MARTY sought George’s help in arranging a surprise party for Karen on their anniversary. George was enthusiastic. He promised to take care of the list of guests and work out all the details. The date fell on a Saturday night, when the hotel would be busy and the various rooms filled, but they decided to reserve the Bali Room for the purpose. George, however, knew that no woman actually enjoys being surprised, so he tactfully hinted to Karen what was in the offing. She co-operated by never mentioning the approaching anniversary.
Marty could taste success. Everything was going exactly as he wanted.
He bought a present for Karen the day before the party, but also made other purchases. In a hardware store he bought a thin strip of sponge rubber and cut it in half. There was no opportunity to grow a mustache, but in a theatrical supply house he bought the necessary materials to make one artificially. He had used that device before and knew how to put it on and trim it. The timing he had in mind would not allow of a hair dye, so he bought a box of red powder that mannikins often used in fashion shows. He placed all the materials in the bathroom of his hotel suite.
On the morning of the party he went to his rooms on the seventh floor and completed the rest of his preparations. In the closet still hung the double-breasted gray suit Red Martin had worn on the last job. He put it on the bed, with a white shirt and drab tie and the old snap-brim felt hat. He took the old brief case out of the closet and from it extracted a Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum revolver, the most powerful hand arm built. It was a short-barrel type, complete with a silencer he had had made by a machinist. The gun had been picked up from a fence in Chicago, but had never been used. It could not be traced either to Red Martin or to Marty Lee, but Marty intended getting rid of its various parts in San Francisco Bay before the night was over anyway. He loaded it with ammunition and placed it in a top bureau drawer. He re-checked everything carefully. His preparations were complete.
He felt rather oddly exhilarated. For the first time in over a year he was again operating in a field in which he was master. It was a field of angles, each of which he could follow to a logical conclusion and plan for accordingly. He knew Cleaver’s thinking processes and the course he would follow, he was acquainted with Tony’s reactions, and he had a fair idea of how Dotty would think and act. He could balance each well enough to fill in the missing pieces himself.
He was feeling buoyant and keyed up when he went home to the apartment late that afternoon and exchanged presents with Karen. He mentioned casually, “I thought we might dress up and go out tonight. I have to stop by the hotel for a few minutes about eight-thirty, but we can go on from there. Like the idea?”
“Why, yes, Marty. Just we two?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“No reason. Evening clothes?”
“Sure.”
“Very well.”
He followed her out to the terrace, where the butler had placed a tray with everything necessary for a variety of drinks. The terrace, facing east, was in shadow, but the rays of the dying sun were still slanting over some of the downtown buildings. Marty looked out over the city, his city, the city he had tamed, then turned to the tray to mix Martinis. He handed one to Karen, who was lying back in a form-fitting chair, her eyes fixed curiously on his. He looked away, pulled a chair to her side, and sat down with a satisfied sigh. He turned to smile at her, but she was cold and remote. His smile died and the feeling of exhilaration faded away.
She said, “You’re rather lonely, aren’t you?”
“How do you mean?”
She sipped at her drink and looked out over the city, then said, “I’ve been noticing it the past weeks. Sometimes you have a haunted, sort of lost look in your eyes, and at other times you become a little too intense about matters of no importance. I’ve been wondering if I’m being quite fair with you.”
“Cripes, I can give you the answer to that. You aren’t fair at all. This crazy way you’ve been acting — ”
“I don’t mean that. I wonder it it’s fair to you to continue acting as your wife. Perhaps you don’t really want it that way.” She looked into his eyes and asked calmly, “Marty, would you prefer having a divorce?”
He sank tiredly back into the chair and looked blankly into space. “What a hell of a thing to be talking about on our first wedding anniversary.”
“Yes, isn’t it? But that’s what got me thinking about your particular situation. I know the demands of your physical nature and what a terrible strain this must be on you. When you desire, you possess. Preliminaries don’t count. You have the instincts of an animal. And I have no doubt that your desire for me is a powerful one. Not fulfilling it must be terribly frustrating to you.”
“That tops any understatement I’ve ever heard.”
“So I thought. But I’ve been thinking, too, that perhaps you felt this was a passing thing and that in time my attitude would change.”
He shrugged and said, “Well, of course — ”
“I was right, then. Don’t think that way, Marty. For your sake. Any love I may have felt for you came to a dead halt when you tried to shove me around in your hotel rooms as you would any common tramp.”
“I still don’t understand — ”
“You had reduced me to the level of a fishwife. I have never been so ashamed or so mortified.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Yes, I suppose you are, but it doesn’t alter the fact that your attitude at that moment was spontaneous and perfectly natural. It killed everything for me. A person who shoves a woman around has never been my idea of a man. There’s something wrong about you. I saw it first at that time, but I have had occasion to notice it many times since. I don’t love you, Marty, I don’t even feel any sort of affection for you, and it’s obvious to me that I never will.”
Marty sank lower in his chair, her words beating him down.
“And without love,” she continued calmly, “I am incapable of responding physically to any man. It’s simply not my nature. You and I, therefore, as physical mates, are all through, and will definitely remain that way. So I wonder if you would not prefer a divorce.”
