“I guess it’s not too bad,” I said, “if you could only make up your mind as to what you want to do.”
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
I lit a cigarette over that one. What was I going to do? I didn’t know—I hadn’t thought about it. “I don’ know honestly,” I said. “Get a job, I guess.”
“Anything special?”
“No, just anything that comes along,” I replied.
“Jobs are pretty hard to get right now,” she told me.
“I don’t know,” I said confidently. “I’ve never had much trouble getting one.”
For a while we sat there not talking. Then she got to her feet. “I guess I’ve got to go,” she said. “It’s getting kind of late and I might as well get home for supper.”
I looked up at her. “Why don’t you call home and tell them you’re going out for the evening? I mean why not go out with me? I don’t mean to be fresh, but maybe we could go out and you could show me the town. I don’t know the place too well.”
She smiled down at me. “That’s nice of you to ask me, Mr. Kane. But I really have to go home.”
The hell she did! She had to, like I had to. I played along with her. “Please come,” I asked her. “I’d appreciate it very much. You don’t know how lonely you can get to feel in a strange town.”
She pretended to deliberate a moment. “All right,” she said, “I’ll go with you, Mr. Kane. But first I have to call home, Mr. Kane.”
I took the hint. “Frank, to you.”
“All right then, Frank.” She smiled. “My name’s Helen.”
Helen went into the phone booth. I sat there waiting. Again she didn’t make any phone call. I laughed to myself.
We went down to some nightclub where they had a pretty good show. We ate and had a few drinks. I never drank very much but this time I didn’t care. I was getting pretty high. We danced and drank and danced and drank, and pretty soon it was nearly two o’clock in the morning. We left the cabaret and I hailed a taxi.
“I’ll take you home,” I said.
“I can’t go home like this,” she said, giggling. “My father would be sore as hell.”
“Where are you going to stay?” I asked her.
“At the hotel,” she said. “I often do when I work late.”
We got into the cab. “The Berkeley,” I told the driver. The cab started off. I was a little bit dizzy but the fresh air from the windows of the car cleared my head. I sank back on the seat and looked at her. She was sitting in a corner of the cab. She giggled.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her.
She giggled again. “I feel so silly.”
“Do you?” I asked, putting my arm around her and moving her over close to me.
She pressed against me, not resisting my straying hands. I kissed her.
“Still feel silly?” I asked, and kissed her again. This time she kissed back. Her lips were burning flames.
“Not anymore,” she said, pulling away. “You sure can kiss.”
“That isn’t all I can do,” I told her giddily. “I’ve got talent.” I kissed her again. Then I kissed her throat. She held me tightly. Suddenly she pushed me away.
“The hotel!” she whispered huskily. The cab was stopping in front of the hotel. I let her go. She straightened her clothes. We got out and I paid the cabby.
“Let’s go in,” I said taking her by the arm.
She held back. “I can’t go in there with you. I’d get fired; we’re not supposed to mingle with the guests. I’d better say good night out here.”
I looked at her. Good night out here! Was she crazy? I didn’t go out like this and spend my good dough to say good night on the sidewalk. I looked again. She seemed O.K. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she was just going along to be nice to me. I shrugged my shoulders. “You sure you can get a room?” I asked her.
She nodded.
“O.K. then,” I said, “good night.” I turned and walked into the lobby. I was a little sore. The lousy little teaser. But I started to laugh by the time I reached my room. At least she took my mind off my troubles.
I went into my room and took off my jacket and tie. I took out my wallet and counted my money. I had about a hundred and ten dollars left. I decided to pay up at the hotel tomorrow and go out and look for a cheap room. Then Monday I would go out and look for a job. I took off my shirt and went to the basin and washed up, then went back and sat on the edge of the bed smoking a cigarette. There was a knock at the door—a soft knock. I barely heard it. Quickly I stepped over to the table where I had left my money and put it in the dresser. Then I stepped over to the door and opened it.
Helen stood there. I looked at her. I didn’t show how surprised I felt. “Well,” she said, “aren’t you going to ask me in?”
“Oh, sure,” I mumbled, stepping back. “Come in.”
She came into the room. I shut the door. “I didn’t thank you for the good time we had.”
“I should’ve thanked you,” I said politely. Hell, she didn’t come up here just to thank me! I reached up and clicked out the light on the wall. Only the bed lamp was lit now.
We stood there facing each other in the semidarkness. I took a sudden step toward her. Instinctively she stepped back. I caught her hand and held her. “What’s the matter, baby?” I asked, pulling her close and kissing her.
“I’m afraid,” she said. “I never did this before.”
I slipped my hand inside her dress. Her breast was soft and warm. She drew in her breath sharply. I drew her down on the bed and kissed her again. She lay back across it, her arms pulling my head down. I drew up my head and looked down at her. “There’s always got to be a first time, baby,” I said, “and I won’t hurt you.” I ran my fingers up her thigh under her dress—the soft, warm flesh of a young woman’s thigh, filled with electricity and fire.
