Nothing to Lose But My Life

by Louis Trimble

  We came to a fork. The narrow right branch went along the south edge of the Slope. The left was the more travelled road, going up to the crest of the Slope where there was a whole row of fancy apartment houses. Just below them and squatted far enough down so as not to block the view for the apartments, were little two-level duplexes set among the trees, each with its own personal outlook over the city and the harbor. They were old but very nice. I knew because Jen and I had spent our married life in one.

  Enid took the road toward the duplexes. I began to grow nervous as it became obvious she was going to one. But she stopped near the middle of the row. If she had gone to the far end, I don’t think I could have taken it. There would have been too many memories. Enid lived on the ground floor and that helped too. Jen and I had lived on the upper level.

  We went directly from the garage into the kitchen. Enid turned on the overhead light, showing me that everything was nice and white but no neater than necessary for comfort.

  “All yours?”

  “All mine—alone.” She looked gravely at me. “And only three other people know I have it. I want to keep it that way.”

  “It’s not my business,” I assured her. We went into the living room where she turned on the electric fire in the fireplace. It soon started to heat, making the already comfortable room cozy and intimate. It was a nice place, the furniture neither too old nor too modern. But somehow it didn’t seem like Enid. With her, I associated bleached woods and chrome.

  She took my hat and coat and hung them in the spare bedroom closet. “The bar is over by the TV. Help yourself and I’ll have the same.”

  I made two ryes and water and handed her one when she came back. She left it and disappeared into the other bedroom. When she returned she had changed her evening dress for a short hostess coat. She wore no hose on her long legs and from the way the coat fit, nothing else. She had a good figure for that kind of outfit. I wished the emptiness in her eyes didn’t bother me so.

  We sat side by side on the divan, the only light besides the glow from the fire a soft lamp in a far corner. I was tired and I enjoyed the semi-dark and the quiet. But Enid wasn’t having any. She said casually, “Remember the view from these places?”

  I almost answered “yes” just as casually when I saw the trap. I wondered who had put her up to this. Or had I underestimated her? I said, “It’s a long way from Texas,” and offered her a cigarette.

  When I held the lighter for her, those opaque eyes met mine over the flame. There was nothing at all to be read in them.

  “Do you know why I brought you here, Lowry?”

  I could have been crude and said, “Sure, to earn the other two hundred dollars,” but there was something in her tone of voice that told me she wasn’t in the mood for this kind of talk. I said, “No, but it’s very nice.”

  She answered very slowly, “I brought you up here because when I was in college I used to dream about coming home and having you alone with me.” Her face was very close; her lips were warm, parted in a faint smile.

  “You didn’t know that I’ve always had a crush on you, did you, Lowry?”

  From the way she was sitting and from her expression, she obviously expected to be kissed. But even if I had been in the mood, I would have balked. I wasn’t ready to start that yet. The fact that she knew who I was bothered me. I wanted to know how she had figured it out and how many others might know. Also, I wanted her to realize that she wasn’t one up on me.

  Deliberately, I said, “Do I pay you the rest now?”

  She took a moment to let that soak in. Then she moved a good two feet back from me, but her smile was wicked, not angry.

  “How much am I worth? More than I was before I made my little confession?” I didn’t answer. She said, “Let’s not play ostrich, Lowry. I told you that I know who you are.”

  “Mutual,” I said. “Do you like working for Nikke?”

  “Me—work for Nikke?”

  “Let’s not play ostrich,” I mocked her. “I’ve been around enough gambling dives to spot a shill.”

  She winced. “That’s not very kind.” Then she laughed. “But I guess I asked for it. And here I thought you’d picked me up because you remembered me from years back.”

  I wasn’t giving her any satisfaction, not yet. “I told you why I picked you up.”

  She set down her glass, empty, and leaned toward me, propping on one elbow. “Do you think of me as a pushover, Lowry? Is that one of the things you remember?”

