by Brad Latham
Lockwood wanted more, but he knew he wouldn’t get it this morning. “All right, but could I have $500 to warm up a few people?”
It took Lockwood twenty minutes of argument to get Mr. Gray to swing around and open the little safe in the corner where he kept several thousand in cash for just this sort of need. Gray had him sign a receipt.
“If this thing isn’t settled Monday, we have to pay—”
“Chief, I know what we have to pay,” Lockwood cut him off. “I’ve been working on it.”
In a surly voice, Gray said, “Lunch is over. So get back to it.”
Lockwood sighed in exasperation, yet he knew what was upsetting Mr. Gray—the letting go of the $500 and agreeing to the $5000. Mr. Gray’s passion for saving Transatlantic Underwriters money was why he was so good at his job. Remember, Lockwood told himself, as he rose to leave, Gray hates to pay.
Lockwood arrived a full half-hour at Penn Station before Myra’s train came in, which surprised him. He had a shoeshine to help him sit on his fluttering stomach. This hadn’t happened since he was twenty-two. He was happy she was coming, yet sure that this time, in the city, she wouldn’t really like who he was or how he lived or where he took her. He wanted to tell her everything about his “adventure” with Barbara Wilson, and yet he knew that telling her the truth would ruin what was just beginning to flower between them. Still, this strange urge not to have secrets between them wouldn’t go away. The strange mixture of anticipation and fearfulness whirred around in his stomach like a bird with a broken wing, and Hanley, the bootblack, had to ask him four times to keep his foot still.
“I want to see her,” Hanley said, which made Lock-wood’s foot slip off the stand altogether. “I surely do.” Hanley grabbed Lockwood’s foot and slapped it right back on the metal frame, where he held it while he went back to work.
“How did you know I was meeting a woman?” Lockwood asked the old black man.
“Aw, come on. Saturday afternoon, you ain’t meeting no man on business. Guy like you, dressed in a new suit, Hook, you ain’t going to get nervous meeting your mother or brother. You here in Penn Station—she probably lives out on the Island somewhere—”
“Enough,” The Hook said as he fished a quarter out of his pocket. “Finish up and keep the change. I stay here any longer, you’re likely to write my autobiography.”
Hanley just chuckled and didn’t hurry as he finished his job.
Myra looked bewildered and marvelous when she stepped off the train, and they were both eager and wary as they approached each other—for they didn’t know each other well enough to be spending a day and a night alone together in Manhattan.
Lockwood played it gallantly, making sure that her bags were snapped up by the red cap by poking a quarter at him right away.
“What’d he call you?” Myra asked Lockwood as they walked towards the front.
He grinned. “That’s my old wartime nickname. Hook. George was in the 69th with me.”
“It’s nice you know somebody here. This place is so big and confusing.”
In the cab they really kissed and their eager hands explored again the others’ neck, face, and body.
At the Summerfield Hotel, she said, “Oh, I thought I’d stay with—you.”
“You are. This is where I live.”
“In a hotel?”
“You’ll see.”
And she did. Lockwood had a two-room suite on the twelfth floor: living room with a Pullman kitchen and a bedroom.
“Oh, it’s perfect for you,” Myra said. “Did you decorate it? It’s so masculine—the heavy drapes, the old bookcases, and the leather furniture.”
Lockwood smiled. “I had some help.”
“Female help?” she asked in an arch way.
He kissed her. “I didn’t know you then.”
As if her ardor had cooled, she pulled away. “I want a bath, and maybe a couple of drawers to put my things away. Possible?”
He made her at home and left her to the bedroom and bath while he read the afternoon papers. The sportswriters were bored by tonight’s fight, too.
It hadn’t gone badly with Myra. It was different with her here in New York. In Patchogue she was more on her own ground; the Big Apple was his turf, and she was more reserved. He felt his confidence rise.
He took her over to Lamb’s for dinner. She wanted to know how the T-men and he were doing in their hunt for the bombsight.
