by Robert Colby
“I like a woman with pride,” Tony agreed, though everything he said had an undertone of malice. “One thing I can’t take is a dame who slobbers all over a man. No pride, no guts.” He sat down heavily on the sofa.
Anita prepared to take a seat opposite him but he motioned her imperiously to sit beside him on the sofa. She hesitated, then obeyed, keeping a space between them.
Tony swung to face her, the pretense of semi-drunkenness gone from his manner.
“How was the party?” he inquired, slit-eyed behind the swirl of smoke from the cigarette he was lighting.
“A bore. Terrible bore. Wish I’d chucked it all and gone along with you.”
“Yeah? We had a ball, that’s for sure. You just get in?”
“Not long ago. Couple of hours, I guess. It is late, Tony. What did you want to see me about?”
“In time, in time. Been wanting to talk with you, kiddo. Never have a chance. We should get to know each other better. Might be profitable. You know—fun and profit.”
“It’s been profitable, Tony. You’ve done a lot for me.”
“What about the fun?”
“We’ve had fun, haven’t we?”
“Come off it! You’re not talking to a school kid.”
“Well, I’m not quite as broadminded as some people might like me to be,” she said cautiously.
“I’m always broad-minded,” Tony answered with a low, insinuating chuckle. He moved closer and dropped an arm around her shoulder. With an effort she kept her smile from fading completely.
“You know, I like you, sweetheart,” he continued. “I could find a real soft spot for you—if I could trust you. No work, all play, bundles of cash to buy pretty toys with—if I could trust you. Can I trust you, Anita?”
“Certainly you can, Tony. After all, I have reason to be grateful to you.”
“Yeah? How grateful?” His hand slipped down to cup her breast.
“Not that grateful!” she said, wrenching at his big paw. But his fingers were steel coils tightening, then groping inside her negligée. Suddenly his other hand reached out and pulled the gown free while the fingers lifted until one marvelously conical breast was exposed, dipping gently, then rising to a saucy tip.
Immobilized by shock and an oddly ambivalent mixture of desire and revulsion, she watched as his head bent sharply and she felt the hard, moist press of mouth and tongue encircling her nipple.
Then she struck him across the upturned side of his face with all her might.
For a moment he seemed unaware. Then he lifted his head and said with his savage grin, “That was a mistake, baby, a big mistake.”
He caught her hair and cocked a giant fist to smash her face. For three frightful heartbeats he held the fist poised. Then he laughed harshly and released her.
“As I told you, kiddo, I like a dame with pride. We’ll get along fine.”
“No we won’t,” she snapped, covering herself. “You’d better leave. On your way, Tony. And I mean it!”
Tony moved apart from her slightly, his granite features closed, his remorseless eyes appraising her. “Keep cool,” he said. “I didn’t come for this. I got other things on my mind.”
He plucked his cigarette from a tray and pushed long ribbons of smoke from his nose.
“When Emrick came around today,” he said softly, “what did you tell him?”
Anita was not entirely unprepared. Still, her mind spun for an answer. Did he know? Or was he merely guessing?
“When who came around, Tony?”
“Warren Emrick! Don’t try to snow me, I’m way ahead of you!”
“Warren Emrick? Marian’s husband?”
“It’s a lousy act, baby. It stinks! You tell me the truth and no harm done. Can you help it if he comes hunting for Marian? Just tell me what he wanted, that’s all.”
She hesitated, seconds too long. He read the lie on her face. Anyway, even if he weren’t sure, he would beat it out of her and she wasn’t brave enough to take his kind of brutal punishment. Better to admit just as little as she could and still sound convincing.
“You’re right, Tony. Can I stop him from asking questions? I kept it from you because I didn’t want to be in the middle. It’s none of my business.”
“Yeah, well I’m making it my business, lover-girl. What did he want?”
“Naturally, he wanted to know where he could find Marian.”
Tony aimed his gaze at her. “And you said?”
“I said I didn’t have an idea in the world, that I hadn’t seen her in years, though I did get a letter from her now and then.”
“How’d he track you down?”
