Strip for Violence | Page 4

is waiting, ask him about it."
I opened the door and she staggered out. Charlie came over, said loudly,
"So that's it, coming home with another..."
"Did you hit me?" Louise asked soberly.
"... Take you to the dance, pay for the tickets, all the booze you
slobbered up like a damn blotter and now..."
"Latch off. Did you punch me in the eye, you cheap sonofabitch?"
"Watch the words or I'll shut the other one," this Charles said bravely,
reaching for her.
"Take a walk, jerk," I said, moving between them, turning my back to
help Louise; she wasn't too steady on her legs. Soon as my back was
turned he came at me, as I knew he would, tried to grab my throat.
When I felt his stomach against me, I dug back with both elbows.
He let out a hissing grunt, stepped away, doubled up in pain. He stood
like that for a split second, then began to vomit. I pushed his hat off his
head and it fell into the mess. Grabbing his oily hair I jerked his head
up, crossed a right to his eye. He sat down. I turned to Louise. "Now
you're even. Want some interest on his loan?"
Her good eye was staring at me with surprise. She didn't say no, so I
told him to get up. He still sat on the sidewalk and I bent down and
banged him on the other eye. He began to moan. I didn't want a cop to
find him there, get me jammed up. "Where does this slob live?"
"On... 115th Street... and Broadway. Please, don't hit him again."
"Hold on to the car door, or something, for a moment. I'll send
Charlie-boy home."
"Please don't hit him again."

I snapped Charlie to his feet. He didn't look too bad, eyes weren't
puffed yet, and he hadn't puked on himself. Holding him by the vest
and his right arm, I walked him to Amsterdam Avenue, hailed a cab,
shoved Charlie into the back seat. Giving the cabbie two bucks, I told
him, "He's had too much bottle. Let him off at 115th and Broadway."
The cabbie was a thin old man with a face full of gray stubble. Looking
at the two bucks he said, "This guy gets sick in my cab, I'm done for
the night."
"Already been sick. Get going, pal." I gave him another buck. The
profits on tonight's job were shot to hell. The old man mumbled
something, pulled his flag down, and took off.

4
LOUISE AND I WALKED up two flights of stairs that smelled of
garbage and other human stinks that made me glad I lived on a boat.
She nodded at a door and I got her keys out and opened it. She
staggered in, asked, "Want some coffee?"
"No. Good night, baby."
"Come on in, talk to me. I got the jitters."
"What's that, new name for a big head?"
"Isn't only the liquor--it's you. Way you... you hit Charles. It was so...
so cold."
"And when you were out and he socked you, what was that, a love
tap?"
She shivered. "That was just being... sneaky. It's different. Come on,
don't make talking to me a big deal." I stepped in and she shut the door
and I asked, "Where's the lights?"

"Forget them, the place is a mess. And I don't like you seeing me with a
black eye."
I felt along the wall till I found a switch. It was a one-room apartment
with a kitchenette stuck in the far end like a sore thumb. I opened a
door leading to the John, and the only other door, a closet. There was
an unmade studio couch, and all her furniture was the buck down and
buck-a-week kind. I came back to her and she snapped off the light.
"So you had to see my shoddy place."
"I'm the careful type, don't want any enraged poppas or husbands
coming out of the darkness."
"You're too suspicious. Don't you think I've had enough trouble for one
night," she said, and in the darkness I felt her come close to me. She did
something I liked--she was a couple inches taller than I was and she
suddenly kicked off her high heels. I could feel her hair level with mine.
She put her arms around my neck and I smelled the odd smell of her,
mixed with the stale odor of whisky.
Louise whispered in my ear, "Suppose you think I'm a pushover?"
"Could be, are you?" I said, not touching her. I knew a lot of good
reasons for not laying strays.
She laughed, breathing into my ear. She began talking, fast and low.
"Yes, if being a pushover means you need some loving, a