Free Hard Case Crime: Fade to Blonde by Max Phillips Page B

men in suits stepped in close. One of them wore a watch that was big even for him, with dials and knobs all over it, and the other one had clear brown eyes and the kind of shaped mouth that made you want to trust him. The one with the big watch put a hand on my chest, and I stopped and looked down at it.
    “That’s a mistake,” I said. “Undo it.”
    “We need to talk a minute, Mr. Rose,” he said.
    “You don’t look like much of a conversationalist. Take that hand away.”
    “Listen, friend,” he said. “We need to talk about how you talk to people.”
    I knocked his hand off.
    He leaned in and took hold of my necktie. He got some collar, too. “Listen,” he said.
    Maybe it’s because I was such a lousy boxer, but I don’t see the point of going move and countermove with people who ought to know the moves as well as you do. What I’d rather do is upset the board. I gave out a sort of groan and began to sit down, as if I were tired or having an attack, and without thinking the pug tried to pull meback up again by the tie. All two hundred forty-odd pounds of me, one-handed. I almost felt sorry for him. But by that time it was out of my hands, or anyhow, like I’ve said, that’s what I always tell myself, and I came up again fast, grabbing the back of his neck as I went, and broke his nose with my forehead. The pug fell back clutching his face and screaming way back in his throat, and his buddy moved in, but glancing over at his friend instead of tending to business, and I kicked out sideways and broke the buddy’s knee. That would have settled me for a while, but he looked like he wanted to get up again somehow, and I kicked him in the belly, which made him more introspective. By this time the first guy had gotten out his gun and lit off a couple, clutching his face and firing half-blind. That was just plain bad taste. When you’re close enough, you treat a gun like you’d treat a right hook: if you can’t shrug it off, you get inside it. I got inside and yanked his arm the way it was already going and gave him a couple of elbows in the body as he went past, then brought my elbow down on his collarbone when I had a chance. It dropped him on his belly. I stamped on the back of his head and he let go the gun. I dragged him backward until his gun hand was trailing half off the curb of the sidewalk, and then I stamped on his knuckles and felt them go. I stamped again on his fingertips, hoping to get the thumb, or at least break some of his fingers twice, and then I felt something move by my ear and heard a shot from a .38. I stopped.
    “You goddamn psycho,” said the guy with the knee. He was down on one elbow with his gun leveled at my chest. “Don’t you move. Don’t you move a lick. I put ‘em where I want ‘em, and the next one’s yours.”
    He had the floor.
    “You goddamn psycho. What’s the matter with a guy like you? What’s the matter? We weren’t supposed to killyou. We weren’t even supposed to mark you. We were just told to give you a shove and a warning, and look. Look what you turn it into.”
    “He threw down on me,” I said.
    “None of this had to happen.”
    “He threw down on me,” I said. “Next time he’ll have to do it lefty.”
    “You’re a goddamn psycho. I had a dog like you, I’d have it put down. The only reason you’re living is, Halliday wouldn’t like I killed someone he didn’t say to. You come at him again, or me, and I’ll forget what Halliday wouldn’t like. Now get going.”
    I let him have the curtain line. He hadn’t said anything inaccurate. His colleague was still out, making wet snoring noises. I turned and headed back for my car. In front of the entryway, I saw what looked like a little brocade package on the sidewalk. Lotus Blossom had run out when she heard the shots, hadn’t liked what she’d seen, and had hunkered down hugging her legs, her head tucked against her knees. As my footsteps came closer, her head came up slowly, like someone