by Lionel White
* * *
It was a blue Dodge sedan, less than a year old, and Mike drove after Randy showed him about the automatic shift. “Go up to Central Park and we'l circle around slowly,” Randy said. “And for Christ sake drive careful; I stil owe twelve hundred on this buggy.”
Big Mike nodded, climbed behind the wheel. Randy got in back with George Peatty. He pul ed a pack of cigarettes from his pocket but didn't offer one to the other man. He was silent as the car weaved through traffic, and headed up Fifth Avenue.
Peatty couldn't hold it any more.
“Look,” he said, “he won't hurt her, wil he? She doesn't know anything, couldn't cause any trouble. She...”
“He won't hurt her,” Randy said. “No, he won't hurt her. But I might hurt you.”
“I tel you I didn't say a word,” George said. He'd begun to lose his fear and his voice was petulant. “My god, this thing means as much to me as...”
“If it means something to you, then it's about time you smartened up a little.”
“You're not married,” George said. “You don't understand about wives. She was just suspicious because I was going out.”
“O.K.,” Randy said. “We'l leave it at that for the time being. Just shut up now.”
They drove slowly around the park for the better part of an hour and then Randy asked George for his address. Minutes later Mike found a parking spot in front of the house. Al three men entered. They sat in George Peatty's living room and he asked if anyone wanted a drink. Mike and Randy both declined.
“Get me a phone book,” Randy said.
George went over to a sideboard and got the Manhattan directory. Randy thumbed the pages. He stood up, holding the book opened, and went to the phone. He dialed Unger's number.
Johnny answered on the second ring.
“Randy,” the cop said in a soft voice. “What's the score?”
“Where are you?”
“We got Peatty with us, at his place.”
“Good,” Johnny said. “I think everything is O.K. You can leave him now. The girl's on her way home. You and Mike get back here. We'l decide what to do then.”
“And Peatty?”
“Just tel him to keep his mouth shut. Tel him to cal this number tomorrow night, after he gets off work. When you and Mike get back we can decide things.”
Randy grunted and hung up the receiver.
“You're to cal Unger's place tomorrow as soon as you get off work,” he said, turning to Peatty. “Come on, Mike.”
Mike stood up. He looked over at George.
“How about...”
“Sorry we got rough,” Randy cut in. “But it certainly didn't look right, your wife showing up. Anyway, Johnny says everything is O.K. Just be sure to keep your lips buttoned. And control that wife of yours. Cal Johnny tomorrow.”
He walked out of the room, fol owed by Big Mike.
They arrived back at the Thirty-first Street apartment house as Unger was ringing his own downstairs doorbel . It was just after eleven o'clock.
The dark, saturnine man sitting behind the wheel of the Cadil ac convertible reached forward and switched off the car radio as the Dodge pul ed up across the street. He turned to his companion and spoke softly.
“Those are the two that left with her husband,” he said. A shake of his head indicated Mike and Randy as they reached the outside door of the apartment.
“Wonder what happened to the other guy?”
Val Cannon laughed softly.
“Peatty? Hel , they probably took him home and put him to bed.”
“Maybe we should of stopped the girl when she came out?”
“No. Someone could have been watching from upstairs. I'l see her tomorrow. And I hope she found out something. Incidental y, I got news for you.”
The short, heavy-set man at his side looked up at him with sudden curiosity.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. The tal guy with the broad shoulders is a cop. Works a patrol car in the upper midtown district. Name's Kennan.”
His companion whistled softly.
“A cop,” he said. “Now I wonder...”
“I wonder too.”
Cannon pushed the starter button and a moment later the Caddie pul ed silently and smoothly away from the curb. He was nodding his head and his words were almost inaudible.
“It could be,” he said. “It certainly could be.”
* * *
Marvin Unger's observant eyes quickly darted around the apartment when he entered. He walked through the living room, into the bedroom, took off his hat and put it on the dresser. Unconsciously he straightened the chair which had fal en into one corner. He noticed at once the mussed up bed and his thin lips twisted in an unpleasant grin.
The others were seated around the table when he came out.
“What did you do, have a wrestling match?” he asked, his voice nasty.
Johnny ignored the remark. He continued talking to the others.
“And so,” he said, “I real y don't think she heard anything. I can't be sure, but I don't think so. It was probably like both she and George said. He got careless and she found the address. Being a dame, she was curious and she fol owed him here.”
Randy grunted something under his breath. Big Mike nodded.
“So what do we do now?” Unger asked.
“We go right ahead,” Johnny said. “In the first place, George knows too much to drop him out at this stage. Also, we need him. Without him, it's too risky. He's got the plans for the inside work; he knows the details.”
“We couldn't drop him anyway,” Randy said. “Not with what he knows.”
“There's no need to drop him. He's a weak sister, but that part doesn't matter. Al of his work wil be done before we pul the job.”
“Yeah, but how about afterward?” Randy asked. “How about when the law starts questioning him? And you can bet your bottom buck he'l be questioned. Everybody wil . Everyone who works around the track or who could possibly know anything. You can be sure of that.”