“They won’t tell me anything, Bill,” she said. “They won’t tell any of us. It’s like they think we’re traitors—we’re the ones making, designing, the thing!”
He smiled. He rather liked it that even though she was here to have a good time with him, she kept her mind on her business.
George Lamb himself came over and took their order. Lockwood ordered for the two of them, making sure she liked oysters and roast beef.
“Can I trust you?” he asked. He made sure he kept a twinkle in his eye.
“Depends,” Myra answered with a saucy toss of her head.
“Not to talk. I’d like to know what you think about a couple of ideas I have, but I have to know it won’t get back to Manners or your boss.”
“I can keep a secret.”
So he brought her up to date and asked her about the trucking firms that came into the place and about Josef’s private life. He hinted at what the T-men suspected about the leak through Barbara Wilson.
He trusted her. In a way, Lockwood shouldn’t have, for technically she was a suspect, as was everybody at the plant. But if she was guilty and if Lockwood was making a mistake in trusting her, he was ready to turn in his private investigator’s buzzer and buy a share of Hanley’s shoeshine stand.
“I never thought about the trucking firms,” she said. “Sure.” She toyed with her fork, then put it down sharply. “But Josef! He lost his wife last year. He was crazy about her. For months he was useless to us, then he became his old self. Stanley teased him one day—maybe three months ago—about his love life, and from the way Josef bit his head off, no one’s brought it up again.”
“Have you met her?”
“No, and neither has anyone else.”
Lockwood understood that. When they finished dinner, they strolled over to the Garden. Myra had spent little time in New York and questioned him about the city.
“You’re awfully curious,” he said.
“It’s my nature,” she answered. “I’m a scientist.”
A couple of men passed who greeted Lockwood, “Hello, Hook.”
“So many people know you,” she said.
“I live here—this is my neighborhood, you know.”
“But I always heard New York was such a big heartless place. You must have spoken to half a dozen people since we left the hotel.”
Lockwood grinned. “Times Square’s like a village to me. It’s home.”
At the box office, they didn’t have tickets for Lockwood. Instead, a young man politely said, “I’m Pete Dembro, Mr. Lockwood. Mr. Harris asked to bring you upstairs, if you don’t mind.”
Dembro led them through a maze of corridors and concrete staircases lined with pipes till they entered a battered office.
Tooths O’Grady sat there looking at a Life magazine.
“I’ll tell Benny you’re here, Hook,” he said. “Who’s the broad?”
“Lady,” Lockwood corrected.
Tooths frowned. “Benny’ll want to know, Hook. The name?”
Lockwood gave up. “Myra Rodman—with me for the evening.”
Tooths disappeared, and he and Benny reappeared seconds later. If anything, Benny looked more harried and worried and unshaven than he had last night.
“Hook, come on in. You don’t mind your lady friend waits out here with Tooths, do you?”
Something in Benny’s manner—the roughness, the speed, the irritation—alerted Lockwood. He knew Benny, something was wrong. He almost agreed, but then, Myra had made some valuable suggestions at dinner, and he wanted her to know as
much about this as possible.
“Could all three of us talk this over?” Lockwood asked.
Benny looked as if he wanted to say no.
“Who is she, Hook?”
“She’s working with me on this.”
Benny looked exasperated.
“This gotta be kept quiet, Hook.”
“I’ll vouch for her.”
Reluctantly, Benny agreed and led them inside.
Inside was a sitting room smelling of cigar smoke and filled with more battered office furniture. Benny steered them to a frayed sofa and two club chairs.
“I stole the manager’s office for an hour or so,” Benny said.
They sat and stared at each other. Benny cracked his knuckles, which Lockwood knew Benny did when he was at a loss.
Lockwood said, “I got no secrets from Miss Rodman.”
Benny eyed her silently. “I don’t even want to meet with you, Hook,” Benny said. “You didn’t tell me you was a T-man nowadays.”
Surprised Benny had found out this, Lockwood said, “That doesn’t change anything, Benny. Come on. This is me, Hook.”
