of him.
The little guy said, “Put it away.”
The youth turned his head slowly and looked at the little guy. “I’m going to pop him…” he said shrilly, all his words tumbling out of his mouth in a bunch.
“I said, put it away.” The little guy was quite shocked that he had to speak twice.
Clive hesitated, blinked, then pushed the gun into his hip pocket. He stood undecided, his hands fluttering at his coat. Then quite suddenly, he began to cry. His face puckered up like a little indiarubber mask that someone had squeezed. He sat himself on a chair and covered his face with his thin bony hands and cried.
The little guy sighed. He said to Duffy, “See, you’ve upset him now.”
Duffy threw his hat on the settee and ran his fingers through his hair.
The big tough came over from the window and patted Clive’s head. He didn’t say anything, but just patted the youth quite heavily on his head.
The little guy shifted uncomfortably. “Aw, I didn’t mean anything,” he said. “We ain’t supposed to pop this guy, so I couldn’t let you do it, could I?”
Clive took his hands away and said with a snivel, “But look how you spoke to me.”
“Sure, sure, I know,” the little guy smiled with his tight mouth. “I’m sorry. There, I can’t say more, can I? I’ve said I’m sorry, that’s pretty generous.”
Clive looked at the little guy earnestly. “It wasn’t what you said that upset me,” he said, “it was how you said it.”
“I know, it was the way I said it, wasn’t it?”
Clive began to cry again. He didn’t cover his face this time, but screwed up his eyes, and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Yes,” he said, “it was the way you said it.”
“Quite a big shot, ain’t he?” Duffy said, leaning against the wall, watching with extraordinary interest.
“You leave him alone,” the little guy said. “He’s all right, but he upsets himself.”
Clive stopped crying and shot Duffy a look of hate. The other two followed his glance, as if just remembering Duffy.
The little guy said to Clive, “You all right now?”
Clive said he was fine.
“Come on,” the little guy said to Duffy, “we’re wasting time.”
Duffy said, “I’m disappointed. I thought we were all going to let down our hair and have a good cry.”
The little guy giggled, then stopped and looked annoyed. “Let’s have the camera, we got to blow soon.”
Duffy lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. “I ain’t got it,” he said.
The three stayed very still.
“Listen,” the little guy said patiently, “we’ve come for the camera, and we’re going to have it, see?”
Duffy shrugged. “I can’t help that,” he said shortly, “I ain’t got it.”
The little guy said, “You ain’t got this right. I said we want that camera and we are going to have it.”
“Sure, I heard you the first time. I tell you I ain’t got it.”
The little guy looked at the other two and said, “He ain’t got it.”
The youth drew his top lip off his teeth. “I told you you weren’t getting anywhere with this bastard.”
Duffy pushed himself away from the wall. He began to wander slowly round the room. He didn’t take his eyes off the three, watching him.
“You be careful,” he said to Clive, “you’ll be getting some false teeth mighty soon.”
Clive looked at the little guy. “Turn Joe on him,” he said excitedly. “Go on, beat the sonofabitch to hell.”
Duffy was quite close to him now. He seemed to be carelessly looking for something. “Don’t call me that,” he said viciously, and his right fist came up from his waist slap in Clive’s mouth. Duffy was nervous of the big bird. He thought with the other two out of the way, he might stand a chance with him, but he wasn’t sure.
Clive went over, taking the chair with him. He lay on his side, hissing through his hand, that he had clapped to his mouth.
The other two were too startled to move. Duffy hit the little guy on the bridge of his nose. It was an awkward punch because the little guy was sitting, but it had plenty of steam behind it. The little guy tossed back in his chair and went over with a crash. He lay there completely stunned.
Duffy stood, his hands a little advanced, his elbows pressed into his waist.
The big bird looked at Clive and then he looked at the little guy. Then he grinned, showing very white even little teeth. “Jeeze!” he said hoarsely, “you’re going to get it now.”
He came in, weaving and bobbing. Duffy saw at once that he was right out of this fellow’s class. He jumped away, and retreated until his heel thudded against the Wall. The big bird came flat-footed but sure. His head was down, with his chin well tucked into his shoulder. Duffy let one go. It was a good one, coming up with a whistling sound. The big bird shifted a little, not much, but just a little, and Duffy’s fist hit the air. Then the big bird hit Duffy under the heart. It sounded like a cleaver going into a side of beef. Duffy thought the house had fallen on him. He felt his knees sag and the big bird let him come into a clinch. Duffy wound his arms round him, holding him so he couldn’t hit him.
