Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double

by Harold Robbins

  She gained a little confidence at that remark. “It’s just that I thought you looked sort of lonely standing there by yourself—not talking to anyone, I mean.”

  I looked at the girl again. I must be in a bad way if a kid could see it. “What made you think that, Muriel?” I asked lightly.

  “The way you stood there watching the dancers, it was as if, well, as if you wanted to dance too.” She was smiling now.

  “I see,” I said slowly. The music was drawing to a close. I turned at a corner and the music stopped. We stood there applauding. Her face was bright and shiny, her mouth gay and laughing.

  There was something about her that seemed too young to be involved in this sort of business. I made a mental note to tell Miss Walsh to find out in what department she worked and have her fired. She would be better off out of this.

  The music started again. I looked at her; she nodded and we danced another dance. When the music stopped I thanked her and went back to my office. I mixed a drink for myself and sat there until I could hear the music had stopped. The girl was right. I was alone. But you got to make up your own mind as to what you want. I had made up mine a long time ago.

  I looked over at the telephone. It would be easy to call Ruth and wish her a merry Christmas. It was as good an excuse as any. Every day since the last time I had spoken to her, a florist delivered an orchid to her for me. She had never acknowledged it, but neither had she refused them. It would be nice to talk to her. I reached for the phone.

  When my hand was halfway toward it, I stopped. I noticed the door was opening slowly. I opened the left-hand desk drawer and put my hand in it as I watched the door. My hand touched the cold metal of the automatic I kept there, and my fingers closed around it reassuringly.

  A girl’s head peeked in through the half-open door. The hair, a pale gold color, shimmered in the dimming light of the room. She saw me sitting there, and opened the door wide and came into the room. “Were you here all the while, Mr. Kane?” Muriel asked.

  I shut the desk drawer. “Yes,” I said. “Why did you come?”

  She was in front of my desk. “I don’t know,” she said simply. “I just had to.” Her eyes were vaguely puzzled. There seemed to be something she didn’t understand about herself.

  I got out of my seat and walked around the desk toward her silently. Something inside of me was haywire. I was nervously taut and tense; my mouth was set in a queer hard line.

  “Mr. Kane.” She was a little frightened. “Mr. Kane, what are you going to do?” Her voice went a little thick and she seemed to shrink back from me.

  I didn’t answer. I put my arms around her shoulders and pulled her roughly toward me. Her hands pushed against my chest ineffectually. I held her against me with one arm; with the other hand I gripped her face under the chin and turned it up to me and put my mouth on hers and kissed her.

  Her hands opened and closed themselves against my jacket and then clutched my pocket and held. It was a long, hard, brutal kiss. When I let her go, her eyes were half closed. She hung limply against me. “Is this what you came here for?” I asked harshly.

  She paid no attention to the sound of my voice. Her head was on my shoulder, her face turned away from me, her voice small. All he said was: “Oh, Mr. Kane!”

  I looked down at her. The little bitch was just begging to be laid. Suddenly I felt old and tired. All the fever pent inside me seemed to disappear. I dropped my hands and backed away from her.

  She looked at me. “Mr. Kane, what’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” I replied. “Go home, baby, before you’re sorry.” I lit a cigarette.

  “Mr. Kane,” she said in that tricky, small voice of hers, “I won’t be sorry. Don’t send me away.”

  “Beat it!” I said. “You’re too young to be playing these kind of games. Go home to your mother.

  “I’m twenty, Mr. Kane,” she said, drawing up her head in a funny, proud sort of way, “and I’m old enough to play at any sort of games I choose.”

  I looked over at her. I didn’t speak.

  “Mr. Kane,” she said, looking down at the floor again, “who are you going to have Christmas dinner with?”

  The question knocked me for a loop. It was the last thing I had expected her to ask. “Why?” I asked.

  “Would you like to have dinner with me?” she asked, still looking at the floor. “I don’t want to spend Christmas alone again.”

  The word “again” intrigued me. “Why?” I asked.

