Ed McBain by Learning to Kill: Stories Page A

1955, a magazine called
Real
published a story titled "The Big Scream" by Evan Hunter. It follows under my original derogatory title, which I like much better.

Dummy
    T HE GULLS WERE MAKING A HELL OF A RACKET OUT OVER the bay, mostly because the boats were coming back and they all had fairly good hauls. Falco was standing knee-deep in the stink of mackerel when the blonde walked down the dock and stood looking out over the water. He didn't notice her at first because he was busy with the fish, and then he looked up and she was standing there silhouetted against the reddish-gold sky, with her hair blowing back loose over her shoulders.
    There was a strong wind that day. It molded the silk dress against her, outlining her body. He was holding a mackerel in his big, hair-covered hands, and his fingers tightened unconsciously on the cold fish, and his mouth fell open, and he kept looking at the girl.
    She didn't seem to notice him at all. She just kept staring out over the water, and Falco kept watching her, his palms beginning to sweat, a funny kind of warmth starting at the pit of his stomach and spreading up to his throat where it almost choked him. The wind kept pressing the dress to her body, and he studied every curve of her, thanking the wind because she might have been standing there without a stitch on. Her long blonde hair kept dancing around her shoulders, rising and falling, almost as if it had a life of its own. She had an oval face with high cheekbones burned dark from the sun, and he could see the startling blue of her eyes even from where he stood.
    The gulls kept screaming out there, and Donato's boat pulled up to the dock, and then DiAngelo, the kid he had working for him, threw the lines over and hopped ashore.
    "Ho, Falco!" Donato yelled. "You in early today?"
    "Nice catch today," Falco yelled back, but he did not take his eyes from the girl. An upcurrent of wind caught the hem of her dress, flapped it back wildly over the long curve of her leg. She didn't seem to notice the wind for a moment, and then she reached down and spread her dress flat again, as if she were spreading a tablecloth. Falco wet his lips, and tightened his hands. He had never seen anything like this girl before, had never felt this way before, either. He heard boots clomping on the wooden dock but he didn't pay any attention to them until he heard Donato's voice again.
    "Ho, Falco! Wake up, hah, boy?"
    He looked up as Donato jumped into his boat, and then he said, "You do all right today?"
    "Every day should be like this one, Falco. Then I retire a rich man. When the fish run like—"
    He stopped because he saw that Falco wasn't listening to him, and then his eyes followed Falco's to where the blonde stood on the dock. He appraised her silently, and then he said, "Nice, hah, Falco?"
    Falco didn't answer. His eyes were riveted to the blonde's body, and there was a tight, grim set to his mouth.
    "That's Panza's daughter," Donato said.
    "Whose?"
    "Panza. You know Panza?"
    "The fat one? Panza? With the crooked teeth and the mustache? You're kidding me."
    "No, no, this is his daughter. Truly, a silk purse from a sow's ear."
    Falco nodded and wet his lips. Panza's daughter. He couldn't believe it. Why, Panza was a slob. And this girl ... no, it couldn't be.
    "But a sow's ear is always a sow's ear," Donato said sadly.
    "What do you mean?" Falco asked.
    "A dummy," Donato said.
    "A what?"
    "A dummy. She doesn't speak, Falco. There is something wrong with her tongue. She doesn't speak."
    "But she hears?"
    "Ah, yes, she hears. But there is no voice there, Falco. Nothing. A dummy, truly."
    "That's too bad," Falco said slowly. "What's she doing here?"
    Donato shrugged. "To meet the old man, perhaps. I've seen her once or twice already."
    Falco wet his lips. "I've never seen her," he said.
    "And you like what you see, hah, boy?" Donato said, and chuckled heartily. "Why don't you go talk to her, Falco? Go ahead. You're young, boy, and your arms are