Sin In Their Blood | Page 4

good here, on me."
"That's okay," I said, leaving a dime and a nickel for a tip.
Bill said, "What a spendthrift!"
Tops roared with laughter, swept the change off the table. "Leave that
for the busboy. Hey, Bill, know something, this Wop don't like our
company."
"Don't call me a Wop," I said, and immediately wished I'd shut up.
Tops said in a mocking voice, "Sorry. See, he don't like us, don't like
me calling him a Wop. Fancy Dago, ain't he?" His voice was loud and
people were staring at us. The waiter was whispering nervously to the
manager.
I said, "Forget it, Tops, you're drunk and I've places to go."
"So I'm drunk! Know what I want to talk to you about, what I been
thinking about sitting here, looking at your ugly kisser? I never liked
you socking me around. Nobody ever done that to me, you got me with
a Sunday punch. Know what, let's you and me see who's the roughest
chum right now?"
"Some other time, I just ate," I said, getting up. Tops got to his feet fast,
for a guy in his condition. The punk got up quickly too, glanced around,
said something to Tops who growled, "Naw, he ain't a copper no more.
Hit the wrong slob and got hisself busted." His eyes didn't leave me as
he talked and now he asked, "We settle this right here, or should we go
into the alley?"
I had the ball--was stuck with it! Tops was too stupid drunk to argue

with. I knew the alley. I shrugged. "Let's go into the alley, I don't want
to break any tables and property, knocking you around. Remember,
you're starting this... and better take your plates out, no sense my
busting them... again."
The tough talk didn't work. "Damn right I'm starting it, going to kick
the living slop out of you," Tops said as we started for the kitchen door.
This Bill pretended to brush against me and I shoved him aside, said,
"Relax, punk, I'm clean."
We walked through the kitchen, which was empty except for a
short-order cook in dirty shirtsleeves, who stared at us with surprise.
We stepped out into the alley and as Tops took off his coat and handed
it to the punk... I ran like mad. Tops was too drunk to run and I knew
the kid wouldn't be any trouble.
Nothing followed me--except Tops' astonished and deep laughter. The
alley came out on a busy side street, as I knew it would, and I slowed
down. I told the nearest cabbie to drive me to the park. I'd never run
from anybody before, but I didn't feel bad, in fact I didn't feel anything.
I was breathing hard and when I took my pulse it seemed too fast. I
leaned back against the seat, shut my eyes, and waited for my heart to
stop pounding.
I sat on a park bench for awhile, wondering what that short sprint had
done to my left lung... the one they had once talked of collapsing. It
was the first time I'd run, or even walked fast, in almost a year, and my
throat felt a little raw from breathing too fast. I'd have to see Max, get a
gun permit. Coming back to town was a mistake--there were too many
characters like Tops around, waiting to take a poke at me. You return to
your "home town" not because it's a good or bad town, but for no
reason except it's "home town." Well, that was for the birds, if I wanted
to stay alive I'd have to get out of town--but fast. The next time there
might not be an alley and a beating would kill me.
I sat in the park till one, then took a bus to the Grace Building, which
was a swank office building not far from the bar I'd been in. Suite 2111
had AMERICA! AMERICA! Inc. printed on the door in small silver

letters and the office was a lush affair--the walls of knotted blond pine,
fancy leather chairs, thick rug, and pictures of Washington, Truman,
and MacArthur on the walls in modern copper frames. The receptionist
was a dull-looking, thin woman who told me, "Mr. Loughlin is busy.
Take a seat, please."
I sat down and in a few minutes a creep came out of an office and told
the woman, "I'll be back by two, Miss O'Brien." This frantic looked to
be about thirty, was small and slight, and had thick glasses on a pimply
face that seemed too big for the rest of his head. He wore a dark blue
suit, a white shirt with a starched collar, and a dark black tie. His hair
was a violent orange-red, and the