He smiled and said he thought a hundred a day would be about right for a short order. I nodded and handed him two fifties. He folded them very carefully and got them out of sight.
“Who’s my party?” he asked.
I described Virgie Beers, giving her name as Mrs. Evans. I gave him the number of the room, told him of the location. I mentioned that Mrs. Evans was sharing her room with a red-haired woman, but I said I didn’t care about her, except that I wanted to know if she went out with Mrs. Evans or not. I told him I’d check out of the hotel, page him as Eric Stanley in about a half hour, and tell him where he could report to me every few hours.
He nodded. “I’ll be down in the lobby,” he said. “But supposing Mrs. Evans goes out?”
“Go with her, and if I don’t get you on the page call, call me at the William Penn any time after an hour,” I said.
He nodded. I gave him a detailed description again—of both women. I told him that if he felt doubtful I’d point Mrs. Evans out. He said my description was very good—he’d get along well enough. He got up.
“I use the name of Jackson when it might be heard. Nothing else you want to tell me?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not right now, because all I want is this tailing job. But I repeat—it isn’t divorce stuff. Heads up.”
He smiled, moved toward the door. I got back near the wall and he went out. I liked the way he had acted. Phil Dobe had said Quirt was one of the best in the business, and I figured maybe he was.
I packed my bag, saw the gin and the glasses, and remembered that I’d forgotten about the drinks. Downing one, I decided that Quirt wouldn’t have taken one anyway. His price was pretty stiff, and I had a hunch that either he recognized a face or was doing some guessing. I packed the bag, went downstairs, and checked out. While I was paying up, Carrie Donner came around to the desk. She asked about mail, and there wasn’t any. She looked at me, through me, and beyond me. Then she went out the main entrance. She was dressed up, but she looked like the devil anyway.
Quirt was over by the main entrance, looking at the colored section of a paper. Carrie passed within a few feet of him: he held the paper high, but he looked her over. I took my bag, went over to a corner of the lobby, and sat down. After about fifteen minutes Virgie came down. She was dolled up in a green ensemble with a tight-fitting turban. She carried a briefcase in her left hand. She went to the desk, and the clerk looked in the box. He smiled and shook his head and she smiled and turned away. She didn’t look around the lobby, but headed right for the street. Quirt was still reading the colored section. She passed within a few feet of him, and he gave her a thirty-second start. Then he went out.
The clerk was looking at me. I smoked a whole pill, grabbed the bag, and went out. There was no sign of Quirt or Virgie. I hailed a cab, was driven to the William Penn Hotel, registered as Howard Evans, sent the bag up to the room, and bought a paper. I told the clerk I was expecting a phone call in a little while and would take it in the lobby. He made a note of that and I picked out a comfortable chair.
I’d been in it about five minutes when Virgie Beers came in. She went directly to the desk. She talked to the clerk. While she was talking she set her briefcase up where he could see it. She signed a register card. When she looked around the lobby I lifted the paper. She got through doing that about the time a bellhop came in with two bags. They looked pretty new. The clerk gave him a key and he headed for an elevator. Virgie followed him.
I whistled the chorus of “That’s My Baby Now”—and watched Quirt come in. He was looking toward closing elevator doors. He waited until they closed—then he ran forward. He called out “Mary!” very loudly. A lot of people heard him and looked around. There were two clerks back of the marble desk—they looked toward the elevators. Quirt acted sort of embarrassed turned away, turned toward the elevators again—then headed for the desk.
The clerks were smiling. One of them spoke to the other. Quirt asked a question and got an answer. He talked a little to the clerk—they were both smiling. Then he went toward the room phone. I could see his lips moving. After a while he hung up, strolled around the lobby, didn’t come very near me, went out. Ten minutes later Carrie Donner came in, went directly to the desk, didn’t look around at all, got an elevator, and went upstairs. She had no baggage. Five minutes after that Quirt paged me as Mr. Evans.
“This is Jackson talking,” he said. “All right to speak up?”