  “I live in a boarding house,” she answered softly. “My parents are dead and I haven’t anyone to spend Christmas with.” She looked up at me. Her eyes were blue and swimming in tears. “All the others,” she said huskily, “they have places to go—but us.”

  “How do you know I haven’t?” I asked.

  “I can see it in your face, Mr. Kane,” she said, looking straight at me. “I can tell when someone is alone.”

  I watched her for a moment and then smiled slowly. She smiled with me. “O.K., Muriel,” I said as sternly as I could, “I’ll have dinner with you; but remember: no funny business.”

  “Mr. Kane,” she said, smiling slightly, “I’m no virgin.”

  I laughed and sat down in my chair. “Miss Bonham,” I said, “neither am I!” I kissed her and we went out to dinner.

  We had dinner at the Oyster Bay. She was a nice kid all right, but I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, I didn’t think she was as old as she said she was. After dinner I took her home; she lived in Teaneck. I pulled up in front of the house she pointed out, and walked her to the door.

  The light was dim inside the hall. I said good night and turned to leave.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Mr. Kane?” she asked plaintively.

  I laughed to myself. I must be nuts to pass this up. “O.K., baby!” I said. “Just a kiss!”

  She came toward me. In the light her face looked older, wiser. “Mr. Kane, I’m not a child.”

  I put my arms around her and kissed her. When I let go, I knew she wasn’t kidding. If there was a trick to kissing, she had it. I went for it again.

  She was close to me: I could feel the whole length of her against my body. Her mouth was warm and sweet, her hands cupped over my ears, holding my face down to hers.

  The voice came from right behind me. It was a man’s voice, rough and harsh. It spoke to her not to me. “O.K., Bonnie,” the voice said. “You can let go now.”

  The girl dropped her hands from my face. She stepped back a little. Her face didn’t have any expression of surprise, wasn’t even startled. I took a quick look at her and started to turn around slowly. Pinwheels were going around in my head. By the time I had finished turning and saw the two men—one with a gat pointed at my belly—only one thought remained.

  This was the kiss-off.

  68

  I didn’t speak. My stomach tightened up; for a moment I felt like being sick, but I swallowed my guts and stood there.

  “Frisk ’im,” the guy with the gun said to the other.

  “You don’t have to,” Bonnie said, moving away from me. “He’s light.”

  “Frisk ’im anyway,” the first guy said. “We don’t take chances with this baby.”

  I held up my elbows while the second man shook me down. Then as he moved away, I lowered them. The girl now stood next to the man with the gun. I looked at her; she was perfectly composed. I was trying to figure the deal, but no angles popped fast. My brain seemed to be a little foggy; it must have been or I wouldn’t have picked up a hand like this.

  “Turn around,” the gunsel told me, “and go out to your car.”

  I did what he said—you don’t argue with a gat! But it didn’t make sense at all. If this was a bump, this place was the best spot for it. There weren’t any houses near the one we were in. A thought jumped into my mind. The girl had said her parents were dead. Only two people might figure that I would be a sucker for that gag. Only two people who knew my history were also concerned with my futu
re.

  Jerry and Silk.

  If it was Jerry, I couldn’t figure it. If it was Silk, I should have been knocked off in the house. I got behind the wheel of the car still thinking.

  “Over the bridge to New York,” the gunsel said, sitting behind me. The girl climbed into the front seat next to me. “You’re going to see the D.A.,” the man continued.

  I let a little sigh of relief escape me. At least it wasn’t a curtain. But I still couldn’t understand how Jerry had come to do it this way. It wasn’t the way I’d thought he operated. I spoke to the girl next to me. “You took me, kid.”

  “It wasn’t hard,” she answered unflatteringly.

  She was right: I did it all. She just had to play along.

  “How long have you been down at my place?” I asked.

  “I wasn’t,” she replied. “I just walked in on the party and waited for you.”

  I started to say something else, but the guy in the back seat poked me between the shoulders. “Shut up!” he said.

  I clammed up.