Marty asked hoarsely, “How about you?”
She was silent for a moment, sipping thoughtfully at her drink, looking out over the darkening city, then said, “Well, no. Quite aside from the fact that I don’t believe in divorce — that’s a quaintly old-fashioned virtue, isn’t it? — the idea of divorce frightens me. I made one mistake, so I could make another. I could go on and on making one mistake after the other, as most of my friends and acquaintances have done. That’s not only disgusting to me, but sickening. I’d rather not run that risk. I prefer adjusting myself to this situation and living with it.”
“Can you?”
“Yes. I’m probably stronger than you realize. I can make the adjustment. But I wonder if you can, or if you wish to, now that you know exactly how I feel about it.”
Marty thought of his business standing in the city, the big deal brewing with Frank, the backing of the Stannard millions that would always be available to him, and the social position he was enjoying because of Karen. He shook his head. “I don’t want a divorce.”
Karen leaned toward him and looked coldly into his eyes. “You’re quite sure?”
“Yes.”
“No matter how I feel about you?”
“No matter.”
Her lips pulled down as if she had just tasted something sour. “I see. I suppose I should have known that, too. Very well, Marty. You make your adjustments and I’ll make mine. Understand, however, that from this moment on neither of us is responsible to the other. I assure you that I am intelligent enough not to cause you public embarrassment or distress, but, on the other hand, I mean to fill this gap and live my life as I please. So I will tolerate no questioning, no prying, and no interference of any kind. Is that understood?”
Marty nodded. “I — I guess — if that’s the way you want it — ”
She got to her feet and smiled coldly down
at him. “Incidentally, I know of your little party tonight. I thought it best to inform you that one of your guests will be Wayne Howard. I had George invite him. You don’t really mind, do you?”
Marty shook his head.
“I didn’t think you would. Now, shall we dress, darling?”
Marty took his time dressing that evening. He thought of wearing a white tie, but decided against it, as tails were too difficult to get into and out of in a hurry. He chose a double-breasted dinner jacket newly tailored, a wine-red tie, and a shirt with turn-down collar that could be slipped off easily. He would have at least twenty minutes for the changes and the job. That would be sufficient time in his schedule, if all went well.
When he was dressed he wandered about the apartment, appraising the conservative and expensive furnishings and drinking in every detail of the rooms. He realized that his attitude was almost that of a leave-taking and paused to wonder about it. Was his subconscious trying to tell him that something was wrong in his planning? He went over every minute detail, could find no flaws, other than that there was risk in any venture, and decided that he was being foolish.
Karen joined him in the living room, radiant in a white strapless evening gown that followed every beautiful line and curve of her form. He felt a surge of pride at the sight of her beauty, but it turned immediately to bitterness. It was his only to admire, never again to possess. He made an effort to put her out of his mind, at least for that night. His brain had to be cold, clear, and under control. Yet when she suggested more cocktails before leaving he thought it would be good for his nerves and did not hesitate to mix them.
On their way to the hotel, he snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering something and told Karen he had a call to make that could not wait. She pulled the Rolls in to the curb by a large drugstore. Marty went inside and directly to a phone booth. He dialed the number of the Stannard Hotel, placed a piece of tissue loosely over the mouthpiece of the phone, and asked for Tony Arturo’s room. He heaved a sigh of relief when Tony answered. It was the one flaw in his plan, taking a chance that Tony would be in.
“Tony Arturo?”
“Speaking. Who is this?”
Marty smiled as he replied, “This is someone you’ve been wanting to meet.”
“That so?”
“Yeah. This is Red Martin, pal.”
There was a long silence, then Tony said, “How do I know this ain’t some gag?”
“You’ll know. The last time we saw each other you were standing just in front of the door of your office, looking into the muzzle of a shotgun. I think you were wearing a dark brown corduroy jacket and a yellow tie. I was wearing a gray suit. Remember now?”
“Jees! That’s right.”
“Surprised to hear from me?”
“Well, I guess so — yeah. This is really screwy. Seems crazy, but she said it would be tonight.”
Marty’s knuckles turned white as his hand tightened on the phone. “Someone said I would be calling you tonight?”
“No. Not exactly that. She just said this would be the night for the pay-off.”
It was too great a coincidence to be believed. How could Dotty possibly know his plans? Then he began smiling again as he realized what it meant. It was also the reason why she had been stalling with Tony. She had intended lowering the boom on him on his first wedding anniversary. She knew the date, so that had to be it. But it also meant that Tony did not yet know his real identity.
“Who,” he asked, “are you talking about?”
Tony was instantly cagey. “Just a friend. Maybe a mutual acquaintance. Gal I know claims she knows you. Says she could get you to cough up the eighty-five grand you owe me. How about it?”
“What’s her cut?”
“Twenty-five grand.”
“I see. O.K., Tony. That’s why I’m calling. You aren’t pressing me too hard, understand, but it was a mistake knocking you over. So I’m willing to pay off.”
“This ain’t no rib?”