  “Let’s leave my memory out of it,” I said. “I know you work for Nikke. Isn’t that enough?”

  “I’m that obvious,” she murmured. “And that makes me the gambler’s friend and the let’s-play-party type when I’m through working?” She shook her head. “Don’t kid yourself, Lowry. I admit I work for Nikke. But my job is at the club, not after I leave the place. I take the potbellied men to the tables; I leave them at the door.”

  I said, “You came with me fast enough.”

  She wasn’t going to let me get under her skin any more. She said sweetly, “I’ve never been propositioned in quite that way before. Maybe it fascinated me.”

  “And maybe you wanted to find out why I was in town.”

  She mocked me, “And maybe you aren’t after me but just information.”

  I couldn’t help it. I had to grin. We made a fine pair, and neither one of us was fooling the other for a moment. The grin became a laugh. She joined me and then rose and came over and perched on the arm of my chair.

  “Okay, Lowry. We’re square.”

  “What do we do now?” I asked. “Swap information?”

  “Among other things,” she said. “Get me another drink, Lowry.”

  I rose and went to the bar. “Do you always think of me as Lowry?” I made her drink light, remembering my dossier which said that Enid Proctor took spells of being a real souse. Sometimes she disappeared from public for days at a time. My detective had presumed it was so she could take a cure. Anyway, I wanted her more or less sober tonight.

  “Lowry,” she said. “I like it better than Malcolm. I always called you Lowry to myself.”

  I brought her the drink. She turned on the radio, getting soft chamber music. The electric fire cast reddish lights over her as she returned to the divan. I remained standing.

  “You paid, Lowry. Don’t welch now.”

  That was plain enough. I could sit by her or I could go home. I sat. I said nothing, wanting her to carry the subject for a while. She said, “If you’re going around pretending that you’re here to have a good time, you can’t go around acting like you did at the club tonight.”

  “I don’t like Perly,” I said. “I don’t like Emmett.”

  “They don’t like you,” she said. She was leaning back, her legs curled up so that her knees pressed into my hip.

  “Do they know who I am?”

  “I doubt that. How could they?”

  “You know?”

  “Of course. When you keep a man’s picture around for enough years, you see a lot of things in him no one else might. You’ve changed but not enough.”

  “Do you think anyone else knows?”

  “Do you mean Charles or Sofia? I don’t know.”

  “How about Rollo?”

  “Rollo?” Then she laughed. “Little Rollo go roll your hoop—like in the children’s picture books.”

  “That’s it,” I said. “It was a downtown gag years ago.”

  “I’d guess no,” she said.

  We were silent again. I felt a little better. Maybe Conklin or the Colonel knew who I was, but there was still the chance that they didn’t. I said finally, “Nikke?”

  “He’d recognize you, wouldn’t he?”

  “Probably. He wasn’t out there tonight?”

  “Nikke? He never goes near that place—or any other except the club on the Hill.”

  “But you’re working for him?”

  “I suppose I am,” she said. “He got me the job—if that
’s what you call it. Naturally I couldn’t work on the Hill.”

  “No,” I said, “not unless he runs it like he does these other outfits.”

  “Hardly,” she said dryly. “In his own place, Nikke’s still the virtuous gambler. Everything on the up and up, an even shake for his friends. But things are different out on the highway. Maybe that’s why he won’t go near the other places—he’s afraid he’ll get his conscience dirty.”

  I said, “Is he handling women too?”

  “Not directly,” Enid said. “But the Syndicate does. Women and gimmicked games. But that’s all, as far as I know.”

  Nothing the Federal men could touch as long as they were careful about how they got the women. I knew that much. I said, “You went to Nikke for a job? Why? What does a Proctor need with a job?”

  She laughed but with no humor now. “I’m Enid, the kid sister, remember. The wild one. Sofia has control of what’s left of the money.” There was more sadness than bitterness in the way she spoke. I didn’t understand it then. I was to later.

