by John Roeburt
“Can you hear me?” I said. “Start by giving me those pictures.”
“What pictures?”’
“You know goddamned well what pictures.”
“I’m going to break your neck if you were lying, mister,” Audrey promised me.
Wompler supplied her answer by staggering to his desk and retrieving a folder from the bottom drawer. He mopped the blood from his lips with a monogrammed handkerchief and handed me the folder. “I’m through,” he said. “You Chase boys are a couple of nuts. First he wants me to blackmail him, then you say he doesn’t want. Then he says it’s all a mistake, I should go on blackmailing him. Then you come here to kill me if I don’t give you the pictures. I’m all through with you crazy people. Oh, God, Audrey! Please listen to me! I can explain.”
He was trying to explain while I took a quick look at the pictures. There were several glossy four-by-five prints of a shot which bordered on the pornographic but didn’t quite make it. It was Steffy all right, not Julia—but you had to study the picture a while to tell. The lighting was dim and you could see Wompler clearly in his silk pajamas but Steffy in Julia’s lingerie was in shadow. She’d posed in all innocence, I was sure. Making her fifteen bucks an hour for a series on how to kiss your lover or some such thing which was never intended for use in Wompler’s magazines. I stuffed the prints and negative in the inside pocket of my jacket, figuring I’d burn them in front of Julia and then let her decide what to do next.
A frightened Wompler stood behind the desk, ready to dart either way. Audrey was in front of the desk, leaning over and shaking her fist at him. “You’re a one-woman man, huh? I’m the only girl in your life, huh? There used to be a lot of fish in the sea but you threw away your rod and reel when you found me, huh? And I swallowed all of it, hook, line and sinker. I’m going to break your two-timing little neck, you lousy rat!”
Then the phone rang.
Wompler regarded it as a deus ex machina, but backed away when Audrey reached for it and shouted, “Hello?” She nodded, “Yes, he’s here. It’s for you, Mr. Chase.”
I reached her in two quick strides and brought the phone to my ear. “Pop?” I said.
“This is Grujdzak. What do you want, Chase?” His voice was colder than the snow falling outside. “Isn’t that Wilson Wompler’s number you had me call?”
“I’m here with Wompler,” I said. “I haven’t time to talk much, so you better just listen.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Just shut your yap and listen, dammit, unless you don’t care what happens to your daughter Steffy.”
“Steffy?”
“I’m at Wompler’s, getting some information out of him. He left Steffy some place, I don’t know where. She may be in trouble.”
“I don’t see what Steffy has to do with…”
“Julia was being blackmailed by Wompler.” That was part of the truth. The rest would come out in the wash. I didn’t have time to explain. “Steffy tried to stop him and got herself in hot water.”
“Where is she? Chase, if any harm comes…
“That’s what I’m trying to prevent. You get on over here soon as you can. I probably won’t be around, but Wompler will be in good hands and you’ll be told where to go.” He was rasping and spluttering when I hung up.
“All right,” I said to Wompler, “no more fooling around. Where’d you take her?”
“Oh, God, they’ll kill me.”
“Not who. Just where.”
Audrey had him cornered behind the desk, which she had shoved toward one wall as a barricade. His only way out of the corner led right into Audrey’s arms.
“I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you if you get this crazy woman out of here.”
“Talk.”
“It’s in Brooklyn, that’s all I know. I delivered Miss Grujdzak to a man named McGuire. They made me do it, Chase. I knew too much, they said. I saw what they could do.”
I shouldered Audrey aside. At first she looked as if she wanted to contest the right to reach Wompler first but she saw what was in my eyes and changed her mind. I got to Wompler and my right fist didn’t travel ten inches but it had everything I felt about Jo-Anne and Guido and Steffy behind it. Wompler bounced off the window frame and fell forward on his face, not moving.
