My Crooked Family

by James Lincoln Collier

  “Where did he get his money?” I said.

  “Well you see, that was it, Roger. He never had very much. He worked the gambling joints for a while. Another time that I remember he was writing bad checks. If he got desperate he’d work the drunks—slug one of the swells with a sock full of sand and get off with his watch, rings, wallet. People around here didn’t like that too good. Nobody’s supposed to touch the swells when they come into the District. They’re supposed to feel safe here and be able to spend their money without worrying about it. But your pa, he was a kind of an outlaw that way. He did what he wanted to, and people was afraid to say anything to him about it. He was tired of being a small-timer. He wanted to get in on something bigger, and he began asking me about it. Finally I brought him in. He had plenty of guts and would take on anything, and I decided he would be useful. The trouble was, he had too much guts. He wasn’t afraid of nothing, and I saw pretty quick I couldn’t control him. I pulled back. Of course he was mighty put out about it. He come rampaging around, saying he’d done all the dirty work the last time, he had a right to be let in on the next one.”

  That sounded pretty familiar to me, for they were giving me the dirty work, too, and would take most of the profits for themselves. It kind of bothered me to see that he was just a small-timer. I’d always believed he was a big man around the District. I made up my mind, standing there, that I wasn’t going to be any small-timer. I wasn’t going to follow in Pa’s footsteps, live in a little apartment with busted furniture and my kids running around with holes in their elbows.

  I knew for sure now that Penrose had shot Pa. Knowing Pa, he’d have made a lot of noise about being left out of things. Especially if he got drunk. Russell had got worried something would get out and he’d told Penrose to plug him.

  That’s why Penrose was in the station house the first time I met him. There’d been a shooting all right, but it had been Penrose who’d done the shooting and Pa who’d got hurt. If Penrose’s aim had been better, a whole lot of things would have been different. It was strange: much as I hated Pa, I didn’t want him killed—not by Penrose, that was for sure.

  But I was in with them now, and there wasn’t any way to get out.

  Russell was still sitting there thinking. Finally he said, “Roger, do you think he figured out we was going in there tonight?”

  “It didn’t seem like it,” I said.

  “I think we better go ahead,” Russell said. “The longer we wait, the more chance he’ll have to throw a monkey wrench into it. Let’s get it done.” He looked at his watch. “Five-thirty. You better go on over there, Roger, and get that door open.” He reached into his overcoat pocket and brought out an envelope. “Here’s your letter for Mr. Fitch.”

  I took it. Just like the other one, it said Hand Deliver Only. “I hope I can get in again.”

  Russell looked at me. “You’re not losing your nerve, are you, Roger?”

  “No. I’ll get in.” I went out of the furnace room, through the dive, and onto the street. Here I took a quick look around. I noticed it was getting kind of automatic to do that. There was no sign of Pa, so I started off for Moss and Lloyd, keeping my eyes open but trying not to look suspicious. If I wanted to have a look behind me, I’d stop and scratch my shoulder blade, which would give me a chance to turn my head around. I didn’t walk fast, either, but sauntered along easy, like I wasn’t in any rush to get anywhere.

  I got safe to the Moss and Lloyd building, took the elevator up to the eighth floor, and stepped out into the lobby there. For a minute I stood looking at the big glass doors, breathing deep so as to calm myself down. Being as it was closing time, there were a good many people in the lobby waiting for the elevators. I went on into the reception room and up to the reception desk. The woman with the gray hair and the stiff white blouse looked at me. “We’re closing,” she said. “Everybody’s going home. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  “Please,” I said. “It’s another letter for Mr. Fitch. They said to hand deliver it.” A couple of men went past us, talking, heading for the elevator.

  “I think he’s already gone,” she said. “Leave it here. I’ll see that he gets it in the morning.”

  “Please. My dispatcher’ll kill me. Just let me check his office to see if he’s there.”

  “You weren’t supposed to go back there yesterday.”

  “Please. I’ll lose my job. Pa’s out of work and they’re counting on me.”

