by Jerry eBooks
“That’s right.”
“I gather you can’t talk, eh? Well, friend, you can’t talk to me, either. You’re about as hot as a man can get, in case you don’t know it.”
“I know all about that,” Neelan said. “But I’ve got the stuff to break a hot spell, if you follow me.”
“Oh, I see. You have money, a lot of it?”
“That’s right.”
Reynolds chuckled into the phone. The sound irritated Neelan.
“Well, how about it?” he said. “Can you help me?”
“My friend, a wiser man than I once said that in every order of society wealth is a sacred thing, and that in a democracy, it is the only sacred thing. You should thank God we live in a democracy. Where are you now?” Neelan gave him the address.
“Very well. Get out of there; walk three blocks west to Seventeenth and Cooper. There’s a taproom on the corner. Take a back booth and wait for me. I’ll be along in perhaps ten minutes. Got that?”
“Right,” Neelan said, and hung up the phone.
He walked down the corridor and opened the front door. He was conscious of Mrs. Bailey’s eyes boring into his back from the front windows of the house.
Neelan strode down the tree-lined street, past some ball-playing kids and came to the taproom. He walked in and sat down in a rear booth and ordered a beer with a shot of rye from the bartender. There was nothing pretentious about this place; it looked like a neighborhood hang-out, with bowling machines, dart boards and a generally unadorned atmosphere.
Neelan sipped the beer and thought about Dwight J. Reynolds—an alias, he’d heard. He was a lawyer, a bondsman, a politician, a fixer, an operator. There were those who insisted he was honest up to a point; others said he was dishonest up to a point. The distinction struck Neelan as a moot one. Reynolds was not on the opposite side of the law, strictly speaking. His machinations were intertangled and intertwined on both sides of the law, and over the top and under the bottom of it, in a manner that made any clear-cut definition of his activities impossible. He worked with gangsters and board members, racketmen and stool pigeons, reformers and gamblers, supplying them all with whatever they needed, whether that happened to be fast transportation out of town, a hideout, a judge’s ear, the repeal of a zoning ordinance, or a few decks of snow. The only consistent stipulation in any of Reynolds’ deals was that money, and generous amounts of it, wound up in his hands.
Neelan knew him casually, and wasn’t happy about getting mixed up with him. Reynolds would bleed him to death, but there were other and worse ways of bleeding to death.
He came in five minutes later, a dapper man with graying hair, a tiny mustache, and alert, shifting eyes. He sat down opposite Neelan and dropped a ring of keys on the table. “My car is outside,” he said, and put a slip of paper beside the keys. “There’s an address where you can spend the day. I’ll be along in half an hour.”
“Have you seen the papers this morning?”
“I’m not here to gossip, Neelan.”
“Is the girl dead?”
“Not yet. Now stick to business. After today you’ll be beyond help. Do you understand?”
“Sure, sure,” Neelan said. “Relax, damn it. It’s my neck, right?”
“And mine too,” Reynolds said. “This will cost you ten thousand, Neelan. Five thousand now, and five when you start on your way.”
“Okay.” Neelan fumbled for his money, counted off five bills and shoved them into Reynolds’ eager hands.
“Get moving now,” Reynolds said.
FINISHING his beer in one gulp, Neelan went outside into the hot sunlight. Reynolds’ car was at the curb. He climbed in, started the motor, and drove away slowly, getting the feel of the transmission. The car’s smooth power was a tonic to him; for an instant he was tempted to let the Reynolds deal go to hell, and get out of town on his own. He could lose any State cop with this buggy. But he knew he wouldn’t get ten miles.
He found the address Reynolds had given him and coasted half a block past it before parking the car. Then, pulling his hatbrim down, he walked swiftly back to the weatherbeaten two-story frame house.
The door was opened by a fat untidy woman who wore a house dress and frayed felt slippers. “You wait a minute, I’ll get Morris,” she said, and slammed the door in his face.
The door was opened a moment later by a man who stood a head taller than Neelan, but was lean to the point of emaciation. His skull was narrow, and a lock of long dark hair hung over his bony forehead. He stared at Neelan suspiciously.
