by Q. Patrick
I tried to smile too. “It could have been improved upon,” I said.
Nikki was maneuvering around into a position where he could keep us both covered—a strategic spot in front of the dining-room door. He was a very different man from the whining, woebegone creature of a few seconds before. Nikki was obviously at his best as a man of action.
Ruby, however, in spite of her casual attitude toward bombs, gunpowder and explosions, seemed a little out of her depth at this sudden and violent change in the state of affairs. The redtipped cigarette poised somewhere in midair, she was staring blankly from Nikki to Iris’ purple hat to me.
“I—I don’t get it.” She was talking to Nikki. “You mean this man isn’t your boss, isn’t Mr. Garr, after all?”
“Like hell he ain’t Garr.” Nikki was having fun with his revolver. “This dame—she’s the phony who fooled me at the Waxworks Museum. Don’t you get it? This guy’s a phony too. He’s been acting like he was Garr—just to fool us. He’s in with this other dame.”
Clearly Nikki had an accurate, if inelegantly expressed, grasp of the situation. Ruby grasped it too—and didn’t like it at all. Her scarlet lips were a thin, ominous line.
“What sort of an outfit is this where you don’t know your own boss?” And then, more ominously, “What about my hundred grand?”
I knew that hundred grand would figure pretty soon.
“Don’t worry,” Nikki’s lips curled in a smile. “There’s plenty of time. When I’ve fixed up these two, I’ll get you to Garr; I’ll see the deal goes through.”
It was my turn to think about Anders now.
Ruby said shrilly, “But how d’you know where this Garr is if you don’t even know what he looks like?”
“That’s a cinch.” Very slowly Nikki started strolling toward Iris. His revolver never forgot me for a second. He stretched out his hand. “Okay, sister. Baldy gave you the lead to Garr. You said so yourself. It’s in that purple star on your hat. Hand it over.”
I hated seeing that gun so near to Iris, but she was amazingly calm about it. She pulled off the purple hat and threw it to him.
“Take the whole thing and wear it yourself,” she said. “It would look cute with that sweater.”
Nikki ignored her. He backed away until he reached his former position in front of the dining-room door. Then he tossed the hat to Ruby.
“Take off the stars,” he said. “They open at the neck. Find the message.”
Ruby’s efficient, scarlet nailed fingers started on the stars. She picked one off, sprang open the back and muttered: “That’s just the date for Sammy’s Place.” She pulled off the second star and opened it. She slipped out a little folded card.
“Okay?” said Nikki. “There’s this card.”
“What’s it say?”
Ruby read: “Royal Book and Music Store. Then an address off 42nd Street, too. That’s printed. Then underneath in pencil there’s: Ask for a record of The Blue Danube. 2:30. And after that there’s a kind of pencil drawing of a thin sort of fish.”
“That’s it.” Nikki grinned. “That’s Garr, he always makes that fish. Garfish. That’s his signature. Okay, Ruby. You got nothing to worry about. I’ll get you there by two-thirty.”
“And I’ll get the dough this time?” Ruby had a one-track mind. “Sure, you’ll get it—if Garr okays the set-up.” Nikki wasn’t paying Ruby much attention. His whole soul was in his fingers and his gun. Killing was obviously what Nikki liked to do best. Iris and I were to him what all-day suckers are to little girls. I could see him licking his chops over us. “I’ll get you to Garr. Don’t you worry. I’ve just got to take care of these people first.”
Rather awed, Ruby said, “What are you going to do with them?”
Nikki was still watching us with that bright, steady gaze. “I know a place,” he said. “It won’t take long.”
It’s strange how one reacts. All through that phantasmagoric night, I had been in a constant state of anxiety at the prospect of danger for Iris. But now that the danger was here with a vengeance, I found there was no room for fear. I knew that Nikki, who had killed Marta in cold blood, was utterly beyond the reach of compassion. I knew, even though we were plumb in the middle of the so-called civilization of New York, that only a miracle could save us once he had taken us to the “place” he knew.
