When it's Safe to Die

"Yes, Miss Alexandra, I'm in here talking to a customer," Kittie called back. "It's the boss," she whispered. "We got a special show tonight. You should stay for it."

"I reckon I might. Can you get me two fingers?"

She nodded, and called out to Alexandra, "I'm coming, just a moment."

"Good girl," I heard the woman say, in a delicious English voice that made the world worth turning.

"I'll see ya," whispered Kittie, as she got up to go.

Out in the body of the club, I saw an elegant woman, older than the others in the room, silver haired, proud and poised, beautifully dressed in a peacock green dress. So this was Miss Alexandra. Kittie went up to her, said something, then looked across at me. The woman nodded, and moved towards me.

There was something ethereal about her, something otherly, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Passing strange.

"Mister Arbogast, is that right?" Her voice was soft and low, smooth like honey. She placed her hand on my shoulder.

"Yes Ma'am. Daniel Arbogast. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"And you. You seem... familiar. But I don't think we've met before, have we?"

"No Ma'am. I'd have remembered, if we'd met." A woman puts her hand on your shoulder, you don't forget. But I'd never seen this woman before, I'll swear on my days.

"Another time then, another place. It's happened before." She said it quietly; to herself, not to me.

She shook her head as if to clear a fog. "Forgive me, I'm rude. I know who you are but I've not introduced myself. Alexandra Cain. I'm the owner."

"Call me Dan, Ma'am, if it pleases you. I'm the customer."

She laughed, and it was a quick delight, seeing her gracious smile. She looked at me steadily.

"Kittie tells me you knew the boy, Milo. Knew of him, anyway. Be careful, Daniel, that's all I can say. That was a nasty business. It's an ugly town, when you turn the rocks over."

"I know that, Ma'am. But I done ugly before, and I have a friend." I touched my side, where the holster sat.

"Keep your friend close by, Daniel. You might need a good friend one day."

I nodded. Now it's three dames giving me warnings.

"Stay for the show. The drinks are on the house."

"Thank you Ma'am. Much appreciated."

I watched her go. I coulda watched her come back, too, but I saw Ruby's eyes in my mind. I shook my own head. Funny time of year, for there to be fog in this town. Normally I can keep a clear head, but not this week. Strange days, indeed.

Kittie brought my drink, and I sat there, contemplating it. Next time she came by, I asked for water, too - my words to Ruby the night before echoing through my head.

The lights dimmed a little, and I saw the cats in the band shuffle to the stage. It was a small outfit with a tenor out front, a spade on trumpet and the drummer and bass. Unusual to see, a young white cat on drums when all the other guys were black. He could hold a shuffle though, and my foot soon started tappin' to the beat. After a couple of tunes they'd locked deep into the pocket, and the music came effortlessly. His sticks on the ride sent shivers through me, then the back-beat, narrow and hard to master, dug into my guts. He had a quick double kick like a heartbeat, which seemed some kind of a trademark, every fourth bar or so.

I got lost in the music for some long minutes, then sat astonished as a young singer came up to the microphone. I nearly wept, her voice had such a crack and wail. Damn near broke my heart, to hear that girl sing. Some kind of broken angel, fallen down to earth. She only sang three numbers and was gone, to a soft scatter of applause.

Then, across the room I saw Maven and her pimp of a producer, Aaron Philips, had arrived. As Kittie had said, the girl had no spirit in her - even the night before, at the ladies' dance, she seemed more alive. She sat quite still, pale and thin, as if she couldn't bear the sight of him.

The guy was loud, I could hear him over the band. Asshole. Sitting at another table, he had a bunch of hard boiled types, heavies and wise-guys, sitting around. They sure as fuck weren't there for the music.

Odd company for a movie type to keep, unless he was making special movies, maybe, the type with not much of a plot and no need for a wardrobe mistress. And a distribution trail that kept to the back streets. It wouldn't have surprised me if he went down Tijuana way to film the dog and pony shows. Fucking black and white lab seconds, 16mm. Cheap, loud asshole.

I sat quietly, observing the goings on. Ten minutes later I became aware of someone watching me. A spiv came over from the table and shuffled into the booth beside me.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, his voice down low, not wanting to draw attention.

"Fuck knows," I replied. "Who wants to know?"

"Let's say an in'erested party. In'erested in what you find so in'eresting over there." He nodded towards Philips. "Know what I mean, fucker?"

"Can't say I do."

"Smart guy, huh?"

I felt something poke at my rib. Fuuck. This was bound to happen. I sighed.