  We got over the bridge and I started downtown. The guy tapped me on the shoulder. “Go to the Dauphin Hotel,” he told me.

  I knew the place. It was on upper Broadway in the Seventies. The deal began to smell up again. Something was cooking. I didn’t know what it was, but I could smell it burning.

  I parked the car on Broadway and we walked into the lobby of the hotel. The man looked at his watch. “We’re early,” he said. “Go into the bar and we’ll have a drink. And don’t screw around!”

  Silently the four of us entered the bar. There was a booth empty and we sat down. The waiter came up and we ordered. I had a Scotch-and-water. I paid the tab. We sat there a few minutes. Then the girl got up and went to the telephone. She came back when she had made her call. I saw the gunsel nod to her.

  He got up. “Finish your drink,” he ordered.

  I swallowed it.

  “O.K.,” he said. “Come on.”

  I followed him to the desk. He stopped there and said to the clerk: “Two rooms and bath for my friend here.” He pointed to me.

  The clerk held the registration book to me. “Sign,” the gunsel ordered.

  I wrote my name on the book: “Frank Kane.” This was beginning to shape up. It had all the elements of a frame. Only I didn’t know who was pulling it. And I couldn’t figure the frame.

  We were shown to some rooms on the fourth floor. I tossed a buck to the bellboy and he left. “Make yourself comfortable,” the gunsel said.

  I sat down in a chair near the window. The first gunsel crossed to the telephone and dialed a number; he had his gun out and was covering me. A voice answered the phone. “Mr. Cowan?” he asked.

  The voice made a reply. The gunsel waited a few seconds and then spoke again. “Mr. Cowan,” he said. “Kane is here in New York to speak to you.”

  The voice spoke a few seconds. Then the gunsel said, “He wants to speak to you alone.” He listened to Cowan for a moment, then spoke again. “All right, he’ll see you at the Dauphin Hotel on Broadway—suite four twelve.” Cowan spoke again and the gunsel hung up.

  The frame was set. The picture fell into shape in my mind like a jigsaw puzzle beginning to make sense.

  The gunsel walked over to the girl. “It’s all set, Bonnie. You can tell the boss the D.A. will be here in a half-hour.”

  She got up and started to walk out. I spoke up. “Good luck, baby!”

  She turned to me and smiled. “Save it, big shot! You need it more than I do.”

  “Go on Bonnie,” the gunsel said. “Beat it!”

  She left the room. The gunsel turned to the other guy. “Go down in the lobby and call me when he shows up.”

  The other guy went out.

  The gunsel moved me to a seat between the door and himself. He sat down near the telephone. We stared at each other.

  “Detroit?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “What are you getting for this deal?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “I’ll pay yuh double what you’re gettin’,” I said.

  “Shut up!” he told me.

  I fell silent. The frame was simple: knock off Cowan as he came in the door, rock me to sleep, plant the gat on me, and the case was clear.

  No one would go for my story, and the guy that wired it would gain both ways. He would have the D.A. out of the way and me on ice, and he could take over. It was Fennelli; I was sure of that. He was the only one smart enough to figure out a frame like this. Simple, but good! Establish my presence—they did that at the bar and at the desk. Up comes the D.A. on a hot tip. Bang and I was fried. I began to sweat a little.

  But we sat there staring at each other as the minutes went by, and it didn’t look as if there were any way out.

  I looked at my watch; there wasn’t much time left. I took out my handkerchief and wiped my forehead. If any breaks were going to come my way, they’d better start coming—fast.

  The phone rang. He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear. He listened a moment, then hung up. He got out of his chair and moved toward me. He pointed toward the chair he had vacated. “Sit there,” he told me.

  I sat where he told me. A faint hammering was beginning to go on in my head. My throat was tightening.

  He moved to the right of the door and stood there where its opening would hide him. He pointed his gun at me and said: “Keep quiet and keep living!”

  I spoke again—desperately. “You can’t get away with it! A frame like this won’t go. I’ll pay whatever you say.”