“He called Burkholtz Title where Marian and I used to work. They gave him my name as an old friend. One of the girls over there, Alice Zimmerman, told me about it later. He phoned me at Food Thrift and I played dumb. But he didn’t believe me. He flew down from New York and came right over here.”
“But you kept the lid on, huh? You didn’t give him a clue?”
“Of course not. Why should I give Marian away? She’s a friend. We’re all friends, aren’t we?”
“I’ll let you know later. So if you kept your mouth shut, how’d the bastard find my house?”
Anita made a show of surprise. “If he found your house it wasn’t because of anything I told him.”
“You’re a goddamn liar!” Tony growled. Furiously he ground his cigarette in a tray. He rose, standing over here. “Tell me, Anita, how’s Randy gettin’ along these days?”
“Is that supposed to mean something sinister, Tony? He was keeping out of trouble. But I saw him leaving your place a few days ago, Tony. And believe me, I hope it wasn’t business—just a friendly call, as he claims.”
“You want him to stay sweet-smelling, don’t ya?” Tony leaned closer.
“Yes, Tony, that’s what I want. More than anything right now, I want Randy kept free of the wrong influence.”
Tony shoved a finger under her nose. “Don’t gimme that Mother Superior crap! Didn’t I practically bust him outta jail when they were ready to throw away the key?”
“Yes, yes! And he’s married to a sweet girl, making an honest living now. He worships you, Tony. Don’t change him back to what he was.”
“Okay. Then you tell me how Emrick got my address! I checked, you’re the only one could have clued him.”
She peered up at him gravely. “All right. But Tony, how do you expect me to get anything straight while you’re towering over me, nearly scaring me to death? Please sit down until I’m finished. Oh, please, Tony!” She felt the tears brim her eyes.
Tony sat rigidly, like a stone god. “C’mon c’mon, I’m in a hurry!”
“Well, when I wouldn’t admit I knew anything he, Mr. Emrick, started taking the place apart, going through drawers. And he found my address book in the desk over there.”
“You just let him work your place over, huh?”
“Could I stop him? Should I have called the police? You think he’d have let me take two steps toward the phone? And he was watching me, I couldn’t escape.”
“My address was in your book?”
“Yes.”
Tony was silent, his face storming. “So he went to the house and he broke in and stole the money. Then what? What did he do with it?”
“What money, Tony?”
But Tony had really been talking to himself. Again he stood. He began to pace the room. Pausing, he hovered above her. “Where is this Emrick now, huh? He’s got to hole up somewhere. Did he say anything that might give us a lead? He mention some hotel? Think! He had no reason to be afraid of you, so maybe he dropped a hint. What was it? Think, think!”
“Tony—you’re reaching for something that isn’t there. Why should he tell me anything about himself?”
“Because you’re a sharp-lookin’ babe and guys open up to dames like you.”
“I’m sorry, Tony. Nothing.”
“Well, goddamn it, I’ll find the sonofabitch if I have to
call every hotel in town! You got a phone book? Where’s the goddamn phone?”
“Tony, he might be staying with friends, or at a motel—anyplace! Besides, there must be two hundred hotels. Are you going to call them all?”
She was stalling him desperately—he musn’t use the phone because the envelope with Warren’s number was beside it!
“Listen,” said Tony, “you protectin’ this guy? I’ll call a thousand hotels if I have to. Damn right! Now where’s the phone?” His eyes roved the room, he began to move away.
“I’ll show you!” cried Anita, rising quickly, hoping to hide the envelope before he saw it. But he had not waited for directions, he had clumped down the little hall to find the phone himself.
He was gone too long. When he came back with the envelope in his hand, she felt as if all the blood were leaving her body, being sucked away in a vacuum of fear. Jumbled, fragmentary explanations hurtled unprocessed through her mind. Her brain was a crazy teletype out of control, sending a word-jam of bulletins.
“What’s this!” Tony snarled, waving the envelope in her face. “Gold Coast Hotel, it says, and a number. Maybe Warren Emrick, eh? He told you to call him, didn’t he? You’re in with that bastard!”