  She sighed. “All right, all right. Go see if he’s still there. But be quick. I want to go home.”

  I didn’t wait but started off at a trot. My heart was beating like pistol shots, and I could feel the sweat trickling from my armpits down my sides. A couple of more men in overcoats, carrying briefcases, came down the hall. I stepped aside to let them by. When they were past me I looked back. They pretty much blocked the view up the hall from the reception room. I reached the corner and turned it. Now I was out of sight of the reception room. I went along towards the fire door. Another man came out of an office, wriggling into his overcoat as he came. He went by. Then I was at the fire door. I turned and looked back. The hall was empty. I slipped the door open about six inches, pushed the latch button, and pulled the door closed again. I turned and raced back down the corridor, around the corner, and along to Mr. Fitch’s office. I knocked on his door. There was no answer. He’d gone home. I went back out to the reception room, holding the letter.

  “I told you he’d gone home.”

  “They’re going to kill me,” I said.

  “Leave it with me,” she said. “Then you can tell them you gave it to him. I’ll see that he gets it in the morning.”

  But I didn’t want anything lying around there that would remind them of me in the morning. “I don’t dare. I just hope I don’t lose my job.” I stuck the letter under my uniform jacket and went out as quick as I could.

  A whole lot of people were standing by the elevator doors, waiting to go down. I stood back from them a little, like I was just a messenger boy and knew my place. In a minute the elevator door opened. The people began to mob in. I turned my back and began to walk slowly away. I heard the elevator door slide closed. I looked around. The elevator lobby was empty for the moment.

  I jumped over to the corridor that ran off the elevator lobby along the outside of the Moss and Lloyd offices until I came to the door of the fire stairs with the exit sign over it. Once more I turned to look around. Nobody. I went farther along the corridor until I came to the fire door I’d just unlatched from the inside. I put my hand on the knob and gave it a slight twist. It turned. I let go and put my ear to the door. I heard no sounds, but I decided not to take any chances. I’d wait until it seemed likely they’d all gone home.

  So I ducked into the fire stairs, went down to the first landing, and stood there leaning against the wall, just waiting and thinking. I knew I was in for a long wait for it’d be at least two hours before they came to crack the safe.

  I wasn’t so nervous now. The riskiest part—carrying a parcel worth tens of thousands of dollars through the District I still had to do. There were cops, there was Pa, there was just any old crook who happened to see a messenger boy going along with a parcel late at night. But I’d got the first part of the job done. That was something.

  And what was I going to do with myself once it was all over? Where would I sleep that night? I didn’t have any clothes, either. My old clothes with the holes and the patches were hanging in the closet at Rapid Messenger, and my new yellow trousers and striped shirt were back in the apartment. I didn’t have a home anymore.

  Thinking about that gave me a mighty lonely feeling. I couldn’t remember living anywhere but the District. It was the only home I ever had, and I knew all about it—where you could get cheap meat, the best places for playing baseball, how to slip onto the streetcar without paying, which soda shop gave the biggest ice cream cones. I knew everything about the place and people there knew me. Now I would have to leave. Fo
r so long as Pa figured I had money, he wouldn’t rest until he got it.

  Thinking about it, I came close to crying. I wouldn’t cry; I was too big for that, and besides, I’d got myself into it and didn’t have anyone else to blame. I had no right to cry over it. But still, it made me feel mighty lonely.

  To cheer myself up I made myself think about having lots of money and being able to do whatever I wanted to all day long. Maybe I would go out to Lake Resort and loll around all summer. I’d never been out there, but I’d heard a lot about it. It took about three hours by train. They had lodges and cabins and piers that went way out into the lake, with dance pavilions out there at the end. They said at night you could hear the sound of the dance bands five miles across the lake. Maybe I could get Lulu to come out and visit me, if I could think of some excuse. She’d love a place like that.

  For a long time I stood there thinking of things like that—taking Lulu for a speedboat ride at Lake Resort, buying new clothes, eating fried eggs and bacon for breakfast in restaurants—just letting time flow through me. I wished I’d bought myself a watch, so as to have an idea of the time, but it was no use worrying about that now. So I waited until I figured a couple of hours had gone by.

