The ten-dollar bill I pressed upon him with my question brought a ready assent. “Sure thing, Mr. Kane!” His smile showed toothless gums. He went off in the garage and in a few minutes came back driving a small Plymouth sedan.
I got into the car behind the wheel and looked at the dashboard. There was a full tank according to the gauge. “By the way, Mike,” I asked before I drove off, “whose car is this?”
He cackled, “The boss’s. It’ll be O.K. I’ll tell him.”
“Thanks, Mike,” I said, putting my foot on the gas and driving off. I went to the bridge, rather than the ferry which was closer. I didn’t want to park where I might be recognized.
I slowed down as I came to the driveway leading downtown. I turned off Riverside Drive at 135th Street and went to Broadway. I parked there for a few minutes while I went into the drugstore on the corner and looked up Ruth’s address. I ran my finger down the page.
“Cabell, Ruth—100 E. 40th St.—Murray Hill 7—1103.”
A few minutes later I pulled in front of the building. It was a large, white apartment house on the corner of Park Avenue. I went into the lobby of the building and looked at my watch. It was a few minutes past twelve. I pressed the button for the elevator.
A sleepy-looking elevator operator opened the door. I stepped in. “Cabell’s apartment, please.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, sliding the doors back and starting the elevator up. “Doctor Cabell’s on the fifth floor—apartment five twelve.” He opened the door expertly and watched me walk down the hall. When I looked back at him as I stopped in front of the apartment door, he shut the door of the elevator and I saw the indicator move down. I pressed the bell.
I put up my coat collar and pulled my hat down over my eyes. What if she weren’t home? I almost walked away.
The door opened. A strange man stood there.
“Miss Cabell?” I asked. I could hear the subdued tone of voices coming from the apartment. From the sound, there were quite a few people there. “I’m from her office,” I added by way of explanation, “Mr. Coville.”
“Come in.” He stood aside as I passed him. “I’ll tell her you’re here.” He looked at me curiously before he went.
I kept my collar up and my hat on. I was standing in a small foyer. At the end of the foyer on the right was an open door where the voices were coming from. I watched him enter that room.
I could hear his voice. “Ruth, some man is here from your office—a Mr. Coville.”
For a second there was silence, then I heard her say: “I’ll be back in a minute. I’ll just go see what he wants.” Then she came into the foyer. Her face was pale. She came directly to me.
“Why did you come here?” she whispered. Her voice was anxious.
I smiled. “I’m repaying your visit.”
“You must go. You can’t stay. Jerry’s in there.” She still whispered.
“You wouldn’t leave my place until you saw me.” I said. “I’m entitled to the same right.”
She put her hand on my arm. “But you don’t understand. Jerry’s inside, and if he sees you he’ll have to turn you in. “You’ve got to leave.”
“I don’t think he will.” I smiled. I was beginning to enjoy this. You get a feeling of exhilaration from treading where the ice is thin.
“He will,” she said, coming closer to me. There was a scent about her that was faintly nostalgic. At first I couldn’t place it. Then I remembered—Marianne used it. “He will,” she repeated. “You don’t know him.”
“Don’t I?” I asked, recalling my conversation with him of a few weeks ago. “I’ll take the chance.”
She was disturbingly close now. The perfume went ping, ping in my nose. “Please, please go away.”
Then I kissed her. For a moment she was still. I could feel her lips in shocked surprise under mine. Suddenly they were warm and clinging, her arms around my neck holding my lips down to hers. I had kissed many women since Marianne, but I had never felt their kisses inside me, the way I felt Marianne’s. But this—this was different. It was so like, and yet so different from Marianne’s I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t try. It was tender, warm, sweet and passionate.
She withdrew her lips from mine. I still had my arms around her. Her eyes were deep blue pools in which I let myself sink. “Now, please go,” she whispered. Her hand was half raised, her fingertips caressing my chin.
I smiled, more sure of myself than ever. “Not for this kind of pay-off!” I whispered. “Maybe, if you’ll come with me?” I let the question hang in the air.
She didn’t answer.
I made a motion to take off my coat.
“All right,” she whispered, “I’ll go with you. Now wait outside.”
“I’ll wait here,” I said.
She hesitated. “All right, but be careful.” She turned and disappeared into the room from which she had come.
I could hear her explanation through the doors. I could see two shadows coming toward the door. I turned my face toward the wall and examined a small painting hanging there and kept my back toward them. From the corner of my eye I could see it was Marty. He didn’t look at me. I couldn’t hear what he said—he was speaking quietly. I just caught his last phrase, telling her to be careful. She had a coat thrown over her arm, and I could see her eyes flicking glances at me. She laughed and sent him back to the party or whatever it was, and came toward me.
I smiled. “Can I help you with your coat?”
She looked at me. Her face was troubled and serious. “I’ll put it on outside. The quicker you’re out of here, the better I’ll feel.”
I laughed and held the door open for her.
The elevator boy eyed us strangely as we went out. We were silent all the way down. We walked silently out to the car. I opened the door for her and closed it after her. Then I went around the other side and got in.
Suddenly she smiled. “This car is rather anticlimactic, isn’t it?”
