The Heck living room was still slightly dark, the early fingers of dawn edging in through the two venetian-blinded windows. I lit a cigarette and looked at my watch. The minute and hour hands were laced at seven-thirty.
That wasn’t surprising either. When I have an appointment I don’t need an alarm clock to be on time. Something about the urgency of getting up and having to be on time always sleeps with me until it jars me awake. Good habit to have. Maybe it was those years of GI alertness in trouble spots that had conditioned me for short stretches of necessary rest. Either way, it always worked. Now I’d be on time for the two appointments I had to keep. The ten o’clock affair with Hadley of Headquarters and the more important nine ayem rendezvous with the greasiest crook in town. Bim Caesar.
I wondered about the girls. The house was silent, too silent. The sort of silence that is depressing to a guy like me. I found a table lamp, switched it on and looked for a radio. There was a small, mahogany brown portable decorating an end table which emitted buzzes and clicks when I dialed it into life. Almost immediately, the squawks died and soft, stay-in-bed music filtered around the room.
Dressing slowly, I smoothed all the kinks out of my spine, legs and arms. The events of the previous day all seemed like part of an exciting but bad movie I had sat through. Everything but a flood had been thrown at me and here I was, waking up the next morning, still sane, still safe, still all-of-a-piece. But where was it all heading and more important, just where would the head of the Noon Detective Agency be when the final totting up was registered on the board? All I had was one hundred bucks and a headache. And believe me, this headache wasn’t worth a hundred. It wouldn’t be worth a million if I wound up shot full of holes.
I was tying up my shoes and thinking about a cup of coffee when the bedroom door pushed open. I couldn’t see Lois Hunt for a full second because Betty Heck, all four hundred and forty pounds of her, was filling the doorway as she stretched.
She yawned cavernously. Not quietly, either.
“Mornin’, Eddie.” Sleep fuzzed her voice. “Been up long? Me and Lois couldn’t sleep. Yakkin’ all night. Bet we kept you up.”
I laughed. “Can’t prove it by me. I’ve been in dreamland for hours. But I’m okay now. It’s not the first time I’ve slept on guard duty.”
Betty lumbered into the room and Lois Hunt came around her left side, looking for a cigarette. I nodded at my pack on the end table. I looked at them both. Betty’s bathrobe was another polka-dotted tent and with her size and bearing she looked about as tidy as an unmade bed. Lois just looked cool and untroubled in a terry cloth robe that hugged her curves like a car making a hairpin turn.
She sat down on the velvet lounge and crossed her legs. It’s funny, but I felt I’d always think of her just that way. Crossing her legs. Sort of–no entry here, mister. Not for you, buddy. I’m saving myself a lot of trouble like Momma told me. That sort of thing and that sort of dame. Just for a flying second I wondered how even a smooth article like the late Mr. Artel had gotten her to un-cross them. If he had.
It must have showed in my face because Lois Hunt was suddenly staring at me strangely across the tip of her cigarette.
“What’s with you, Noon? Why are you looking at me like that?”
I recovered. “Sorry, Lois. I was having a nightmare. Haven’t quite snapped out of it yet. I’m okay now.” She frowned but she let it ride.
“How about some coffee?” Betty said. “Seein’ as how you’ll be taking off to see that greasy slob so early in the mornin’.”
“Thanks, Betty. That’s a fine idea. About all I have time for. I couldn’t stand the sight of Bim on a completely empty stomach at that. And I don’t want to throw up if he’s going to tell me anything that’s worth hearing.”
She took the word for the deed and bustled into her kitchen again. I put my cigarette down and looked across at Lois Hunt. This time she was staring at me. I raised my eyebrows to show her I was ready to listen to whatever she had to say.
“Buster, I’ve been thinking–”
“On you it looks good. Thinking about what?”
“Well,” she exhaled noisily on her butt. “I told you a lot of things yesterday maybe I shouldn’t have. Like about that fire and about Bart. My connection in the whole thing. I was thinking. You could cause me a lot of grief if you wanted to be a stinker–”
“Save it, sister.”