“I’m afraid, Frank,” she whispered, holding my hand on her thigh. “But…”
I interrupted her words by kissing her breast. When I stopped she continued in a whisper: “But you need me. You need someone. You looked so lonely downstairs—so alone.”
I reached up and flicked out the lamp. “I need you, baby!”
35
I woke up suddenly in the night. Something had stirred in the room. I put out my hand. Helen was gone. I sat up and jumped out of bed. I went over to the dresser and opened the drawer in which I had put my money. It was empty. I swore silently to myself as I dressed. All I had was the ten bucks that was in my pants pocket. I took a quick look at my watch as I hurried down the hall. It was nearly five o’clock. I took the elevator down.
I went over to the desk. “The telegraph operator around?” I asked.
“No,” the night clerk answered. “Which one do you mean?”
“The day operator,” I said, “the one named Helen.”
“Oh, her,” he said. “She was only a relief operator. Here for a day. The regular operator’s out sick. Is something wrong?”
Is something wrong? Plenty! I was cleaned. I still owed the hotel about twenty bucks and he asked me if something was wrong! “No,” I said. “I just thought of a wire I had to send. It’ll keep though.”
I turned and went back to my room. At least it didn’t take me long to get cleaned. I had heard of sailors coming back and signing up a few days after their discharge because they were broke and had been taken for their dough—dough they had spent a whole hitch in getting—and I never could understand it. But it happened to me. I lit a cigarette while I thought over what I had to do next.
About ten o’clock I went downstairs to the telegraph desk. An operator was sitting there. “Do you know where Helen is?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “How should I know?” she asked. “The office sent her over for a trial when I was out. D’ya want I should find out for ya?”
“Could you please?” I asked. “It’s very important.”
She got her central office on the wire. Back came the message. “No.
She was hired for the day and paid off at the end of her trick. She didn’t leave any address.”
That was that. I went from there to the desk and asked to see the manager. I was shown into his office. He was a medium-sized, quiet-spoken, gray-haired man.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Kane?” he asked politely.
I told him the whole story. He listened, his hands folded on his chest. When I had finished he asked me what I wanted him to do.
“I don’t know what you can do,” I answered him honestly.
“I don’t know what I can do either,” he said, standing up. “We provide a safe for the guests to leave their money and valuables. We have a sign prominently posted: ‘Not responsible for money or valuables unless checked with the desk.’ If we would listen to every hard luck story handed us, where would we be? I heard plenty of stories like that before. People come in here after spending and losing their money gambling and in other ways and expect us to do something for them. This is a business, the same as any other. We have to run the business right or we lose our jobs. Have you enough to pay your bill?” he asked shrewdly.
“No,” I answered, “I told you that bitch cleaned me.”
“Tsk, tsk,” he said shaking his head. “Very unfortunate!”
“I know that,” I said. “But how about giving me a few days. I’ll get a job and pay you every cent.”
He laughed at that. “Do you have any idea, Mr. Kane, how scarce jobs are? And your room is pretty expensive too—about three fifty a day, I think. No, I’m afraid the owners would never permit anything like that.”
“Then how about letting me work it off?” I asked.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I couldn’t do that. We’re overstaffed as it is, and I expect to have to let some people go this coming week.”
“Well,” I said, “that puts me right back to where I started from. What do I do next?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But in view of circumstances, you’ll have to let us have the room immediately. We’ll require that you leave your clothing—er, that is, what you’re not wearing—with us as security for payment of the rent.”
I got sore at that. I stood up. “You lousy bastard!” I said to him. “That’s a hell of a way to treat somebody who comes in trying to level with you! If I wanted to fool you, I could have gone on saying nothing and let you find out for yourself. But, no! I have to be the sucker to take the rap for the rest of the cheap tinhorns who are too smart for you!”
He tried to interrupt me but I shouted him down.
“I’m going to take my stuff and get the hell out of here, and you try to stop me! If you do I’ll spill my guts out all over this town about how you let your telegraph operators take your customers. See how you like that!” I started out of the room.
He stopped me at the door. “All right, Mr. Kane,” he said, “don’t get excited. Supposing I let you take your stuff and go. We’ll forget the whole matter.”
“You bet your life I’m goin’!” I said, still angry. “You can forget it, not me!” I slammed the door behind me. I went up to my room and began to pack my things. When I had everything packed, I went out into the hall and took the elevator downstairs.
I walked out of the hotel. I stopped at the newsstand on the corner. I bought a paper. “Do you know a good reasonable rooming house?” I asked the vendor.
“Sure,” he said. He wrote an address on a piece of paper for me. It was a few blocks away, so I walked there. I took a room there for three fifty a week, two weeks on the line in advance. That left me with three dollars and about eighty cents in change. I packed my stuff into the dresser. This place was a dump compared with the hotel, but at least I was good here for the next two weeks.
The next day I went job hunting. I was lucky. I got a job paying fourteen dollars a week delivering groceries and meat for a big market down on Center Street. I came home tired. I stretched out on the bed. It was pretty tough running around all day with grocery orders, and I had been taking it kind of easy the last few months. I got out of bed and sat down trying to figure out how far the money would go. I took a piece of paper and pencil and jotted down figures on it:
Rent
$3
Food
$7
Total
$10
Sal.