I laughed. “I see what you mean. You must have expected a large flashy job. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I couldn’t use mine. It’s hotter than a firecracker right now.”
Her smile faded quickly. “You were crazy to come.”
“No more than you!” I replied, starting the car. I turned on to Park Avenue. “Where to?” I asked.
“Where can you go?” she asked.
I thought that over. She was right: New York wasn’t the healthiest place in the world for me right now. “I know just the place. I’ll be all right, there.”
She didn’t realize where I was taking her until we were on the bridge heading for Jersey. I pulled into the garage and we changed over to my car.
“This job suit you better?” I asked, smiling.
She nodded. “It’s more in line with what I expected.” It sure was—a large, black, twelve-cylinder Caddy roadster. I drove over to my place.
I lived in the Plaza Hotel. I had a three-room suite that just suited me fine. Hotel service took care of the place, sent meals up when I wanted it, and left me free of any servant problem of any kind. I liked it that way. It kept people from coming too close to me. I let myself in.
“Won’t you step inside my parlor?” I smiled at her.
She looked at me quizzically as she passed into the apartment. I stepped inside and shut the door.
I reached for her and put my arms around her and drew her to me and kissed her. I hadn’t been wrong. This was different.
Suddenly she pushed me away. Her voice had a breathless quality to it. “Is this why you came to see me?”
I smiled into the dark. I was beginning to wonder about that myself. I reached over to the wall and flicked on the lights. I threw my coat on a chair and went to the telephone and picked it up. “Room service.”
While I waited for the connection to be made, I looked over at her. Her coat was pulled tightly around her as if she were afraid to take it off. “No, darling,” I said lightly, “I was hungry and I wanted someone to talk over ol
d times with, while I ate.”
She grew angry at that. Her old temper flared up. Her lower lip trembled as if she were ready to burst into tears. “You’re still the same,” she spoke bitterly. “You know all the answers.” She started for the door.
A voice on the phone answered: “Room service.”
“I’ll call you back,” I said hastily, and hung up the phone and dashed after her. I caught her at the door and grabbed her shoulders. “If I didn’t want to see you so much, I wouldn’t have gone into town after you.”
She let me draw her back to the center of the room. I saw there were tears in her eyes. “Then why don’t you say what you feel?” she asked in a small voice. “Or are you so used to hiding your feelings you don’t know how to express them anymore?”
I kissed the corners of her eyes. Maybe she had something in what she said. Suddenly she put her arms around me and kissed me. “I love you—you selfish, stupid animal!” she whispered against my mouth. “I’ve loved you all my life. There never could be anyone else for me.”
I held her close. The sudden, sweet pain I felt inside me at her words told me of the truth in what she said. But it wasn’t anything new. I had known that ever since I saw her in the hospital. I kissed her again.
The phone rang. She looked at me, startled. I smiled reassuringly and let her go so I could answer it.
“This is room service, Mr. Kane, did you call us?”
I looked at Ruth. “Room service,” I said, mostly for her benefit. She smiled at me. “Some cold chicken for two and a bottle of Piper Heidsick ’29, please.” I placed the receiver back on the hook and walked toward her. “Now, how about taking off your coat.”
She slipped it off and gave it to me. Her eyes were glowing and her skin had a rosy hue from the cold November air. I looked at her. She wore a simply cut, black dress. “What are you looking at?” she asked, smiling.
“You,” I answered. “You’re beautiful.” She was beautiful.
“The man speaks from hunger,” she said.
“Both kinds!” I answered. We smiled at each other and suddenly felt very close and near to each other. Instinctively she held her hand toward me; I took it. I threw her coat on a chair next to mine.
We sat down on the couch in the center of the room. Her hand was folded through mine; her head rested on my shoulder. We were quiet for a long while. I shut my eyes. This was the first time in years I felt deeply satisfied and contented. It was as if I were a boy again and had come home to my aunt and uncle and we were sitting in the parlor, no one speaking, yet everyone happy and aware of each other’s happiness. It was like that with Ruth and me.
I buried my face in her hair. She turned her face toward me. We looked deeply into each other’s eyes. There was a question in hers—do you love me? She didn’t have to say it, I could see it. Apparently she was content with the answer she saw in mine because she kissed me.
Then she turned her head once more and placed it on my shoulder. She spoke softly, almost in a whisper. “I’m not mad, darling, just deliciously insane. This is only happening because I’ve dreamed it so often.” She turned suddenly and looked at me, her fingers raised to my cheek, her eyes round with half a fear, “This may be a dream. You may be gone when I wake up.”
I caught her hand and turned it palm up and kissed it. “This is no dream,” I said.
She sighed contentedly and leaned her head on my shoulder again. The quiet, peaceful, happy, contented feeling stole over me again. The world moved far away. It was true: I had come home again.
63
There was a soft rap at the door. “Come in,” I called, not getting up. A waiter came into the room, pushing a small tea wagon before him. He rolled it over to us.
“Shall I serve, sir?” he asked politely, handing us napkins and uncovering the food on the table.
