The Mugger (7 page)

“That’s a crazy bet,” Randolph whispered to Willis.

“You said he was luke.”

“He’s getting warmer every time he rolls. Watch him.”

Turtleneck rolled a six and then a five.

The man across the circle said to Willis, “Take another five on that?”

“It’s a bet,” Willis said. He palmed a ten, and the man covered it with a five. Turtleneck rolled. He got his four on the next throw. Willis handed the $30 to the man across the circle. Turtleneck left the fifty on the blanket.

“I’ll take half of it,” Gravel said.

“I’ve got the other half,” Willis said.

They dropped their money, covering Turtleneck’s.

“You’re nuts,” Randolph said.

“I came here to bet,” Willis answered. “When I want to knit argyles, I’ll stay home.”

Turtleneck rolled a seven on his first throw.

“Son of a bitch!” Gravel said.

“Leave the hundred,” Turtleneck replied, smiling.

“You’re covered,” Willis told him.

From across the circle, Donner eyed Willis dubiously. Gravel’s eyebrows went up onto his forehead.

“We’ve got a sport with us,” Turtleneck said.

“Is this a sewing circle or a craps game?” Willis asked. “Shoot.”

Turtleneck rolled an eight.

“Six-to-five no eight,” Willis said. The men in the circle were silent. “All right, eight-to-five.” Six-to-five was the proper bet.

“Bet,” Gravel said, handing Willis a fiver.

“Roll,” Willis said.

Turtleneck rolled.

“Boxcars,” Randolph said. He looked at Willis for a moment. “I’ve got another eight bucks says no eight,” he said.

“Same bet?” Gravel asked.

“Same.”

“You’re on.” He handed Randolph his five.

“I thought this guy was getting hot,” Willis said, smiling at Randolph.

“What gets hot, gets cool,” Randolph replied.

Turtleneck rolled his eight. Gravel collected from Willis and Randolph. A hook-nosed man across the circle sighed.

“Bet the two hundred,” Turtleneck said.

“This is getting kind of steep, ain’t it?” Hook Nose asked.

“If it’s too steep for you, go home to bed,” Randolph answered.

“Who’s taking the two hundred?” Turtleneck asked.

“I’ll take fifty of it,” Hook Nose said, sighing.

“That leaves a C and a half,” Turtleneck said. “Am I covered?”

“Here’s a century,” Willis said. He dropped a bill onto the blanket.

“I’ll take the last fifty,” Randolph said, throwing his money down with Willis’s. “Roll, hotshot.”

“These are big-timers,” a round-faced man standing on Willis’s right said. “Big gamblers.”

Turtleneck rolled. The cubes bounced across the blanket. One die stopped, showing a deuce. The second die clicked against it and abruptly stopped with a five face up.

“Seven,” Turtleneck said, smiling.

“He’s hot,” Round Face said.

“Too damn hot,” Hook Nose mumbled.

“Bet,” Gravel put in.

“Bet the four hundred.”

“Come on,” Hook Nose said. “You trying to drive us home?”

Willis looked across the circle. Hook Nose was carrying a gun, its outline plainly etched against his jacket. And, if he was not mistaken, both Turtleneck and Gravel were heeled, too.

“I’ll take two bills of it,” Willis said.

“Anybody covering the other two?” Turtleneck asked.

“You got to cool off sometime,” Randolph said. “You got a bet.” He dropped two hundred onto the blanket.

“Roll’em,” Willis said. “Shake ‘em first.”

“Papa’s shoes got holes, dice,” Turtleneck said, and he rolled an eleven.

“Man, I’m hot tonight. Bet it all,” he said. “Am I covered?”

“Slow down a little, cousin,” Willis said suddenly.

“I’m betting the eight,” Turtleneck answered.

“Let’s see the ivories,” Willis said.

“What!”

“I said let me see the cubes. They act talented.”

“The talent’s in the fist, friend,” Turtleneck said. “You covering me or not?”

“Not until I see the dice.”

“Then you ain’t covering me,” Turtleneck answered dryly. “Who’s betting?”

“Show him the dice,” Randolph said. Willis watched him. The ex-Marine had lost two bills on that last roll. Willis had intimated that the dice were crooked, and now Randolph wanted to see for himself.

“These dice are straight,” Turtleneck said.

Gravel stared at Willis peculiarly. “They’re Honest Johns, stranger,” he put in. “We run a square game.”

“They act drunk,” Willis said. “Prove it to me.”