  Then I slipped up those stairs to the top, and looked around. The lights were still on in the corridor, but it was dead quiet. I listened. All I could hear was my own heart thumping. I went into the corridor, down to the Moss and Lloyd offices, and grabbed hold of the doorknob. It turned easy. I slid the door open a few inches and peeked through the crack. It was pretty dark inside, but a dim light was coming from somewhere. I listened. It was dead still. I slipped the door shut, went back to the fire stairs and down to the landing halfway between the floors. I sat down on a step and let time flow through me some more, not thinking about anything.

  13

  I FIGURED IT MUST BE around about ten o’clock when I heard a sound coming up the stairwell. For a minute I sat there frozen, listening. It was footsteps. I leaned over the railing and looked way down. I couldn’t see anybody, but the footsteps kept on coming. I waited, and watched; and after a while I saw the top of a derby hat with a bit of red hair sticking out from under it. Circus was trying to walk on tiptoe but not doing very good at it. He huffed and puffed on up to where I was standing and stood there panting. He looked pretty white and scared, too. When he got his breath he whispered, “Everything all set, Rog? Did you check the door?”

  “Come on,” I whispered. We went on up to the top of the stairs, and over to the Moss and Lloyd door. I turned the knob and eased the door open a little. Penrose took a look inside. There was dead silence, and that faint light. “You didn’t see nobody prowling around?”

  I pulled the door closed. “No,” I whispered.

  We went back to the fire stairs. “Thank God I ain’t coming back up them stairs again.”

  “Aren’t you coming up with Russell?”

  “No. I’m to stay downstairs and keep a lookout. You just wait here. Russell will be along pretty quick.” He left, glad to get out of there. I listened to his footsteps go down those stairs until they died out.

  Maybe fifteen minutes later I heard footsteps again. I looked over the railing and pretty soon I saw two hats—a homburg and a cloth cap. In a minute Russell came up the stairs towards me. Behind him was a man carrying a tool box. Russell nodded to me. “Go on up and have a look, Roger,” he said in a low voice.

  It was still up to me to take the chances. I went up, checked the Moss and Lloyd door, came back to the top of the stairs, and gave a little wave with my hand. They came up towards me. When they reached the top, I pointed down the hall to the Moss and Lloyd door.

  “Go open it,” Russell said.

  I went along, pushed the door open, and listened. There was nothing but silence. I gave them a wave, and they came along quick and slipped inside the Moss and Lloyd offices. “Just wait where you was, Roger,” Russell said. “If anyone comes along give a holler.” Then he closed the door. I went back to the fire stairs and down to the landing. My heart was racing and my skin was cold and sweaty.

  All I could think was, suppose Pa figured it out? Time dragged along. It seemed to have slowed right down to a stop. I went on waiting. Then I heard a muffled boom, like thunder a long way off. I waited. Suddenly Russell and the other fella were at the top of the stairs. They came down fast. Russell was carrying a brown paper parcel tied up with string, about the size of a small bundle of shirts. His face was serious, but his eyes were shining like silver. He handed me the parcel. “Take good care of it, Roger.”

  “How much is it?” I whispered.

  “It’s plenty. You won’t have to worry about nothing for a while.”

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” the other man said.

  “Give us five minutes’ head start,” Russell said. “Then come down and go straight to the Peacock.”

  “All right.” Then they were running down the stairs as fast as they could go without making too much clatter.

  I was scared as could be, soaked in sweat and weak all over. I wanted to get out of there in the worst way. I started counting off the minutes, sixty seconds at a time, until I’d counted off five minutes. I knew I’d been counting too fast, though, so I counted off three more minutes. Then I started off out of there, practically running down those stairs. Halfway down I got hold of myself. I didn’t want to come suddenly clattering out onto the street. Walking soft, I went on down. It seemed like I was going down those stairs forever. I thought I’d never get to the bottom.

