by Lionel White
He began making strange, almost animal noises and his breath came fast and short.
Janie moved once in her sleep and a whispered groan escaped her lips.
Gino’s hand stopped in mid-air as though paralyzed. And then, a moment later, when he realized that she hadn’t awakened, he again began stroking her shoulder gently.
Suddenly his heavy thumb and forefinger tightened on the child’s tender flesh and he pinched her as hard as he could. And then he fell to his knees at the side of the cot. His other hand came up to cover the child’s mouth.
It was the quick, sharp pain caused by that first cruel pinch that brought Janie Wilton suddenly fully awake. For a brief second she stared with wide eyes at the little man kneeling at the side of her bed. In that first moment she failed to associate the pain that had awakened her with his presence.
It was more in curiosity than fright that she spoke.
“What are you doing here?” she said.
But Gino was beyond understanding. He began half to moan and half to cry. The tears welled in his odd, almost blind eyes and his hands were suddenly a frenzy of activity.
The child’s curiosity and the faint indignation were swiftly replaced by a nameless fear, and she cried out in alarm and pain.
It was her shattering scream which snapped Red out of his pleasant trance. It also brought Terry whirling from the sink.
Red was the first to reach the door and jerk it open.
By the time the huge ex-prize fighter entered the room, Gino was no longer conscious of anything.
Red’s heavy boot caught the little man in the side of his chest and the force of the kick half lifted him to his feet and carried him part way across the room. It broke three of his ribs.
Janie had jumped from the bed and was cowering in one corner of the room, holding a corner of a blanket in front of herself. Her eyes were wide and frightened.
“He hurt me,” she said in her high, childish voice. “He hurt me. Kick him hard. Hit him.”
Terry didn’t see what happened next. She rushed to the child and took her in her arms. The little girl buried her face in her shoulder and began to cry softly. For the first time in her life she had experienced complete and total fear.
Red kicked Gino twice more, although by this time the little mobster was unconscious. And then he reached down and lifted him with one huge hand and dragged him from the room. Kicking the door shut behind him with his heels, he lifted Gino so that he was standing out almost straight in front of him.
Red hit him once full in the face, the blow breaking the cartilage of the large nose and cracking off two front teeth at the roots. He dropped him to the floor and a pool of blood rapidly spread around Gino’s head.
Red was still staring at the quiet form, his own legs spread wide and < his breath coming deeply, when Pearl opened the door.
Chapter Six
The conductor helped the drunk off the train at Smithtown. That left only the lean, tubercular case sleeping stretched out on the seat up at the front of the car, his mouth wide and his tortured breath coming in long, broken gasps, and the boy and girl who looked like a couple of highschool kids who’d been in town for dinner and a show.
They’d settled down opposite the thin consumptive, the boy with his arm around the girl’s shoulder as he talked to her in a low voice and the girl leaning back and looking young and lovely and tired. Dent guessed that they’d be going all the way to the end of the line.
From where he and Fats sat side by side, in the last seat of the day coach, he knew that no one could hear their voices. They hadn’t talked on the way out, as the drunk had been in the seat in front of them, singing at the top of his lungs during most of the trip. Fats had suggested moving, but Dent didn’t want to take any chance of calling attention to themselves.
After the drunk left the train at Smithtown, Fats started talking.
“Goddamn it, Cal,” he said, leaning close to Dent so that his companion instinctively pulled his head away to avoid the man’s sickening breath, “I had to make the phone call from someplace.”
“I know you did,” Dent said, irritation heavy in his voice. “But you told me you had a safe stop—not to worry about it.”
“Lazarus’ place was safe,” Fats said. “I already told you that I had a key to the joint that he didn’t know about. I told you that no one saw me enter and no one saw me leave.”
“How long were you there?”
“Five, ten minutes at the most. It’s a ground-floor rear and the front door was open. No one saw me. I just went in, got Wilton on the phone, and let him hear the tape recording with the kid’s voice.”
