Sin In Their Blood

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Sin In Their Blood
Ed Lacy

MONDAY
It was almost 10 a.m. and starting to warm up as I walked slowly down the main street, stopping every few minutes to rest my light bag. It's the kind of a street you think about a lot when you're out of town... and then return and wonder why the hell you ever looked forward to seeing it again. I took in the skyscrapers, the movie houses, the gin mills, the bookie joints that passed as cigar stores, the radio-station tower that disappeared into the blue sky, a modern monument to nothing. I watched the people hurrying by, the crowded restaurants and orangeade stands, the heavy traffic--and I knew the street didn't mean a thing to me any more. I suppose in the hospital I'd thought about it so often because it had been a dream then, a symbol of living. Now, as I looked up and down the busy street--this street that had been a big part of my life--all I could think was, where had I got it? In what bar or eating place or movie had somebody breathed deeply and given me the damn bug?
There were lots of places I could have gone to but I didn't have anyplace to go to, so I dropped into the Baker, the best hotel in town. I had less than seventy bucks and this was strictly a lush spot, but after eleven months of hospital beds, I wanted a little luxury for a few nights. As I walked across the impressive lobby, Abe Berg, the house dick, came toward me like a wobbly tank. Abe was a rough joker, once he got his mitts on you. He'd been a professional wrestler and his face had been stepped on a couple of times--and put together again carelessly. Some guys get by on their size, or rough talk--Abe got by on his face. He said in a shrill voice, "Matt Ranzino! You big bastard, heard you were the hero of that mess in Korea!"
"I was there," I said, turning my head to avoid his breath as we pumped hands.
"On a case here?" Abe asked, then being a real bright detective he noticed my bag, added, "Staying here? I can get you the professional rate--40 per cent off."
"I'm on nothing. Just got into town. Thought I'd put up here for a few days."
"I'll fix you up with the desk."
"Thanks."
He banged me on the shoulder with one of his meat-hooks, and I thought I was going to fall over. I let go of his hand, stepped back out of his reach as he said, "Boy, you look in top shape. Whatcha weigh?"
"Two hundred... and five and a half ounces."
"And hard as that old brick house," he said, trying to slap me in the guts with his heavy left hand. I pushed that aside, said, "Take it slow, Abe, I... eh... ate a minute ago."
"Sure. Stop in my office for a hooker?"
"Too early."
We went over to the desk clerk, who looked as though he just had the cellophane unwrapped from him. Abe introduced me as a buddy-buddy and whispered something into the clerk's ear and it must have been good--I only had to pay three bucks for a room and bath. I wanted to go up and lay down for a while, but Abe wanted to talk. He told the clerk, "Matt here was the toughest private dick in town."
"Well, well," the clerk said in a deadpan voice that must be an occupational disease with hotel clerks.
"He was a rough cookie. Say, every time I see this Humphrey Bogart doing his stuff in the movies I say to myself, them Hollywood jokers ought to get Matt Ranzino on the screen and really see a rough clown in action."
"The house-dick business so bad you've become a publicity agent, too?" I asked Abe, and the clerk chuckled at this corn.
"It's the truth, ain't no stuff," Abe said as I picked up my bag. We walked over to the elevator and he asked casually, "What you going to do, Matt, get your license again?"
"I don't know. Going to take it easy for a time."
"Heard about your partner, Harry Loughlin? He's in the big money." Abe said it as though the words tasted bad. "So I heard. What kind of agency he got?"
"You going in with him again?"
"No."
Abe gave me a horrible leer that was a gold-tooth smile. "Good! Listen what Harry's doing is... well, I ain't for talking about it, but it stinks. Really stinks big, Matt."
"Harry's the lad to think up a fast hustle," I said, moving into the elevator.
"A hustle is a hustle but this..." Abe shook his big head. "This is real crummy, worse than a two-bit pimp, or a--"
"See you around, Abe," I said, motioning at the elevator operator.
There was