I told him to go ahead and he said that his party had used two cabs, trying to play safe, had bought two bags in a luggage shop, and had come to the William Penn. She was registered as Mrs. D. Walker in room 651. He had seen me in the lobby and had paged me ahead of time.
I told him his work around the elevators and desk had been sweet, asked him to sit around the lobby for a while, gave him my room number, and said I was going to take a nap. I hung up.
I slid open the door of the phone booth, looked past the switchboard girl, and got a glimpse of a back that looked familiar. I stepped back in the phone booth and jerked the glass door closed. Herb Steiner walked around and gave the switchboard girl a number. He stood watching the lobby until she told him the number of the booth. It was around the other side somewhere. He didn’t do much talking. When he went out into the lobby I took a lot of pains to keep out of sight.
I spotted Quirt coming in—he had called from some place nearby. Herb Steiner was buying cigarettes; he moved toward the elevators. I waited until he was on his way up above, then went over to Quirt. I touched his arm, went on past and got behind a palm growing in a green-based pot. He came around, smiling.
“Go up to Six fifty-one and listen in,” I told him. “There should be three voices inside. Two women and a man. I’ll stick right here—let me know what’s what.”
He nodded and went away. I had a hunch that Virgie had been doing some planning. Herb was in town, and he was at the William Penn. So was Virgie, and so was Carrie Donner. It looked like a sort of gathering of the clan. Maybe I was wrong—maybe Herb didn’t know that Virgie and Carrie were around. But my guess was in the other direction.
In about ten minutes Quirt came down and said that there was some drinking going on in room 651—he had heard the ice tinkle. He’d heard one woman’s voice and one man’s. The man’s had sounded a lot like a woman’s, only it hadn’t been.
I smiled. Quirt said that it looked as though the people inside were making themselves comfortable, that it was his guess there were only two in there—a man and a woman.
I told him that they might be making themselves comfortable, but that his guess might be a bad one. I figured there were three inside. He nodded.
“You figure—or you know,” he said quickly.
I smiled, told him to keep his eyes on the elevators. If Mrs. Evans came down he was to go along with her. I said she’d probably come down alone, but if she didn’t, to stick anyway. And if there was a split-up he was to tail her. He nodded.
“Her face seems a little familiar,” he said. “Maybe she’s had it used in the papers.”
I looked puzzled and told him I didn’t follow society doings. He just nodded and smiled. I said I was going up to my room and wash, and he said that the last time I had been going up for a nap.
He was thinking things out, and I didn’t like that so much.
“The hundred a day covers just this and that,” I reminded. “You don’t have to mastermind all over the place for it.”
He looked hurt. But he just nodded his head. I went up to the lobby floor, took an elevator to the sixth. Six fifty-one wasn’t far from the elevators. I went past the room twice and heard muffled voices the second time. My room was on the fourth floor. I called room service from there, said the phone in 651 didn’t seem to be working, said the occupant didn’t want it fixed right away, but did want two bottles of Cliquot Club in a hurry. Then I went up and walked past 651 a few more times. A waiter came up with the Cliquot, knocked on the door.
I was ten feet away w
hen Virgie asked who was outside. The waiter told her. She opened the door, said no one had ordered ginger ale, and it must have been a mistake. Someone inside said something I didn’t get—and Virgie told the waiter to come in with the stuff. I was close to the door; when he stepped in I stepped in behind him.
Virgie almost clipped me with the door, but I got inside. She let out a little gasp and said: “Ourney!” in a husky voice.
I went right on past her, behind the waiter. Carrie Donner was sitting up on one of the two beds. She stared at me and swore. Herb Steiner was in a chair—his face twisted around; he tried a smile, started to speak, stopped. The waiter set down the tray and the ginger ale and looked at me.
“Hello, Herb!” I said cheerfully. “Hello, Red. Just happened along as the fizzy stuff was being served. How was everything on the Coast when you left?”
I gave the waiter two dollars and said it was my treat. He went out and I got over near a wall and watched Virgie snap the lock on the inside of the door and walk back toward me.