“You don’t like the game, you can cut out,” Hook Nose said.

“I’ve dropped half a G since I walked in,” Willis snapped. “I practically own those dice. Do I get a look or don’t I?”

“You bring this guy in, Fats?” Gravel asked.

“Yeah,” Donner said. He was beginning to sweat.

“Where’d you dig him up?”

“We met in a bar,” Willis said, automatically clearing Donner. “I told him I was looking for action. I didn’t expect educated dice.”

“We told you the dice are square,” Gravel said.

“Then give me a look.”

“You can study them when they’re passed to you,” Turtleneck said. “It’s still my roll.”

“Nobody rolls till I see them dice,” Willis snapped.

“For a small man, you talk a big game,” Gravel said.

“Try me,” Willis said softly.

Gravel looked him over, apparently trying to determine whether or not Willis was heeled. Deciding that he wasn’t, he said, “Get out of here, you scrawny punk. I’d snap you in two.”

“Try me, you big tub!” Willis shouted.

Gravel stared hotly at Willis for an instant and then made the same mistake countless men before him had made. There was, you see, no way of telling from Willis’s appearance what his training had been. There was no way of knowing that he was expert in the ways of judo or that he could practically break your back by snapping his fingers. Gravel simply assumed he was a scrawny punk, and he rushed across the circle, ready to squash Willis like a bug.

He was, to indulge in complete understatement, somewhat surprised by what happened to him next.

Willis didn’t watch Gravel’s face or Gravel’s hands. He watched his feet, timing himself to rush forward when Gravel’s right foot was in a forward position. He did that suddenly and then dropped to his right knee and grabbed Gravel’s left ankle.

“Hey, what the hell—” Gravel started, but that was all he ever said. Willis pulled the ankle toward him and upward off the
ground. In the same instant, he shoved out at Gravel’s gut with the heel of his right hand. Gravel, seeing his opponent drop to his knees, feeling the fingers tight around his ankles, feeling the sharp thrust at his mid-section, didn’t know he was experiencing an ankle throw. He only knew that he was suddenly falling backward, and then he felt the wind rush out of him as his back collided with the concrete floor. He shook his head, bellowed, and jumped to his feet.

Willis was standing opposite him, grinning.

“Okay, smart guy,” Gravel said. “Okay, you smart little bastard,” and he rushed forward again.

Willis didn’t move a muscle. He stood balanced evenly, smiling, waiting, and then he struck suddenly.

He grabbed Gravel’s left arm at the elbow bend, cupping it with his right hand. Without hesitation, he snapped Gravel’s left arm upward and forced his left hand into Gravel’s armpit. His hand was opened flat, but the fingers were not spread. They lay close together, the thumb tucked under them, out of the way. Willis wheeled to the right, swinging Gravel’s arm over his left shoulder and forcing it downward by pressing on the elbow grip.

He bent forward suddenly, and Gravel’s feet left the ground, and then Willis gave a sharp jerk and Gravel found himself spinning upward in a shoulder overthrow, the concrete coming up to meet him.

Considerately, and because he didn’t want to break Gravel’s arm, Willis released his grip on the elbow before Gravel smashed into the concrete. Gravel shook his head, dazed. He tried to get up, and then he sat down again, still shaking his head. Across the circle, Hook Nose’s hand snaked toward the opening of his jacket.

“Hold it right there!” a voice said.

Willis turned. Randolph was holding a .45 in his fist, covering the others. “Thanks,” Willis said.

“Scoop up that eight hundred,” Randolph answered. “I don’t like crooked games.”

“Hey, that’s my dough!” Turtleneck shouted.

“It used to be ours,” Randolph replied.

Willis picked up the money and put it in his pocket.

“Come on,” Randolph said.

They started for the side door, Randolph backing away from the circle, still holding the .45. The skinny man who’d passed Willis in looked confused, but he didn’t say anything. Most men don’t when a .45 is in the picture. Willis and Randolph ran down the street.

Randolph pocketed the gun and hailed a cab on the corner. “You like a cup of coffee?”

“Sure,” Willis said.

Randolph extended his hand. “My name’s Skippy Randolph.”

Willis took it. “Mine’s Willy Harris.”

“Where’d you learn judo?” Randolph asked.

“In the Marines,” Willis said.

“It figured. I was in the corps, too.”

“No kidding?” Willis said, feigning surprise.

“Sixth Division,” Randolph said proudly.

