by David Goodis
“Just wanna be sure you don’t break it,” Kingsley said.
Corey slackened his pace and glanced over his shoulder, giving Kingsley a look, and in the same moment aiming the look past Kingsley, checking the address of the house from which they’d emerged. The number was chalked on the splintered front door. It was four-thirty-one. He told himself to file that number, and went through the memory trick of adding one to three and getting four, then repeating the arithmetic until it was engraved in his brain.
There was a street sign posted at the intersection. In the darkness he could barely make it out. It read Harold Street. He’d turned his head only slightly to look at the street sign, but Kingsley noticed and said, “Whatcha lookin’ at?”
“Nothing.”
Kingsley prodded him with the gun. “Keep your eyes where they belong. In front.”
Corey came to a stop.
“Move,” Kingsley said. “Keep moving.”
Corey stood still. Kingsley jabbed him with the gun, but he didn’t budge. Kingsley and Lita frowned puzzledly at each other. Then Kingsley pushed the gun very hard against Corey’s spine and gritted, “You feel this?”
“Get it off me,” Corey said quietly.
The gun kept pushing against his spine. It was spreading pain through his back. He winced and squirmed. He heard Kingsley say, “You’ll move or I’ll split you in half.”
“No you won’t. You burn me, you’re losing a million dollars.”
Kingsley decreased the pressure of the gun, then gradually eased it away from Corey’s spine.
“That’s better,” Corey said.
“Then move.”
Corey started walking, Lita again at his side and Kingsley close behind him.
They were crossing the intersection. Lita was saying to Corey, “What was all that about? That stubborn-mule routine?”
“Forget it,” Corey muttered, making it sound as though he was bitterly resentful of the clobbering he’d taken from the gun.
Kingsley said to Lita, “Don’t pay him no mind. He’s just sensitive, that’s all.”
“Only at times.” Corey accented his resentment. “Like when I’m gettin’ pushed around. It didn’t call for strong-arm and you know it.”
“What a crybaby,” Lita said.
“We’ll hafta buy him a balloon,” Kingsley said. “That’s what you do with a crybaby.”
“Screw that noise,” Corey faked cold anger. He turned his head to let Kingsley see the ice in his eyes. “It ain’t the black and blue marks that bother me. What bothers me, you clubbed me with the gun because you’re jittery. And that makes it sloppy. Christ’s sake, this ain’t no smalltime heist; it’s strictly major league. We gotta handle it smooth and I mean smooth all the way.”
“Listen to the man,” Kingsley said to Lita. “The man talks big.”
“And that’s how it should be,” Corey spoke firmly. “It needs big talk because the money is big. And I got every right to open my mouth—”
“With a gun at your back?”
“The hell with the gun,” Corey said. “There’s more important items on this schedule. We gotta make sure there ain’t no slip-ups when we get where we’re going. Because one mistake and we’re all loused.”
“He’s right,” Lita said. “He’s absolutely—”
“Shut up,” Kingsley barked at her. And then quietly, to Corey, “What gives here, exactly? Whatcha tryin’ to prove?”
“Not a goddam thing. It’s just that I wanna see gold instead of grief. I’m looking to get that percentage, that thirty-three-and-a-third.”
Kingsley smiled. “You’ll get it, partner. You’ll get all you’re entitled to, don’t worry.”
They were approaching the Oldsmobile. It was parked across the street. They crossed and Lita climbed in first, getting behind the wheel. Kingsley told Corey to get in the back seat, then followed and sat down beside him. Lita started the engine and said, “Where we going?”
“The house,” Corey said. “Grogan’s house.”
The car moved off. Corey leaned back, his head resting against his folded hands. He didn’t look at Kingsley or at the gun in Kingsley’s hand. Kingsley sat half-facing him, the gun held low, somewhat loosely, not really aimed at Corey. But it’s loaded, he reminded himself. It’s a wall of fire and there’s no hotter fire than a .38 slug.
