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.My spike and knife felt reassuring, lying-up in their oiledsheaths at the back of my neck.Blood found two together, and we moved intoPage 187 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlthe row, stepping on feet.Someone cursed and I ignored him.A Doberman growled.Blood s fur stirred, but he let it pass.There was alwayssome hardcase on the muscle, even in neutral ground like the Metropole.(I heard once about a get-it-on they d had at the old Loew s Granada, on theSouth Side.Wound up with ten or twelve rovers and their mutts dead, thetheater burned down and a couple of good Cagney films lost in the fire.After that was when the roverpaks had got up the agreement that movie houseswere sanctuaries.It was better now, but there was always somebody too messedin the mind to come soft.)It was a triple feature.Raw Deal with Dennis O Keefe, Claire Trevor, RaymondBurr and Marsha Hunt was the oldest of the three.It d been made in 1948,seventy-six years ago, God only knows how the damn thing d hung together allthat time; it slipped sprockets and they had to stop the movie all the time tore-thread it.But it was a good movie.About this solo who d been japped byhis roverpak and was out to get revenge.Gangsters, mobs, a lot of punchingand fighting.Real good.The middle flick was a thing made during the Third War, in 82, twenty-sevenyears before I was even born, thing called Smell of a Chink.It was mostly gut-spilling and some nice hand-to-hand.Beautiful scene ofskirmisher greyhounds equipped with napalm throwers, jellyburning a Chinktown.Blood dug it, even though we d seen this flick before.He had some kind of phony shuck going that these were ancestors of his, and heknew and I knew he was making it up. Wanna burn a baby, hero? I whispered to him.He got the barb and justshifted in his seat, didn t say a thing, kept looking pleased as the dogsworked their way through the town.I was bored stiff.I was waiting for the main feature.Finally it came on.It was a beauty, a beaver flick made in the late 1970 s.It was called Big BlackLeather Splits.Started right out very good.These two blondes in blackleather corsets and boots laced all the way up to their crotches, with whipsand masks, got this skinny guy down and one of the chicks sat on his facewhile the other one went down on him.It got really hairy after that.All around me there were solos playing with themselves.I was about to jog ita little myself when Blood leaned across and said, real soft, the way he doeswhen he s onto something unusually smelly, There s a chick in here. You re nuts, I said. I tell you I smell her.She s in here, man. Without being conspicuous, I looked around.Almost every seat in the theaterwas taken with solos or their dogs.If a chick had slipped in there d havebeen a riot.She d have been ripped to pieces before any single guy could havegotten into her. Where? I asked, softly.All around me, the solos werebeating-off, moaning as the blondes took off their masks and one of themworked the skinny guy with a big wooden ram strapped around her hips. Give me a minute, Blood said.He was really concentrating.His body wastense as a wire.His eyes were closed, his muzzle quivering.I let him work.It was possible.Just maybe possible.I knew that they made really dumb flicksin the downunders, the kind of crap they d made back in the 1930 s and 40 s,real clean stuff with even married people sleeping in twin beds.Myrna Loy and George Brent kind of flicks.And I knew that once in a while achick from one of the really strict middle-class downunders would cumup, tosee what a hairy flick was like.I d heard about it, but it d never happenedin any theater I d ever been in.And the chances of it happening in the Metropole, particularly, were slim.There was a lot of twisty trade came to the Metropole.Now, understand, I mnot specially prejudiced against guys corning one another.hell, I canunderstand it.There just aren t enough chicks anywhere.Page 188 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmlBut I can t cut the jockey-and-boxer scene because it gets some weak littleboxer hanging on you, getting jealous, you have to hunt for him and all hethinks he has to do is bare his ass to get all the work done for him.It s asbad as having a chick dragging along behind.Made for a lot of bad blood andfights in the bigger roverpaks, too.So I just never swung that way.Well, notnever, but not for a long time.So with all the twisties in the Metropole, I didn t think a chick would chanceit.Be a toss-up who d tear her apart first: the boxers or the straights.And if she was here, why couldn t any of the other dogs smell her.? Third row in front of us, Blood said. Aisle seat.Dressed like a solo. How s come you can whiff her and no other dog s caught her? You forget who I am, Albert. I didn t forget, I just don t believe it. Actually, bottom-line, I guess I did believe it.When you d been as dumb asI d been and a dog likeBlood d taught me so much, a guy came to believe everything he said.You don targue with your teacher.Not when he d taught you how to read and write and add and subtract andeverything else they used toknow that meant you were smart (but doesn t mean much of anything now, exceptit s good to know it, Iguess).(The reading s a pretty good thing.It comes in handy when you can find somecanned goods someplace, like in a bombed-out supermarket; makes it easier topick out stuff you like when the pictures are gone off the labels.Couple oftimes the reading stopped me from taking canned beets.Shit, I hate beets! )So I guess I did believe why he could whiff a maybe chick in there, and noother mutt could.He d told me all about that a million times.It was hisfavorite story.History he called it.Christ, I m not that dumb! Iknew what history was.That was all the stuff that happened before now.But I liked hearing history straight from Blood, instead of him 328THEY CAME FROM OUTER SPACE making me read one of those crummy books he wasalways dragging in.And that particular history was all about him, so he laidit on me over and over, till I knew it by heart.no, the word was rote.Notwrote, like writing, that was something else.I knew it by rote, like it meansyou got it word-for-word.And when a mutt teaches you everything you know, and he tells you somethingrote, I guess finally you do believe it.Except I d never let that leg-lifterknow it.CHAPTER IIWHAT HE D TOLD me rote was:Over fifty years ago, in Los Angeles, before the Third War even got goingcompletely, there was a man named Buesing who lived in Cerritos
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