  “I like my own money too,” she said. “I wanted this place—something for myself. Not that Sofia isn’t generous. I can have all kinds of things—a car, clothes, just as long as I charge. I never even had the price of a drink with me, just charge accounts.”

  “You never lived your reputation down?” I asked, as if I didn’t know the truth about the matter.

  She shifted her position, straightening so that she touched me with her side. “No, I’ve even built it up.” Her expression was puzzled. “Why do I do it, Lowry? I’m no child. I know what drinking does to me. I don’t even like to drink, but I do it. I don’t like most men, but I’m—friendly with some of them. I don’t really like to gamble. But that’s why I took the job, so I could drink and gamble and have the men I wanted.”

  “How do you get away with it? Doesn’t Sofia wonder about you?”

  “She’s given up,” Enid said. “She knows where I go. She knows what I’m doing. As long as I’m discreet and don’t get my name in the papers, I think she’s relieved.”

  “Does she know about this place?”

  “No. I hope not. I’m sure no one has ever told her.”

  She sounded more hopeful than positive. I was silent. She said, “You didn’t answer me, Lowry. Why am I like this?”

  I could have told her in a vague way by throwing a lot of psychology at her, but I had an idea she had heard all that before. I wondered just why she was asking me—to get my sympathy?

  “Because you don’t really know what you want,” I said. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Why all this probing of me when you already know? Did someone put you up to it?”

  “No. Really, Lowry.” Her voice was low. “I—I want your help. And you’re in trouble. I thought if I knew more, I could help you in return.”

  “I’m in trouble?”

  “Yes. I lied to you before. When you came into the club tonight, the floor manager—Jake—came up to me and said, ‘That’s a guy named Lowry. Work on him. Keep tabs on him.’ So I guess Nikke knows about you too.”

  Chapter IV

  SO NIKKE KNEW. And Nikke was a dangerous man. I said, “Why didn’t you tell me this when I asked before?”

  “I wasn’t going to tell you at all,” she said, as if that answered my question. “Give me a cigarette, Lowry.”

  I gave her a cigarette and lit it for her. I took one for myself. I noticed one thing about her—she couldn’t seem to hold her mind on a subject for very long. Her thoughts darted about, touching something here, something there, and then got back to where they started. Getting information from her would require patience. I had come to Puerto Bello determined to be patient, to curb a natural tendency to do everything in a hurry. But now that I was here, started, I found it harder and harder to hold myself in.

  “Were you afraid I’d walk out on you?”

  She nodded and dragged deeply on her cigarette. “I don’t want you to leave, Lowry.” She gave me a sideways look, half very sophisticated and half surprisingly childish. “I’ve wanted you with me like this for eight years, you know.”

  Perhaps I could have learned more faster by moving in on her right then—on her terms. But I chose to play it otherwise. I said, “Is that the only reason you want me to stay?”

  I could feel a shiver run through her where her side was pressed to mine. “I’m afraid for you. Because they know about you.”

  “They?”

  “Nikke and the others.” She waved the hand holding her cigarette. Nikke and the Syndicate, she meant. “If people get in their way, they hurt them. They have no feelings, Lowry.”

  I had reports on their lack of feelings, and I thought again, how Nikke has changed. Nikke who, for all of his type of business, for all of the brutality of his background, had never been anything but gentle until those last months I had known him.

  I said, “I expected that sort of thing. I knew what I was getting into when I came back.” I let her think I was angry. “But this—you—is something I didn’t expect.”

  “What do you mean, Lowry?”

  “I’m talking about your trying to tell me that you brought me here and held me with false information just because you claim you’ve had a crush on me for eight years. Nuts.”

  I took her wrist. I tried to look into her eyes. There was nothing there for me to see. Her mouth quivered because I was hurting her but her eyes were empty of it.

  “Who put you up to it, Enid?”

  Her tongue came out, damping her lips. “No one. Please, Lowry!”