Benny shook his head strongly. “Listen, Hook, I can’t help you on this one.”
“You mean it’s a buddy of yours?” Lockwood asked.
Benny looked at the floor. Lockwood couldn’t even remember a time when Benny wouldn’t look at him. “Let’s say even you wouldn’t want to put the finger on this guy, Hook.”
“Is this some guy from the old days? Somebody from the 69th?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Benny said.
They sat in an embarrassed silence for a whole minute, which then stretched into another. Lockwood couldn’t figure it, and considered asking Myra to leave so he and Benny could have a buddy-to-buddy talk, but he had another idea.
He took out the ten $50 bills he’d taken from Mr. Gray at lunch.
“Benny, how much can these help?” He pushed them across the little table that separated them and fanned them out.
They stopped at the edge of Benny’s side of the table, and Benny stared at the notes as if they were a poisonous snake’s head.
Benny mouthed a silent “No” and moved back away from the table.
“Hook, if you find out on your own who’s in this, fine. But I can’t have a hand in it.”
Suddenly Lockwood got it, or thought he did. “It’s somebody big, and you don’t dare get in between.”
“Let’s say I’d get in trouble if I was to even ask any more questions,” Benny said. He crossed his arms.
“You’ve found something!” Myra said, which made Benny jump.
“Lady, no disrespect, but I ain’t talking to you. You’re here to hear me say I don’t know nothing—that’s all. Hear me tell you there’s more in this than the two of you want to know about.”
Lockwood thought he could read between Benny’s lines. With that money on the table, and he and Benny being as tight as they were with each other, something dangerous was involved. As far as Lockwood knew, Benny had never in his life turned down cash.
“You called Bill ‘Hook’ before, didn’t you?” Myra asked.
Startled, Benny stared hard at her before he said, “Yeah. So what?”
Lockwood turned to her, wondering what she was up to.
Myra leaned forward to focus on Benny. “That means you and Bill were in the 69th together, right?”
She paused, waiting, and finally Benny nodded again.
In a triumphant voice Myra said, “You two ought to know that this theft was arranged by the Germans. You ought to know that what was being developed out there was a war weapon to keep the Huns in line, and that they knew it and either stole it or arranged to have it stolen.”
Myra sat back. Something new crossed Benny’s face—his wary caution was shot with something hard and angry.
“How do you know it was the Huns?” Benny asked.
“Because they’re the ones who could really put this to work,” she said. “They’re going to run across Europe again—you guys didn’t make the world so safe for democracy—and the Germans are going to try and make sure they don’t make the same mistakes they made the last time.”
Benny looked at Lockwood. “Is this thing that important?”
“Tell him what it is, Bill,” Myra said.
“I thought it was such an all-fired secret?” he asked.
“If he doesn’t know what’s involved, how can he help?”
Lockwood saw the logic in that, all right. “Can you keep it under your hat, Benny? I’ve been promised I’d be shot by the T-men if I said a word about this thing, but I think she’s right—knowing might change your mind.”
“I know how to keep a secret, Hook. Of all people you know that.”
In vague and general terms Lockwood gave him an idea of the importance of the theft.
“He don’t know none of this,” Benny said. He shook his head in amazement.
“Who, Benny?” Lockwood asked.
“I need to talk to somebody, Hook.”
“There’s no time,” Myra said. “They load this on a ship or a submarine, and it’s lost forever. They gain twelve months, we lose twelve months—believe me, being out twenty-four months on something like this is enough to make all the difference.” She turned to Lockwood and asked, “What do you think will happen to London or Paris or—Times Square if they have this instrument?”
“Squash them to dust,” Lockwood said.
“Lady, you sure you know what you’re talking about?” Benny asked.
“I built it,” she said.
He looked at her skeptically. “Women don’t do this stuff.”
“I’ve got two Ph.Ds—one in metals, and the other in aviation engineering.”
“She’s spent a lot of time in Europe, Benny,” Lockwood said.
“Benny, Benny—help your country,” Myra pleaded. “These people are going to try and take over the world. Just like last time. This new breed of Hun is going to make the guys you two fought last time look like pussycats.”
