Ed Lacy - Strip For Violence

I knew what she was hunting for—the John, the “head” as real sailors call it. Of course she had no way of guessing that the “Blowfish Madonna” was not only a picture but the door to the bathroom. She hadn't gone to the can all the time she'd been aboard.

I lay in my bunk, full of a strange, cruel satisfaction, almost amused. I wasn't going to make a move, till she came to me, asked me where the hell it was. Sure, it was petty and stupid on my part, but in some manner I didn't bother to figure out, it was important, a way of cracking that cock-eyed selfish pride of hers.

She twisted and turned in her bunk and I felt like a monster. She sat up, she stretched out again... and finally jumped out of bed, buck naked, shook me and asked, “Hal. Where is... it?”

“That painting there, it's the door to the John,” I said, pointing.

Laurie ran to the door, nearly falling, tried to push it open. “The food the blowfish is diving for—that's the knob,” I said, getting out of bed, opening the door. She ran by me and I shut the door for her.

I sat on my bunk, not sure this wasn't all a silly dream. I didn't know exactly what I was waiting for, but there isn't too much room on a small boat, and I was damned if I was going out on the deck, in the rain.

I heard the flush of water and then it was quiet for a long time. Finally she got tired of waiting, the door opened and she stood there, her body like a dream in the dim light.

Even her face had lost that tense look—maybe she was still a bit high on the dramamine.

She shook her head slowly, said—and it sounded like a deep sigh— “No.”

I stood up but didn't move. She kept shaking her head, mumbling, “No. Oh I don't know... Oh... No.” We were about two feet apart and she slowly edged toward me. I still didn't move and when she was a few inches from me, I saw the sweat on her face, the troubled brightness in her eyes.

“Hal... Hal, what shall I do? Oh, Hal...”

She stepped closer, her hot breath on my face, the wonderful clean softness of her breasts touching my chest. I didn't move, say a word. This was something she had to decide for herself, for...

With a savage cry she threw herself against me, our lips meeting in a hard kiss, her body eagerly pressing mine, her strong hands exploring my back, sweeping my body.

20

It was a night I never want to forget, and I never will: a night of passion and pain, of great tenderness and sheer desire; of whispered confidences and confessions. And out of it all, the tenderness and wonderful feeling, maybe love... one thing stuck out, a sentence, and it was neither tender nor sweet.

We slept in a tight hug, awakening now and then to talk, say the intimate things we'd each have known if we'd spent the usual weeks and months before becoming lovers. And she said, curtly, bitterly, “My father—Pop, I hardly ever called him Pop—but Hal he did everything for me and I hated him!”

“But you said...?”

“He was a coward, afraid of the world, running from life. All my life I've lived by the strictest conventions, by banal slogans, by stupid penny-pinching. It was all an escape for him. He thought if he lived by the... the... rules, obeyed them to the letter, then he couldn't be blamed for being a failure. And he was a failure, for he was unhappy. There was always a fight over every cent, a cross-examination every time I wanted to do something on my own. That killed Mama. I wish I could make you see it, spending exactly so much for food, so much for rent, everything figured to the exact cent, little budget envelopes, for that and this... The model way to live according to some books he once read. Instead of a heart he had a penny-bank!”

I didn't know what she expected me to say; what I wanted to say. The old man was dead, I never even knew him. I mumbled, “Guess he meant well.”

“Sure he did,” she said, her cheek against mine, and I felt all the muscles moving in the side of her face, her damp lips as she spoke. “In a way I couldn't blame him. Is there anybody in this rich country of ours who isn't haunted by the fear of poverty? I don't blame him for that, but for crawling all his life. If he'd taken a chance, showed a tiny bit of fight... but all he did was worry and worry, stay strictly in line. I was like his money, his furniture, his patched underwear... I was something that belonged to him, a property he had to guide and protect every second, be with all the time because I was his. He was a stone around my neck, a... Oh no, I don't mean that... I was such an ungrateful little bitch! He was a good man by his standards, and who am I to say he was wrong? All the time he was lonely, and so was I... so... so terribly alone, wanting friends, to be with people, be a part of things. We were both lonely, and in his own way he tried his best for me. That's why it's so important I avenge him. I must! Must!”

Her body stiffened, felt like a statue in my arms. “Laurie, honey, take it slow. No point in getting worked up now about...”

“Worked up?” she repeated, her voice rising with hysteria. Then she let me have it, right in the gut. “You don't understand, Hal. I... I'm the one... I killed him!”

BOOK FIVE

I

Her full sobs shook us both. For a moment I was so crazy about her, I didn't think—only felt heavy with a dull, sick, coldness. Then I snapped out of it—Laurie couldn't have killed him. I stroked her wet face, shook her gently, whispered, “Stop crying, you didn't kill him, you couldn't possibly have...”

“But, Hal, I did! As surely as if I'd pulled the trigger. If he robbed the bank, then he did it for me, because I was nagging him, wanted to go to California on my own—alone. He did it to give me the things I... I was so petty, so selfish, I hate myself!”