Johnny nodded, thoughtful y.
“I know,” he said. “On the other hand, I had that part figured al along. Yes, he'l be questioned, and he is a weak sister. But I don't think he'l crack.
After al , he won't get too much pressure. And another thing, I think his main weakness involves that wife of his. Outside of where she's concerned, George is al right.”
“A woman like that...” Unger began.
“A woman like that,” Johnny said, “likes dough. Likes it more than anything else in the world. She may have her own ideas, after everything is over and done with. In fact she's sure to figure the pitch. But remember one thing. George is in this for only one reason. To get money for her. He knows it and she wil know it, once he's got his cut. And she's tough. A hel of a lot tougher than he is. You can bet that she'l protect his end of it.”
Unger stopped pacing and sat down.
“Wel , I don't know,” he said. “I can't say I like it. That kind of people. They don't seem very reliable. No stamina. Hardly the type to be in on a thing like this.”
Johnny turned to him, frowning.
“Jesus,” he said, “be sensible. That's why this thing is going to work. We don't want a lot of hoodlums in on it. Take yourself; you're not tough certainly.
But I think you're right for this. It's what I've been tel ing you guys from the beginning. We aren't a bunch of dumb stick-up artists. We aren't tough guys.
We're supposed to have brains. Wel , George Peatty may not burn the world up, but he's bright enough and he's reliable enough, too. The thing is not to give him something to do which is over his head.”
He stopped for a minute and took a deep breath.
“That's the beauty of this deal. George is doing the planning on the caper, the blueprint work. For that he's good. Mike fits in the same way and wil also help a little at the time we pul the job. Randy and I are the ones who real y run the chances. Take the risks on any violence. And we're equipped to do what we have
to do.”
Randy Kennan looked up at him and nodded slowly.
“Right,” he said.
Unger sat down then. He looked satisfied.
“Al right,” he said, “let's get down to business.”
Johnny took a notebook from his pocket, opened it and began reading.
* * *
It wasn't that she was afraid to go home. Afraid of what George would say. No, nothing he might say or do could possibly worry her. The fact that she might have been responsible for getting him beaten up, didn't bother her in the slightest. But one thing did worry her. Would the gang stil play along with him? Thinking about it, she realized that they couldn't very wel afford to get rid of him at this late date.
But then there was the other factor. How about George himself?
She knew him like a book; knew his strengths and knew his weaknesses. Would George himself be scared and back off? It was more than possible.
Sherry was sorry that she had listened to Val Cannon. Not sorry that she'd told him about the plot, but sorry that she'd gone up to the apartment. It had been foolish. She had, she realized, put the entire operation in jeopardy. She thought of Johnny—Johnny Clay.
He interested her. He was a man like Val, a man who appealed to her. She liked men with strength and he had been strong. Thinking of him, she began to feel optimistic about the robbery. He would be the boy to handle it al right.
She felt hungry and so she stopped off at a Broadway chophouse and took a smal table. The place wasn't crowded and she ordered a Manhattan and a club steak. She wanted to think over how she'd handle George when she got home. It would be tricky. But she didn't worry. There was one way she could always handle him; one thing he always wanted and which it was within her power to either give or withhold.
She drank her Manhattan and then, while she waited for the food to come, searched in her bag and found a dime. She got up and went to a phone booth at the rear.
George answered immediately and she breathed a little easier. She was glad he was home.
“You alone, George?” she asked, before he had a chance to say more than hel o.
He started at once to ask where she was and if she was al right.
She cut in on him.
“Listen,” she said, “just stay there until I get home. I'm al right; I'm fine. Don't worry about me. But just stay there. I'l be along in less than an hour.”
He started again to ask questions, but she hung up.
Waiting would give him a chance to cool off.
By the time she had finished eating she was feeling fine. She ordered a B and B and lingered over it. Then she cal ed for a check, paid it and went out. She found a cruising cab within a block and climbed in, giving the driver her address.
George was sitting in his undershirt in the living room, with al the lights on, staring at the door, when she entered. There was a dark purple bruise under one eye and he looked sick. His hands began to shake as he got up.
“Sherry,” he said. “Oh Jesus, Sherry! Did they hurt you? Did they...”
“Relax, George,” she said, closing the door behind her and tossing her bag on the table. “Relax and get me a drink.”
“Sherry,” he said, walking toward her. “My God, Sherry, you could have got us both kil ed.”
“I said get me a drink, George. And get yourself one, too. You look like you need it. And don't start in with recriminations. We have important things to talk about.”
He hunched his narrow shoulders and turned toward the kitchen. He was mumbling as he went.
She went over to the upholstered chair in which he had been sitting and slumped down in it and sighed. It would be just like handling a child. Get him to do what she wanted him to do, and then give him his reward.
George returned with the drinks and handed her one. He started to sit on the edge of her chair, but she told him to go over to the couch.
“What ever made you come up there, Sherry?” he asked. “How did you know where...”
“I found the address in your pocket, George.”
He blushed.
“Jesus, Sherry...”