Lita was driving slowly, carefully. The car turned a corner, made another turn and then another, and they were on Addison going toward Second. It was still very dark. There was no activity on Addison; the only sound was the engine’s noise and Kingsley’s breathing. Kingsley was breathing very heavily. So he’s worried too, Corey thought. He’s plenty worried and that breathing tells it, all right. It’s a sure sign his blood pressure is way up. He’s jumpy as a cat in an unfamiliar alley, because this party we’re on, it’s the kind that would scare any third-rate thug accustomed to third-rate jobs. He got jolted when you gave him the hint he was biting off more taffy than he could chew, when you told him this job was major league. And I’m betting if you put your hand on his chest right now you’d feel his pump banging away full-blast.
The car made the turn onto Second Street.
Corey said to Lita, “Drive past the house.”
“Why do that?” Kingsley asked. “Why not just park outside and go right in and—”
“Use your head,” Corey cut in quietly. “Before we make a move, we check the layout. We take a good careful look at them windows. To see if there’s any lights.”
“There won’t be any lights,” Lita said. “When I left the house, he was sound asleep.”
“He’s a sound sleeper?” Corey asked.
“He sleeps like a stiff,” Lita said.
“But it’s best to be sure,” Corey spoke with quiet urgency. “Just drive a little ways past the house—”
The Oldsmobile slackened speed. It was crawling at less than ten miles per hour as it passed Grogan’s house. The windows were dark. On the other side of the street the Spanish automobile was parked. Lita braked the Oldsmobile, then put it in reverse, cut the engine and the Oldsmobile coasted back, coming to a stop directly in front of the Spanish automobile.
Lita opened the car door and started to get out. Corey said, “Hold it.”
“What for?” Kingsley demanded.
“Instructions,” Corey said.
“Not from you,” Kingsley gritted through heavy breathing. “I’m running this show and I’ll give the instructions.”
“All right,” Corey shrugged. “I’m listening.”
Kingsley took a very deep breath, through his nose. Then he opened his mouth to talk but all that came out was air. He tried again and the same thing happened. When it happened a third time, Lita turned her head slowly and looked curiously at Delbert Kingsley. Her eyebrows lifted, her lips were tight at the corners. Without sound she was making a sarcastic comment. Then she said to Corey, “Go on, call the signals. Somebody’s gotta call the signals.”
“God damn it,” Kingsley sputtered. “If you’ll just gimme time to think.”
“There’s really nothing to think about,” Corey said mildly. “It comes to instructions, there’s just one thing we gotta remember. From here on in we move like cats. I mean absolutely quiet. We get in the house and we hafta talk, we’ll talk in whispers. Another thing, we can’t switch on any lamps. I’m gonna need a flashlight.”
“Why no lamps?” Kingsley asked tightly, suspiciously.
Corey sighed patiently. “Police cars,” he said. “They drive past the house and see a light, they might come knocking on the door. Just to ask Mr. Grogan if everything’s all right. Because Mr. Grogan is a very important man and he’s buddy-buddy with the precinct captain. And the police in this precinct, they give Mr. Grogan the best of protection.”
“All right, all right,” Kingsley muttered. “You don’t hafta hammer it in.”
Lita had opened the glove compartment. She took out a three-cell flashlight with a large lens and handed
it to Corey. As Corey tested the glow on the floor of the car, Kingsley snatched the flashlight from him and handed it back to Lita.
Corey gave Kingsley a mild questioning look.
Kingsley smiled thinly. “She’ll hold the flashlight. That is, if you don’t mind.”
“It makes no difference,” Corey shrugged.
“It makes plenty of difference,” Kingsley spoke slowly to get the point across, mostly for Lita’s benefit—to let her know he was still in charge and that he knew what he was doing. He kept smiling thinly at Corey. “If I let you hold the flashlight, and you switched it off when we’re in the house, then I wouldn’t be able to see you. Which means I couldn’t cover you with this,” indicating the gun. “Because it’s this that binds you to the contract.”
“I’m wise to that fact,” Corey smiled lazily. He didn’t bother to look at the gun.
Kingsley said, “We ready?”
“Ready,” Lita said.
“Ready,” Corey said.