"Don't fucking go for it, fucker. I'm feeling kind of jumpy, so let's do this nice and slow." The pistol barrel nudged me again. "Get the fuck up. Slowly... atta boy. Nice and fucking slow. Mister Philips over there, he wants a little chat. An in'eresting chat, know what I mean?"

"Can't say I do. Same as before."

"Still a fucking wise-guy? Get up!" He nudged me again. "Walk. No clever moves. Out the back."

I saw another two guys get up and leave their table. Well, Dan, I thought, you wanna hope you got a guardian angel, or you're gonna look fucking ugly in the morning. Jesus fuck, I don't need this.

I didn't. As soon as we were out the door, the spiv punched me hard, one kidney, two. My head exploded with pain, but I knew these fucks were nice guys, just sendin' me a warning. If they wanted me dead, they'd be sending the hearse already.

The road met my head, and a puddle of water, the puddle of blood, was almost soothing. A boot went in, fucking my gut twice. I curled into a ball, hurting already, ready to hurt more. They did me over so bad it almost felt good. I saw shoes, shiny fucking shoes, and I figured Philips was here for his in'eresting chat.

He kept it short, for which I was grateful, because fuck me, could the guy whine on any more? I didn't think so, and hoped the prick would never win one of them Oscars - he'd empty the theatre, no fucking doubt about that.

"Keep away, you piece of shit. Don' ask any more questions. Remember Milo, pal, or I'll be sending you a ticket for the Sat'dee afternoon show. Hell, I'll even get you the dress circle, buy you a fucking ice cream. You want chocolate on top?"

I sort of signalled with my hand, okay already, but by this time I was kinda tired, and the cold side-walk was getting comfortable.

"Fuck off, will ya," I managed, "and buy yourself some new shoes. Tan and white don't suit ya."

He delivered one last kick. "Stay. Away."

I passed out, to pass the time.

"Jesus, Dan. You got to make better friends."

Kittie stroked my hair, avoiding the blood on my temple, concern in her little girl's eyes.

"You an angel, honey?"

"Don't be stupid. They don't want you dead. Not yet, anyway. Stay still. Alexandra will get you to hospital. Doctors there, they like sewing people up."

"Yeah, yeah." I managed to sit against the wall, my head pounding. "They jus' made it personal, Kittie. They got me annoyed, now."

"You do stupid stuff when you're annoyed, Dan?"

"Yeah, I do."

She nodded. "Figured as much." She stroked my cheek. "Don't look him in the eyes, Dan. Not when you kill him."

"No. I'll tap him on the shoulder first, to see his empty eyes."

Fuck this.

I passed out.

* * * *

"Mister Arbogast? Are you with us? Can you hear me?"

I managed to open one eye to see a tall nurse with her fingers on my wrist, her other hand on an upside medallion watch, pinned to her breast on a chain.

"You're not dead yet, so that's a start."

She let go of the watch, and it fell to the swell of her breast. A good sized breast. Two of 'em, indeed, held tight in her uniform. It hurt my eyes to close them, so I didn't.

"Stay calm, Mister Arbogast. Your pulse, it's a little erratic.

"Now, what happened to you? Fell over in the shower, slipped down some stairs?" She looked down at me over her glasses, waiting I guess for a story.

I remembered the rain falling down, the puddle under my cheek for a pillow, Kittie's gentle fingers. Those slimy tan and white shoes.

"I took a beating, asked too many questions. Shoulda done what my mamma told me."

"What did your mamma tell you?"

"Don't fight, don't ask smart ass questions, don't throw chalk at the teacher."

She smiled down at me. "And did you?"

"Did what?"

"Throw chalk at the teacher?"

"Do you know me, Ma'am? I kinda feel you do, 'cause how did you know that?"

She laughed. "Only a guess, Mister Arbogast. Badness comes in threes, and you've already done two of them.

"Now, let's get you cleaned up. We'll keep you in overnight. You've got nothing broken, but those kidneys of yours, they're black and blue. We need to see you pass water, make sure there's no blood."

She turned away. She wasn't quite eternity, but her legs went on forever, so that would do. I admired her curves as she busied herself at the cupboard, then glanced up. To see her face in the mirror, watching me watching her. She blushed as I caught her looking at me.

"Do I need to take your pulse again, Mister Arbogast? You seem a little better already."

"No Ma'am. I..."

"You...?"

"Fucking hurt. You got something for that?"