But in spite of that, my mind was amazingly lucid, weighing one threadbare hope after another. Scream out, wake up the neighbors overhead—jump on the gun, take a chance that Iris could get away. Aloma, somehow to contact Aloma—
“Okay.” Nikki’s voice came softly. “I got you both covered. Any funny business and the dame gets it first.”
Ruby, the initial shock over, had opened her purse and was negligently bringing a lipstick and her lips together.
“What do you want us to do?” I said.
Nikki started toward us, very slowly, the gun aimed directly at Iris. He nodded at Ruby to follow. She snapped the lipstick back into her bag and moved toward us too. There was real horror in the two of them coming at us with that dragging, leisurely pace—the huge man in the turtle-necked sweater and the little mincing, red-lipped woman with the purple hat.
“Frisk ‘em,” said Nikki to Ruby.
Ruby complied—expertly. “No guns.”
“Okay.” Nikki grinned at us. “You can put your hands down, both of you. Since you’ve been so smart, I guess you can carry out instructions okay. You’re goin’ out of this place, see? You’re goin’ to walk together, and I’m goin’ to be back of you all the time—with this in my pocket.” He indicated the revolver. “There aren’t many people around this time of night. And once we’re outside you’re goin’ to do what I say or the dame’s goin’ to be sorry. Get it?”
We got it. I glanced at Iris. She was rather pale but as calm and beautiful as ever. I tried not to think about her, tried not to remember that this evening had started out as a harmless, domestic escapade at Coney Island to celebrate the up-andupness of the Duluths.
What was the point of remembering that now?
Nikki was jerking his head toward Iris. “Move over to the dame,” he said.
I moved toward Iris. I was so close to her that I could feel her hand, cold and tense, against mine. Ruby strolled up until she was next to Nikki.
I was still looking at Iris’ face. She was looking straight ahead of her at a point beyond Nikki’s back. Her lashes flickered.
It was such a slight change of expression that nobody except me, who knew her so well, would have noticed it.
Something was happening. I was sure of it. Something was happening back there behind Nikki and Ruby. But I didn’t dare look for fear of interesting Nikki, too.
It was a weird sensation seeing something happening only as a reflection in Iris’ eyes. Those few seconds seemed to stretch into a queer eternity.
Nikki’s mouth opened to speak. “Turn—” he began.
Then he stopped abruptly, for a deep, booming voice behind him said, “Drop that gun, brother. An’ turn around, ‘cos I got you covered.”
And with that voice, in shrill duet, came another, gorgeously familiar: “You dirty buzzard! Actin’ this way in a respectable home. You put down that gun or—“
From then on everything was pandemonium. Ruby spun around and screamed. The gun clattered from Nikki’s hands. Slowly he swung round, too.
That was really when I started looking, although I had guessed what had happened the moment I heard those blessed voices.
It really was a magnificent sight. The door from the dining-room was wide open. Standing majestically on its threshold, aiming a revolver straight at Nikki, a vast, irresistible black force in a tuxedo, with a rather mussed tie, was Rudolph. And at his side, an exotic fury still impeccably sheathed in the ivory satin gown, was Aloma.
Suddenly, reaction from the danger came. I found myself quivering all over. I put my arm around Iris. She was laughing a funny littl
e strangled laugh.
And it was too good to be true—much too good. Saved by Aloma and the husband, who had returned “after a long absence,” and who, apparently, instead of doing the town had stayed at home after the party to do his courting in his bedroom slippers. Saved by the cook!
I’d always said Aloma was a treasure.
From then on, it was entirely Aloma’s party. Rudolph, immense and immovable behind his revolver, stood squarely in the dining-room door, covering Nikki. Aloma swept forward, every well-placed pound of her quivering with indignation. She snatched up the gun Nikki had dropped and flourished it at the completely demoralized Ruby.
“You!” she said. “You little rat, you.”
In a flounce of white satin, she backed to Rudolph’s side, her revolver aimed directly at the middle of Ruby. Neither Ruby nor Nikki were liking it at all. I didn’t blame them.
Iris and I were still in the feeble stage of aftermath. We were still thinking it was funny. Which it wasn’t, of course. It was the most miraculous break we’d had on that night of miracles.