“Never mind the post-mortems,” she said, quickly. “We've got more important things to talk about. Those were the men, weren't they? The ones you're in with on the stick-up deal?”
He nodded.
“Yes. Those were the men. But Sherry, the hel with it. I don't want it. It's too dangerous. I don't know what I could have been thinking about. It isn't only the robbery itself. God knows that's risky enough. But these men, they aren't fooling around. They could have kil ed you as easily as not. They could have kil ed us both.”
“Don't be a damned fool,” Sherry said. “They had no reason to kil me. And they can't afford to kil you. They need you, don't they?”
“What did Johnny say to you?” George asked. “What did he do?”
“He wanted to know what I was doing outside the door. I just told him that I fol owed you to the place. I told him I didn't hear a thing, and in fact, I didn't.”
“And he believed you?”
“Of course he believed me.”
“You don't realize it, Sherry, but although Johnny is a nice enough guy, he's plenty tough. Why, he just got done doing four years in Sing Sing.”
“He did?” She laughed lightly. “He isn't tough, George.”
“Did he try to...”
“I can handle guys like him with my hands tied behind me,” she said. “Duck soup.”
He stared at her, worry in his eyes.
She got up, went over to the couch. She didn't want to be questioned any more and so she sat down, half on his lap, and carelessly touched the bruise over his eye.
“Listen, George,” she said. “I want you to go through with it. There's nothing to worry about. It's al over now. I'l admit I was foolish to go there, but in a way it serves you right. You've got to take me into your confidence, let me know what you are planning to do. Somebody's got to look out for you.”
She snuggled deeper into his lap and caressed his face with her hands.
“But Sherry,” he said, “I'm going to quit; give it up.”
She stiffened, started to say something, then as quickly relaxed. She stood up and pul ed gently at his arm.
“Right now,” she said, “you're coming to bed. You stil have to work tomorrow and you must be dead on your feet.”
Undressing in the bathroom, with the door partly closed, she smiled wryly. She could hear George in the other room, careful y removing his own clothes. He'd be folding his trousers, putting them over the back of a chair; hanging up the rest of his garments neatly. He'd be hurrying, but stil neat and orderly.
George's pattern of behavior, his mentality, never varied. After two years of marriage, she knew him like a book. He was ABC. She knew. They'd gone through the same act a hundred times.
His stubbornness was one of the basic contradictions to his character. She knew that once he had made up his mind to something, it was almost impossible to move him. Almost, but not quite. She knew just what would happen. He was determined to give up, quit the whole thing. He was equal y determined not to tel her any more details of the plan.
She shrugged, looked at herself in the mirror, standing there completely naked and lovely. She cocked her head, saucily; smiled at her own image.
It would be like taking candy from a child.
He was in bed when she came in; the lights were off except for the smal table lamp which threw a shaded glow at one side of the double bed. Half consciously, she noticed that George hadn't opened the window for the night. Once more she smiled, this time inwardly.
George was about as subtle as a fractured pelvis.
She hesitated for just a moment, knew that he was watching her covertly. Then she lifted back the sheet and crawled in next to him. She knew better than to begin questioning him.
It was the same as it always was when she wanted something. She'd tantalize him, then draw away. Careful y lead him on, but every ti
me at the last moment, deny him. It had to end up as it always did. George final y asserted himself.
Later, he was completely convinced that he had raped her.
It always ended up the same way. His exhaustion, his subtle conviction that he had found his manhood, his sentimentality and then his fumbling apologies and his pleas for forgiveness.
She handled the scene with al the artistry and finesse of a first-class dramatic actress—which, in a sense, she was.
An hour after they had retired, George agreed to stick with the others and see the thing through. He'd do it for her, Sherry, to whom he owed so much and from whom he had taken so much.
But that was as far as he would go. He refused to tel her any more about it. Refused to discuss details, or when it was to happen, or how it was to happen.
She didn't push him. She knew that sooner or later, they'd repeat the matrimonial travesty and she'd find out what she had to find out.
He had turned over on his side and was snoring lightly as she got out of bed and crossed the room and lifted the window several inches.
Much later, lying on her back and smoking a cigarette in the dark, she thought of Val Cannon. She felt an almost unbearable desire for him.
The strange part of it was, after she had butted the cigarette in the ash tray at the side of the bed and was final y lost in that strange semiconsciousness between wakefulness and sleep, the image of Val Cannon and that of Johnny Clay kept blending together and becoming one.
She final y fel completely asleep and the expression on her tired, pretty face was one of discontent.
Chapter Five
Nikki stretched a lean, corded arm up over his head and felt around blindly until his fingers found the square of chalk hanging from the string. Brown eyes stil studying the table, he worked on the end of the cue tip.
He smiled, without mirth but at the same time with no viciousness, and didn't look at his opponent as he spoke.
“You're a sucker,” he said. “A real first-class sucker. So I'l give you a buck even on the six in the side pocket—and I'l play it off the ten bal .”
“You got it!”
The smal , wizened man with the face of a half starved coyote, perched on the high stool at the side of the table, turned to his fat companion.
