Invitation to Violence

by Lionel White

  But it wasn’t as simple as that. It wasn’t simple at all.

  The questioning continued, continued endlessly. A half a dozen times Finn would get up and cross the room and raise his thick hand and slap him. The lieutenant never struck him and he alternated between suaveness and detachment and cold fury. But neither of them shook his story. Neither of them made him admit a thing beyond the bare outlines of his original statement. He had seen the girl’s picture and her address, she had interested him, and he had made a date with her.

  What had they talked about? Nothing much really. He had offered to help her in any way he could. He had expressed his sympathy over her brother’s death.

  “It is too bad you didn’t sympathize with Hardy’s widow or with Dillon’s widow,” Hopper said. “But then I don’t suppose that they tweeked your curiosity. I don’t suppose that you found the same ‘enchantment’ in them.”

  That was when Finn hit him the hardest.

  At one time during the evening the telephone rang and Hopper quickly reached for it. The call was for him and he spoke into the instrument for several moments, mostly in monosyllables. Once or twice he looked across the room curiously at Gerald as he listened to the voice on the other end of the wire. When he hung up, he swung back to Hanna.

  “When you left Miss Dunne,” he asked, “where did she say she was going?”

  “She said she was going back to her apartment.”

  Hopper nodded.

  “You had your car,” he said. “Why didn’t you drive her back?”

  “Perhaps she didn’t find Mr. Hanna as enchanting as he found her,” Finn said.

  The lieutenant turned and stared at his partner for a moment and then returned his attention to Gerald.

  “Well?”

  “Miss Dunne resented my curiosity,” Gerald said. “Also, she was very upset, about her brother, you know. She just wanted to be left alone. I offered to drive her home, but she preferred to leave by herself.”

  “I can’t say I blame her,” Finn cut in.

  “It couldn’t have been because she knew you were mixed up in the robbery, now could it?” Hopper said. “It couldn’t be that she just didn’t want any part of…”

  “I am not mixed up in anything,” Gerald interrupted. “The only thing I know about the robbery is what I have read in the papers. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. I have absolutely no knowledge…”

  They left around five o’clock in the morning. It was the lieutenant who had the last words as they stood in the doorway.

  “Brother,” he said, “this time we are really going to check you. We’re going to find out everything there is to find out. When I get through, I’ll know if you ever as much as spit on the sidewalk. I’ll know about the time you skipped school when you were in the second grade at P.S. 40. I’ll know about the first girl you kissed and the last one you made a play for. There won’t be one damned thing I won’t know about you.”

  He pulled his hat forward on his head and his eyes were deadly.

  “And if you are mixed up in this thing,” he said, “we’ll get you. We’ll get you and we’ll fry you!”

  He didn’t bother to close the door as he followed Finn out of the apartment.

  Closing the door behind the two detectives, Gerald had an almost irresistible desire to wait for a few moments and then go to the mailbox. He wanted to be absolutely sure that the envelope was there, where it should be. Silently he congratulated himself for having come up from the garage by the inside stairway. Had he locked the garage from the outside and walked around to the front of the house, he would have very likely stopped at the box and removed the letter on his way in. He would have had it in his hand when he was accosted by Hopper and Finn.

  Well, thank God, he hadn’t made that mistake. And he wouldn’t make the mistake now of going to the box. The envelope containing the two baggage checks would be there all right. It had to be there. If Hopper and Finn had taken it out, certainly they would never have walked off and left Gerald free.

  Reluctantly, he slowly turned and went in through the bedroom and turned on the light in the bathroom. He’d take a shower before turning in for a couple of hours sleep. He needed a shower, needed to wash off the feel of Finn’s heavy hands.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Steinberg walked over to the window and pulled the cord, opening the Venetian blinds halfway and letting the early morning sunshine filter into the room. Then he crossed to the light switch and flicked it. He turned back to face Slaughter, who sat on the couch with the cup of steaming coffee in his hands. Slaughter was in his shirt sleeves and his forehead was wet with perspiration. His hair was messed and there were streaks of dirt down one side of his face.