Benny considered it for a minute or so and then nodded. “Vince Salerno, Hook. He has an interest in Magna Trucking. I think he engineered the job. For someone else.”
The Hook could understand why Benny didn’t want to get involved. Vince Salerno was at the pinnacle of the Queens Mob, with his fingers in half a dozen rich, messy pies out on the Island. Sure, if you wanted somebody to pick up something out there, Vince was perfect. Everything fell into place.
“Set up a meet, Benny,” Lockwood said. “Fast.”
“Get him to hold on to it, Benny,” Myra said.
Benny threw his hands up. “You know what he’s like, Lockwood. I don’t know if he’ll even talk to me, much less you guys. And by now—what is it?—three, four days after the heist—would he still have it?”
“I want to tell the Feds,” Lockwood said.
Benny shook his head. “No. Vince will know it came from me. I asked questions and was told to keep out.”
“Benny, this is too big.”
“Let me go to work, Hook,” Benny said. “How do you think Vince Salerno’s going to feel when he finds out that some Germans have played him for a chump? He might be dying to show them that he ain’t one—which wouldn’t be so hot for the health of any Huns.”
“Can I hear from you soon?” Lockwood asked.
“Real soon.”
The Hook rose. “That’s good enough for me.”
Toward midnight, Lockwood took Myra to the Rainbow Room at the top of the RCA tower. It was one of his favorite places, and he hoped she’d enjoyed it, too. The Rainbow Room could set the stage for a terrific evening. The huge room sparkled in a modern way—the color organ threw shifting lights on the revolving dance floor, and the twirling couples were dappled in the rain of light. From the south table that Morgan, the headwaiter, deftly sat them at they could see the Empire State Building and all of lower New York blazing below them.
“Bill, what are you
going to do now?” Myra asked.
“I’m giving Benny his shot at this.”
“We can’t just wait around. Do nothing.”
“That’s what my boss tells me,” Lockwood said. He grinned. “Come on. Dance with me. Enough work for one night.”
As they swayed together on the revolving floor, the swing clarinet of Little Middleton pierced them.
“He can really play,” Lockwood murmured in her ear.
“Have I told you what a dreamy dancer you are?” she asked.
“Now that’s music to my ears.”
A throaty chuckle bubbled up next to his ear. “I could dance all night,” she said. “But I wouldn’t want to miss any fun back at the hotel.”
He held her more tightly and nuzzled her neck like an eager pony, and her gay laugh at his horseplay aroused him still more. Little Middleton swung into “Autumn Leaves.” Lockwood loved it. He liked waiting like this before he took her off to bed, letting the tension and interest between them build. He knew most guys liked to get right to it when they went out with a girl, but that wasn’t his style. Not only did it not leave much to do afterward, but the whole courtly chase was too much fun to exhaust in ten minutes of sweaty wrestling. In fact, a lot of guys would have been all over her this afternoon as soon as they got her into the hotel room, but Lockwood liked to hold back and let the interest and charge between them build to its highest pitch.
“Don’t look now,” Myra said, “but isn’t that Nigel Heatherton at that corner table?”
Lockwood slowly danced her in a half-circle so he could see. “Looks like it. Who’s he with?”
“I’ve seen her somewhere before.”
“Where?”
“At a party somewhere. I remember she was with a German guy.”
“German, huh?”
As they were leaving the dance floor, Myra hissed, “Here they come.”
The two couples came face-to-face. The Britisher drew himself up and greeted them in an arrogant tone, “Fancy meeting the two of you here.” It set Lockwood’s teeth on edge, but he smiled pleasantly.
Heatherton introduced his companion only as Hilda. Obviously foreign from her thick accent, Hilda shook hands with Myra and Lockwood in a heavy, sullen way. She looks like a medium-sized Viking warrior, Lockwood told himself. She appeared full of poise and force, but her heavily madeup face looked bitterly unhappy about something and on guard to meet lots more of it.