“I was in the Third,” Willis said.

“Iwo?”

“Yes,” Willis said.

“I was in Iwo and Okinawa both. My company was attached with the Fifth when we hit Iwo.”

“That was a goddamn mess,” Willis said.

“You said it. Still, I had some good times with the corps. Caught a slug at Okinawa, though.”

“I was lucky,” Willis said. He looked around for wood to knock and then rapped his knuckles on his head.

“You think we’re far enough away from those creeps?” Randolph asked.

“I think so.”

“Any place here,” Randolph told the cabbie. The driver pulled up to the curb, and Randolph tipped him. They stood on the sidewalk, and Randolph looked up the street. “There’s a coffeepot,” he said, pointing.

Willis took the $800 from his pocket. “Half of this is yours,” he said. He handed Randolph the bills.

“I figured them dice were a little too peppy,” Randolph said, taking the money.

“Yeah,” Willis said dryly. They opened the door to the coffeepot and walked to a table in the corner. They ordered coffee and French crullers. When the order came, they sat quietly for a while.

“Good coffee,” Randolph said.

“Yeah,” Willis agreed.

“You a native in this burg?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Chicago, originally,” Randolph said. “I drifted here when I was discharged. Stuck around for four years.”

“When were you discharged?”

“‘45,” Randolph said. “Went back to Chicago in ‘50.”

“What happened to ‘49?”

“I did some time,” Randolph said, watching Willis warily.

“Haven’t we all?” Willis said evenly. “What’d they get you on?”

“I mugged an old duffer.”

“What brings you back here?” Willis asked.

“What’d they get
you
for?” Randolph asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Willis said.

“No, come on.”

“What difference does it make?”

“I’m curious,” Randolph said.

“Rape,” Willis said quickly.

“Hey,” Randolph said, raising his brows.

“It ain’t like what it sounds. I was going with this dame, and she was the biggest tease alive. So one night—”

“Sure, I understand.”

“Do you?” Willis said levelly.

“Sure. You think I wanted to mug that old crumb? I just needed dough, that’s all.”

“What’re you doing for cash now?” Willis asked.

“I been makin’ out.”

“Doing what?”

Randolph hesitated. “I’m a truck driver.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Who do you work for?”

“Well, I ain’t workin’ at it right now.”

“What
are
you working at?”

“I got something going, brings in a little steady cash.” He paused. “You looking for something?”

“I might be.”

“Two guys could really make out.”

“Doing what?”

“You figure it,” Randolph said.

“I don’t like playing ‘What’s My Line?,’” Willis answered. “If you’ve got something for me, let me hear it.”

“Mugging,” Randolph said.

“Old guys?”

“Old guys, young guys, what’s the diff?”

“There ain’t much dough in mugging.”

“In the right neighborhoods, there is.”

“I don’t know,” Willis said. “I don’t like the idea of knocking over old guys.” He paused. “And dames.”

“Who said anything about dames? I steer away from them. You get all kinds of trouble with dames.”

“Yeah?” Willis said.

“Sure. Well, don’t
you
know? They get you on attempted rape as well as assault. Even if you didn’t lay a hand on them.”

“That right?” Willis said, somewhat disappointed.

“Sure. I stay away like they’re poison. Besides, most dames don’t carry too much cash.”

“I see,” Willis said.

“So what do you think? You know judo, and I know it, too. We could knock this city on its side.”

“I don’t know,” Willis said, convinced that Randolph was not his man now, but wanting to hear more so that he could set him up for a pinch. “Tell me more about how you work it.”

While the two men talked in one part of the city, the girl lay face down in the bushes in another part of the city.

The bushes were at the base of a sharp incline, a miniature cliff of earth and stone. The cliff sloped down toward the bushes, and beyond the bushes was the river, and arching overhead was the long span of the bridge leading to the next state.

The girl lay in a crooked heap.

Her stockings had been torn when she rolled down the incline to the bushes, and her skirt was twisted so that the backs of her legs were exposed clear to her buttocks. The legs were good legs, youthful legs, but one was twisted at a curious angle, and there was nothing attractive about the girl’s body as it lay in the bushes.

The girl’s face was bleeding. The blood spread from the broken features to the stiff branches of the bushes and then to the ground, where the parched autumn earth drank it up thirstily.
One arm was folded across the girl’s full breasts, pressed against the sharp, cutting twigs of the bushes. The other arm dangled loosely at her side. Her hand was open.