“Baby, one minute you're hating your father, the next, hating yourself. Stop that kind of talk. And nobody blames you, or hates you.”

“The world should hate me for driving that poor man to...”

“The world doesn't know you're alive. But I do, and I don't hate you, I love you.”

“Hal, I feel so guilty that...” She stopped abruptly. “Hal, did you say you loved me?”

“Yeah.”

“You mean that? You love me?”

“Laurie, I don't know what love actually is—the bunk we see in the movies, the slop we read about in books, maybe it's really sex, or companionship or... Whatever it is, I feel all those things about you.”

“Hal, sweet, it's so good to hear those words. I mean, I've been so lonely that... sometimes I'd worry if any man would ever be attracted to me, thought maybe something was wrong with me. And you, Hal, you seem a part of me,” Laurie whispered, her voice heavy with sleep. “It seems unthinkable that I ever lived before—without you. Is that love?”

“It'll do,” I said, kissing her eyes. “But love won't be anything if we don't get out of this jam. The money, Laurie, where is it?”

“There isn't any money.”

“But you said your pop robbed the bank?”

“No, no, you were the one that said that. I meant if he did it, then... it was my fault. Oh, Hal, my wonderful Hal, I feel so good, deep down good, now.” She snuggled up against me and gently fell asleep.

I kept kissing her face, covering it with small, hot kisses, my hand playing with her hair that was cut like a man's, but so very soft. I had a new definition of love... it sure was love if I could completely forget Anita and Louise, if I could kiss Laurie when all the time I knew she was lying in her teeth!

2

I got up once during the night to check the anchor and when I next opened my eyes, it was bright and sunny outside. My watch said it was after nine. Laurie was sleeping soundly, her face looking soft and young and refreshed. I kissed her and her lips formed a contented smile.

I took her clothes and hung them in the sun. The New York harbor isn't the cleanest place to swim, but I dove in. The second I hit the water I knew what had been bothering me all night—and it wasn't the shock of the cold water that did the trick, it was the water itself —this very water that went up and down the Hudson River. I broke the surface and grinned at the sun. Without meaning to, Laurie had told me where the dough was hidden. I swam around the boat, climbed up on deck and shook myself like a dog. I felt swell, had a feeling I would close the case before the sun rose again.

I took a soapy shower and a shave and when I came out of the John, Laurie awoke with a start and, seeing me, grabbed the sheet and pulled it to her neck. I laughed and she blushed and shook her head. “This has been all so... sudden, I forgot.” She dropped the sheet and proudly stretched. “I feel so delicious, if there is such a feeling.”

“When that feeling stops, baby, the honeymoon is over.”

“Honeymoon... we'll have to talk about that, mister. See how forward I've become!”

I kissed her and she said, “Hal, our being together—it's a whole new intimate world, a new life.”

I pulled out of her arms. “I know, but we have work to do, or our private world will crash on us. Get dressed and we'll put in and eat ashore. I'm starved and we only have canned stuff aboard. The shower is in there.” I pointed at the “Blowfish Madonna” and she giggled, asked, “You really mean it when you ask a gal to come up and look at your etchings!”

“Now you know all my secrets. Come on, get dressed.”

While she showered, I got her clothes—wrinkled but dry —pumped out some bilge water, started the motor and got the anchor up. We tied up at a nearby pier and I bought a paper and we went into a diner and ate like a couple of pigs. Louise still hadn't hit the papers. I called Bobo at the office, gave him the number in the booth and told him to call me back, from outside the office. He called in a few minutes, asked, “What's up, Hal?”

“Don't know. Being careful, in case our phone is tapped. Tell Shirley to take the day off and...”

“Again? Hal, she's getting suspicious of...?”

“Cut the clowning. Tell her to scram. You know that boatyard back of the Polo Grounds, where I dock in the winter? Meet me there in about two hours. Make damn sure you're not being followed, and don't tell anybody where you're going. Okay?”

“I'll be there. Anything else? Getting tired of this sitting on my rusty...”

“We may get too much action today. See you.”

The tide was with us and we cut across the bay like a speed boat—well, almost. Laurie said, “This is much better than last night. Thought I'd die. I'll go home now and...”

“You're staying on this boat all day, with Bobo as a bodyguard. I think I'm going to crack the case this day—said Darling, sounding like a big-time dick who solves murders every hour, instead of a four-flusher on his first murder—and I hope my last!”

“But why do I have to stay...?”

“Because we're going to have many more nights like last night, even better ones, if we stay alive. There's a boatyard in the East River, near the Polo Grounds. Old place, kind of run down, but I dock there in the winter—the yacht basin closes end of October. That's where we're going now. Bobo's meeting us.”

“You live on this ship during the winter?”

“Sure. Winters haven't been too severe. Have hot water piped in from the boathouse, and when it gets real cold, I spend the night in a hotel. Forget the winter: we're playing with a joker who's already killed four people, so a few more stiffs won't mean a thing to him. Why I want you to stay put, don't take chances.”

Laurie blew a kiss at me. “Yes, darling.”