Again he caught her hair. He yanked her head back and brought his eyes within inches of hers. “Anita, this is Tony Viani. Don’t cross me, baby. You do and you’ll have a very bad accident. You do and I’ll crucify your brother. I’ll drop him into a sewer he’ll never climb out of. I’ll drown him in trouble. I got him out and I can put him back in—for keeps! So you play it smart, baby. Now what’s this number you got here, Gold Coast Hotel?”
All this time she had been searching frantically, the mad scramble of her thoughts at last offering up one sane deception.
“Tony, you never gave me time to explain. That number is meaningless to you. A man came into our office to see Mr. Carling, the General Manager—he’s my boss. We got to talking and this guy said he was one of the owners of the Gold Coast. He asked me if I’d like a job as a hostess there. I said I wasn’t interested, but this man insisted I take his number. That’s all there is to it, Tony.”
Thank God, she thought, I didn’t put Warren’s name on that envelope!
Tony’s eyes were evil microscopes, examining her, probing for the lie. But at last, he let her go. He dropped the envelope at her feet and crossed to the door.
He turned. “You think I’d take your word for it? I dialed that number right off, checked with the hotel. No Warren Emrick. But he could have been using a phony name. If you hear from Emrick, you find out where he is, con it out of him. Then you get hold of me on the double. Understand?”
“Sure, Tony. I’ll call you right away.”
“So long, baby. For the time being, you still got a friend.”
He went out.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Warren Emrick had arrived just about the time Tony began to shout his threats. With an ear pressed to Anita’s door it was not difficult to follow at least the implications of the conversation. In those last moments, when it was clear that Tony was leaving, Warren ducked down the hall, out of sight.
From his concealment, Warren was able to glimpse Tony’s broad retreating back. He was impressed with Tony’s muscular bulk. He had the massive hardness and arrogant physical grace of a fighter.
Warren was a man accustomed to sizing up an opponent at a glance. He was not dismayed. Tony had more girth and weight but they were of equal height, and big apes fell just as surely as puny weaklings. If you understood that, given a reasonable equality of stature, skill, not size, determined the outcome. Yet Tony was governed by the laws of the jungle. He would obey only one set of rules—his own.
Warren gained the street by the back stairs just in time to see Tony fold himself into the Cadillac and pull away.
Warren quickly got the rented Chevy in motion and followed at a discreet distance. Traffic was light at the hour and it was necessary to remain well behind.
Warren did not want Viani to observe his tail. Not yet, not while Tony could be certain that he had picked up his shadow at Anita Wymer’s apartment house. There should not be a definite connection which would endanger Anita.
To insure against the possibility, Warren followed distantly until he was quite positive that Viani was returning home. Then he raced over another route toward the toll gates of Biscayne Key. Tony could not reach the Key without taking the toll road. And since Viani was driving at a normal pace, with any luck at all Warren should arrive first.
He was, in fact, a good three minutes ahead. When the Cadillac passed through the gate Warren was waiting a quarter mile beyond, hidden amongst the palms at the edge of the bay.
The moment the Cadillac whirled past, Warren flipped on his lights and overtook Viani rapidly. For two miles he glued himself to Viani’s tail. When the Cadillac picked up speed, he closed the distance. When it slowed, he slowed. When it turned, he turned.
Viani got the drift. He gunned forward and braked suddenly. Then he adjusted the rear-view mirror for a better look. Once, he swung his big head around to glare challengingly into the hard beam of Warren’s lights.
At last Viani veered from the main road and entered one of the dark, deserted parking lots behind a public beach. Grinning, Warren followed. As expected, Tony had led him to the logical, the perfect arena.
The Cadillac cut sharply left and sailed down one of the parking aisles, halting abruptly near the moon-gold rim of the beach. Its lights flared briefly, whitewashing the sand, creating palm trees from shadows, giving substance to tables and benches, charcoal grills, rest rooms and food stands. Then the lights went off and there was only a black abyss.