“Let’s roll it,” Kingsley gritted.
They got out of the car and walked slowly across the street, then they quietly went up the steps. Lita took a key case from her skirt pocket, Corey at her side and Kingsley slightly behind Corey, the gun lightly touching Corey’s side. Lita delicately put the key in the lock, turning the key noiselessly. Only a slight clicking sounded as the lock gave way. She opened the door and they went in. Kingsley carefully closed the door as they stood close together in the darkness of the vestibule. Then Lita switched on the flashlight and they went through the vestibule into the parlor. The glow from the flashlight was very bright and covered a wide area. The yellow-white brightness was reflected back at them from the shiny ebony and teakwood furniture, the jade and quartz lamp-bases and ornaments, the oriental brass fireplace and the glimmering bronze bulk of the placid-faced observer, the Buddha.
Lita half turned her head, whispering to Corey, “Where do you want the light?”
“On the fireplace,” Corey whispered.
She aimed the flashlight at the fireplace. The light shone for an instant on the ornately designed brass andirons, then focused on the brass poker in its holder, and then back to the andirons.
“In closer,” Corey whispered, and Lita moved forward going toward the fireplace. Corey followed close behind and Kingsley right behind Corey. The gun was pushing against Corey’s ribs and there was a hissing noise as Kingsley breathed in hard through his teeth. The hissing noise became louder and Corey turned his head and whispered to Kingsley, “Quiet—quiet—”
Kingsley tried to calm his breathing; his mouth stretched tightly as he made the effort. He was staring past Corey, his eyes very wide and glittering, aiming at the fireplace. Like the eyes of an animal, Corey thought. A starving animal going stark raving crazy with knowing it’s there. It’s the feast and it’s really there.
“Get it,” Kingsley whispered, trembling. “Get it, get it.”
Corey motioned to Lita, then pointed to the floor of the fireplace. She focused the flashlight in that direction, and Corey got down on his hands and knees, inching forward with Kingsley staying close to him, the gun now aiming at his head. He knew it was aiming at his head and he said to himself, well, here we go, and it’s all or nothing, and come on dice be nice.
He was crouched at the side of the fireplace, reaching in behind the andirons, pretending to be very deliberate as his hands went sliding slowly across the brick floor of the fireplace.
“One of them bricks?” Kingsley whispered. “It comes loose?”
Corey nodded. Then he shifted slightly and bent lower and reached in deeper along the floor of the fireplace. Lita moved in from the side, the flashlight extended to provide more light. Kingsley stepped closer to Corey and hissed feverishly, “Which brick is it? Show me.”
“Look there,” Corey whispered, but didn’t point to any particular brick. His pointing finger was waving vaguely. “Right there.”
Kingsley leaned closer. He was peering over Corey’s shoulder. Corey crouched lower, as though to give Kingsley a better view of the bricks along the back wall of the fireplace. As he did that, his shoulder was just a few inches away from the brass holder supporting the brass poker. And then, faking it, making it appear accidental, he swerved just a little to the side and his shoulder bumped against the brass holder and it was tipping over.
As the holder and the poker toppled toward the andirons, Kingsley reacted instinctively to prevent the sound of brass crashing against brass. He made a grab for the falling holder, and in that fraction of a second he was an open target and Corey delivered a slashing blow with his hard clenched fist, the knuckles bashing Kingsley’s jaw. Corey followed with another right hand to the jaw, then a sizzling left hook that hit Kingsley in the throat. Kingsley, now semiconscious, was losing his grip on the gun but still tried to bring up the gun and aim it and squeeze the trigger. Lita stood there motionless, frozen, unable to believe what she was seeing. The flashlight was loose in her hand, her brain incapable of functioning technically. Without knowing it, she was aiming the flashlight at Kingsley, the glow showing Kingsley on his knees as he kept trying to bring up the gun. Corey hit him again on the jaw and he dropped the gun. Then he rolled over, flat on his back, his eyes closed.
