Charlie Martz and Other Stories Read Free Page A

was straddling a chair turned backward, his elbows on the back and his chin resting on both hands. He didn’t raise his head when we came in, but his eyes moved up from the floor and rested on me. The same slow, half-closed eyes.
    â€œWho’s your friend, Buddy?”
    Before the gray suit could answer, Carrito lifted his head with a jerk, recognition all over his face.
    â€œOh, it’s MY friend. Yeah, we’re old friends. Even hold hands.”
    The gray suit came around and stood in front of me. “You mean this is the guy at Jade’s last night?” His right hand was out of the coat and he was holding a snub-nosed .32.
    â€œYeah, Buddy, this is the guy who gives his shells away.” He turned to me, still straddling the chair. “We’re sure glad to see you. Thought we’d have to give Cliffy another lesson. Cliffy hasn’t been minding lately.” He turned his head toward the couch. “Have ya, pal?”
    Cliff wasn’t on the couch but right next to it in a mess of cigarette butts and broken glass. The card table was on its side next to him. I started to go over to him, but didn’t get two steps—under my own power—something hard and flat, like a cut-down revolver, smashed against the side of my face and I landed in the mess next to my brother.
    â€œI thought he wanted to sit down, Marty, so I give him a seat.” Buddy thought it was very funny.
    Carrito didn’t pay any attention to what he said, just smiled and looked at me. He said, still smiling, “Check me if I’m wrong. You’re Stan Ellis. You’ve been down in Mexico for the past year or so. Left just before Cliff got his position with us. Heard about his little accident a couple of weeks ago, and decided to play the big brother.” Now he was laughing. “See, we’ve got to know all about our boys. Even about their brothers.”
    He stopped abruptly, jumped up, and threw the chair aside. For the first time I saw his eyes open all the way.
    â€œYou think I’m a too-big mug who takes that kind of stuff offa somebody’s big brother! There’re a dozen guys in the river wearing cement shoes who didn’t do half of what you tried. You think I’m punchy or somethin’!”
    He calmed down a little, but his eyes were still open wide. I took that as a bad sign and didn’t say a word. Buddy started to laugh.
    Carrito looked at him. “Shut up!” Then down at me and pointedin my face. “You take that gimpy brother and get out of town fast. If I ever hear of you around here again, I’ll blow your head off . . . after Cliff gets his. If you think I’m bluffing, stick. You’ll stick for good under this goddamn ground!”
    He looked at me for about ten seconds without moving. You could see that he was relaxing. He pulled a silver case from an inside pocket and took out a cigarette. He kept his eyes on me while he lit it and took a long drag. As he blew the smoke, he turned and walked out. Buddy walked out backward.
    I heard the Buick start and pull away before I got up. My face ached and I felt a little blood, but I know it didn’t hurt as much as Cliff’s. Blood was smeared all over his face and down the front of his T-shirt. Both of his cheeks were badly bruised. Buddy’s gun had been working overtime.
    I made Cliff comfortable on the couch, cleaned him up, cleaned up the mess and then myself. When I got back to him he was wide awake, but not feeling too good. I told him the whole story, including what Carrito had said. Without making too big a chump out of myself I told him Carrito was probably right and we’d better go someplace else. Cliff was able to swear at me only once before he passed out again.
    I thought we’d be able to pull out the next day, but in the morning Cliff was feeling worse. Pretty sick to his stomach. So I put off the departure and planned it for the next day. There wasn’t