It was one of the outer rooms of the first floor. I
stumbled on something—a footstool, I think—
and I almost went down. I banged into a table to hold myself up.
"That's right," said Harry, "wake up the whole fucking household."
"Look," I said, "what are we going to get here?"
"Keep your fucking voice down!"
"Harry, do you have to keep saying fucking?"
"What are you, a fucking linguist? We're here for
cash and jewels."
I didn't like it. It seemed like total insanity. Harry
was crazy; he'd been in and out of
madhouses. Between that and doing
time he'd spent three-quarters of his
adult life in lockup. He'd talked me into
the thing. I didn't have much resistance.
"This damn country," he said. "There
are too many rich pricks having it too
easy." Then Harry banged into some-
thing. "Shit!" he said.
"Hello? What is it?" We heard a
man's voice coming from upstairs.
"We're in trouble," I said. I could feel
the sweat dripping down from my
armpits.
"No," said Harry, "he's in trouble."
"Hello," said the man upstairs.
"Who's down there?"
"Come on," Harry told me.
He began walking up the stairway. I
followed him. There was a hallway, and
there was a light coming from one of the
rooms. Harry moved quickly and silent-
ly. Then he ran into the room. I was
behind him. It was a bedroom. A man
and a woman were in separate beds.
Harry pointed his .38 Magnum at the
man. "All right, buddy, if you don't
want your balls blown off, you'll keep it
quiet. I don't play."
The man was about 45, with a strong
and imperial face. You could see he had
had it his own way for a long time. His
wife was about 25, blonde, long hair,
truly beautiful. She looked like an ad for
something or other.
"Get the hell out of my house!" the
man said.
"Hey," Harry said to me, "you know
who this is?"
"No."
"It's Tom Maxson, the famous news
broadcaster, Channel 7. Hello, Tom—"
"Get out of here! NOW!" Maxson
barked.
He reached out and picked up the
phone. "Operator—"
Harry ran up and slammed him across
the temple with the butt of his .38. Max-
son fell across the bed. Harry put the
phone back on the hook.
"You bastards, you hurt him!" cried
the blonde. "You cheap, cowardly
bastards!"
She was dressed in a light-green negli-
gee. Harry walked around and broke
one of the shoulder straps. He grabbed
one of the woman's breasts and pulled it
out. "Nice, ain't it?" he said to me.
Then he slapped her across the face,
hard.
"You address me with respect,
whore!" Harry said. Then he walked
around and sat Tom Maxson back up.
"And you: I told you I don't play."
Maxson revived. "You've got the
gun; that's all you've got."
"You fool. That's all I need. Now I'm
gonna get some cooperation from you
and your whore or it's going to get
worse."
"You cheap punk!" Maxson said.
"Just keep it up, keep it up. You'll
see," said Harry.
"You think I'm afraid of a couple of
cheap hoods?"
"If you're not, you ought to be."
"Who's your friend? What does he
do?"
"He does what I tell him."
"Like what?"
"Like, Eddie, go kiss that blonde!"
"Listen, you leave my wife out of
this!"
"And if she screams, I put a bullet in
your gut. I don't play. Go on, Eddie, kiss
the blonde—"
The blonde was trying to hold up the
broken shoulder strap with one hand.
"No," she said, "please—"
"I'm sorry, lady, I gotta do what Har-
ry tells me."
I grabbed her by the hair and got my
lips on hers. She pushed against me, but
she wasn't very strong. I'd never kissed a
woman that beautiful before.
"All right, Eddie, that's enough."
I pulled away. I walked around and
stood next to Harry. "Why, Eddie," he
said, "what's that thing sticking out in
front of you?"
I didn't answer.
"Look, Maxson," said Harry, "your
wife gave my man a hard-on! How the
hell are we supposed to get any work
done around here? We came for cash
and jewelry."
"You wise-ass punks make me sick.
You're no better than maggots."
"And what have you got? The six
o'clock news. What's so big about that?
Political pull and an asshole public.
Anybody can read the news. I make the
news."
"You make the news? Like what?
What can you do?"
"Any amount of numbers. Ah, let...