  Four long, raw scratch marks, caked with dried blood, decorated the other side.

  “You shouldn’t have done it,” Steinberg said. “Damn it, Fred, you can’t do things like that. What the hell are you going to do with her now? You haven’t found out a damned thing and now we got her on our hands.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, shut up,” Slaughter said. “What the hell is the matter with you anyway? What do you think I’ve done to her? Murdered her or something? I just slapped her around. Asked her questions and slapped her around a little. She isn’t hurt.”

  “Sure,” Steinberg said. “You just slapped her around. And what do you think she’s going to do when she gets out of here, eh? Do you think she’ll go out and buy you a nice Father’s Day present. Is that it? Fred, don’t you know that that kid’s going to talk? Going to the cops? She can’t be completely stupid, you know. She understands why she was brought here. She knows now that you’re mixed up in the thing. So what’s she going to do?”

  “She ain’t going to do nothing,” Slaughter said. “She knows what I’d do if she…”

  “You’re being stupid, Fred,” Steinberg said. “That kid’s a square. She isn’t like that punk brother of hers. She’s on the up and up. It isn’t only that she’ll be sore about being slapped around-and I hope to God that’s all you did do to her-it’s that being a square, she’s burned up about her brother. And she’ll talk. Sooner or later, she’ll talk.”

  Slaughter took a sip of the coffee and put the cup down.

  “She’ll talk all right,” he said. “But it won’t be with the cops. No, any talking she’ll do will be with me. And don’t tell me she don’t know nothing. How about that note she had on her when we picked her up? Huh, how about it? She may not know anything, but the guy who sent her that note-the guy she met last night-he knows plenty.”

  Slaughter took a piece of soiled paper out of his pocket.

  “Just listen to this,” he said, and read from the slip of paper. “If you are interested in what happened to your brother, meet me at the Cavern On The Green in Central Park at eight o’clock. Ask the headwaiter to take you to Mr. Hanna’s table.’ How about that, huh?”

  “It doesn’t mean…”

  “It means she met him-knows who he is. And if I have to kill her, I’m going to find out. You think I’ve touched her yet, why…”

  “Work her over any more,” Steinberg said, “and you know what you’re going to have to do, don’t you?”

  Slaughter stared up at the little lawyer.

  “Are you getting queasy?” he said. “Of course I know what I’m going to have to do. So what?”

  Steinberg shrugged.

  “The trouble is,” he said, “from what you’ve been telling me all night now, it doesn’t matter whether you would hesitate or not. Apparently the tougher you get with her, the more stubborn she gets.”

  “Well, that’s why I’m going to play it your way,” Slaughter said. “Or at least give it a try. We’ll let her sleep and rest up, give her a breather. I gotta get some damned sleep myself. But this afternoon she gets her last chance. After she’s had a chance to think it over and look at it sensibly. And then-well kid, she’ll talk. She’ll talk if I have to break every…”

  “O.K., save me the detail
s,” Steinberg said. “Do it your way. But realize what you are doing.”

  Slaughter shrugged. “Go on home and get some sleep. I’m going to turn in for a few hours. You call me later this afternoon. I may have some news for you. In the meantime, maybe you better stay away from the apartment here. The cops know you were representing Jake-I don’t want them knowing that you are hanging around here too much.”

  Steinberg found his hat and walked toward the door.

  “One thing,” he said. “Keep this in mind. Right now you could probably let her go and you might get away with it. After all, she isn’t really hurt. It would be her word against yours. She may suspect a lot about the other thing, but she doesn’t know anything and she can’t prove anything. Her word against yours. She’s the sister of a thief and a cop killer; you’re a respectable businessman. I could almost guarantee you that there’d be no trouble. Just get her ginned up and throw her out and you’d be clear. But go one step further…”

  “Listen, will you get outta here and go home?” Slaughter said.

  * * *

  Bill Baxter was walking through the lobby of the building shortly after ten o’clock on Tuesday morning, on his way to the restaurant for his coffee break, when he spotted Gerald. He swerved, crossing over to intercept his poker party pal.

