Sin In Their Blood | Page 9

the Golden Gloves heavyweight title. Max
had been riding the gravy train as police department boxing champ for
several years till I came along and beat his brains out. It was the start of
a real friendship.
Max bent down to get his pint out--why do they always keep it in the
bottom drawer? The top would be more convenient--and I said, "Not
for me."
He kicked the drawer shut, tilted his chair, the good one, against the
wall. "Matt, I've missed your ugly puss. Going into the agency racket

again? You want, I can get you back on the force, being a vet of two
wars and all that. Hell, you're only 33, still retire before you're 50."
"You mean retire to one of these two-bit night watchmen or messenger
jobs so I could live on my pension?"
Max sent an oyster of spit into the tin wastebasket. "Going to get your
license again?"
I stared at the wastebasket. Max? I'd never thought of that, could be.
He asked, "What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"What's your plans, champ?"
"To do a lot of nothing. Get a quiet room on the ocean front, take care
of myself."
Max looked at me with troubled eyes, rocked his chair. "Matt, what's
wrong? You talk like a washed-up old man. You're still a kid, and you
used to be tough as..."
"That's it, Maxie... used to be. They took all the toughness out of me in
Korea, and in the hospital. I lay there for months, sweating out dying,
losing a lung, fighting with them not to cut away my ribs... give me
air.... I don't know, Maxie, I've always had confidence in myself, in my
body, but now... I have to treat myself like I was made of delicate glass
from now on. I can't risk..."
"What crap! I was in touch with the docs at the hospital; all you have is
a scar on your lungs. Why half the people in the world have a scar on
their lungs, had TB at some time and never even knew it. For all I
know, maybe I have. And I heard about your running out on that goon
Tops Anderson today. For Christsakes, what's happened, Matt, lost
your grip?"
"Could be. Now I have to figure things like this: if I swing on a Tops,

get into a brawl, I might open the scar again, really fix my wagon.
Another thing, the docs said I probably got the germ in my lung before
Korea--everybody has the germs inside them. So when I look at a Tops,
or even you, I keep wondering if this is where I got it, if this bastard is
the one who..."
"You've turned soft, sound like a dizzy hypochondriac. Why two years
ago you would have slapped Tops loose from his teeth for even looking
at you wrong!"
"That was two years ago. Max, why do we make such a big deal of
being tough? All we see on the screen, the radio or TV is some joker
bragging how tough and rugged he is. I didn't have much to think about
in the hospital, so I figured out toughness. It's for the birds. Unless a
guy is ready to take a stand--and that means ready to die--on anything,
even getting called a louse or a SOB, then being tough is all a bluff,
being a coward. And if you're really tough, ready to kill or be killed
over a hard look--then you're stupid."
"Sweet God, you talk like you're half dead, a..."
"That's what I am, half dead. And I don't give a damn about anything
but seeing I don't become all dead. That's why I'm here--besides
wanting to see you again --want you to do me a favor--get me a pistol
permit."
"Your hands are the best weapons you'll ever have. What you need a
rod for?"
"You want me to make it formal? As a citizen I'm asking for a gun
permit for protection. From time to time I'm going to run into other
slap-happy characters like Tops, guys I once slugged, and this running
is tough on my lungs. With a rod I could bluff my way..."
I stopped, for Max's fat face was twisted up as though he was going to
cry. He shook his head sadly. "What's wrong with you? Running!...
And you know I can't give you a permit on those grounds. Also you
damn well know there's no point in packing a rod unless you're going to

use it. That'd be great, getting sent up for knocking off a slob like Tops
because you're scared to..."
"You won't get me the permit?" .
"No!"
"Okay. I'll make application for one at police headquarters, anyway." I
stood up. "Say hello to Libby and the kids...."