The New Mammoth Book of Pulp Fiction

The girl insisted that going to the cops was out. That I’d have to work it out in some way so there’d be no notoriety. She didn’t want her folks to hear of it.

They’d been in this place the night before. And they hadn’t been supposed to be in any place where liquor was sold because George was on strict probation.

For that matter, he was on probation with the cops as well. He wasn’t supposed to take even one drink and drive his car. That promise was the only thing that had saved his driver’s licence.

They’d got in an argument over the kid’s drinking. The girl had given him back some sort of a class pin that seemed to mean a lot to her and then had walked out on him.

We came to the police barracks about then, and I parked just the other side of it while we went over it.

I said: “Look, Miss Bryce! This is all well and good. But if you’re really worried about this boy the cops are the people to tell it to. They’ve got authority and I haven’t. I’m not going to take a chance on losing my licence by busting into that place without a bunch of cops and a search warrant behind me. On top of that I’ve just found out it’s too hard on the face and eyes.”

“How much?” she asked.

Which is what I’d been working for. The more I thought it over, the less I wanted to go to the cops with a screwy story like the one I had . . .

I didn’t go back until ten that night and I didn’t go back alone. I took Whitey Malone with me, and I had a spare gun and a sap as well as Whitey. I figured I shouldn’t take too much of a beating with all three, because Whitey, at one time, had been better than a fair middleweight. He was a little punchy, but he did what he was told to do – and that’s what I wanted. I parked the car behind a bunch of others.

“So you got it?” I said. “I go in first and you drift in behind me. Wherever I park, you park near. If I get in a beef, you know what to do.”

“Sure, Joe,” Whitey answered. “And if nothing happens and you give me the nod I sort of wander around and look the joint over. That right?”

“That’s right. Now you’ve got money and you’re supposed to buy a drink often enough for it to look good, but don’t get tight. If it comes to a brawl I’ll have a tough enough time getting out by myself, without having to dig you out from under a table and carry you on my back.”

“Don’t fret,” he said, sounding hurt, “I don’t get loopy when I’m working.”

I knew a lot better, but I was hoping he’d hold up that night. It was the stuff in bottles that had beaten him in the ring, not the men he’d fought.

So that’s the way we went in, and we found the place about half full.

I headed for the bar the first thing. If the lad who had given me the bounce had told me the truth he and his waiter pal had been off shift for some time. And the only chance I had for trouble would be that one or the other was hanging around. If that was the case I wanted to find it out right at the start, because I wanted to look around a bit and I wanted Whitey to do the same.

But the two barmen who were working then were strangers and I saw no trace of the waiter named Luigi. I took a couple of drinks at the plank, then gave Whitey the nod and sat down at a table where I could watch the dancing. Whitey drooped an eyelid at me and headed toward the back and the men’s lounge.

And he was still back there when the cigarette girl came by, with her cute little tray and her cute little uniform.

“Cigarettes, Mister?”

I’d have bought them anyway, but I was a cinch when I saw the pin that held her uniform blouse together. I’d had the Bryce girl give me a description of the pin she’d given back to the boyfriend, and if this wasn’t the one it was a dead ringer. I paid for the cigarettes with a five-dollar bill.

“If I told you to keep the change, would you get a cut on it?” I asked.

The girl was pretty and she was smart. She nodded her head and said: “That’s the boss just going behind the bar.”

I looked at the boss and saw what she meant. He was little and hard-looking and the type who wouldn’t let a dime out of his hands unless he was getting two dimes in return. And I knew how most cigarette girls have to turn in their tips.

I said: “Look! He’s watching. I’ll take the change back and meet you by the ladies’ lounge. I’ll pass it to you there. If you can’t get rid of it back there you’re not as smart as I think you are.”

“What’s the idea?” she asked, all the time counting me out the change. She wasn’t in any hurry about it. The girl kept smiling and nodding and acting like cigarette girls are supposed to act with customers who are spending money.

I put on the same kind of an act, and said: “You know something it’s worth twenty dollars to me to find out. The five is just so you’ll meet me and let me tell you what it is.”

“Watch when I go back,” she told me. “You come back in about five minutes. I like to talk about things like twenty bucks, Mister.”