  Gerald didn’t notice him until the other man took him by the arm.

  “Hey, kid,” Baxter said. “What the hell’s the big rush. Not,” he added, without waiting for Gerald’s answer, “not that you shouldn’t be in a rush. Jeez, old Engleman is having kittens. Where the hell have you been? You know how he feels about anyone coming in late.”

  Gerald stopped, forced a weak smile.

  “Overslept,” he said, “I…”

  “You better have a better line than that,” Baxter said. “The old man is really up in the air. He’s been out in the office looking for you about ten times in the last hour. He seems mad enough to…”

  “What the hell’s on his mind?” Gerald asked. “I’ve been late before. This isn’t the first time anyone…”

  “I don’t know,” Baxter said. “All I can tell you is that something is in the wind. He’s been out about a dozen times and he’s sure as hell burned up about something. You haven’t been lifting the company funds by any chance, have you, kid?”

  He slapped Gerald on the shoulder and laughed.

  “Maybe,” he said, “you better stop in and have a cup of coffee with me or something stronger. Build up your morale before you have to face the lion in his den.”

  Gerald shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “No, I better get on up. The sooner I see him the better.”

  He moved over to the bank of elevators as Baxter turned once more toward the restaurant. As Hanna got into the empty car, he turned and that’s when he again noticed the man. The man in the dark, linen suit and the light-weight felt hat tipped carelessly over his left eyebrow. The man who’d been sitting in the seat behind his own seat on the train into the city. The man who had been across the aisle and down toward the end of the subway car on his way from Penn Station downtown.

  There was no doubt about it. The lieutenant was making good his promise. They weren’t going to let him out of their sight.

  Kitty, the little redhead who sat at the switchboard just off the reception room and who was rumored to have dated just about every male member of the staff, looked up at Gerald as he passed by her desk. She gave him her usual smile.

  “I’ve been trying to get you out at your place,” she said. “For the last half hour or so. Mr. Engleman has been trying to call you. What’s up anyway?” she asked, reaching out and taking hold of Gerald’s coat. “He’s really up in the air. Madder than you-know-what about something. Things have sure been popping around here this morning,” she said.

  Gerald smiled back at her and went on.

  “Also,” Kitty called after him, “you got other calls. A Miss Swift…”

  “I’ll check on them later,” Gerald called back over his shoulder, not hearing the last of her sentence. “Later. Right now I better get in and see the boss.”

  He stopped at his own desk only long enough to toss in his hat and nod to the girl whom he shared as secretary with four other actuaries. The girl started to say something to him, but again he said, “Later.”

  J. Rolland Engleman looked up as Gerald entered the square, spruce-paneled office. He turned to where his middle-aged secretary sat at one corner of the room in front of an electric type-typewriter.

  “You may leave us alone, Miss Goode,” he said. “And please close the door.”

  Miss Goode left them alone.

  Mr. Engleman looked up at Gerald, the travesty of a smile on his thin lips. He didn’t invite Gerald to sit down and there was nothing humorous about the expression in his pale, washed-out blue eyes which were set close together under all but imperceptible blond eyebrows.

  “Late, Mr. Hanna?”

  Gerald smiled weakly.

  “I’m afraid so, Mr. Engleman,” he said. “You see…”

  “I see perfectly,” Mr. Engleman said. “I am afraid that I see only too well. But don’t let my eyesight concern you. And, also, don’t concern yourself too much about being late. You see, we didn’t miss you. Not really. We had other visitors. A lot of other visitors.”

  He hesitated, tapping the ends of his lean fingers together and slowly nodding his head up and down.

  “Yes, Mr. Hanna, visitors. Suppose we start with the first one. A policeman, Mr. Hanna.”

  He looked up expectantly and again smiled thinly. “Yes, Mr. Hanna-a policeman. And do you know-it was about you?”

  “About me? What in the world would a policeman…” Gerald’s voice was as innocent as his bland expression.

