Sin In Their Blood | Page 9

me with troubled eyes, rocked his chair. "Matt, what's wrong? You talk like a washed-up old man. You're still a kid, and you used to be tough as..."
"That's it, Maxie... used to be. They took all the toughness out of me in Korea, and in the hospital. I lay there for months, sweating out dying, losing a lung, fighting with them not to cut away my ribs... give me air.... I don't know, Maxie, I've always had confidence in myself, in my body, but now... I have to treat myself like I was made of delicate glass from now on. I can't risk..."
"What crap! I was in touch with the docs at the hospital; all you have is a scar on your lungs. Why half the people in the world have a scar on their lungs, had TB at some time and never even knew it. For all I know, maybe I have. And I heard about your running out on that goon Tops Anderson today. For Christsakes, what's happened, Matt, lost your grip?"
"Could be. Now I have to figure things like this: if I swing on a Tops, get into a brawl, I might open the scar again, really fix my wagon. Another thing, the docs said I probably got the germ in my lung before Korea--everybody has the germs inside them. So when I look at a Tops, or even you, I keep wondering if this is where I got it, if this bastard is the one who..."
"You've turned soft, sound like a dizzy hypochondriac. Why two years ago you would have slapped Tops loose from his teeth for even looking at you wrong!"
"That was two years ago. Max, why do we make such a big deal of being tough? All we see on the screen, the radio or TV is some joker bragging how tough and rugged he is. I didn't have much to think about in the hospital, so I figured out toughness. It's for the birds. Unless a guy is ready to take a stand--and that means ready to die--on anything, even getting called a louse or a SOB, then being tough is all a bluff, being a coward. And if you're really tough, ready to kill or be killed over a hard look--then you're stupid."
"Sweet God, you talk like you're half dead, a..."
"That's what I am, half dead. And I don't give a damn about anything but seeing I don't become all dead. That's why I'm here--besides wanting to see you again --want you to do me a favor--get me a pistol permit."
"Your hands are the best weapons you'll ever have. What you need a rod for?"
"You want me to make it formal? As a citizen I'm asking for a gun permit for protection. From time to time I'm going to run into other slap-happy characters like Tops, guys I once slugged, and this running is tough on my lungs. With a rod I could bluff my way..."
I stopped, for Max's fat face was twisted up as though he was going to cry. He shook his head sadly. "What's wrong with you? Running!... And you know I can't give you a permit on those grounds. Also you damn well know there's no point in packing a rod unless you're going to use it. That'd be great, getting sent up for knocking off a slob like Tops because you're scared to..."
"You won't get me the permit?" .
"No!"
"Okay. I'll make application for one at police headquarters, anyway." I stood up. "Say hello to Libby and the kids...."
Max got to his feet. "Wait a minute, can't we talk? For crying out loud, we're old friends and..."
"Sure we are, always will be friends. Only we each have to play things the way we see them. I..."
His phone rang and he waved a big hand at me, snapped at the receiver, "Yeah?... When? Headquarters... the bastards! 241 Hilldale Drive... Beatrice Wilson... Mrs. Get me a car, right away!" He slammed the receiver down, told me, "Got a juicy murder in my precinct. Come over with me."
I glanced at my watch. It was almost three. "No, time for me to take my afternoon nap. I'll see you some..."
"Nap?" Max growled, grabbing his hat and then my arm, rushing me toward the door. "We can talk while in the car. What the hell, maybe the sight of a stiff will get you in harness again.'"
I didn't want to waste energy wrestling Max. I turned my head away from his, wanted to tell him I'd done my share of killing recently, seen too many bodies--mass murder. But I didn't say a word, and we picked up a young cop and jumped into the car waiting at the curb.
Max put the siren on and started cutting through traffic. The cop asked, "What's up,