Warren approached swiftly, before Tony could take advantage of a hiding place. The Chevy beams caught Tony alighting, moving around the Cadillac to put metal between them. But at the last second Warren swerved neatly to the side of the big sedan where Tony had taken cover. Pinning him with the headlights as he braked, Warren grabbed the stubby.38 revolver which he had placed on the seat beside him and extended it out the window at Viani.
Tony was leaning against the door of his car, one hand in his pocket, a look of wary insolence carved on his face.
“Hold it right there, Viani! Bring that gun out of your pocket by the barrel—nice and slow, like a smart boy—then heave it over here.”
Tony did not seem very disturbed. His hand remained in his pocket. Softly he asked, “Who are you, buddy? Cop? You got credentials, bring ’em here and I’ll let you have the iron.”
“You want credentials, I’ll send you six of them right out of the barrel of this thirty-eight. Now cut the crap and toss that gun over here just the way I told you!”
Tony’s hand fumbled inside the pocket, the barrel of a blue-steel automatic appeared slowly. Tony gave the gun a disdainful toss and it landed with a metallic thud beside the Chevy. Warren got out of the car cautiously, retrieved the gun, held it in his other hand.
“You’re lucky, wise guy,” said Tony. “I thought you were a cop just makin’ a little pinch or I woulda plugged you before. Lights blinded me so I couldn’t tell.”
“What makes you think I’m not a cop, Tony-boy?”
“Where’s the radio rig on that wagon? You don’t smell like cop, either. You stink like a small-time punk. Now what you want—dough? I got a little roll here you can borrow ’til I catch up with you. Take it and get lost while you can still hide behind those cannons.”
“Would you like to know who I am, Tony?”
“Suit yourself. I’ll find out sooner or later. I’m gonna hunt you down and take you apart in sections, Buster.”
“We’re old friends, Tony-boy. I’m Warren Emrick.”
Tony leaned forward, squinting against the glare. He began to chuckle, though it sounded more like growling.
“Now that takes real nerve, bastard. You steal the whole bundle, then you come lookin’ for me.” He took a step forward and the grin on his face could only b
e described as weird. “Well, you got about ten seconds to blast me before I take those toys away and ram ’em up your nose!”
Warren backed off to a grassy palm-strewn patch that bordered the beach. He beckoned, but Viani was already moving toward him slowly.
“You want these guns, Tony? It’s easy. All you got to do now is come and get ’em. C’mon, Tony-boy. Show me what a big, brave, wife-stealing sonofabitch you are!”
“Jesus God,” Viani sneered. “This is gonna be the most fun I ever had in my whole life!”
He came on easily with the weird grin painted across his face; long arms dangling at his sides, mocking the need of defense; a great jagged rock of a man looming up in the pale moonlight.
Warren wasn’t there when that knotty club of a fist came hurtling up to cave in his face. He danced lightly to one side and explored Tony’s bone-hard profile with two sharp piston jabs that rocked his head and threw him off balance. Warren followed with a body-powered right that crashed solidly against the side of Viani’s jaw, gouging flesh and chipping bone, drawing the first blood.
Viani staggered, recovered without a sound of complaint. But when he swung about, there was new respect in his protective stance. Crouching, he stepped in cautiously, ducked a left and plunged a heaving right into Warren’s middle. As Warren bent in pain, Tony quickly grasped him behind the head, yanked down and tried to crush Warren’s face on his lifting sledge of a knee.
It was an old trick and Warren saved himself by a mighty side-thrust of his body, at the same time elbowing Tony in the mouth.
Tony snarled in anger and, when Warren came about, aimed a terrible kick to his groin. Warren bent out of range, caught the foot at chest level and twisted until Tony fell awkwardly to the ground.
He stood over Tony; the temptation to boot his head like a football was almost unbearable.
“Get up, get up, you sneaky bastard! Or I’ll step on your face and squash you like a greasy bug!”
Tony crouched to rise, then dived at Warren’s legs. Warren fell hard, with Tony swarming all over him. He saw Tony’s fist pile-driving downward at his face. He shifted his head, but not fast enough. The blow hammered his brow thunderously, then glanced off.