“Reynolds told me to come here. You Morris?”
“Yeah, I’m Morris. Come in. It’s a hell of a time to be sending a hot guy here, though.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Neelan said.
“All right, come on with me.” Morris turned to the woman. “Freda, keep your eye on the street for a while, and see if you notice anybody looking out their windows this way.”
Neelan followed him to a stairway that led down to a sour-smelling basement. There Morris unsnapped a lock from the door of a room behind the furnace. “In here,” he said, leading the way. He snapped on a light, and Neelan saw that the windowless room was furnished with a cot, a table, and a couple of kitchen chairs.
Morris turned to him, an unpleasant smile on his lips. “This is five hundred bucks, without maid service.”
“That’s by the day, I’ll bet,” Neelan said.
“That’s right.”
“Okay,” Neelan said. He gave Morris a grand note. “I’m paid up for two days now.”
Morris accepted the bill without comment and walked to the door. He fitted the lock back into the hasp, and was about to close the door, when Neelan said: “Never mind the lock, Morris. We’ll leave the door open just in case I have some women visitors. We don’t want to make the house dick suspicious.”
“I’ve got to lock it,” Morris said. “Supposing someone comes down here?”
“Well, now I’ll tell you about that,” Neelan said, and walked over and jerked the lock from Morris’ hand. “If anyone I don’t know comes down here, he’s going to be shot dead, understand? I’m not a pet monkey, Morris. I like open doors. Now how about some food?”
“That will be extra.”
“I knew that. Get me some sandwiches and coffee and a couple of bottles of liquor.”
WHEN Morris had left, grumbling under his breath, Neelan removed his coat and stretched out on the cot. He stared at the ceiling, wishing he had a cigar, wishing he had a drink. Linda wasn’t dead, Reynolds had said. She was still alive.
There were two Lindas in his mind now, the one who had liked him, who had trusted him, and had been his friend: and the other one who had sold him out to Ramussen. He didn’t think about that second Linda.
Reynolds arrived within half an hour. He walked into the room briskly and sat down in a straight-backed chair. “Now it’s time for serious work,” he said, as Neelan sat up, rubbing his jaw. “I’ll tell you what, Barny. Your best bets are Nova Scotia or Mexico. You can have your pick—an igloo or a hacienda.”
“What’s the difference?”
Reynolds shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, none. But I’m not going there, you see.”
“How could I get to Nova Scotia?”
“It’s a very simple matter. We’ll hire a private pilot from around this area to fly you there. Don’t look surprised; it’s done all the time for hunting trips. It’s a no-questions-asked deal. The pilot takes you to Burlington, Vermont, first, where he wires ahead to a Canadian Customs official in Nova Scotia. That’s to let them know when you’re arriving and how many are in the party. The Customs man meets the plane. You aren’t allowed to leave it, by the way, until he checks your papers. But all he requires for entry is some proof of identity, such as a driver’s license. I’ll get one for you today. After that, Barny, you’re on your own. You’ll have Canadian travel papers, and you can get a commercial flight from Moncton Field to Winnipeg, Toronto, Montreal, or anywhere in
the Dominion, for that matter. How does it sound?”
“Sounds nice and simple. How come more people in trouble don’t use that route?”
“A good many of them do, as a matter of fact. But most of them don’t have the money to hire my services.”
“Canada is out,” Neelan said. “I never did like that place.”
Reynolds looked annoyed. “Let’s not become whimsical, Neelan.”
“It’s Mexico for me,” Neelan said. He had never been to Mexico, but he knew of its climate, its tequila, its women. Even after paying off Reynolds, he’d have about thirteen or fourteen thousand dollars. That should provide a pleasant few years, he thought.
“Okay, it’s just as simple to get there. Of course, the difficulty in both cases is that you can’t get out quite so easily. Coming back, you’ll have to clear through United States Customs, and that’s a different matter.”
“Let’s don’t worry about that,” Neelan said, with a humorless smile.
