Battle Cry - Leon Uris [79]
He poured another shot, which Ski downed. It was his fifth fast one. He was out to bury himself quick-like. I saw beads of perspiration form on his brow. He loosened his battle pin and his field scarf, panting for air. Another shot went down.
As the man next to him moved off his stool, the bartender gave a signal. It was only a moment before a heavily made up, sleazy-looking bitch sauntered over and perched herself next to Ski.
“Hello, honey,” she said. The fun would be starting soon. I eyed the room for a quick exit. Ski turned his eyes slowly to her. He was wavering a little.
“Lonely, Marine?”
“Yeah, I’m lonely…yeah, I’m lonely.”
“Buy me a drink, honey?”
“Sure…got plenty, got plenty.” He turned to shove some change from the twenty across the bar. There was none. He reached in his wallet and from the fat roll peeled another bill and put it down. “Give the lady a drink and give me a survey. Make mine a double.”
The last one made his eyes do a little wild dance, then they started getting bleary. “You Susan?”
“Susan?”
“Yeah, Susan—you don’t look like Susan,” he said.
“Do you want me to be Susan, Marine?”
“Yeah…be Susan, will you? Please be Susan, lady.”
“Sure, Marine, I go for you, you’re sweet. What’s your name?”
“Ski…Ski…I’m a Feathermerchant…you Susan?”
“Sure, Ski, I’m Susan, drink up.”
“Why don’t you call me Connie if you’re Susan? She always calls me Connie…all the time, Connie, she says.”
I saw a tear trickle down his face. Even dead drunk it was hard for Ski to pretend that bawdy-looking whore was the girl he loved. There was a burst of laughter and screams of joy as the combo broke into a hot number. I felt myself getting sick of these stinking vultures, cashing in on the misery and loneliness of a lost kid. I wanted to start ripping the joint apart. I downed my beer and steadied for the move.
“Why don’t you finish that drink, Connie, and come up to my place?”
Ski leaned very close to her. “You…we…go someplace…alone…and turn off the lights and I could pretend you were Susan…would you hold me real tight, lady, and call me…Connie?”
“Sure, finish up your drink.” She nodded to the bartender, who deftly slipped the shot glass from the bar. I saw him empty a powder into it before he put it back in front of Ski.
“O.K., sister, that’s the ball game,” I said. “Come on, Ski, we’re going back to camp.”
“You can’t call me that!” she screamed at me in what was an obvious signal for a bum’s rush to get me out of there.
“Knock off the funny business, I’m taking him home—with his money.”
“I heard you, Marine,” the scarfaced bartender shouted at me. “That kind of talk to a lady don’t go in this place!”
I spun about quickly in time to feel something crash against my head. They sure worked neat. I was dazed, but they didn’t have me out. I felt several pairs of strange hands pick me up and rush me across the room. I tried to shake the fuzz from my brain but all I could hear was the wild beating of the combo. I was getting numb, fast…then it felt like I was sailing on a cloud….
Next I knew, Danny was standing over me, slapping my face. “Snap out of it, Mac.”
“Jesus! Look around the back on the double!”
Sister Mary took off at high port, then returned. “I saw them shoving off in a cab just as I got there. Ski was out cold,” he said.
I reeled to my feet. “Goddammit, I fouled up the detail. Let me think, let me think.” I steadied myself, trying to keep everything from spinning around.
“Let’s rush the goddam place and take it apart,” Andy said.
“No, we’re A.W.O.L.,” I said. “Andy, you look the oldest. Take my I.D. card and get in there. Get that bartender alone. The skinny one on the far end. Find out where they took Ski.”
Andy wasted no time. We fell back into the shadows as he moved to the door. We stood by restlessly for about ten minutes and then he came barreling out. “Come on, men, Ritz Hotel, Cannon and Clay.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I know the joint from the old days. Let’s grab a cab at the corner.”
We sped toward the waterfront.
“How on earth did you do it, Andy?” Marion asked.
“Easy,