"Kind hands, Mister Arbogast. Lie still, let's get some bandages over those cuts, then we'll get some medication into you."

She did indeed have kind hands and even kinder eyes. I watched her as she methodically undid the buttons on my shirt and carefully eased it away from my shoulders. My guts hurt, my arms where I'd taken the kicks ached, and my flesh was so many colors I coulda hired myself out as a palette for some interior decorator. Although purple, black and blue ain't gonna look so good on a wall.

She took a flannel heated in hot water, and pressed it over my wounds. The heat took some of the pain away, and the gentle pressure eased the hurt. She was methodical, this nurse, going over my body carefully.

"I think you missed a place."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Where?"

I pointed at a place on my right shoulder.

"There's no bruise or cuts there, Mister Arbogast."

"I know. But it was missing out."

"I see." And she bathed that place with her flannel.

"Anywhere else?"

"My legs are kinda sore."

"Of course they are." She placed her methodical fingers on my belt and undid the buckle, undid the buttons of my trousers, and tapped me on the leg. "Bottom up, so I can get these off." I guess my shoes were already off, because she slipped my trousers down easily. Practice, I guess.

"Now, let's look at you." She looked at me with a gentle smile. "For cuts and bruises, Mister Arbogast, cuts and bruises.

"Oh, you poor man. That's a little too close for comfort, wasn't it?"

Her fingers and palm were cool on my cock, as she held it against my stomach, inspecting the fierce welts on my thigh. I stirred a little, felt a little pressure in return.

"That still seems to be working, but it's your kidneys we need to worry about. Can you piss in a bottle by yourself?"

"Don't think so, Ma'am."

"Well, when you're ready, press the buzzer and I'll help you. But now, you need sleep." She squeezed my shaft again, bent down to give it a kiss. "There, a kiss from nurse makes everything better." She patted me, and was ever so gentle, even though there wasn't a bruise.

She pulled the covers up over me.

"Nurse?"

"Yes, Mister Arbogast?"

"You got a name?"

"Lily. Lily Dale."

"Not Lily Marlene?"

"You're thinking of the German actress, Miss Dietrich."

"I musta been. You got kind hands, Miss Dale."

"And you've got kind eyes, Mister Arbogast. But you really should find a safer hobby. Interior decorating perhaps. Much safer."

I laughed, then winced with the pain. "I got the colors for it, that's for sure."

"You do indeed. But hush, Mister Arbogast. Sleep now. I'll come by to check on you, later."

As she left the room I had time for one last thought before I passed out again. Do nurses wear garters with stockings? I don't know.

* * * *

The next morning Nurse Lily came and helped the wounded hero take a piss into a bottle. By that I mean she handed the bottle to me and stood discreetly on the other side of the door while I filled it.

"No sign of blood, Mister Arbogast," she said. "That's good."

There had been some blood into my cock in memory of her hand last night, and her kiss, but best not to mention it. Nor forget it.

"You're clear to go, but please, do your best not to repeat those injuries. There's only so much harm a body can take."

She looked at me with concern, and I remembered her kind hands. A guy could do worse putting himself into them, and once again I blessed my non-existent god for the kindness of women.

"I'll do my best, Ma'am."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she replied. "You need to try better than your best."

"Ma'am." I gave her a small bow, saw the inescapable smile on her face, and the flick away of her hand.

I watched her go down the corridor. She looked back once, turned a corner, and was gone. I turned to the door, and as I did so, bumped into a familiar figure, a fellow gumshoe.

"Hey Jake, what's going on? What the fuck happened to your face?"

His nose was heavily bandaged, still wet with blood.

"A little Polack prick fucking cut me. Little prick. Fuck him."

"You shoulda run faster."

"Yeah, shoulda."

"You still working that water case?"

"It's fucking working me. And you?"

"That dead reporter boy. Smack and a B movie actress, you know?"

"Yeah, I remember him. Save the heroine, Dan, before the train gets her."

"That's the plan."

It was still raining as I stood outside, waiting for Ruby.

"Sweet god, Dan, you're a mess," she said when she turned up ten minutes later.

She saw me wince as I got into her car. "I been better."

* * * *

The case got put on hold for several days or even a week while I recuperated, watching my body go through a kaleidoscope of colors. I coulda divided my body into pain zones too, but it was easier to hurt all over. I didn't need a road map for that.

I did spend the evenings mapping Ruby's body though, finding my way around her curves and valleys, curling her hair in my hand. She took my cock into her mouth to apply pain relief, sucking me soft and slow and holding me there while my breathing slowed afterwards.