“Stay with him,” I told Audrey. “There’s a cop, Grujdzak, Steffy’s father, who should be here soon. You tell him I went after a guy named Five O’Clock McGuire, in Brooklyn. And don’t let Willie out of here. The cops will want to hold him as an accomplice in the Kincaid business.”
“He’s no good, huh?”
“He’s a stinking son who…”
“I get the idea. The lousy rat!”
I opened the door and waved bye-bye to the lady who crouched near Wompler’s still form, ready to put him back to sleep as soon as his eyelids fluttered.
I called over my shoulder, “Hey, do you have a car I could use? Steffy’s up to her neck in trouble.”
Audrey got up and padded barefoot to her street clothes hanging on a rack in Wompler’s office. She tossed me a chain of keys and said, “It’s a blue Plymouth coupe parked down near the corner.” She went back into her crouch.
As soon as I hit the street I began to sneeze again. The cold air cleared my stuffed head some, but my nose started running. I wished I could hole up somewhere with hot lemonade and brandy and a lot of blankets. I found Audrey’s Plymouth, climbed inside and listened to the motor growl. I shifted into first and pulled away from the curb and got the lights and wipers working. It was now eight-twenty. The chills hit me and I turned on the heater. It was snowing hard. I headed south through the slippery streets, pointing the Plymouth toward the Williamsburg Bridge and The House That Jack Built.
Of course, they might have taken her to Livonia Street. But I played my hunch.
Chapter Fifteen
The snow had driven people to cover and there was something unreal about the cars parked on Avenue H, white with their mantles of snow. I listened and heard nothing but the crunching sound of the Plymouth’s tires as I coasted to the curb and parked. I got out and hurried through the snow toward Nostrand Avenue.
One whiff of stale beer and smoke assailed my nostrils before the warm air inside the place clogged my head again. There was a crowd at the bar, watching two bald fat men wrestle on the television screen. The booths were filled with younger people of both sexes who seemed to have only recently graduated from the luncheonette down the street.
I squeezed between a couple of big guys at the bar who were grunting and groaning in sympathy with the actors cavorting on the TV screen.
“Hey,” I said.
“A minute, Mac.” The barman was busy wiping heads from three glasses of tap beer.
“This is important.”
He slid the glasses along the bar and came over, wiping his hands on a dirty towel. “What’ll it be?”
“McGuire,” I said. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know no McGuire,” he answered. “You want a drink or don’t you?”
I grinned at him. “Come off it, stupid. I’m from Livonia Street. Five O’Clock wants to see me.”
He appraised me while I worked my features into a scowl and said, “I don’t have all night.”
“Awright. Awright, take it easy. You guys don’t hang around Livonia Street no more, you’re going to see a lot of me. Might as well be friends, huh?”
Whatever Guido had predicted would go wrong on Livonia Street must have gone wrong in a hurry.
“McGuire,” I said.
He jerked a thumb toward the rear of the place. “Upstairs. Tell Auntie it’s awright. Louis says you’re from Livonia Street to see Five O’Clock.”
“I’ll tell her, Louis.”
I found the stairs behind the U-shaped bar. Auntie was sitting at a desk atop the stairs like the floor nurse at a hospital. I took one look at her and knew exactly what kind of a house Jack had built, and right here behind the city’s college, too.<
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“What are you looking for, mister?” Auntie’s voice was husky and completely indifferent.
“Well, it’s not the john,” I said nasally, and offered her what I hoped was a bona fide Livonia Street grin. Then I changed my mind in a hurry. Five O’Clock might be anywhere, lurking in the shadows in back of Auntie or behind one of the closed doors near by. He might hear me and he most definitely would be carrying a gun. I’d better do some looking around before I said I was from Livonia Street again.
“You know,” I tried, “you know what.” I chuckled and sniffed.
“Is that a bad cold you got?” Auntie was built like Tony Galento with an inflated bosom stuffed into a dress with life-size black-eyed susans printed all over it. A pencil protruded from her bunned hair and now she’d taken it out to run the point over a sheet of paper attached to a clipboard on her desk.
