by Lionel White
“You figure a Pinkerton wil be coming out of that door after you?”
“I know one wil —unless the chopper is hot when I drop it and I don't want it that way. You're to see that the detective gets mixed up before he has a chance to get anywhere. Trip him, fal into him, slug him if you have to. You can always say you didn't realize he was a cop and that he jostled you. You'l know he's a private cop al right, but there is no reason you should.
“They'l question you if they pick you up. On the other hand, in the confusion, you may get clear. Either way, you are just a patron at the track, an innocent bystander and a guy runs into you and you slug him.”
“It could cost me my parole,” Maurice said. “Just being at the track could...”
“That's another reason you get the twenty-five bil s,” Johnny said. “You got to take that chance.”
“And if I get picked up and they find out about my record, it can cost me one hel of a beating.”
“What kind of dough did you get the last time you were in the ring in that Golden Gloves fight?” Johnny asked softly. “The one where you got the broken ribs and the injury to your optic nerve.”
Maurice smiled thinly.
“I gotta bronze medal,” he said.
“Al right, so they question you. You don't know nothing. They beat hel out of you. You stil don't know nothing. Twenty-five hundred is a lot better than a bronze medal.”
“It is. But there is also the business about breaking parole.”
“That's right,” Johnny said. “And that's why you get real money. For taking that chance.”
“I don't quite understand this whole thing,” Maurice said. “Hel , Johnny, for what you want me to do, any hoodlum would handle for a hundred bucks.”
Johnny picked up the two empty bottles and went over to the bar. He got a couple of refil s and came back to the table, dropping another coin into the juke box as he passed.
He sat down, poured the glasses ful , leaving an inch of foam.
“Not any hoodlum, kid,” he said. “I don't want a hoodlum; I want a smart guy. A guy smart enough not only to do the job and that I can depend upon, but a guy smart enough to know that he is being wel paid to take a chance and that if things don't turn out just right, he won't squawk. That he'l remember that he is being wel paid.”
Maurice nodded.
“I don't suppose,” he said, “that you feel like cutting me in on a piece of the job itself—and let's say we skip the twenty-five cash?”
“Can't,” Johnny said. “It isn't mine to cut up.”
Maurice slowly nodded.
“I'm your boy,” he said. “When...?”
“Monday afternoon, here. I'l have a grand at that time and ful instructions.” He stood up.
“I'l hang around here for a few minutes,” Maurice said. He smiled, held out his hand.
Johnny shook hands with him.
“Tel your mother,” he said, “that that burglary chain would give with one good shove. I'l be seeing you.”
“I'l buy her a new one—after the race,” Maurice said.
* * *
A thin, harassed-looking man in a sweat shirt four sizes too big for him told Johnny at Stil man's that he hadn't seen Tex around in a couple of weeks or more.
“He won't train,” the man said, “so goddamn it, I hope he don't ever come back. He could be a good boy if he'd only train.”
Johnny thanked him and went downstairs and got into a cab. He didn't want to be walking around the midtown district in broad daylight. He gave the driver the address of a third-rate hotel down on West Broadway.
Tex had left the day before, and from the way the day clerk acted, he left without paying his bil .
Another cab dropped Johnny at Third Avenue and East Eighth Street and he started downtown, systematical y making the stops at every bar. He found Tex at his fourth stop, leaning against a juke box, his squinty blue eyes misty and his head slowly weaving back and forth in time with the music. Tex didn't see him when he entered and went to the bar. Johnny ordered a Scotch with water on the side.
“That son of a bitch plays Danny Boy just one more time and I throw him out,” the bartender said, sliding the glass across the bar. “Jesus!”
Johnny swal owed his drink, washed it down. He left a quarter for the bartender and went to the juke box. He put a quarter in the machine and careful y selected Danny Boy wouldn't be in, that he was home sick and expected to be al right the fol owing day.
Then he went back to the bar and ordered another drink. There was no point in kidding himself. Sherry was a tramp. She was a tramp and she was a liar.
She'd come home last night with lipstick smeared al over her face. Her breath reeked of liquor. She had been with no sick girl friend. She'd been with some man, lapping up whiskey and God only knows what else.
George ordered another drink.
He wasn't, at the moment, curious as to who the man might be. It was enough to final y admit that Sherry was running around with other men. But the fact, once he was wil ing to accept the truth, was irrefutable.
At once George began to feel sorry for Sherry and to blame himself. If she was running with other men, it could only mean that he had failed her.
George felt a tear come to the corner of his eye and he was about to beckon the waiter to refil his glass. It was then that he caught sight of his face in the mirror behind the stacks of pyramided bottles. In a split second he sobered up completely.
What kind of god damned idiot was he? Good God, here it was the most important week in his life and he was standing at a public bar getting drunk.
He should have been at the track. The last thing in the world he should have done was to have failed to fol ow the usual routine of his days.
Quickly he turned from the bar, not bothering to pick up his change. Wel , it was too late now to make the track, but at least he would go out and get some food into his stomach and some hot coffee. Then he would go to a movie and take it easy. He ful y realized how essential it was that he be completely sober before evening.