"It's how I can tell, Dan, if you're getting better. You seem to be, slowly." And she stroked me hard once again, sometime later.

There came a time when she knew I was much better but she'd forgotten to tell me, but who was I to change her mind?

"These bruises, Danny, they hurting you?"

"You take my mind of them, Ruby."

She sure did. On the fourth day she eased herself onto me, sliding down my shaft, her weight on her thighs so the only part of her body that touched mine was the sweet grip of her pussy and the hard nubs of her nipples against my palms.

On the fifth day she ground her cunt down my cock and pulled back her lips to flicker her clit, and when she came with a small scream, I realised I'd only winced once.

On the sixth day, when Ruby knelt before me and her big breasts swayed against the sheets as I fucked her from behind, it seemed I was a whole lot better. But just to make sure, on the seventh day I rested. God had it right, and truth be told, I properly understood the bit about Adam's rib a whole lot better now. That must have hurt. I'd obviously not paid proper attention in Sunday school.

"It's just occurred to me, Dan," said Ruby, as she arched her body above mine on the Monday, her breasts cupped up high in my hands: "I'm not still payin' you by the day, plus expenses, am I?"

"No Ma'am. By the hour, double on Sundays."

"Uh huh. Don't forget my card on Valentine's."

"No, Ma'am."

I loved her twice that night, went back to work on the Tuesday.

* * * *

Everything seemed to revolve around the scummy producer, Aaron Philips, so I decided to do a little late night snooping around. I drove up to his house on Rodeo in my shitty old Ford, thinking it looked like it was dumped at the best of times. But it ran smooth, that old flathead vee suited my slam shifting style, and could hustle with a good enough tail wind behind it.

I rolled the last fifty yards with the lights off and my head out the window to better hear any give away sounds. I'd gone up and past his house and turned around so I faced back down to the city. Ready for a fast getaway, just in case. I didn't know what I might find, but I was prepared to find whatever it was, dig it up and bury it back into the ground.

I quickly made my way across the lawn, keeping to the shadows, my ears sharp to any noise. All the lights were off at the front of the house, but I could see shadows moving around the back. Seems like there was a pool pavilion there, and I could hear low voices. I slunk down like a monkey and crept to a window.

Pulling an old surveillance trick, I angled a small mirror above my head and took a slow look around the room. As my eyes adjusted to the light and shadow, I made out Philips, and could hear his voice. Couldn't make out what he was sayin', but a man wears shoes like he did, who gives a fuck what he says. Anyway, I had payback in mind; just as painful, only slower, and don't need no words for that.

I heard a low moan, a woman's moan. Sounded some place close, so I crawled down to another window to take another look. I angled the mirror up, and there on the floor, on a mattress, I could see Maven.

She was naked, but she wasn't pretty. Obviously stoned past caring, she lay curled up on the mattress, the thin bones of her spine nubbed up from her flesh, which looked almost blue. She rolled over, and I saw a trail of vomit on her skin, and the fucking rubber tube still around her arm. She was junked up, and not doing well by the look of it.

The fucking prick Philips stood over her, his hands on his shrunken little cock. The asshole was beating off, probably the lowest life low act I'd ever seen. I've seen scum look better than that on a stagnant pond.

I scoped the rest of the room, and reckoned they were alone. I crept right around the whole building, just to be sure, then eased the handle of the door down, and stepped in.

Philips was still jacking, standing over Maven's face. No little girl deserves that. I took ten quiet steps forward and put my gun to his neck.

"Stop that, slime. Just fucking stop." I spoke in a low, lethal whisper, the cold hole of the pistol barrel up against his skin.

He jumped, not knowing I was there, and let out a high pitched shriek.

"Don't. Fucking. Move. Asshole. Don't say a word."

I wondered if he recognised my voice. Probably not. The last time we spoke I was lying on a concrete bed and it was raining.

"Let's just move over here, shall we? Take a seat."

He shuffled towards a chair, his pants clutched in his hand. His cock had shrunken with fear, and even though the idea of him was horrible, any indignity he might suffer would satisfy me.

I looked around, and found what looked like a child's skipping rope. Perfect. I quickly lashed his feet to the chair legs, and flicked his hands behind him. Pulled the rope good and tight. Found a towel and shoved the end in his mouth, but didn't think he'd do much swimming.

I quickly went across to Maven, checked her pulse. She was semi-conscious, her body far too cold. I didn't have much time. There was a blanket on the bed, and I wrapped her in it.