Sin In Their Blood | Page 3

turned toward the bar and called out,
"Bob, we-got any fresh milk?"
The barkeep nodded.
A fat, hard face peered out of the booth in front of me, repeated,
"Milk?" It was Tops Anderson, a big-time goon, and when his drunken,
bloodshot eyes got me in focus, he grinned, said, "Well
for--Jesus--Matt Ranzino!"
He got to his feet and I saw he'd put on weight the last year. He held
out a pudgy hand and I shook it and he sat down opposite me, said,
"Can't say you're a sight for sore eyes, but I always did like you. When
you get back in town?"
"Today."
"Bill!" Tops yelled. A lean young kid of about 20, with cool eyes and
the cocky manner of a jerk who thinks he owns the world because he
packs a gun, stood up in the next booth. He joined us, walking in a
practiced, cat-like way. Tops said, "Bill, meet Matt Ranzino, one of the
toughest dicks out. And say it with a 'D.'"

We touched hands; the kid had no use for dicks.
Tops went into the army hero pitch and when the waiter brought my
milk, Tops said, "Forget that cow piss, bring us three ryes."
I took the milk, said I wasn't drinking.
"What's the matter, used to lap it up. You don't want to drink with me?"
"I'm on the wagon," I said, sipping my milk.
The snooty punk grinned and Tops shook his head. "You've changed.
And things've changed since you been away, Matt. I own most of the
juke boxes in town."
"All of them," the gunman added. He had an odd way of talking, biting
off each word as though talking bored him.
I didn't say anything, went to work on my sandwich.
"Yeah, I cornea long ways since that time you sent me up." Tops turned
to Bill. "Matt's the only copper ever got me."
"When was that?" the punk asked, to make conversation.
"Three, four years ago. I don't know, maybe longer. I was working for...
never mind who. I was just a rough bastard, bouncing guys. Tossed
some nut out of this bar and he landed wrong, got a concussion or
something. So the dope is silly enough to sue and I got to throw out the
process server too. He returns with a dick--Matt. I go for the both of
'em and Matt here breaks my lower plate with the fastest left hook I
ever seen."
The hood looked me over again, buttered up Tops with, "Beat you to
the punch, boss?"
The waiter brought two drinks and Tops took his down in one gulp
while Bill toyed with his. The kid didn't look like the type that ever let
himself get drunk. Tops burst out laughing. "Hell of it was, I've beat

some rugged raps, but I couldn't square this simple assault charge. I did
three months. Matt, you sure got a kick in your hands."
I finished my sandwich and milk, wondered if it was then I'd got it. But
the doc had said it would have been during a strain, and Tops had been
easy, he was one of those wild-swinging brawlers. And that had been
too long ago--the bug would have died in my lungs before Korea.
"Yeah, Matt packs a kayo. 'Course, you kind of took advantage of me.
If I'd have known you was a pug.... I was a handy-andy with a
blackjack... then. Bill, you're looking at a guy who could have been
heavyweight champ of the world, maybe. Hey Matt, you know Pops
died while you was away?"
"I know."
"Pops and his boys. Bill, make sense turning down a ring career to
become a cop? And Matt was real good at it, too."
"Dopey," Bill said to his whiskey.
"I was just an amateur," I said.
"Another crazy racket, fighting for medals," Tops said. He lit a fresh
cigar, handed me one. I shook my head and he dug in his pocket, came
out with a pack of cigarettes. I shook my head again and his eyes got a
little bright. "You don't want to smoke my cigars?"
"I don't smoke much, any more."
"Yeah?" Tops squinted at me. "I might of been a great boxer myself, if
I had the chance," Tops said, his voice getting nasty. "It's a fact, Matt's
the only guy ever flattened me, and I been in some rough brawls. Do
any fighting in the army?"
"Not that kind." I started to get up. Tops reached across the table and
pushed me down with one hand--didn't push me hard, but still a push.
"What's the hurry?"

"Got an appointment."
"I want to talk over old times."
"Some other time," I said, reaching into my pocket for change.
Tops said, "Your money's no