Corey picked up the gun. He did it with his left hand, his right hand bent limply, the knuckles swollen and bleeding. He brought his right hand to his mouth and licked some of the blood from his knuckles. He had the gun pointed at Lita, smiling dimly, with pity. She didn’t seem to know he was there. She remained motionless, the flashlight still focused on the prone senseless form of Delbert Kingsley. The sight of Kingsley stretched out cold was too much for her to take and her green eyes were wide and glazed, as though she was in a trance.
Corey started toward her, with the intention of taking the flashlight from her hand. He wanted to use the flashlight to find a wall switch and light up the parlor. As he reached for the flashlight, the ceiling lights were already glowing, switched on from the second floor hallway. The sleeper, awakened by the noise, was coming down the stairs. Corey turned and looked and saw a perplexed frown creasing the face of Walter Grogan.
Chapter 14
Grogan was wearing yellow silk pajamas. There was a gun in his hand. At the foot of the stairway he came to a stop and just stood there looking at Corey, then at Lita, then at Corey again. There was no sound in the room. Grogan moved slowly across the room, with the gun he pointed to the man prone on the floor near the fireplace and said, “What’s this?”
“The package,” Corey said. “The one you wanted. The one who hired them two masked hoods.”
Grogan kept moving forward to get a closer look at Delbert Kingsley. Lita was coming out of her daze, her face was milk-white with trapped-animal terror. She gestured pleadingly to Corey. He shook his head slowly, his eyes saying sadly, all I can do is feel sorry for you. I’m really very sorry for you.
She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a whimper. Without sound she went on pleading, and Corey kept shaking his head.
Please, she said without sound. You know what he’ll do to me. You know what happens to people who cross him. But at least they get it fast. Without the suffering. They get off easy compared to what I’ll get. And I’m begging you, I’m begging you—
Corey couldn’t look at her. He said to himself, It’s a filthy setup. Because you know what she’s in for. You know it’s gonna be slow, with screaming. And she don’t rate all that hell. Sure, she’s a wrong number but she’s not that wrong. You come right down to it, she’s just a smalltime hustler. A year on a farm would maybe set her straight, if you wanna look at it that way. But you can’t look at it that way. You want that fifteen grand. To pocket that fifteen grand you gotta prove some statements, and she’s the proof the only proof. But I’ll tell you, jim, I wish it didn’t hafta be this way. It’s a scummy way to make money, and if it was a C-note or even five C-notes you’d possibly or probably cancel this transaction and walk away. But the p
oint is, it ain’t a C-note and it ain’t five C-notes, it’s fifteen thousand dollars, I said fifteen thousand dollars.
Just then Corey looked up and saw Lita backing slowly and furtively toward the front door. He made a warning gesture with the gun, telling her to stay where she was. She stood there and went on pleading without sound, her palms extended and quivering. And then, as though seeing it was no use, she lowered her head, her hands covering her eyes.
Grogan turned to Corey and indicating the man on the floor, said, “Gimme the score on this one.”
“You don’t know him?”
“Never seen him before.”
“He’s an ex-con.”
“That means nothing.”
“He lives in the neighborhood.”
“And that means nothing,” Grogan cut in again, his voice tightening. “He never had no dealings with me. So how would he know about my finances? Who tipped him?”
Corey pointed to Lita.
“No no no,” she shrieked, making a frantic try for survival. “He’s a liar, Walt. He’s covering for himself,” and with the flashlight pointing to the man on the floor, “I swear to you, Walt, I don’t know that man. Got no idea who he is. And if you’ll listen to me, if you’ll only listen—”
“All right,” Grogan said quietly, mildly. “I’m listening.”
Lita’s green eyes narrowed with cunning. And then, saying it matter-of-factly, “What happened was, I went out to look for Anna. She’s been sneaking out late at night, and I’m thinking maybe she’s out there turning tricks or climbing in windows and stealing. Who knows? Well anyway, I couldn’t find her and I came back here and parked the car and just as I reached for the key to open the front door, I thought I saw something inside the house. Like a tiny light. I went back to the car and got the flashlight. Then when I walked into the house, there they were, the two of them, and they were using matches—”
