The Mugger Read Online Free PDF
Author: Ed McBain
question.
Donner, on the other hand, was not only fat; he was Fats. And Fats, for the benefit of the uninitiated, is “fat” in the plural. He was obese. He was immense. He was mountainous.
He sat with a towel draped across his lap, the thick layers of flesh quivering everywhere on his body as he sucked in the steam that surrounded him and Willis. His body was a pale, sickly white, and Willis suspected he was a junkie, but he’d be damned if he’d pull in a good pigeon on a holding rap.
Donner sat, a great white Buddha, sucking in steam. Willis watched him, sweating.
“Clifford, huh?” Donner asked. His voice was a deep, sepulchral rattle, as if Death were his silent partner.
“Clifford,” Willis said. He could feel the perspiration seeping up into his close-cropped hair, could feel it trickling down the back of his neck, over his narrow shoulders, across his naked backbone. He was hot. His mouth was dry. He watched Donner languishing like a huge contented vegetable and he cursed all fat men, and he said, “Clifford. You must have read about him. It’s in all the papers.”
“I don’t dig papers, man,” Donner said. “Only the funnies.”
“Okay, he’s a mugger. He slams his victims before he takes off, and then he bows from the waist and says, ‘Clifford thanks you, madam.’”
“Only chicks this guy taps?”
“So far,” Willis said.
“I don’t make him, dad,” Donner said, shaking his head, sprinkling sweat on to the tiled walls around him. “Clifford. The name’s from nowhere. Hit me again.”
“He wears sunglasses. Last two times out, anyway.”
“Cheaters? He flies by night, this cat?”
“Yes?”
“Clifford, chicks, cheaters. All Cs. A cokie?”
“We don’t know.”
“C, you dig me?” Donner said. “Clifford, chicks…”
“I caught it the first time around,” Willis answered.
Donner shrugged. It seemed to be getting hotter in the steam room. The steam billowed up from hidden instruments of the devil, smothering the room with a thick blanket of soggy, heat-laden mist. Willis sighed heavily.
“Clifford,” Donner said again. “This his square handle?”
“I don’t know.”
“I mean, dad, I grip with a few muggers, but none with a Clifford tag. If this is just a party stunt to gas the chicks, that’s another thing again. Still, Clifford. This he picked from hunger.”
“He’s knocked over fourteen women,” Willis said. “He’s not so hungry anymore.”
“Rape?”
“No.”
“No eyes for the chicks, this Clifford cat, huh? He’s a faggot?”
“We don’t know.”
“Big hauls?”
“Fifty-four bucks was tops. Mostly peanuts.”
“Small time,” Donner said.
“Do you know any big-time muggers?”
“The ones who work the Hill don’t go for chewing-gum loot. I’ve known plenty big muggers in my day.” Donner lay back on the marble seat, readjusting the towel across his middle. Willis wiped sweat from his face with a sweaty hand.
“Listen, don’t you ever conduct business outside?” Willis asked.
“What do you mean, outside?”
“Where there’s air.”
“Oh. Sure, I do. This summer I was out a lot. Man, it was a great summer, wasn’t it?”
Willis thought of the record-breaking temperatures that had crippled the back of the city. “Yeah, great,” he said. “So what about this, Fats? Have you got anything for me?”
“No rumble, if that’s what you mean. He’s either new or he keeps still.”
“Many new faces in town?”
“Always new faces, dad,” Donner said. “None I peg for muggers, though. Tell the truth, I don’t know many hit-and-run boys. This is for the wet-pants nowadays. You figure Clifford for a kid?”
“Not from what the victims have told us about him.”
“Old man?”
“Twenties.”
“Tough age,” Donner said. “Not quite a boy, yet not quite a man.”
“He hits like a man,” Willis said. “He sent the one last night to the hospital.”
“I tell you,” Donner said, “let me go on the
Donner, on the other hand, was not only fat; he was Fats. And Fats, for the benefit of the uninitiated, is “fat” in the plural. He was obese. He was immense. He was mountainous.
He sat with a towel draped across his lap, the thick layers of flesh quivering everywhere on his body as he sucked in the steam that surrounded him and Willis. His body was a pale, sickly white, and Willis suspected he was a junkie, but he’d be damned if he’d pull in a good pigeon on a holding rap.
Donner sat, a great white Buddha, sucking in steam. Willis watched him, sweating.
“Clifford, huh?” Donner asked. His voice was a deep, sepulchral rattle, as if Death were his silent partner.
“Clifford,” Willis said. He could feel the perspiration seeping up into his close-cropped hair, could feel it trickling down the back of his neck, over his narrow shoulders, across his naked backbone. He was hot. His mouth was dry. He watched Donner languishing like a huge contented vegetable and he cursed all fat men, and he said, “Clifford. You must have read about him. It’s in all the papers.”
“I don’t dig papers, man,” Donner said. “Only the funnies.”
“Okay, he’s a mugger. He slams his victims before he takes off, and then he bows from the waist and says, ‘Clifford thanks you, madam.’”
“Only chicks this guy taps?”
“So far,” Willis said.
“I don’t make him, dad,” Donner said, shaking his head, sprinkling sweat on to the tiled walls around him. “Clifford. The name’s from nowhere. Hit me again.”
“He wears sunglasses. Last two times out, anyway.”
“Cheaters? He flies by night, this cat?”
“Yes?”
“Clifford, chicks, cheaters. All Cs. A cokie?”
“We don’t know.”
“C, you dig me?” Donner said. “Clifford, chicks…”
“I caught it the first time around,” Willis answered.
Donner shrugged. It seemed to be getting hotter in the steam room. The steam billowed up from hidden instruments of the devil, smothering the room with a thick blanket of soggy, heat-laden mist. Willis sighed heavily.
“Clifford,” Donner said again. “This his square handle?”
“I don’t know.”
“I mean, dad, I grip with a few muggers, but none with a Clifford tag. If this is just a party stunt to gas the chicks, that’s another thing again. Still, Clifford. This he picked from hunger.”
“He’s knocked over fourteen women,” Willis said. “He’s not so hungry anymore.”
“Rape?”
“No.”
“No eyes for the chicks, this Clifford cat, huh? He’s a faggot?”
“We don’t know.”
“Big hauls?”
“Fifty-four bucks was tops. Mostly peanuts.”
“Small time,” Donner said.
“Do you know any big-time muggers?”
“The ones who work the Hill don’t go for chewing-gum loot. I’ve known plenty big muggers in my day.” Donner lay back on the marble seat, readjusting the towel across his middle. Willis wiped sweat from his face with a sweaty hand.
“Listen, don’t you ever conduct business outside?” Willis asked.
“What do you mean, outside?”
“Where there’s air.”
“Oh. Sure, I do. This summer I was out a lot. Man, it was a great summer, wasn’t it?”
Willis thought of the record-breaking temperatures that had crippled the back of the city. “Yeah, great,” he said. “So what about this, Fats? Have you got anything for me?”
“No rumble, if that’s what you mean. He’s either new or he keeps still.”
“Many new faces in town?”
“Always new faces, dad,” Donner said. “None I peg for muggers, though. Tell the truth, I don’t know many hit-and-run boys. This is for the wet-pants nowadays. You figure Clifford for a kid?”
“Not from what the victims have told us about him.”
“Old man?”
“Twenties.”
“Tough age,” Donner said. “Not quite a boy, yet not quite a man.”
“He hits like a man,” Willis said. “He sent the one last night to the hospital.”
“I tell you,” Donner said, “let me go on the