“What’d he say?”
“What did he say? How the hell do I know what he said. The second the recording was through, I hung up. I knew the call would be traced. I was outa there in nothing flat.”
“Well,” Dent said, “it was a tough break. I suppose we should have expected it, but I was hoping Lazarus wouldn’t be picked up so soon. Our first idea, breaking into a strange apartment to use a phone, was
probably better.”
“It was like hell,” Fats said annoyed. “I coulda been seen breaking in. And don’t forget I had the tape recorder and the tape with me. Lazarus’ place was safe. I haven’t seen him in over a year and he never knew I had a key to his joint. I was only there once before in my life.”
Dent grunted. “You wipe up your prints?”
Fats looked at his companion scornfully and didn’t answer.
Dent glanced down at his wrist watch and saw that it was ten minutes after midnight.
“I hope to God everything is O.K. at the shack,” he said. “The gang’s going to be surprised when we both show up.”
“I should have stayed in town,” Fats said.
“No. Not after they picked up Lazarus. There’s no use taking the slightest chance. They’ll sweat him till his teeth fall out. They’ll ask him about every guy he’s ever known. And even if you haven’t seen him in over a year, sooner or later it’s going to come out that you did time together. They’ll be covering all angles.”
“Hell, he did time with a lota guys. Hundreds of ‘em.”
“Yeah, and the cops will look them all up, too. We can’t take any chances on your being picked up. Not from now on in. So far this caper is going like a dream. It’s perfect. After hearing his kid’s voice on that tape, Wilton will be knocking his brains out to get the dough. And he can get it, all right. All we got to do now is take it easy for another day, and then we start making the final arrangements.”
Fats Morn nodded and leaned his head back against the seat. There was a strong body odor about the short, thickset man, and Dent edged to his own side. Physical uncleanliness always bothered Dent, and he frowned as his eyes briefly noted the spilled food on his companion’s shiny blue serge coat, the frayed, dirty collar, and the stubble on his chin.
Morn was far from being the sort of person Dent would normally have chosen for company. But then again, he reflected, thieves were like beggars—they couldn’t be choosers. And Fats Morn, in spite of his personal filthiness, was a valuable man on a job like this. He had plenty of guts and a sharp intelligence. He’d need them both in the next few days, once they made contact.
The train’s whistle, far ahead, broke the night air sharply as the engineer gave a lonely warning for a blind highway crossing. The sound brought Fats Morn’s face close to Dent’s as he spoke.
“God, I’m hungry,” he said. “Hope that dame’s got something to eat around the place.”
“She’s meeting us at the station,” Dent said. “There’ll be something to
eat.”
Fats nodded and again fell to dozing.
Fifteen minutes later the engineer began putting on his brakes to cut speed and the conductor opened the door at the other end of the car and put his head in.
“Land’s End,” he called. “Land’s End coming up.”
Dent began to pull himself together.
<
br /> “Let’s go,” he said.
A moment later the train pulled to a noisy stop at the deserted station. A single electric bulb lit the freight platform as Morn and Dent dropped off the steps of the last car.
The town itself was dark but for the reflection of a few scattered lights some two blocks away in the center of the business district. The railway station was completely deserted.
As the train slowly began pulling out a moment later, Dent took his companion by the arm and walked toward the adjacent parking lot. Almost at once he noticed that it was vacant of cars.
“Damnit,” he muttered, “Pearl’s late.” He stopped, threw his half-smoked cigarette on the ground, and stamped on it.
“So what do we do now?” Fats asked.
“We wait. She’ll be along any second.”
Dent was still swearing softly under his breath five minutes later when the twin headlights swung around the corner and cut a pattern across the station platform.
Instinctively both men rose to their feet, and as they did so they were silhouetted for a moment in the full glare of the powerful beams.
“That’ll be Pearl now,” Dent said; starting forward. Fats moved sluggishly after him.