Aloma said, “Okay, Miz Peter, what you wan’ us to do? Call the police?”
Rudolph shot her a rather bashful glance. He cleared his throat, let his melting brown eyes fix on my face and said in what was obviously his Society voice, “Beggin’ yo’ pardon, but I feels I should inform you that if the police is to be called I shall be obliged to leave on—on account of difficulties.”
Aloma nodded soberly. “That’s the truth,” she said.
I was baffled by this cryptic utterance, but it didn’t matter. I merely said what was only too true. “No, we don’t want the police—not yet.”
Rudolph was obviously relieved. “What you want then?”
I looked at Nikki. What did I want? This was very pleasant. “We want them kept here for a while—safe. And we don’t want them making any noise.”
Rudolph took that in his stride. He beamed whitely. “Okay.” Aloma beamed, too. The idea appealed to her savage temperament. “Gaggin’ an’ bindin’,” she said. “Doan’ you worry, honies. That’s right down Rudolph’s alley.” She jerked her revolver at
Ruby and Nikki. “Come on, you,” she said.
She and Rudolph started backing into the dining-room. Nikki and Ruby, hands above their heads, followed reluctantly. In a few seconds the quartette had disappeared into the back of the apartment where, presumably, Rudolph’s terrifying “gaggin’ and bindin’“ would take place.
Alone, Iris and I looked at each other. I couldn’t think much about anything except how beautiful she was and how much I loved her. I have a habit of thinking about that at the darndest times.
I went to her, put my hands on her arms and kissed her. “Hello, honey.”
“Hello.” She glanced through the dining-room door. “You think Aloma and Rudolph can handle them, darling?”
“From the looks of him, Rudolph could handle anything. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of one of his gaggin’ and bindin’s.” Iris laughed. Her eyes clouded. “I’m sorry, Peter. I was a dope breaking in like that. I should have guessed when I found you’d gone from Sammy’s that—”
“Skip it, honey. It all came out right in the end, didn’t it?” She shivered. “Only just—only thanks to Aloma. I adore Aloma.”
“And I adore Rudolph. I won’t even resent it if he takes Aloma.”
“Peter, all through that horrible business, did you know they were still here?”
“No. I thought they’d gone out on the town the way Aloma said.”
“Why d’you suppose Rudolph’s so eager not to meet the police?”
“That’s one problem I’m not going to bother my head about. We’ve enough on the fire already without investigating Rudolph’s phobias.”
“Precisely.” Iris was looking purposeful and efficient again. She sat down on the couch. I joined her and took her hand— frivolously, just because I wanted to. “Now, darling,” she said, “tell me all—how you got Nikki and the woman with the purple hat here, everything.”
I told her that whole melodramatic sequence which had soared to success, catapulted into disaster, and now, thanks to Aloma, was re-established as a triumph.
Iris’ reaction when she heard of the plot was as staggered as mine. “The Purple Star. Blowing up a munitions’ ship in the heart of New York City. What a gal Ruby is. Wham!” And then, “Peter, you’re a genius. We know what the plot is now. We know when it’s going to take place. We know where to find Karl Pauly. We know how to get at Garr. We know everything.”
She told me then what had happened to her while I had been so precariously impersonating Garr. It was nothing exciting. The meeting with Baldy had gone off smoothly. She’d been given the second purple star with the instructions. She’d left the bar; found me gone; waited a while and then come home. That was all.
“The Royal Book and Music Store,” she said. “Ask for a record of The Blue Danube. Two-thirty. And Garr will be there. Peter, the end’s almost in sight. There’s only one thing more and then— Leslie, Pine 3-2323.”
“What d’you mean—one thing more?”
“Well, darling, there’s still Garr. I’ve got to be there at twothirty. I’ve got to make the contact with Garr.”
I had very definite ideas about that. We’d had more than our share of excursions and alarms that night; our necks had been stuck out quite often enough. I wasn’t going to have Iris plunging on into the very center of the danger.
I put my hands on her arms again. I stared her straight in the face. I said, “No, Garr, honey.”
“But, Peter.”