$14
Extra
$4
I figured about a dollar a day for food was enough. Breakfast was just coffee and a roll. Lunch was a sandwich and coffee or a plate of soup and coffee. For supper I would take a plate in a cafeteria. I lay down on the bed again. I wasn’t worried. I’d get by.
But there was one thing I didn’t figure on.
36
I used to come in to work at seven o’clock in the morning. My first job was to get out the early orders. The clerks had them ready the night before, and I would take them out, put them into the pushcart, and deliver them. I didn’t care much for the work, but by being careful and saving that extra four bucks a week, I hoped to save up enough to take me back East. I figured that was where I’d find the folks.
But two days later it blew up. I was carrying an order out to the cart when I began to get sick and dizzy. I guess it was the crummy food I’d been eating. The sidewalk seemed to incline up toward the building line. It seemed to be harder and harder for me to keep my balance. I dropped the order on the ground and fell against the side of the building. Stupidly I watched the broken eggs and milk form a mush on the walk. I was sweating. Only by exerting my willpower could I keep from falling to the ground. Desperately I fought myself. I must not fall. I mustn’t. But the building kept going up and up as the sidewalk kept rising.
The boss came out and looked at the sidewalk, then at me leaning against the building. I was white. Beads of sweat had run down into my eyes and I couldn’t see clearly. He made no move to help me. I tried to say something to him but the words that came out were unintelligible.
“Come in and get your time when you’ve sobered up,” he said, turning on his heel and walking back to the building.
I looked after him helplessly. I tried to speak again but couldn’t. I just leaned against the building, hoping I wouldn’t pass out. The rage and shame and the humiliation were all burning inside of me. The son of a bitch thought I was drunk! I could have wept. But I didn’t have time. I had to fight that sidewalk. It was like a tightrope; at any minute I felt I would fall. Slowly I sank to my haunches and rested my head on my arms. I shut my eyes so I didn’t have to see that terrible incline I was so afraid of. I tried not to think of it, not to think of anything.
At last it passed. I began to feel a little better. I raised my head and opened my eyes. They were wet with the tears I had suppressed. I had a dull headache. The sidewalk was back to normal. I stood up slowly. I still felt shaky. Holding my hands on the side of the building, I walked around to the door. As I went in, a clerk rushed past me to clean up the mess. I went back to the little glass cage the boss called his office.
He was standing there. “Mr. Rogers,” I began.
“Here’s your time, Kane,” he said. He held out five dollars toward me.
I took it slowly. I couldn’t move too quickly. I counted it. “But, Mr. Rogers,” I said, “there’s only five dollars here. I’ve worked three days. It should be seven.”
“I’ve taken out what you broke,” he said, turning his back on me.
Stupidly I put the money in my pocket. I started to walk away, then turned back. “Mr. Rogers,” I said, “I wasn’t drunk. I was sick.”
He didn’t answer. I could see he didn’t believe me.
“You gotta believe me, Mr. Rogers!” I said, my voice trembling. “It’s the truth, I was dizzy and…”
“If you’re sick you shouldn’t work anyhow,” he said, turning to me. “Now beat it! I haven’t any time to waste.”
I knew he didn’t believe me. I walked past the clerks as I took off the apron and put on my jacket. They watched me out of the corner of their eyes.
I hadn’t worked there long enough to know any of them. I felt that they thought as Mr. Rogers did.
I went directly home. I didn’t feel well enough to look for another job that day. Besides, I had a funny feeling of shame that seemed to cling to me. I thought everybody on the streets looked at me strangely. I went up to my room and lay down. I stayed inside for the rest of the day. I wasn’t hungry and didn’t feel like eating anything.
The next morning I went out again. But that day passed and I didn’t get a job—and the next day, and the day after that. I was pretty low on dough. I had cut down to one cheap meal a day. By the middle of the next week I was broke. I could see no job in sight, and Sunday I would have to pony up three and a half for the room.
I was on the street when the idea hit me. I would go back to New York. I had friends there. I knew my way around that town. They would help me find the folks. I turned back to my room. I got all my clothes together—the new suits I had bought a few weeks ago and all my shirts but one—and put them into the valise. On the way downstairs I told the landlady I was giving up the room at the end of the week.
I looked around for a hockshop. I found one down on lower Main Street. I walked into the shop and dumped the stuff on the counter. An old man, wearing glasses, came forward to wait on me. “What can I get for this, uncle?” I asked him as I opened the valise.
He took out the new suits and looked at them carefully. Then he put them down. “It can’t be done,” he said. “I’m not handling hot goods.”
“Uncle,” I said, “this stuff ain’t hot. I just bought it last week. But I lost my dough and I want to blow out of this burg.”
“You got maybe a bill of sale?” he asked, looking at me shrewdly.
I fished in my wallet. I found the one for the suits. I showed it to him. He looked at it. “Five dollars apiece I’ll give you for the suits—fifty cents for the shirts.”
Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double Page 19