  I let her wrist go. Her drink was empty and so she took mine and finished it at a gulp. She crushed out her half smoked cigarette. And now she changed again—her moods were as unstable as her mind apparently. “Don’t believe me then.”

  She wasn’t looking at me but at the fireplace. “But it’s true. I do feel that way about you.”

  “Maybe. But that’s not all of it.”

  She looked at me and her lip was quivering. “I don’t like you when you’re mean this way,” she said childishly.

  I tried to put her mind back on the track. “I’m not mean when I hear the truth.”

  “Honest, Lowry. No one made me do it. I told you what Jake said. No one else told me to do anything.”

  Now she had her face tilted up as it had been in the car. She slid very close to me, put one hand out and began to work on the knot of my tie. I did not move; she looked as though she might say something more.

  She did. “I’m tired of working for Nikke. The fun is gone. I don’t want to do it any more.” She had my tie loose and she pulled it free and tossed it aside. Her fingers went to work on my shirt buttons. I kept on waiting. “And I know how I can get money, all the money I need.”

  I said, “In other words, you want to keep me safe enough long enough for me to get my job done—get rid of Nikke.”

  “I know that’s why you came,” she said. “And if you get rid of Nikke, then I’ll be free.”

  “Can’t you just walk out?”

  She shivered again and her hand, halfway down my shirt now, fumbled a little. “They won’t let me. They think I know too many things by now. They told me they wouldn’t let me.”

  I doubted it. A Proctor was a little too much even for the Syndicate to touch. I knew they “had taken care of” a number of people who got in their way. And they had done it cleverly. But even so, a Proctor was not just anyone. Not in Puerto Bello. They had probably scared hell out of her, but if she should walk out tomorrow, I couldn’t see them doing anything more.

  Unless she tried to get cute with them. Given provocation, any rat will risk his life. And she had just said that she knew how to get as much money as she needed. Blackmail?

  I said, “Listen, Enid—”

  “I told you I had your picture, didn’t I?” she interrupted me. She seemed to have forgotten all about her fear of a moment before. I wondered if so few drinks as I had seen her take could be so effective.


  “I bought it from a photographer you had take it,” she went on. “I had to pay an awful lot for it.” She giggled. “I even signed it. I had your signature from a legal form you sent Sis. I practiced your writing and then signed it, ‘My love to E., Lowry.’”

  I felt silly. “Kids do strange things,” I said. I was nervous too. At the same time, I didn’t want to stop her. The longer I listened to her, the more I realized that she was my best lead to Nikke. And I had an idea that she knew more about the organization than she realized. I didn’t want her mad at me; I wanted that information.

  She sounded resentful. “I was no kid when I did that, Lowry. I was almost through college.” She let her hand rest just below the last button on my shirt and brought her face closer to mine. “And I’m not a kid now. The picture is in my bedroom. I’ll show it to you.”

  She could have been eighteen again, the college kid with her first big crush. But I had to play it her way. “Sure, let’s see what I looked like. Go get it.”

  She got up and took a grip on my hand. “Come with me and look, Lowry.”

  I went, buttoning up my shirt.

  She was a little drunk. She hadn’t really had enough of the watered-down shots I had made to be drunk, but she was. She said, “Put your arm around me, Lowry. It’s warm in here and I’m getting dizzy.”

  I put my arm around her. The bedroom was cooler. As we went into it, she reached back and shut the door. There was a light on, a single shaded lamp on her dressing table. It gave a soft, pale green glow. The picture was placed so that the light fell on it. I hardly recognized the plump, smooth-faced, self-satisfied man that looked out at me. Five years had changed me a lot more than they had Conklin or the Colonel.

  We stood there, my arm still around her. “Well?”

  “Smug, wasn’t I?”

  She turned inside the loop of my arm so that her breasts and loins were hard against me. Her lips were as close as she could get them and still talk. She said, “Sometimes I like you better the way you are now. Except when you’re mean. I like you best when you’re gentle. You can be gentle, Lowry.”