Tonight was the big meeting. And he, George, wanted to get there a little before the meeting. He wanted to talk to Johnny alone for a minute or two before the others arrived. He wanted to assure Johnny that they would have nothing to worry about as far as he, George, was concerned.
* * *
“Pinched?”
“Right,” Johnny said. “For certain reasons of my own, you gotta be pinched. And I want you to make it good. If it takes two cops to get you out of the place, so much the better.”
“I can take half a dozen,” Tex said. “Private cops? Hel , Johnny, I can make it take a ful dozen. I...”
“Two wil be fine,” Johnny said and smiled. “I don't want you hurt either.”
“Do I ask any questions, Johnny?”
“No. Not now or later. Here's what you have to know and al I want you to know.”
He talked then for the better part of a half hour, going over much of the same material he had discussed with the two other men he had seen that day.
Tex, however, differed from the others in that he showed not the slightest curiosity. It was good enough for him the way Johnny put it. He was being given a job to do, he was getting paid for it, he would do it.
“There's just the one thing,” Johnny said. “Timing. You got to time it exactly right. On the button.”
“I got no watch,” Tex said.
“You won't need one,” Johnny told him. “There's a big clock right over the center of the bar. One thing you got to be sure of; keep the fight going long enough so the cops show. And then get them to rush you out of there as quick as you can.”
“Hel ,” Tex said, “I can keep 'em busy for a half hour, you want I should.”
“I don't,” Johnny told him. “Getting out, that is, getting the cops out, is the whole deal. You have to time it perfectly.”
The big man nodded.
“An' for that I get twenty-five hun'ert?”
“For that Tex, and for taking the rap which you wil be sure to get. Probably about ninety days. Also there wil be a lotta questions thrown at you. Why you did it, who you know and al the rest of it.”
“I did it because the goddamn bartender tried to cheat me. I don't know nobody. Right?”
“You got it perfect,” Johnny said. “I wish there were more like you.” He hesitated a second, then went on. “I can get you about half the dough by Monday, the rest after it's al over.”
“Your word's good with me, laddie,” Tex said. “You can make it al after, if you want to. In fac', you can wait til I get out of the clink. That's if they got enough guys there to get me that far.”
“They got enough, Tex,” Johnny said. “No, we'l do it my way; say a grand on Monday and fifteen as soon as I can get it to you after Saturday.”
Tex nodded, satisfied.
“I hate to ask it,” he said, “but I could use something like a twenty in cash right now.”
Johnny reached into his pocket and peeled a twenty from the money Marvin Unger had left with him that morning.
“Monday Tex,” he said. “Here. And for Christ sake, keep out of trouble until after this is over.”
“Hel , Johnny,” the big man said, “you don' have to worry 'bout me. I'm your boy.”
Johnny stood up and patted him on the back, then left, wordlessly.
The suitcase was in the corner of the double parcel locker on the upper level at Grand Central when Johnny stopped back for it. Carrying it made him nervous, but there was nothing much he could do about that. He took the uptown IRT subway to Ninety-sixth Street and got off. Walking uptown to a Hundred and Third, he turned toward the East River. He found the place he was looking for just West of Second Avenue. It was an old law tenement, with its face lifted. He rang the bel on the ground floor and a moment later a sal ow, hard-faced man stood outside the iron gril .
* * *
“Looking for Joe Piano,” Johnny said.
“Who's looking for Joe?”
“Patsy sent me.”
“Patsy who?”
“Patsy Genel i.”
The man made no move to open the door.
“And where did you see Patsy?” he asked.
“Ossining. We roomed together. I'm...”
“Don't tel me who you are,” the man said.
He twisted the knob and the lock clicked and he opened the gate. Wordlessly he turned and let Johnny pass him in the narrow hal way, then locked the gate and the heavy door after him. He led the way down the long hal way and turned into a smal , dark kitchen. A fat girl who looked Polish got up without a word and left the room, closing the door behind herself.
The man reached over the sink and took down a half-fil ed gal on jug of red wine. He poured out two tea cups ful and handed one to Johnny.
“How's the boy?” he asked.
“He's fine; doing it on his ear. Told me to tel you not to worry.”
The man looked sour.
“Doing the book on his ear. Not to worry. I worry plenty,” he said. “Goddamn it, I worry plenty.”
“He's tough,” Johnny said. “Plenty tough. And he's hoping to get a break.”
“I'm hoping he gets a break, too,” the man said. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“I want a room,” Johnny said. “For about two weeks. Just a room, no bath. I won't be in much. Don't want or need to have it cleaned. Don't want anyone but myself in it. I won't be having any visitors.”
“You leaving anything in the room?”
“This,” Johnny indicated the suitcase. “Another bag sometime next week.”
The man nodded.
“Won't nobody disturb them,” he said, without curiosity.
Johnny took out his wal et.
“Won't be no charge,” Piano said. “You said Patsy sent you.”
Johnny nodded.
“Yeah, he sent me,” he said. “But we're friends and I'd feel better if you let me pay you for the room. This is a sort of business arrangement and I can afford it.”
The man grunted.
“O.K.,” he said. “Ten bucks a week. I'l send the money in butts to the boy.”