“Look, I’m taking a chance even calling you. The heat’s on and it’s plenty hot.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I’m not about to play around ribbing anyone. Now, get this straight. You stay in your room. I’ll be up there to pay you off sometime between ten and ten-thirty.”
Tony gasped, almost admiringly, “Here in the hotel?”
“That’s right.”
“Listen, Mac. That don’t make sense. Where you’re concerned, this place is really hot. You and your boys knocked it over not too long ago.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Make it somewhere else. How about the Greyhound bus depot?”
“You be in your room. Understand?”
“Well, O.K. It’s your neck.”
“I’m not sticking it out any farther than I have to. You be there. And this gal you mentioned — I want her there, too.”
Tony was suspicious. “Why her? Listen, you can’t pull no rough stuff here.”
“I know that better than you do.”
“Then why her?”
“I’d like a good look at her, that’s all. Maybe I’d also like to tell her what I think of rats in skirts.”
“You can’t pull no rough stuff.”
“Damn it, I know that. But you have her there or there’ll be no pay-off.”
“Jees, I don’t know if she’ll go for it.”
“She’ll go for it, all right. If it’s who I think it is, you couldn’t keep her away.”
“Yeah? Say, I don’t know that I like this deal.”
“You want your dough?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Then do as I say and you’ll get it. Between ten and ten-thirty. One thing more. This is a straight deal. You got sense enough to know I wouldn’t run the risk of contacting you unless I intended paying off.”
He said shrewdly, “Maybe I’d be better off dead?”
“You give me the answers to that one. You’re not in my way, Tony. If you were I wouldn’t be calling you. I wouldn’t give you a chance. In fact, I’ve already had a dozen chances to rub you out, if that’s what I wanted.”
Tony’s voice trembled slightly as he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s so.”
“So don’t go getting any fancy ideas. I’m coming alone. If you have anyone else around except your friend you won’t see me. Not this time. But you’ll get a hole in your head later. We got that settled?”
“Sure, sure.”
“O.K. Be seeing you.”
He hung up and went outside to the Rolls. Karen smiled lightly as he slid onto the seat. “Get your party, darling?”
“Yes.”
“It must have been important.”
“It was.”
“At least, you do have that. You can lose yourself in business.”
When they arrived at the Stannard Hotel they went directly to the Bali Room. Marty was in no mood to continue the pretense of a surprise party, but when Karen saw George and her uncle and a roomful of friends and acquaintances she reacted with the expected degree of amazement, surprise, and pleasure. Marty had to smile wryly at the hypocrisy of the occasion.
The entire room was reserved, a special orchestra had been hired, and the chef outdid himself with the cuisine. Marty thought that perhaps George had gone a little beyond reasonable expense and felt a bit like a Roman emperor presiding over a feast. Most of the guests were the same powerful and influential people who had been at the wedding, but now there was a difference. Marty was no longer an object of curiosity. He had been accepted. Success had made him one of the group. He stepped into the role of host as smoothly as he had put on his dinner jacket. He looked and acted as if he belonged, but never had he felt more of an outsider. Only Karen was capable of restoring his sense of belonging. He tried to smother the nagging sense of frustration he was feeling with the thought that at least he was well on his way toward becoming as powerful as any man in the room. That was some consolation. And perhaps, in time, once he got over the ni
ght’s hurdle — and played his cards right with Karen — it could yet work out all right.
He circulated about the room, talked with George and Frank and Bentley, who was heartily glad to see him, shook hands with the men, and danced with as many of the women as possible. He wanted everyone to think of him as being actively present in the party at all times. But he also made a point of ducking out of the room as often as possible, talking with the help at the service bar and chatting with the headwaiters in the other rooms crowded with Saturday-night guests. They would all remember him as being busily engaged in supervising the running of the hotel, but they would not remember the timing involved. If there was the slightest chance that he would need an alibi later, he could swear that he had never been above the lower floors and dozens of people would confirm it.
His nerves were beginning to tighten, so he returned to his own table for a quick highball. He sat between George and Frank and sipped slowly at his drink to steady himself. Bentley leaned across the table and tried to engage him in conversation, but Marty turned away. George also wanted to talk. Marty got quickly to his feet. There was no time for chatter.
At a few minutes after ten o’clock he left the table and stood in the entrance of the Bali Room to look over the party. Karen was dancing with Wayne Howard and laughing with him about something. The look in her eyes was something that Marty had not seen directed toward him in many months. He clenched his teeth and glanced back at his table. Frank was chewing on a cigar and talking rapidly to Bentley, probably laying the groundwork for the big deal. George’s face was beginning to flush with alcohol, but otherwise he was steady enough. Before the night was over, however, he would be plastered. He had been drinking more heavily than usual since his break-up with Dotty. Everyone else was occupied in eating, drinking, talking, and dancing. The time was perfect.
He started to turn away, then, for a split second, he wavered. No plan was absolutely perfect. It could go wrong. It could blow up in his face and his whole world would crash. But Dotty was blowing it up, anyway. He had to go through with his plan, or face the threat of exposure and certain blackmail the rest of his life.
Deep is the Pit Page 24