My tone should have warned her but she rushed on. “But you’re seeing the law this morning and you make all kinds of deals. How do I know–”
“Look, lady,” I kept the anger out of my voice. “I let the cops do their own job. What you told me was a confidence. Don’t worry. I don’t have to tell them anything. You worked for Sleep-Tite. Sleep-Tite burned down. They’ll get around to you soon enough without me dumping my two cents in. So skip the plea. As far as Hadley’s concerned, I don’t even know you’re alive.”
She smiled, a natural smile, and her eyes were genuinely friendly for a change.
“Knowing you I suppose it goes against your grain for people to thank you. But thanks just the same. Many of them.”
“You’re completely welcome. And if you really want to do me a favor, smile like that more often. It’s good for my restless liver.”
It was such an honest compliment, no matter how flippantly worded, that she blushed right down to the grass roots. But the moment was lost because Betty came bouncing back with the coffee. I don’t know how she managed it without spilling any but she did.
We didn’t gab much after that. I was too intent on getting the hot java inside me and the tiny clock ticking away on the mantelpiece over the phony fireplace. It was eight o’clock already. Betty and Lois drank more slowly because they didn’t have any place to go.
Finally, I stood up, looked around for my hat, found it and crushed it on my head. I felt funny. They were staring at me as if I were the only son they were sending off to the wars. As if I were the lover going out to certain death. Like facing the firing squad. Or something equally as remote and yet just as certain. Just as tragic.
I laughed. I had to. Those kinds of looks and those kinds of feelings weaken all my arguments and make me a bad operator. Bad operators don’t last long in my business.
“Stop looking like a wake you two,” I said gruffly. “I’m indestructible. Like the common cold.”
“Watch yourself, wise guy,” Lois Hunt snapped. “The cemetery’s full of guys who said the same thing.”
Betty Heck’s eyes were starting to fill. I decided to get out of there fast. Dames. One minute snarling at you to drop dead. The very next–“be careful, dear–”
“We’ll be waiting to hear from you, Eddie,” Betty’s voice sang out behind me. It looked like I was Eddie from now on.
“Just keep the door locked,” I said, closing it behind me. I started down the stairs. For some crazy reason, I felt like going back. Staying with them. Something had come over me as suddenly as the snapping of your fingers. I felt something and yet I couldn’t put my finger on it. Call it what you like–voodoo, mumbo jumbo, black magic–but just like that, I knew I was doing the wrong thing by going out in the cool, cool, cool of the morning to keep my date with Bim Caesar.
Clairvoyance? Could be.
Because that was the last time I saw one of those two girls–alive.
I hailed a cab for my trip downtown and my rendezvous with Bim Caesar. Funny, but a feeling of something left undone, something-bad-was-going-to-happen hung in my stomach. But people don’t ever take advice with good grace or listen to their heartbeats. Because I’d already marked my uneasiness off for just plain hunger. When I’m working on a case, my diet is far from regular and far from good.
The cabbie tried to make conversation because hackies are a lonely breed of men and just naturally voluble. I chimed in with a few comments that were about as half-hearted as a few comments can be. The rest of the trip I spent in reflection about Artel and Sleep-Tite and what the possible connection there could be betwee
n them and a second-rate gangster like Bim Caesar.
Not getting anywhere fast, I took a look at New York. My Manhattan. Stone buildings and stone gardens. This morning, thanks to my frame of mind, the city was cold and unfriendly. Even nice old Times Square seemed like a garish, commercial facade set up to trim the country sucker or the little, dreamy-eyed fresh with ambition from places like Detroit. Detroit. That made me think of Lois Hunt. The Michigan Miss with a pony tail and a ready match and a passion for love and marriage.
I couldn’t really buy anything she had told me just yet. But I was planning to do a bit of checking on that end anyway.
Pretty soon, the twin funny globes of Police Headquarters hove into view. I had the cabbie stop on the corner of the block, paid him off and let him pull out before I started to walk slowly toward the small luncheonette that I knew was in the middle of the block directly across from Headquarters. I kept my eyes opened as I walked.