The big bird let him recover. He said, “That was a good smack, huh?”
Duffy broke from the clinch, stepped back quickly, collided with a small table and went over backwards. He scrambled to his feet, hurriedly. The big bird gave him plenty of time, then he came in with that flat-footed shuffle, slipped Duffy’s punch and banged Duffy in the ribs again. That punch hurt like hell. Again Duffy sagged at the knees; this time the big bird swung one to the side of his head and Duffy went over on his side and lay there. He landed quite close to the little guy, who was just sitting up. The little guy took a gun from inside his coat, holding it by the barrel, he lent forward and hit Duffy in the groin, hitting very hard.
Duffy curled into a ball, but he didn’t yell. He bit his lip right through, but he didn’t yell. Then he felt his inside coming up into his throat and he vomited.
The little guy shifted hastily. “Look,” he said, “the bastard nearly had me.” He got quite excited about it.
Clive said with approval, “Now you’re doing something.”
They stood round Duffy, watching him. The little guy pressing the bridge of his nose tenderly with his fingers, his eyes watering. Clive knelt on the floor with his lips swelling. He could feel that his front teeth moved a little when he touched them with his tongue. Joe stood with his hands hanging loose, like a dog deprived of its bone.
Duffy raised his head slowly. His face glistened with sweat. The shaded light from the ceiling lit his greenish skin. He was feeling awfully bad, but he held on to himself low down and rode with the pain. The blood ran down his chin from his lip. He could feel the salty taste in his mouth.
The little guy said, “Give.”
Duffy didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust his voice. He lay there, his eyes on the little guy, hating him.
The little guy said, “Ain’t you had enough?”
Duffy still said nothing.
The little guy raised his hand. “Soften him a little,” he said to Joe.
Joe smiled. He really took a pleasure in being tough. He put out an arm and his hand closed on Duffy’s shirt front, then he heaved a little. Duffy came up, like a cork out of a bottle. He gave a little grunt of anguish. His open hand smacked Joe across the eyes. Joe blinked. “Did you see what he did to me?” he said.
The little guy said, “Full of fight, ain’t he?”
Duffy swung at Joe feebly, his punch wouldn’t have knocked down a child. Joe grinned. “Get wise to yourself, bright boy,” he said. “You ain’t hurting no one.”
The little guy said, “Just pat him around a bit, will you, Joe? We ain’t got much time.”
Joe said, “Sure.” He held Duffy at arm’s length and hit him between the eyes. His fist traveled at a tremendous speed. Duffy could see it coming, but he couldn’t avoid it. Something exploded in his brain, and a bright flash of brightness blinded him. He wanted to lie down, but something was holding on to him.
The little guy said, “Now don’t hit him too hard, just pat him around.” His voice sounded a long way away to Duffy.
“I know just what you want,” the big bird said, and he started to slap Duffy’s face with heavy resounding blows with his open hand.
The little guy said to Clive, “If this makes you feel bad, you can turn your head.”
Clive said, “I’m feeling fine. I wish I was as big as Joe.”
The little guy patted his arm. “I don’t,” he said.
When Joe got tired, he said, “Shall we try him now?”
The little guy said, “I think so.”
Joe let go of Duffy, who fell in a heap on the floor. His face was a sight. The little guy knelt down. “Where’s the camera, bright boy?”
Duffy mumbled something, but his mouth was so swollen that the little guy couldn’t hear what he said.
“Lay him up on the couch, Joe, we’ll have to get him into shape.”
Joe pulled Duffy across the floor by his arm and dumped him on to the over-stuffed couch.
“Get some water, Clive, and a towel,” the little guy said.
Clive went out of the room into the bathroom. Duffy lay with his eyes shut, his breath coming in shuddering gasps.
Joe went over to the wagon and poured himself out a drink. He took it neat, then punched himself on the chest with his fist.
Clive came back with a wet towel. The little guy held out his hand, but Clive walked over to Duffy. “Let me do it.”
“Well, well, did you hear, Joe?” the little guy was surprised. “Clive wants to do it.”
Clive went on one knee beside Duffy and mopped his swollen bruised face with the towel. Duffy looked at him through a puffy eye. Then Clive put his hand on the side of Duffy’s head, made his fingers into claws and dragged his nails down Duffy’s face.