“Very well. I’ll make reservations for you today and get you what identification you’ll need. Meanwhile I suggest you get a bath and a shave. And get a clean shirt from Morris.”
“Okay,” Neelan said.
Morris came in as Reynolds was standing to leave. He carried a tray on which there were two sandwiches and a pint milk bottle full of coffee.
“How about the liquor?” Neelan said.
“All right, all right, I’ve got to go out for that,” Morris said, and stalked out, a sullen expression on his face.
“What a creep!” Neelan said, picking up a fried-egg sandwich that was cold and greasy.
“He’s all right. I’ll see you about seven tonight.”
Morris returned in half an hour with two fifths of bonded Bourbon. “This is twenty bucks,” he said.
“You’re a real spender with my money, aren’t you?’ ”
“Why don’t you find somewhere else if you don’t like it here?”
Neelan took a crumpled twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and threw it on the floor. “There it is. You’ll look natural, crawling for it.”
Morris picked up the bill and put it in his pocket. “I’ve had some tough boys here, Mister. They found it all right. Slick Willie Sutton was here, and the Lanzettis. They had manners. You can always tell a punk by the way he pays off.”
“Why, damn you!” Neelan said. He put his hand on Morris’ face and shoved him through the door. “Go upstairs and dream about Slick Willie and the Lanzettis, but keep away from me, understand?”
Morris stared at him, trembling and tearful, and then he turned and went up the stairs, taking them three at a time with his long skinny legs.
Neelan opened one of the bottles and took a long drink. He sat down on the cot and thought about Linda. The first Linda, the real one. He drank half the bottle before stretching out and closing his eyes. His gun was beside him, within an inch of his right hand.
Chapter Eighteen
IT WAS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON WHEN MARK was allowed to see Linda for the second time. She was much better, he saw at once. There was a touch of color in her cheeks, and her eyes were clear. Her arms were outside the covers now, but they looked very limp and white. She turned her head toward him as he sat down in a chair beside the bed.
“You’re looking fine,” he said.
“You look just ghastly,” she said, and smiled faintly. “So solemn, Mark! Why? Did they tell you I’m going to die?”
“No, and for heaven’s sake stop talking that way.”
“I wouldn’t, you know, unless I was sure I was going to be all right. You’ve been here since last night, haven’t you?”
“Yes. I’m a great little vigil-keeper. Do you remember this morning at all?”
“Only vaguely. I was pretty dopy. But I knew you were here, and that made me feel better.”
“I talked quite a lot for a normally shy young man,” Mark said, with an attempt at lightness. “Do you remember any of that?”
Linda tried to laugh, but the effort made her wince. “Are you trying to retract it now?”
“No, not at all.”
“I remember you said some very extravagant things,” Linda said. “They were very pleasant things to hear, Mark.”
“I felt I had an unfair advantage. You were all doped-up and susceptible to suggestion.”
“I wasn’t that dopy, Mark,” she said, and moved her hand toward the edge of the bed. “At least, I don’t think I was. You did say you loved me, I believe.”
Mark took her hand and patted it gently. “Yes, that’s right.”
They were silent a moment; then Linda’s faint smile faded from her lips.
“Have they caught him yet, Mark?”
“No, not yet.”
“Why did he do it? Why did he do all of it, Mark?” Mark sighed. “At the risk of sounding glib, I’d say it had something to do with that ‘Each man kills the thing he loves’ business.”
“But that doesn’t explain all of it, Mark.”
“Perhaps not. Supposing we talk about it when you’re feeling completely better. Okay?”
“All right, Mark. Will you hold my hand tighter?” A moment later she said: “I’m so sleepy, Mark. Is that normal, do you suppose?”
“Absolutely. Girls are always sleepy when I unleash my passionate temperament. The barbiturate people pay me millions to keep myself off the market.”
MARK sat holding her hand until the nurse came in a few minutes later. She put a finger to her lips and pointed firmly to the door. Mark sighed and disengaged his hand from Linda’s. Bending, he kissed her on the forehead and then tiptoed outside.