The car turned and Dent could hear the brake linings grind as the driver put his foot on the pedal. And then, as the automobile slowed to a stop a few yards off, he saw his mistake.
Fats Morn saw it at the same time. The combination siren and spotlight on top of the sedan instantly identified it as a police patrol car. Fats’ right hand sneaked for his shoulder holster and Dent barely had time to step in front of the other man and mutter a quick warning when the voice reached them.
“You men waiting for someone?”
Quickly Dent nudged his companion, at the same time walking over to the car.
“Just got in on the twelve-thirty,” he said, his voice casual but his throat tight. “Supposed to be picked up, but I guess our party’s a little late.”
Jack Fanwell leaned out of the car as he turned on the overhead light. Dent recognized him at once.
“It’s too late to get a cab tonight,” he said. “Maybe you better walk in town and phone.”
“Oh, they’ll be here, all right,” Dent said. “She’s always a little late.”
For several moments the policeman sat there, and then he smiled.
“Where you gentlemen headed for?” he asked. “Maybe I can drop you off.”
Fats began to say something, but again Dent quickly nudged him. There was no time for thinking; he had to make a quick decision. They couldn’t stand here talking all night. Goddamn Pearl, why hadn’t she shown? Instinctively Dent realized something must have gone wrong. But he had to say something. The cop was alone, he saw, and so he decided to take the gamble.
“We’re going out to the beach to visit the Masons,” he said. “Mrs. Mason was to pick us up, but I guess perhaps she thought we might take a cab, and got things mixed up. Her husband’s been ill and...”
Fanwell scratched his head.
“Well,” he said, “that’s right. I understand Mr. Mason has been sick. I know the place, so why don’t you climb in? I’ll be glad to run you out. It’s only a couple of miles and I’ll spot her car if we pass her on the way.”
Dent’s mind was busy as he and Fats climbed into the back of the patrol car.
This could be a trap. On the other hand, how could anything have gone wrong? No, it was much more likely that Red and Pearl had got drunk and passed out and Gino was afraid to leave the house alone while he drove in for them.
Damn Pearl and damn Red and damn the whole lousy bunch of them. Things like this could smash up the entire plan.
Fanwell kept up a steady stream of small talk as he drove. If this was a plant, he was certainly a great actor. But Dent couldn’t believe it was a plant. There would have been a hundred cops around them by this time if anything had gone sour.
The moon had come up, and as the patrol car left the Montauk Highway and headed across the dunes, Dent was relieved to see the house in the distance. There were no strange cars around it.
There was a single bulb burning in one of the upstairs bedrooms, and the ground-floor windows showed slender ribbons of light at the sides of the heavy curtains.
Fanwell pulled up in front of the house and stopped.
“Saw you in town in the Masons’ car last night,” he said, turning to
Dent. “Figured when I spotted you at the station that you must be staying out here.” He smiled and nodded as Morn and Dent stepped to the ground.
“It was nice of you to give us the lift,” Dent said. “Thanks.”
Fanwell nodded again and put his car into gear.
Dent sighed with relief as the cop drove off. He had been afraid that Fanwell would wait until they had knocked at the door. And Dent was worried sick about what he might find once that door opened. Quickly he walked to the small front porch and reached for the knob. Mom was directly behind him, breathing heavily, his hand back on the butt of the gun in his shoulder holster.
Dent knocked lightly.
A second later the doorway was a square of light. Red stood in the center of it, weaving slightly.
Wordlessly Dent pushed his way in, followed by his companion. Still without speaking, he turned and carefully closed the door. One smell of the stale, gin-laden air and one look at Red told him the man was more than half drunk.
“You fool,” he said, the words tight between his bared teeth. “You’re drunk. Where’s Pearl? Where’s Gino?” He reached out and grabbed the big man by his shirt. Morn carefully stepped in back of Red, his gun out now and grasped by the barrel.