He stood up and beckoned Johnny to fol ow him.
It was a smal , rectangular room on the second floor at the end of the hal way. The door was padlocked from the outside. There was a single, heavily curtained window and the furnishings were sparse.
“It'l do fine,” Johnny said.
The man handed him a key.
“I got the only other one,” he said. “You don't have to worry about leaving anything here. It'l be safe. I don't give out keys to the front door. You have to ring. But I'm always here and I don't care what time you come in. Doesn't matter. Only be careful...”
“No one wil ever tail me here,” Johnny said.
Again the man grunted. He turned, wordlessly, and padded off down the hal way.
Johnny went over to the dresser and pul ed out the bottom drawer. The suitcase just fitted. A moment later and he closed the door of the room behind himself, turned and snapped the padlock. He put the key in his watch pocket before leaving the building.
On the way back downtown, he was tempted to stop off and have something to eat. But then he decided against it. He wanted to be back at Unger's in time to receive George Peatty's phone cal . He'd tel George that everything was O.K. Tel him to show up for the big meeting on Monday night. The meeting at which they'd make the final arrangements.
He would be glad to get back to the East Thirty-first Street apartment.
He'd had a busy day.
Chapter Six
Randy Kennan sat in back of the wheel of the sedan, a newspaper held in front of his face. He hadn't long to wait. At exactly eight forty, the front door of the apartment house opened and Marvin Unger walked out and turned west, looking neither to right or to left. Randy gave him an extra minute or two after he had passed the corner and turned downtown. Then he climbed out of the car and entered the building.
Johnny had a cup of black coffee in his hand when he answered the soft knock on the door.
“Glad you got my message,” he said, smiling at the other man and quickly stepping aside to let him enter.
Randy smiled back.
“Gotta 'nother cup?” he asked.
Johnny nodded and went into the kitchen. Randy fol owed him.
“What's the rub?” the cop asked. “I thought we planned the meet for tonight?”
“No rub,” Johnny said. “It's just that I want to talk to you first—alone.”
Randy took the cup of coffee Johnny held out and reached for a chair.
“Everything al right with the others?”
“Everything's set,” Johnny said. “I just wanted to talk to you alone.” He hesitated a second, watching Randy closely, and then went on.
“It's like this,” he said. “When the cards are down, here's the way it stacks up. You and I are the ones who are real y carrying the bal . And you are the only one I can actual y count on. Not,” he added quickly, seeing the suddenly startled look on the policeman's face, “not that the others aren't al right as far as they go. The trouble is, they just don't go far enough.
“Right now, Unger's out getting the five grand I'm going to need today to tie up the boys who are helping me out at the track. That's fine. We need Unger and that's why he's in. We need Big Mike, too, and we can count on him. He's old, he's tired and discouraged and God knows he probably has plenty of problems of his own. But he's invaluable to us and won't let us down. The same goes for Peatty.”
He stopped then for a minute and refil ed his cup.
“What's on your mind, kid?” Randy said. “We already been over al that.”
“Right. We have,” Johnny said. “But coming to Peatty, we come to another problem. Peatty's wife. As far as George goes, he knows what he has to do and he'l do it. We can trust him. But that business of his wife showing up stil bothers me. Let me tel you exactly what happened after you guys left
the other night.”
For the next ten minutes Johnny talked and as he went over the details of the scene between himself and Sherry Peatty, Randy once or twice grinned widely. He didn't interrupt until Johnny was through talking.
“So what,” he said at last. “The kid's got hot pants and George can't take care of her. That's al it amounts to. That and the fact that she's nosy.”
“You may be right. On the other hand, the dame worries me. It's a little too pat.”
“Wel ,” Randy said, “you say she's going to show up at two o'clock? Right? You'l have al afternoon then to find out what it's al about. So you should kick? She may be a dizzy broad, but hel , Johnny, she's...”
“You miss the point,” Johnny said. “She's going to show up, but I don't think I'm going to find out anything. I don't even like the idea of her showing. In the first place, I got other things to do today. I gotta meet Unger at one thirty and pick up the dough. I got to spread that money around.”
“What are you trying to tel me?” Randy said. “You mean you don't want to meet the girl? My God, Johnny, those years up the river must have done something to you after al . Anyone would take a crack...”
“You don't get the picture,” Johnny said shortly. “In the first place, if you'd talked to her, you'd realize that she's wide open. Anybody can take a crack at her. I don't want to go into details; I just think I'm the wrong guy for the job. There's too much else on my mind.”
“Another dame?” Randy said, looking up sharply.
“What it is doesn't matter,” Johnny said. “Try and get the idea. I don't think I can handle her. On the other hand, you're a guy who has a reputation for handling broads. I'm suggesting that you be here when she shows up this afternoon. Play her along and see what you can learn. If she's up to something, we have to know. I can't tel you why, but for some reason I got the feeling something is sour with her.”
Randy looked thoughtful for several moments before he spoke.
“You think Peatty is in on a double cross of some kind?”
“No. No, George wasn't putting on an act the other night. He was probably more surprised than we were when she showed up. But I can't get over the idea that she's up to something. Whatever it is, we have to know about it.”