Ramussen was waiting for him in the corridor.
“What the hell are you grinning about?” he said. “Nothing, nothing at all. What about Neelan?” Ramussen sighed. “We’ve got him pinned down in Camden, anyway. He stayed at a rooming-house there last night. The landlady got suspicious and called the office this afternoon. Her description fits, all right, but e’s still loose. I’m afraid he’s made a contact. Now why in the devil don’t you go home and get some sleep?” Mark stretched comfortably and grinned at Ramussen. “I think I might, at that,” he said.
“You can always come back later,” Ramussen said dryly.
“That’s a good idea,” Mark said, and slapped the Lieutenant on the back . . .
Neelan was sitting on the cot with a drink in his hand when Reynolds arrived at seven-thirty that night.
“The shave and clean shirt helped a lot,” Reynolds said, looking at him critically. “Still belting that liquor, eh?”
“I’m all right.”
“Well, that’s up to you, Barny.” Reynolds sat beside him and drew an envelope from his inner breast pocket.
“Here’s everything you’ll need. Now listen carefully: You’re Harvey Benson, got that? In this envelope are a driver’s license, some letters, and club cards, all in that name. Put them in your wallet, and leave your own identification here.”
“All right,” Barny said, taking out his wallet. He flipped it open and stared at his shield. “I’d better leave this too, I suppose.”
“I guess you’d better,” Reynolds said dryly. “Now here’s your schedule: Outside is a rented car, a ‘47 Dodge, parked four doors down on the opposite side of the street. When you leave here, take it and drive out U.S. Route 130 to the Idlewild airport. That’s about twelve miles from here on the right side of the road. You can see it for miles, so you won’t miss it. I’ve made a reservation there in the name of Harvey Benson for an immediate flight to Richmond, Virginia.”
Neelan scowled.
“Richmond? What am I going there for?”
“The police won’t be expecting you there,” Reynolds said. “They’ll watch Chicago, Pittsburgh without a doubt, but not Richmond, where the traffic is mostly out instead of in. At Richmond you’ll board Flight 231 to Dallas. I’ve arranged for your tickets to be held for you on the plane. Got that? Don’t go to the waiting-room. Get out of the private pla
ne and wait until you hear Flight 231 called. Then go directly to the plane and tell the stewardess who you are. Is that clear?”
NEELAN nodded and sipped his drink.
“Okay. When you get to Dallas, you’ll find a reservation waiting for you through to Mexico City. When you get to Mexico City, the Customs officials will give you a tourist card when you show them your identification. After that, Barny my boy, you’re on your own. Enjoy yourself, drink plenty of tequila, and forget you ever heard of me. Okay? Let’s go.”
Neelan stood up and put on his suit coat. He took a last drink from the nearly empty, bottle and went upstairs with Reynolds. There was a leather suitcase in the hallway.
“That’s yours,” Reynolds said. “There’s nothing in it but two telephone directories.”
Morris came to the archway of the living-room, and behind him, peering around his thin body, was the fat woman in the house dress. They both regarded Neelan with active dislike.
“Well, good luck, Barny,” Reynolds said, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Let me have that second five thousand, and we’ll be all square.”
Neelan counted out the money and Reynolds took it with a smile. “We’ve done everything we can for you, boy,” he said. “With a little luck you’ll be leading a king’s life in a few days.”
“Thanks a lot,” Neelan said. He met Morris’ eyes and grinned. “Let’s have the change, friend.”
“Change?”
“Yeah. I gave you a grand for two days. I only stayed one.”
“I don’t have any change,” Morris said, and wet his lips. He glanced at Reynolds.
Reynolds smiled. “Supposing he sends it to you, Barny.”
“Supposing he gives me back my grand, and I’ll send him the change,” Neelan said. “Come on, come on,” he said, suddenly irritable. “Let’s have the money.”
“It’s a minor item to quibble about,” Reynolds said, shrugging. He drew out his wallet and counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills. “Here you are, Barny. Now you’d better be moving.”
