Strip for Violence | Page 3

usual lipstick and compact, some keys,
crumpled pack of butts, a cheap wallet with three bucks in it, and her
Washington Heights address.
I picked up Louise and carried her toward the door. Eddie said, "Let me
help you. Must be too heavy for a little guy, Hal."
"You know me, the half-pint Atlas. See if she had a coat or wraps." At
the top of the stairs, as the ticket taker gave me a bug-eyed look, Bobo
picked her out of my arms like she was a baby, said, "I'll handle her,
Hal."
There wasn't any point in getting sore at him or Eddie, or being too
sensitive about my smallness. I ran down ahead of Bobo and opened
the door of my old convertible. I figured a little night air would sober
her up. Eddie called out that she didn't have any coat as Bobo dropped
her beside me, said, "A heavy built broad. Have fun."

3
I DROVE OVER to the West Side Highway. This Louise had her
phony dyed head on my shoulder, those painted eyebrows shooting up
like lightning from her eyes. The right eye was puffed and beginning to
turn purple. I hoped to hell she didn't get sick all over me. What a guy
had to do to make a few bucks!
It was cool driving along the Hudson, and when we passed the yacht

basin on 79th Street I saw my boat bobbing at her mooring and wished
I was in the cabin, getting some sack time. The fresh air was working
on this Louise and she opened her eyes--or rather her good left
eye--tried to sit up, then fell back against my shoulder again. "Oho,
what a head. Whole... whole side of my face feels... gone."
I didn't say anything.
"Never felt this hung-over before." When the thickness left her voice
she sounded throaty, her tone full and sort of warm.
I could have told her about her face having nothing to do with the kicks
in her liquor, but I didn't say a word. She curled up closer to me, put
her fingers around my right hand. "You're a regular old chatter-box,"
she said. "Never give me a chance to get a word in. Don't remember
seeing you around the factory or..."
"My name is Hal Darling, I'm a private detective, you passed out at the
dance, and as a favor to the owner of the hall--I'm carting you home."
Her left eye looked over at me as she giggled. "You a dick? What's the
gag, buster?"
We turned off the Highway at the George Washington Bridge, and I
took my hand out of hers. She took the hand back again, asked, "Where
we going? My name is..."
"Know your name and address."
"My, my, you are the little detective. And how did you find that out?"
"By deduction--and opening your purse."
She dropped my hand fast, felt for her purse. I told her, "Don't worry, I
didn't rob you."
She giggled, started playing with my hand again. She toyed with the
callus at the edge of my palm, asked coyly, "How come your hand is so
hard at the edge, Hal? Said that was your name, Hal Darling, didn't

you?" At least she didn't crack wise about it being such a "cute" name,
which always drives me nuts. "Aw come on, talk to me. What kind of
work would make the edge of your hand calloused?"
"Spend a lot of time hitting my hands against a rubber pad."
"Why?"
"You can kill a person with a blow from the side of your hand."
She said, "Oh," as though she knew what I was talking about. Then she
asked, "What are you, a tough joe?"
"No, I'm not tough--being tough is a lot of crap. No, I'm just small and
don't like to be walked on. That's all," I said as we stopped for a red
light at Broadway.
"Would you mind buying me a cup of coffee? I need one--but bad."
"You'll be home in a few minutes."
She dropped my hand. "I'll pay for it You men are so..."
I nodded up at the windshield mirror. "Seen yourself lately?"
She looked up, let out a small scream, then began to cry. "You
miserable bastard, what you hit me for?"
The light turned green and I stepped on the gas. "Your boyfriend
seemed to think a punch in the eye would be a sobering influence."
"Charles would never do that!" she sobbed.
"Stop it, Charlie looks like he's slapped you around before."
Ê
Louise lived in one of these small, old apartment houses near
Amsterdam Avenue that are on the verge of becoming slums. As I

parked, I saw the white of a tux shirt in the dim hallway. "Your Charlie