“Tailing, eh?” she snapped. “Why in hell can’t you lay off?”
I looked at Herb. His face was pretty white. He looked less like a girl than he had that day on the train. His lips had cruel lines. Both hands were in sight, and both were empty.
“Just an accident,” I told Virgie. “Saw Herb come in, and figured I’d better come up and give him something I owe him.”
His lips twitched. His rat-like eyes got small. Carrie Donner swore. She was wearing her pet negligee.
“You’re a damned liar,” she said calmly and nastily. “You tailed us.”
I nodded. “All right, put it that way,” I said. “I never argue over details. If I’d thought you were going to make a break for it I’d have talked differently, down at the other place.”
Virgie went over and stood beside the chair in which Herb Steiner was seated. She had a sullen expression in her eyes. Herb never took his eyes off mine.
I put my right hand out of sight, pulled over an uncomfortable chair with my left, sat down. My back was to the wall—I faced the three of them. I was nearest the door.
“A hundred thousand—four ways,” I breathed softly. “That’s travel money, eh?”
Virgie sucked in some air and said: “What in hell are you talking about, Mal? It don’t make sense.”
I looked at Herb Steiner. “You dirty little rat,” I said. “Coming with the stuff to my room—over in New York. Trying to plant it on me.”
He stared at me, his body moving a little. I watched his right hand.
“Keep your fingers still!” I warned. “You’ve got pretty hands—I like to look at them.”
He spoke in his woman’s voice. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Ourney. Jeez—I’m telling you straight—”
“He’s bluffing.” Carrie Donner cut in on him. “He’s looking for an excuse—”
There was fear in Virgie’s eyes. She spoke in a shaky voice, breaking in on the redhead.
“Herb’s all right, Mal—I’m telling you—”
I nodded. “You’re telling me that right now,” I said. “But it was different this morning.”
Steiner looked at me. He looked at Virgie Beers. His eyes were narrowed and his woman lips were pressed tightly together. He was beginning to breathe a little heavily.
Carrie said slowly: “That’s a lie, Herb—he’s trying to get you thinking things.”
I nodded. “Bright girl.” I got up and went over close to Steiner. “Sit still—and keep your hands still,” I warned. “Who got word to you, Virgie or Red?”
His long fingers were twisting. He parted his lips in a smile that was forced and unreal.
“Better be careful, Ourney,” he muttered in his thin whisper. “You know I never tried to plant anything on you.”
I got both hands on his throat and jerked him out of the chair. He started to twist. Virgie cried out, and I turned my head.
“Shut up, you damn fool!” I snapped at her. “You’ll have the house dick up here—and then where’ll you be?”
Steiner was pleading with me in a strained, jerking voice.
“Listen, Ourney—for God’s sake—listen—I didn’t frame you—”
I used my arms and shook him. I tightened up the grip on his throat. He squirmed around and started to kick. It didn’t take me more than about five seconds to shake the kick out of him. Then I shoved him into the chair and looked at Virgie. She was smiling at me.
“Give it to him, Carrie!” she said almost pleasantly.
I didn’t look at Carrie. Instead I let my knees buckle, hunched my head forward—dropped. I went down directly in front of the choking Steiner—and he took the slug. The gun in Carrie’s grip pop-coughed; it didn’t crash. Steiner screamed. It was a shrill, high-pitched scream.
I rolled for the foot of the bed—and the second bullet dug into wood, ricocheted off, and slapped into the wall. I got an arm up and grabbed her by the right ankle—she was crouched on the bed. I jerked—and her third bullet went over my head and made a lot of noise somewhere across the room. Then she lost balance, went over the left side of the bed.
I reached her as she was trying to raise the gun for another try. Her fall had stunned her—I grabbed her right wrist, shook it. She let go of the gun, and I kicked it under the bed. It was a real weapon.
I straightened up and turned around. Virgie Beers was leaning up against the wall, still smiling. But there wasn’t anything funny in her smile. And there wasn’t anything funny in her right hand. It was a Colt—and she held it low, the muzzle pointed toward my waistline.