I looked at Ruth. She shook her head slightly. “No, thanks,” I said, giving him a tip and signing the tab. “We’ll manage.”
He bowed and withdrew from the room. Ruth leaned forward and placed some chicken on my plate while I opened the wine and poured it. Then we sat back and began to eat. I was hungry and ate quickly. I was busy with my food and didn’t speak.
Ruth watched me. “You really haven’t changed. You still wolf your food down. I remember when we were kids you used to do that.”
“I’m hungry,” I said, picking up a chicken leg and gnawing at it. “I didn’t have any supper.”
A few minutes later I was finished. I sat back, lit a cigarette, and watched Ruth. When she finished, I offered her a cigarette, and we sat back on the couch comfortably. I looked around the room. It was furnished rather expensively. I saw to that because I paid for it, but it had never seemed like home until just now. Up to now it was just another place to hang my hat.
I reached over and drew her toward me. I put my arm around her waist; she seemed to fit in the crook of my arm. With my free hand I put out my cigarette and turned on the small radio next to the couch. Some band was playing sweet music. I generally go for rocky stuff, but this was just right.
She put out her cigarette and leaned back comfortably against me. A knock at the door—the waiter returned for the tray. When he had left, I put out the room lights and turned on the small lamps near the couch and sat down again. Her face was lovely in the dim ivory light. We kissed.
“Why did you run away from me in the hospital, Frankie?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered slowly. “I wouldn’t have run away if I had known.”
“Things must have been pretty bad for you then,” she said.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to think about them. Some things are better forgotten.
“Do you ever hear from your folks?” she asked.
“No,” I answered. “I could never locate them.”
“That’s too bad. I know how they must feel. I almost gave up all hope of ever seeing you again.”
“Would that have been so terrible?” I asked with a little smile.
She turned her head and looked at me. “You could never know just how terrible it might have been. I might have gone on waiting forever and turned into an old maid.”
I smiled again. “Not you! There must have been other guys.”
She nodded. “There were. But they weren’t you, and you were what I wanted.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” I laughed.
She laughed with me, but her eyes remained serious. “Of course! It’s just part of the line.”
“Feed me more, honey, I love it.”
“You’re fooling.” A troubled look had come on her face.
“I’m not fooling, honey,” I said. “I mean it. I love flattery. I’m a sucker for it.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder, and we were quiet for a while. Then she looked up at me again. “Frankie, I’m worried. I’m afraid of losing you again.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” I said quietly, “you couldn’t lose me with a ten-ton truck.”
“It’s not that I’m afraid of.” That troubled look had come back on her face. “It’s the other things. Jerry—everyone’s out to get you.”
I laughed confidently. “They won’t get me. They can’t make a case no matter how hard they try. Everything’s being done legit.”
She moved away from me. “It’s true what they say about you, isn’t it?”
I shrugged my shoulder. “You know how people are: they love to talk just to hear the noise they’re makin’.”
“But it’s not just noise, is it? It’s true, you do run the gambling setup?” She was persistent.
“What if I do?” I asked. “Somebody has to.”
She took one of my hands and looked at me earnestly. “You’ll have to quit.”
That was funny. I really laughed. A lot of people seemed to have the same idea lately.
“I mean it, Frankie,” she said, still holding my hand. “If you don’t, you’ll only wind up in jail, or in some alley, riddled with b
ullets.”
“I don’t think so, baby,” I said. “The law can’t pin anything on me and most of the monkeys in town haven’t the nerve to start anything on me because they know they’ll never get around to finishing it.”
“They will in time.” Her jaw had set stubbornly.
I smiled. “Forget it. I’m not worried about it, and I don’t want you to worry about it either.”
“I wouldn’t like it to happen,” she said quietly. “It would be a terrible thing for me to wake up some morning and find you in jail.”
“I’ll be here tomorrow morning,” I said pointedly.
“But how about all the other mornings after that?” There were tears in her eyes. “Can’t you see, Frankie? We could never be married unless we were sure we’d be together—unless I was sure you were safe. There wouldn’t be any happiness for us any other way.”
I listened to her in amazement. Who said anything about getting married? But the more I looked at her, the better I liked the idea. She’d be nice to come home to. I laughed to myself. I got it bad, I thought—and quick!
“Why not?” I asked. “What has my work to do with our getting married? I made a lot of dough. If I didn’t we couldn’t get married anyway. That’s silly.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not silly. You’ve got the idea that money can do everything. It can’t! You can’t buy pride and respect. The person commands them, not the price.”
“I’m not ashamed of what I do.” I was getting a little angry. “I had enough of crappin’ around on measly little jobs and half starvin’ to death, and I don’t like it. And you don’t have to be ashamed of me either. I worked damn hard getting a setup like this and I’m not going to throw it away because some stupid bluenoses say I louse up the air.”
“You don’t see what I’m trying to tell you, do you?” She was very still, her body almost rigid.
“No, I don’t.”
Her eyes had hardened, and her jaw had set into familiarly stubborn lines. “I didn’t think you would,” she said coldly. “I can see now there’s no use in trying to make you understand.” She walked toward her coat and picked it up.
Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double Page 38