“Only a little allergy,” I assured her.
“We don’t like our girls catching cold, that’s all. It’s bad for business.”
“Naw,” I bleated. “Don’t you worry.”
Auntie consulted her clipboard once more. “Room four,” she said, and took a metal strong-box from a drawer of her desk, opening it and revealing neat stacks of ten-dollar bills. I added one to the kitty, which just about broke me.
“Room four,” Auntie repeated, and made a check on her clipboard.
My damp shoes creaked as I walked down the dimly lit hall. I found room four and stood outside for a few seconds, wondering what to do next. Obviously, I couldn’t spend too much time with its occupant. I had to make her think I was something besides a paying customer. I didn’t know what, though. Auntie’s eyes were probably studying my back as I stood there. I didn’t know if many of Auntie’s customers got stage fright or not. I was a stranger here myself. I knocked on the door.
“It isn’t locked.” The voice was muffled and childish.
I opened the door and closed it swiftly behind me. She was just a kid. She looked tough and sulky but had solemn eyes. She wore a quilted kimona. She was barefoot with painted toenails and wore her dark hair in an upsweep. She sat there on a slip-covered wing chair across from the bed and couldn’t have been older than Steffy. She was smoking a cork-tipped cigarette and had left deep red lipstick stains on it. A small phonograph on the night table was playing a scratchy rendition of I’m In The Mood For Love.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Doris.”
“I’m Jason,” I told her. By gosh, I was embarrassed.
“You can sit over here by me if you want, for a while.” She patted the seat of the wing chair. She was letting me know they didn’t believe in assembly-line speed at The House That Jack Built. A classy joint.
I walked to the chair and sat down. There was barely enough room for both of us and Doris swung one of her thighs over the arm of the chair. Her skin was very pale.
“Uh, listen, Doris. You’ve got this wrong. I…”
“You don’t have to be shy, Jason.” She didn’t sound like she looked, which was tough. She swung her other leg over the arm of the chair, leaned back, and was resting against my lap and looking up at me.
“No, I mean I’m a reporter. A reporter from, uh, Hush. The magazine that prints all the facts.”
“Hush! Say, I’ve heard of that.”
“I’d like to interview you.”
I stood up. It caught Doris by surprise and I leaned over awkwardly to catch her as she started to fall, but she yelped and tried to right herself by grabbing my arms. We both wound up on the floor. Doris’ kimona had come open, revealing black bra and panties.
“I only want some facts,” I said quickly as Doris got to her feet.
“Such as?”
“How many girls work here?”
“Well, there’s Toni, Marie, Angy, Linda, Irene, Rhoda, Bertie and me. That’s eight.”
I couldn’t get around to Five O’Clock at once. “How long does the average girl stay?”
“Which one of us is the average girl you mean?”
“How long have you been here?”
“Five months.”
“Going to, uh, make it a career?” I was doing great.
“Say, are you crazy or something? You think I’m a creep?”
“Sorry. About how many customers, uh…”
“If you’re a reporter, why aren’t you taking notes like I seen them do on TV?”
“I have a good memory,” I assured Doris.
“Maybe I ought to ask Auntie if it’s all right.”
“I already did. Do you ever have to perform any extracurricular activities?” I asked.
“Extra what?”
“Aside from your work. Like making bar guests comfortable or something like that.”
“You know, it’s a funny thing, you asking that.” Doris now was lounging on the bed with her hands behind her head, making herself comfortable. She crossed her knees in air, one foot supporting her legs on the mattress, the other swinging gently back and forth. “I mean, a funny thing you asking it right now. I don’t like them at all.”
“You don’t like who?”
“Those new guys. Louis says they work here and even Mr. Jack says so, but I haven’t seen them do nothing. They just hang around and get smart and make all kinds of snotty remarks. Gimme a puff, willya, Jason?”