“You dirty double-crosser,” she muttered. “You’ve got it coming!”
I didn’t feel much like rushing her. Carrie had been on a tricky-surfaced bed, and she’d missed her first shot. But Virgie had both feet on the floor—she was ten feet away from me, and she was pretty calm.
“You damn fool,” I said again. “When they get inside this place—”
She laughed nastily. Her eyes went beyond me in a swift glance.
“Get up, Carrie,” she said. “Find that rod and wipe it clean. Come around and look at Herb. See where you bit into him. For Christ’s sake don’t panic—and give them the Ritzy stuff if they bang on the door. Make it fast.”
I smiled at Virgie. “You’re good,” I said simply. “You’re damned good.”
She showed her teeth in a smile I didn’t like. But she didn’t speak. She kept her eyes on mine, and her gun hand was steady. Carrie Donner, breathing heavily, climbed over a bed and got nearer Steiner. He was slumped low in the chair. He looked bad.
Carrie started to sob, and Virgie swore at her. I tried a grin.
“Sure as hell,” I said, “you shot that fence out of things.”
Virgie’s smile went away. She moved her gun a little. It looked something like a Lüger, but it wasn’t. It had a long barrel.
“You shut up,” she said. “I can use a rod!”
Carrie was bending over Steiner. She straightened, turned a white face toward Virgie.
“He’s—alive,” she said. “There’s heartbeats—”
Virgie nodded. “Get over near the door and sing rotten the way you do,” she said. “Talk every once in a while—as though you were talking to me.”
Carrie Donner moved toward the door. She started to sing. Her first few notes were shaky, broken. Then it got better. She was trying hard. She stopped, and called out in a voice that was almost funny.
“—and I came close to buyin’ the chapeau down at Madame Larue’s—”
Virgie laughed. It was pretty good. I thought I heard footfalls out in the corridor.
“That hat was no bargain, dearie,” she called back.
Carrie started to sing again. Virgie looked at me. She pointed to Herb Steiner, pointed to me, pointed toward the closet.
I took the hint, walked over, and picked him up out of the chair. His vest material was ripped, not far above the belt. He was breathing, but not very heavily. His
eyes were closed. There were a lot of finger marks on his throat. I got him into the closet and shut the door. Carrie broke off her singing again.
“I’m going out to see Marie tomorrow,” she announced. “They’ve got a new kid out there.”
Virgie laughed again. She pointed toward the chair from which I’d lifted Steiner. I went over and sat down.
“It’s about time,” she stated. “They haven’t had one for over a year.”
Carrie cut the singing and hummed. She moved back from the door. She went into the bathroom and ran the water, turned it off, started it again.
I tried to keep any expression of admiration out of my eyes, but I had a hunch it showed. The girls were crooks. Maybe they were killers. They had a lot of rotten tricks. But they had guts.
Virgie Beers whistled. She whistled tunelessly, and every few seconds Carrie cut in with a question or went into the bathroom and ran the water. From the corridor it must have sounded all very homey. And if no one had been occupying the rooms on either side of 651 it looked as though the rod hadn’t made much of a racket.
I sat in the chair and tried to figure things out. But my brain wouldn’t do that—not with Virgie sticking close with her rod. After a few minutes I spoke in a low voice.
“He’s got it in the stomach. If you don’t get a doc—he’ll be gone.”
Virgie nodded “The fingerprints on his neck will keep,” she said. “And maybe you’ll be around.”
“I was trying to get you a break, Virgie,” I said. “I tailed him up here—to see how things were going.”
She smiled. The water running in the bathroom covered up our words. Once or twice I thought I heard Carrie Donner sobbing. She was in the bathroom. Virgie smiled with narrowed eyes.
“You saw,” she said. “You tried to frame us, Mal—you tried to frame Carrie and me.”
I widened my eyes. “Ease off with the rod,” I suggested. “It might go off.”
She didn’t ease off with the rod. She narrowed her eyes a little more and swore softly but nastily.
“You tried to frame us, Mal,” she said again.
Green Ice Page 12