  He looked at me. I could see a sort of contempt creep over his sullen face. “You’re all alike: big stuff until someone cuts you down to size, then you begin crying!” He made a savage gesture with a gun. “Shut up!”

  A second later there was a knock at the door. The phone began to ring. I didn’t know where to look first. Automatically I picked up the phone and held it to my ear, and said: “Come in.”

  The door began to open and a voice started to yap in my ear.

  “Flix,” the voice was saying, “the place is lousy with cops!” I slammed the receiver down without answering, and jumped to my feet. For once I was glad someone didn’t trust me. Jerry had sense enough to bring the coppers along. He didn’t trust me. I spoke quickly to the man at the door who was staring at me.

  “There’s cops all over the place!” I spoke in a low tone. “Stash it, I’ll cover yuh!”

  He looked at me indecisively. His hands were white around the gun; he half lifted it.

  I took a step toward him. The gun kept going up. Jerry stepped into the room between us. He didn’t see the gunsel behind him. There were other men in the hall, looking at me curiously.

  “I’m glad you called,” Jerry said. “It’s about time you got some sense.”

  69

  A flashlight bulb went off, and for a second I couldn’t see. When my vision cleared, the guy behind the door had stashed his gat and was walking toward me. I remembered thinking with a foolish sense of annoyance that the next day my picture would be in all the papers. Then I laughed. “Come in,” I said. “I’m glad to see you.”

  Men crowded into the room behind Jerry. “Is this a pinch?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” he answered. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I didn’t,” I said. “It was his idea.” I pointed to the gunsel. “He arranged the meeting with a gun. It was going to be a double frame.”

  The gunsel swore and his hand streaked toward his pocket. One of the detectives clipped him, and the gunsel fell. I continued to speak as if nothing had happened. “As far as I’m concerned, I’d be just as well off if I never saw you.”

  The detective had the gunsel’s gun in his hand; with the other he hauled the gunsel to his feet. The gee was a little dizzy. He shook his head trying to speak. “Kane arranged it. The son-of-a-bitch! When he saw it wouldn’t take, he threw me to you.”

  I laughed derisively.
>
  Jerry turned and spoke to the cops. “Take him downtown and clear out.”

  One of the detectives spoke up. “Maybe Kane’s got a gun.” He didn’t want to leave.

  Jerry looked at me. I shook my head, not speaking. He turned back to the cops. “No, he hasn’t.” He spoke quietly. “Wait downstairs for us.”

  They cleared the room and left the two of us alone. I sat down in a chair. Jerry took off his coat and sat down and looked at me. “Did you tell the truth?”

  I nodded. “It was a frame all right. They were going to knock you off and hang it on me. It couldn’t miss.” I took out a cigarette and offered him one.

  He refused, took a cigar out of his inside coat pocket, and lit it. I lit my cigarette and we looked at each other. “Got any idea who is behind it?” he asked casually.

  I smiled. Kid stuff! “If I had,” I answered, “it would have come off.”

  We were quiet again. I studied him. He had grown heavier. His face had filled out. His hair was a soft reddish brown and had a little wave in it. He had a thin mustache and full red cheeks. He was developing a little stomach. There was a sort of complacent look on his face, a sort of smugness. His lips were full.

  He was doing the same for me. He leaned forward. “Christ, you’ve grown old!” the exclamation seemed to burst from inside him.

  I smiled again but didn’t answer.

  “I never dreamed we’d meet this way,” he said.

  I didn’t speak.

  He watched me a second. Then his voice became plain and businesslike. “You know how thing are between us. I’d like to help you but I have a job to do.”

  “The old crap!” I thought. Aloud I said: “I understand.”

  “I have a few questions to ask you.” He took a sheet of paper from his pocket, looked at it, then put it back in his pocket. He looked over at me. “Did you ever meet a man named ‘Fats’ Crown?”

  I nodded.

  “Where?”

  “Around town,” I answered. “I didn’t know him very well and never bothered much with him.”

  “Yet, when he opposed your organizing the gamblers into one pool, you had him killed?”