I crossed to the bed and held my cigarette to her lips. She steadied my wrist with her hands and took a long drag, then blew the smoke at me. I sneezed. “Say, you’re a cold fish, Jason. You know it?”
“Strictly business,” I said. “I’m interviewing you. About these new guys…”
“Yeah. They brung a new girl in with them, y’know. So maybe before I should have said nine.”
“A girl? When?”
“Just today. A couple of hours ago. It was a little early for business so I was out in the hall talking to Auntie and Bertie when they come up with this new girl. Say, what do you keeping looking at the door for?”
“Who was she with?” I asked. “A guy about thirty-five, with a big scar on his chin? Always looks like he needs a shave?”
“Five O’Clock, the others call him. You know, it’s a funny thing. First I thought they were talking about the time or something, only it’s his name. Five O’Clock. You ever hear anything so nutty?”
“Where are Five O’Clock and the new girl now?”
“Say, is this part of the interview?”
“We will send a photographer around later,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting Doris’ shoulder. It was a mistake. She misunderstood the gesture and bounced into a sitting position, in the same motion reaching behind her with her hands and unhooking the bra.
“Go on with the interview, please,” she said, and giggled.
I got up and walked to the wing chair and sat down. Doris was sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Don’t you like me?” she pouted.
I said, “You are luscious. It will be written that way, luscious.”
“Well?”
I sneezed. “I have a very bad cold, Doris.”
“Say, then Auntie never should have let you come in here. She don’t like colds.”
I winked at Doris. “I told Auntie it was an allergy, so I could see you.”
“Say, that’s cute. An allergy!”
“About Five O’Clock and the new girl. Where are they?”
Doris waved her arms. “Somewhere up here, I don’t know. Not in any of the numbered rooms, though. There’s one each for Bertie, Angy, Marie…”
“I know.” I got the door opened and peered outside. Auntie looked up from her desk and I ducked back into the room. Doris padded up behind me and whispered, “Close the door. Auntie says never keep the door open.”
“I’ll have to go now.”
“We haven’t finished the interview,” Doris giggled again. “We haven’t even started.”
I looked outside again. Auntie was reading a magazine. I took two steps into the hall, but Doris followed, tugging at my arm.
Auntie looked up, then climbed to her feet and came streaking toward us as if she’d been shot from a gun. This despite her bulk, which was considerable.
“Get back inside!” she raged at us. “You know the rules.”
She meant Doris. I didn’t know the rules from a hole in the wall, but I was learning.
“Jason here is going to get all our pictures in the magazine. Aren’t you, Jason?”
“Well, now…”
“What are you talking about?” Auntie demanded, looking at me suspiciously.
“He’s a reporter from that magazine, Hush”
“He’s giving you a line, you mean. Mister, who sent you here?”
“Louis said I could…”
“I mean, before Louis.”
“Well, Five O’Clock suggested…”
“Five O’Clock?” Auntie gave me a grudging smile. “Why didn’t you say so? I wish you boys would stop pulling my girls’ legs, though. Oh, Mr. McGuire! Mr. McGuire!” Suddenly she was shouting. I wanted to hide. I grabbed Auntie’s arm and raised a finger to my lips for silence. I sneezed.
A door opened, throwing a shaft of light into the hall. He came out, staring, and he was big; two or three inches taller than my own six feet. He was wide across the shoulders or he had a good tailor. His face was long and narrow and his enormous jaw was shaded a greasy blue from his heavy whiskers. A long scar, looking very white, ran across his jaw.
Five O’Clock McGuire, all right He was still staring, his eyes trying to grow accustomed to the dim light. I figured I had about ten seconds before we’d be evenly matched. I led my right fist down the hall at a trot and swung it around in front of me. It made a dull sound against Five O’clock’s huge jaw and went numb to the elbow.
He roared and thudded back against the door jamb without going down, and I knew I was in for a fight. Auntie yelled, “I’ll call the police!”
“You do and you’ll wish you worked in the five-and-ten,” Five O’Clock told her, then came for me.