  “That is precisely what I was about to ask you,” Engleman said. “Yes-precisely what I was about to ask. Just why, Mr. Hanna, should a policeman invade my office and ask me a hundred questions about one of my actuaries? What have you been up to, Mr. Hanna? As you know, this is a fatherly sort of firm and we take a keen interest in our employees. We pride ourselves in our selection of our personnel and we take a…”

  Gerald held up a hand.

  “Oh,” he said. He laughed a trifle hollowly. “That. I can explain that all right. It seems that last Friday night…”

  Gerald went on to explain. It took quite a little while, but he made a good story out of it, telling the facts with quiet amusement. The trouble was that Mr. Engleman failed to be amused.

  “And you say that you were playing poker before you left for home, eh?” Mr. Engleman said when Gerald stopped for breath.

  Gerald nodded.

  “Gambling,” Mr. Engleman made it sound like the violation of an eleventh commandment.

  Gerald nodded sheepishly.

  Mr. Engleman stood up.

  “I believe you are engaged to be married?” he changed the subject.

  Gerald looked up and smiled brightly. Thank God they were on safer ground.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “For several years. Miss Swiftwater is a splendid girl and we…”

  “I have had the pleasure of meeting Miss Swiftwater,” Engleman said. His expression denied the pleasure. “Yes, Mr. Hanna, I have had that pleasure. Only a few minutes ago. And I should like to inform you that Miss Swiftwater struck me as a very sensible girl. She particularly impressed me when she informed me that she has broken your engagement.”

  This time Gerald looked at him with legitimate surprise.

  “Maryjane was here? You mean…”

  “I mean that Miss Swiftwater came to me to find out exactly what has been happening. What you have been up to. She was able to tell me that you are running around with some floozy, that you are hanging out in cheap barrooms, and you seem to have completely lost your mind and that you called her on the telephone to insult her. Frankly, she seemed to feel that perhaps you are suffering from sort of mental…”

  Gerald suddenly held up his hand.
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  It was the damnedest thing. Exactly like that moment when he had decided to ask for a card to fill an inside straight; like that other moment when he had reached over and opened the door of the Chevrolet and pushed the dead body out into the road. He held up his hand and opened his mouth and he spoke quietly and clearly.

  “I am suffering from utter and complete boredom, Mr. Engleman,” he said, pronouncing each word as though he were giving a lesson in simple grammar. “I am also suffering from a keen distaste for you and for this stodgy, antiquated, cheap-John firm for which we both work. I am suffering from a frustrated desire to slap your silly tongue into the back of your head and then pick you up and throw you out of the window. And, in fact, if I have to listen to one more word out of that chinless jaw of yours, that is exactly what I shall do.”

  He took a step forward and Mr. Engleman fell back, leaning against the wall, his mouth wide and his eyes staring. He didn’t attempt to speak, but for a second his eyes flitted around the room as though looking for a quick escape route.

  Gerald reached over and opened the humidor on Mr. Engleman’s desk and took out a long, light-brown cigar. He bit off the end, removing approximately an inch, not having had experience in the past in biting off the ends of cigars. He took the cigarette lighter from the desk and flicked it and touched the flame to the end of the stogy.

  “Just so that you will have things straight, Mr. Engleman, when you discuss my firing with your boss,” Gerald said, “I’ll be glad to set your mind at rest. The police were here because I stole approximately a quarter of a million dollars in jewels. A man or two was murdered in the course of it all, of course. And the so-called floozy I am consorting with is everything you could possibly want in a woman-not you of course-but me. She’s a cashier in a hash house and has long blond hair and azure eyes and a build like-” Gerald stopped and stared hard at the other man.

  “As for Miss Swiftwater,” he said. “It is really fortunate that she has broken our engagement. It will probably save me from cutting her throat. But I recommend Miss Swiftwater to you, Mr. Engleman. You and Miss Swiftwater would go very well together. I can just visualize the offspring. And now…” Gerald stopped and took a deep lungful of smoke and slowly exhaled it, spoiling the effect somewhat by coughing as he finally emptied his lungs.