“You said it yourself. We know the crazy sabotage scheme. We know when it’s to take place. We know how to get at Garr. Okay. Our little kindergarten job’s over. Here’s where we hand it over to the big boys. I’m going to call Pine 3-2323 right now.”
“Darling, are you crazy?” Iris stared at me as if I was crazy. “Don’t you see that would spoil everything? Don’t you remember what Marta said? They, the FBI, people, they can’t do anything until they get evidence. Evidence, Peter. What evidence do we have? We can produce Nikki and Ruby. Okay. But what can we do about them? Maybe have Nikki held for Marta’s murder. We can get the Purple Star searched; probably have Karl saved. Okay. Maybe we could even get Captain Fischer arrested for kidnapping him. But that’s all. This plot, Peter—this vast, fantastic terrible plot, until we get evidence, how can we prove it’s anything more than a pipe dream in our own minds? And Garr. We know he’s going to be at the Royal Book Shop, yes. But this is the United States of America, remember? It’s a place where you can’t throw someone in jail just because some other fellow doesn’t like his face. We’ve nothing against Garr for the FBI Nothing at all—yet.”
She didn’t give me a chance to break in. “That’s why I’ve got to keep this date with Garr. Peter, you must see. It’s the crux of everything. Thanks to you, I know exactly what Ruby has to say to him. With any luck, I can get him to okay the Purple Star plot. Better still, I may even get him to give me the money—the fifty thousand dollar down payment. Then we’ll have him cold, don’t you see? We’ll have enough evidence to hang him fifty times over. After that we can call Pine 3-2323. After that, we can drive down to the docks with the FBI people and save Karl and the Purple Star. After that, we can have the biggest, brawliest roundup since the Indians moved out to Jersey.”
I hated having to hear that, because Iris was right about where our duty lay, and I didn’t want her to be right. I wanted to start being Peter Duluth with his charming wife again.
“Darling, you must see.”
“I see,” I said reluctantly. “It’s just that I don’t want—”
“Peter, we’ve got to want.” She tossed back her hair. “It’s okay then. I go to Garr?”
What had I done to deserve this? “Okay. I guess you go to Garr. But—”
“But—what?”
“I’m not going to let you go th
rough this alone. Fooling with Garr’s a hundred times more dangerous than with these small fry. You’re not having any solo rendezvous with him. I’m coming along.”
“But—”
“You can call me anything you like—a bodyguard sent by Captain Fischer, anything. But I’m not going to let you go alone.” Iris looked patient as if she had to handle a well-intentioned but difficult child. “All right, darling, you can come along. I’ll think up some story—some plausible story.”
She glanced at the rather fancy wrist-watch I’d given her for our first anniversary. “Quarter of two. No time to waste. I wonder if Aloma and Rudolph—”
I’d forgotten about them. “There’s been an awful sinister silence. Either they’ve done the best gagging and binding job in history or—”
As I spoke, Aloma swept in with a rustle of satin. From the triumphant curve of her lip, I gathered that all was well in the back room.
It was.
“You doan’ have to worry no mo’ ‘bout them, Miz Peter. They’s in the kitching—fixed for good.” A coffee hand on an ivory hip, she stared at us sternly. “You should be ashamed of yo’self, invitin’ such company to the house.”
After her elegant Beethoven friends, Nikki and Ruby must have seemed rather low-life. “I’m sorry, Aloma,” I said meekly. “But it wasn’t exactly a social visit.”
“You doan’ have to tell me that. I listened at the do’ for long befo’ I fetched Rudolph. I heard. The Purple Star. Payin’ folks good money to blow up our American ships!” She looked even more admonitory. “Is that any way to behave? That ain’t right, Miz Peter, an’ that’s the truth. Blowing up ships ain’t right.”
I hastily exonerated our moral characters to her, explaining that we were not fiends intent upon the destruction of New York, but merely rather feeble but well-intentioned citizens trying to prevent a catastrophe from taking place. It seemed to relieve her mind.
“Rudolph sho’ will be glad to hear that. He was that worried, I’m tellin’ you. Workin’ for people that blow up ships, he said, that ain’t right.”