  But then I was down in the lobby. I straightened out my uniform jacket and walked out into the street. The street was still and empty, for here in the business area things emptied out after six o’clock. It was so still I could hear my heart beat, racing along so fast I could hardly believe it. I started off down the street, trying to make myself go along easy, like I was just a lazy messenger boy and wasn’t in any rush to get anywhere. I hadn’t gone six steps when I heard in a loud whisper, “Rog.”

  I snapped around. Circus Penrose was coming up behind me out of the shadows of the Moss and Lloyd building. “Rog, you got them bonds?”

  “Yes. What are you doing here?” He still looked white and scared.

  “You didn’t think for a minute Russell was going to let you waltz around with them bonds under your arm unaccompanied by some old pal, did you?”

  “He didn’t trust me?”

  “Nobody trusts nobody with no hundred thousand in bearer bonds.”

  “Is that how much it is?” I didn’t want to stand around jawing. I wanted to get going.

  He shrugged. “I guess nobody’s counted yet. That’s why Russell figured you ought to have some old pal a-tagging along behind you, just in case you was tempted to reach inside that there parcel and slip a few of them bonds under your shirt.”

  “Circus, let’s get out of here. I’m too nervous.”

  “Oh, I can believe that. I’m mighty nervous, too. So let’s do it quick. It won’t take but a minute.”

  “Do what?”

  “Why, Rog, ain’t you got any brains at all? How often’ll we get a chance like this? Now gimme that parcel and we’ll slip out a couple of bonds each. He won’t ever know.”

  So that was why nobody trusted anybody, for they knew they couldn’t. Circus and Russell and all the rest of them were double-crossing each other as fast as they could.

  Would they double-cross me? Suddenly I knew I could bet on it.

  But I didn’t have any chance to think about that anymore, for Pa stepped out of the shadow of a doorway, pointing his gun at us. “Oh no,” Penrose hollered. He jerked a gun out from somewhere under his shirt, but Pa was too quick for him. His gun exploded with a great cracking sound. Penrose sat down hard on the ground and the pistol flipped out of his hand. “Please,” he shouted. “It wasn’t me who done it.” Pa raised the gun up and sighted down the barrel. “Please,” Penrose shouted. “Don’t kill me.” He made a kind of lunge forward towa
rd where his pistol lay in front of him.

  “Pa, don’t,” I shouted. Pa’s gun went off again. Penrose fell forward on his face and lay still; his derby hat rolled off down the sidewalk a few feet and fell over onto the crown.

  I stood there frozen, not able to talk or to move. I couldn’t believe it: Circus Penrose was dead. I stared down at him, hoping that he’d move, or groan. But he didn’t. He went on lying there dead still; and as I looked at him a splotch of red began to spread out from under him across the sidewalk and drip into the gutter.

  “So that’s your Penrose, Roger? And you knew all along he was the weasel who plugged me.”

  I could hardly speak. I cleared my throat. “I never knew that, Pa.” I hadn’t, either, not for a long time.

  “All right, never mind that. Toss over the parcel. There’ll be cops all over the place in about five minutes.”

  “Pa, if I go back there and tell them you got the parcel from me, they’ll kill me. They’ll never believe in a million years that I didn’t plan it with you.”

  He went on staring at me the way he did. “That’s your lookout, Roger. I didn’t tell you to go in with them.”

  I knew I could outrun him—he wasn’t fit to run. I could just break away, circle through the streets to the Peacock, and get rid of the bonds long before Pa could track me down. But I couldn’t outrun a bullet. Would he shoot me down the way he did Penrose if I started to run?

  “Pa, how did you know we were going in there tonight?”

  He gave a short laugh. “The minute your dispatcher told me you went off on your first trip and never come back, I knew it was on. I been standing in that doorway a long time. I seen this Penrose fella here go up, I seen Russell and the safecracker go up. I seen them all come down again, too, with no parcel. I was waiting for you.”

  “Pa, if you take this parcel they’ll kill me.”

  “Toss it here.”

  What had Circus felt like when he knew Pa was going to kill him? “Pa, are you going to shoot me?”