“It’s all right,” Red said. “It’s all right. Don’t get all up in the air. Pearl’s upstairs, passed out. She got drunk.”
Red smiled with the inane self-confidence of a man who knows he’s been drinking but is sure that he still has himself under control. “I was afraid to leave and come in while Pearl’s passed out.”
“And Gino? Where’s Gino? And the girl and the kid—are they all right?”
Dent spat out the questions, his voice tight with a controlled fury.
“The girl and the kid are O.K.” Red said. “They’re sleepin’. Gino’s upstairs in your room. He ain’t well.”
“What do you mean, he ain’t well?”
“I hit him,” Red said, and again there was an idiotic smile on his face. “I kicked a couple of his ribs in an’ messed him up.”
Dent’s face went white. “You kicked his ribs in? Goddamn it, Red, what’s the matter with you? What the hell you and Gino been fighting about?”
“Well,” Red said, and his normally good-natured face was ugly as he thought back, “he picked on the kid. The dirty little crumb, he jumped the kid. It’s all right to do things to a grownup, but he ain’t got no right
doing something to a little girl like that.”
Dent took his hand away from Red’s shirt and stood back. He nodded to Morn, over the big man’s shoulder, and Fats put his gun back in the shoulder holster and walked over to a chair and sat down.
“Listen, Red,” Dent said. “Take it easy. Just tell me what happened. What did Gino do with the kid?”
“Well, I don’t know what he was tryin’ to do,” Red said. “But the girl was in here washin’ clothes and Gino sneaked in with the little girl. Next thing I knew she was screamin’ and he was hurtin’ her. I ain’t gonna stand for nothin’ like that. So I straightened him.”
“O.K.,” Dent said. “O.K. Where’s Gino now?”
“Upstairs, like I said. Pearl’s up there too, passed out. She came back after it happened and she got sore. She had a jug with her and she started drinking. She went up an’ passed out about an hour ago.”
Dent noticed the empty gin bottle on the table and he picked it up and shook it. He put it down again.
“Look, Red,” he said. “Put some coffee on and get out something to eat for Fats. He’s hungry. I’m going upstairs.”
As Dent started for the staircase, Red turned to Fats Morn.
“What the hell you doin’ out here, boy?” he asked.
Chapter Seven
The hands of the cheap alarm clock pointed to nine. Gino lay on the couch, his side wrapped in wide swathes of bandages. He wore only a pair of gray slacks and he stared at a spot over the mantlepiece, just above the clock. His mouth was partly concealed by strips of adhesive tape, which also covered most of his large nose.
Gino had lain there like a dead man for more than an hour. Only his eyes remained open and alive. He muttered now and then under his breath, but the others in the room ignored him.
Dent had sent Red out to the barn to work on the Packard. The car was in perfect condition, but Dent knew that the big man was restless and unhappy unless he was doing something with his hands, so he’d suggested that Red wash the car down. Red was glad to get away from the °use for a while. He had a bad hangover and he felt nervous in the same room with Gino.
Fats Morn sat at the card table in front of the fireplace, where a hand-
, °* srT)all logs threw off a feeble heat. Occasionally he stood up to twist e dial of the portable radio.
Dent was stripped to the waist in front of the kitchen sink, shaving. Pearl, sitting opposite Fats, watched Dent, and there was a willful, stubborn expression on her face.
“Look, Cal,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have got tight. But good God, I’m beginning to get a little crazy around this place. And then coming back and finding Red and Gino trying to kill each other— well, I...”
“Getting slopped is no answer” Dent said.
“I said I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
“O.K.,” Dent said. “Forget it. But for God’s sake, remember we’re shooting for a half million bucks. We’re trying something no one else has ever tried before. If we’re going to pull it, we gotta be smart. I know Red is stupid, but I expect you to handle yourself.”
He hesitated and then said, “Red said you had a jug with you when you came back last night.”