There was a squad car parked in front of the building. A pair of bluecoats were idling around making small talk and smoking cigarettes. The neighborhood seemed un-necessarily quiet and peaceful like you’d expect it to be. Hell, the police station would at least guarantee the show of good manners, good neighbors and everybody-friends just by being in the vicinity.
I saw the car then. Parked on my side of the street. It was long and low and sleek and the guy sitting at the wheel wasn’t a chauffeur or a guy or a human being. He was a caricature of a gangster. Turned down hat, jutting cigarette, hands in pockets and a general attitude of Just-Like-You-See-In-The-Movies. I had what I wanted. Bim Caesar was here.
I tipped my fedora to the driver as I turned into the luncheonette. His sneer was as wide as Broadway and just as dirty. I put my back to him and pushed into the place.
It was a small joint. Just a long band of formica counter with a couple of tables rammed into the rear corner next to a juke box that was unlighted. The place wasn’t crowded at all but the people I wanted to see were there and that was okay by me.
A solitary patrolman, his pistol butt poking out from one beefy hip was cooling off a cup of coffee. He flashed me a professional look as I edged by him. Then he went back to his java in immediate dismissal.
There were just two of them seated at the table. Bim Caesar and a bodyguard who looked mean enough to eat nails for breakfast. I sort of wished I had some just to test my theory. There was one chair waiting for me. I sat down easily and picked up a poor excuse for a menu and pretended to be more interested in breakfast.
“Good morning,” I said lightly. “Thanks for being on time. I hate delays, waiting for trains and dental appointments. What’s good to eat?”
Bim Caesar growled so noisily I had to look at him. He looked laughable but I didn’t want him getting mad right off so I didn’t laugh. Mr. Caesar’s idea of early morning sartorial perfection was a pin-striped blue monstrosity with a cabbage-size carnation blooming from one lapel. I could see he’d seen too many gangster films and had tailored his dress accordingly. But the cigar blooming from his thick lips was all Bim Caesar and a mile long.
He rotated it viciously in his mouth and his tiny eyes found me very unfunny and annoying. The Yes-Man with him acted accordingly. His look and demeanor matched his employer’s.
“You wanta talk, funny man,” Caesar spat. “Well, talk. I’m busy. I’m notta going to give you all day.”
“Do like the Boss tells you, mister,” the bodyguard said quietly. He’d heard that in a movie too.
I put the menu down. I’d decided on fried eggs, toast and coffee. I sang out my order to the one guy working the counter. By this time, Caesar and his man were doing nip-ups of impatience.
I lit a cigarette while we waited for my food. I smiled at Bim Caesar.
“You know what I want. So don’t put me on the defensive. I want to know some more about you and Artel. I don’t care if you voted Eisenhower or Stevenson in the last election or what you think about Marlon Brando or whether or not you like your eggs sunny side up or not at all. So take it from there, I’ll be listening.”
The cigar stopped rotating.
“I owe you plenty, Noon. My club’s gonna cost me a thousand in repairs. Not to mention the bad rep you give with that crazy comedy lasta night. All right. You can make trouble for me. But don’t ever cross Bim Caesar again. You could wind up in the river.”
“I can,” I admitted. “So I’m not getting funny with you. All I want is your connection with Artel. I know you didn’t kill him. So there’s nothing worse than murder for a man like you. What else is there?”
My order came and he waited until the platter was steaming before me and the counter man withdrew before he picked up my last remark.
“I’ll tell you. But that’s all I’m gonna tell you. Then we’re finished. Done. Through. And you don’t mess with me no more. Cabisha?”
“Cabish, Caesar.” I forked an egg. “Let’s have it.”
He relaxed and relighted his cigar. The bodyguard wasn’t looking at me anymore. He didn’t even look like he was listening. Both of his beady eyes were strung toward the door.
“Itsa like this, Noon. My club isn’t all I got. A guy like you appreciates that. I got my finger in lotsa pies all over town. But that doesn’ta concern you. Artel? Okay. He come to me with a deal. He had his hands on a whole consignment of stuff he wanted to push. I had the contacts. I was interested. Why? Because it wasn’t nickels and dimes. It was big. Momma mia, it was big! It would mean enough money to tie me over for the resta my life. I coulda chucked the club and lived off the fat of the land. That’s what my connection with Artel was. But the deal never come off. The monkey got himself killed before we could get started.”