The little guy ran across the room and pulled Clive away. Clive had flecks of foam at the sides of his mouth. “That’ll teach him,” he said shrilly. “He won’t hit me again in a hurry.”
“You might have broken your nice nails,” the little guy said sharply. “That ain’t the way to go on.”
Duffy pushed himself up on the couch and lowered his legs to the floor. Joe watched him, a big grin on his face. “Ain’t he a pip?” he said, admiringly.
The other two turned and watched him too. Duffy was sitting up now, his head sunk on his chest. He remained like that for several minutes, then he put both hands on the couch and levered himself to his feet. His face was a mask of blood. Swaying, he made a little tottering run at Clive, who hastily got behind the little guy.
Joe stepped in front of Duffy. He said, “Still looking for trouble?”
Duffy swung a leaden arm, but Joe hit him in the ribs again, stepping in close and driving at Duffy a jarring jolt. Duffy opened his mouth and said “O!”, then he fell on his knees.
Just then the telephone bell rang. The three started and looked at the telephone. It continued to ring.
“That’s bad,” the little guy said, looking worried.
They waited, all concentrated on the sound of the bell. It rang for several seconds, then it stopped.
Joe dragged Duffy on to the couch again. He heaved him up and looked at the little guy.
“Bring him round,” the little guy said.
Joe pulled Duffy’s ears. He took them in each hand and tugged as if he were milking a cow. Duffy groaned and tried to get his head away.
“He’s here now,” Joe said.
The little guy stood quite close to Duffy. “Come on,” he said loudly, “spill it. Where’s that goddam camera?”
“Somebody stole it,” Duffy mumbled only half conscious.
The little guy stood back. “Christ!” he said. “Did you hear that? He said someone stole it. This bird must be nuts to hang on so long.”
The telephone bell began to ring again. Clive said suddenly, “Perhaps it’s Mr. Morgan.”
The little guy said, “Quiet,” and looked at Duffy. Duffy lay with his eyes shut, but he had heard all right. His brain wouldn’t think, but he remembered all right. The little guy hesitated, then went over to the ’phone. He unhooked the receiver from its prong.
“Hello?” he said in his tight voice.
He stood listening. Then he said, “You got a wrong number, buddy,” and hung up. He shook his head. “Some guy wanting this bird,” he jerked his thumb at Duffy. “Suppose you try him again, Joe?”
Clive took a step forward. “Why don’t you burn him a little?” he demanded. “This is wasting time.”
The little guy looked at Joe. “Do you think you can shake him loose?” he said.
Joe grinned. “Yeah,” he said; “give me a little time. This pip thinks I am playing with him, don’t you, bright boy.”
Duffy was getting light-headed, but he felt a little strength stealing into his legs. “Wait a minute,” he said with difficulty.
“Can’t you believe what I tell you? Some bird stole the camera before I left the dame’s house. I’ve just come back. I ain’t got it on me, have I?”
The little guy put his hand on Joe’s arm.
“Maybe he’s telling it straight,” he said.
Joe shook his head. “That guy couldn’t tell it straight to a priest,” he said.
The little guy looked at the clock on the mantelshelf. “Look at the time,” he said.
Clive said, “It’s all talk… talk… talk… talk!”
The little guy patted him on his arm. “If he ain’t got the camera, what can I do?”
Duffy sat up slowly and passed a hand over his face gently. Near by, on the arm of the couch, was an ashtray. One of those affairs with a leather spring that gripped the arm. It was quite a heavy thing. Duffy put his hand on it, then with one movement, he picked it off the arm of the couch and tossed it through the window. The glass shattered, making a high tinkling sound. Some of the glass fell in the street below.
The little guy said, “Clever, ain’t he?”
Clive ran to the door. “Let’s skip before the cops come up,” he said.
The little guy said, “Sure we’ll go.” Then he looked at Puffy. “We’ll be back, bright boy.”
He followed Clive out of the room.
Joe clouted Duffy on the side of the head. The blow knocked him off the couch on to the floor. “We’ll get together by’n by,” he said, and went to the door hurriedly, then he paused, looking at Duffy lying there. He came back and kicked Duffy very hard in the ribs.
The little guy put his head round the door.
“Come on, Joe,” he said, “we gotta get out of this.”
Joe followed him from the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Duffy lay on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chin. After they had been gone some time, he began to sob a little.