I let the news sink in along with mouthfuls of egg and toast.
“Stuff,” I said. “Push,” I said. I stopped eating and stared at him hard. “You telling me dope–narcotics?”
Bim Caesar chuckled. “You surprised? Guy like you should appreciate there’s millions of dollars in dope peddling. For the right operator.”
“I appreciate it but I don’t like it. I don’t have to like it. Let me get you straight. Artel had a load of narcotics to unload and he needed you to get rid of the distribution for him. Did he tell you how he got his hands on it or where the stuff came from–”
“Nothing,” Caesar cut in, the cigar rotating again. “Nothing he told me! Just come to me with the deal, filled my head with all the money I could have made. And told me he had to get in touch with somebody at the other end.” The cigar stopped as he bit down on it savagely. “The monkey tied into me for two grand for expenses. Thatsa what he said. Pretty soon, I was tired of waitin’ to hear from him. That’s why Lon and Bucky were put on his tail. When I gotta invest, I gotta protect it, don’t I?”
I munched on some toast, washed down with coffee. It looked like Bim Caesar would have nothing else to tell me.
“So that’s it, Caesar. You were left holding the sack on a bum deal that never got started. Artel could have been working a con game on you. Getting his hands on all the money he could before pulling out of town. But that doesn’t seem right. If he was going to risk his neck operating on a big fish like you, I think he would have gone for more than two gees. No. It doesn’t wash. There’s tattle-tale gray all over the yarn. He must have been telling the truth.”
Bim Caesar growled. “Yeah? Then who put him on ice? Somebody dumped him for a good reason. Maybe this bunch that was holding the stuff for him–”
I tried to think out loud. “Either that or he was working a triple-cross. You and the third party. I don’t get it.”
Bim Caesar eyed me closely. He took the cigar out of his mouth and the thickness of his lips was even more grotesque in their natural position.
“I don’t like you, wise guy. But you’re smart. I appreciate a smart man. You could do me a big favor.”
I finished my coffee. I felt fifty percent better about life now that I had some warm food in me. I fished out my cigarettes, lit
one.
“I’m still listening.”
He hunched across the table so far that the smell of the cabbage-size carnation filled my nostrils. His voice fell to a raspy whisper.
“I’m still interested in making a million dollars. If you find this third party or get any news at all, get in touch with me. I’ll give you twenty-five percent of the take.”
“I can’t make any promises–”
“Thirty percent then. I’ll be fair. I’m no watchacall hog. I can be a big man when it comes to sharing the cream.”
“Bim,” I sighed. “I don’t want your money. And I don’t want anything to do with being the middleman between a dope peddler and his customers. Ever seen some of the cases at Bellevue? There are some things that are worse than murder to a guy like me. Dope is one of them. Whether it’s heroin or marijuana or cocaine, no thanks. I’m not interested.”
“Don’t get ideas, Noon.” His tone rose worriedly. “I got no connection at all yet. The cops can’t touch me.”
I stared him down.
“I’m not going to tell anybody anything, Mr. Caesar. I was asking just for myself. I have to get Artel’s corpse off my hands as far as the cops are concerned. That’s it. If you haven’t anything to do with that, you’re in the clear. Never mind how I feel about dope peddling. You haven’t started it yet. When you do, then you can worry about my big nose. I’m just a private citizen, Bim, but that’s when my public spirit comes out of hiding. Humanity is a duty, you know.”
“You kiddin’ me?” His tiny eyes were incredulous. “Don’t be so simple. You’re a grown man. You’re talkin’ like a school kid, waving a flag. Don’t kid me.”
I got to my feet.
“I’m not trying to sell you anything. I’m not even trying to tell you anything. I just made a simple statement.” I looked at my watch and the bodyguard jumped as if I’d reached for a gun. “Well, I guess you’ve given me all you’ve got. So I’ll run along and see Hadley. He’s probably dying from suspense.”
Bim Caesar stared up at me. The cigar had gone dead in his mouth.
The Case of the Bouncing Betty Page 9
