Win Some, Lose Some ms-69

by Brett Halliday

  Werner had trouble making the key work, and before he could get back in the car, the Lab’s owner, a middle-aged woman with her hair in curlers, came out of the shadows.

  “Alice! Don’t do that. You baaaad dog.”

  The dog leaped on Werner and tried to lick him, glad to find a playmate this late at night. Her mistress scolded her, but so lovingly that she continued to sniff at Werner and slaver on his pants. Werner batted the wet muzzle away.

  “Alice, the man doesn’t like that. Stop it this minute.” The woman pounced and, captured the leash. “That’s a cute bumper sticker,” she said, backing off. “Welcome to Hialeah. I didn’t know this place had been rented. It’s been empty for weeks.”

  “Yeah, well,” Werner said, trying to conceal how badly the dog had rattled him. “It’s a little far out, but one of the nice things, you can keep a dog. That’s a Lab, isn’t it?”

  She said it was, a damn rambunctious one, only a puppy still. Werner said “Well-” again, and backed into the car. Had she noticed the man on the back seat? Maybe, maybe not. He might, of course, be sleeping or drunk.

  “Jesus,” Werner said when the garage door was down. “What was that crack about a bumper sticker?” He went behind the car and read: “Mafia Staff Car, Keep Ya Mitts Off.”

  “She’ll remember that,” Pam said.

  “Now why will she? Nobody’s going to hear about this except the people who pay us the money. She won’t even know a crime has been committed.”

  Pam closed with him hard. He felt the gun in her waistband between them and the strange ridges of overlapping cloth under the sweat shirt.

  “O.K.,” he said, rubbing her shoulder. “Everything’s under control.”

  She whispered, “Werner, let’s walk away. It isn’t our kind of thing. It can’t work for us. Something bad is bound to happen, I feel it.”

  He pulled back. “Old man Downey wouldn’t like that.”

  “He said there wouldn’t be any shooting. He was wrong, wasn’t he? I don’t trust him. Let’s take the car and leave it somewhere. Keep ya mitts off. That’s good advice.”

  He held her so she had to look at him. “You don’t mean it.”

  “I do. I do. Let’s get out of this town before we turn into Downey.”

  “No chance. But if you want to walk out, go ahead and walk. We’ll go halves instead of thirds. I’m looking forward to having some money for a change. The hard part is over.”

  He tipped the Volkswagen seat and began working Maye out. She watched for a moment, then came to help. A dead weight, Maye was hard to manage. They dragged him into the kitchen and on to the back bedroom. There was a mattress here, another in the second bedroom, two folding chairs and a card table in the living room. Maye was breathing harshly, his mouth open. There was a reddish bulge on his forehead where Downey had clubbed him with his gun. Werner tore off a strip of adhesive tape and taped his mouth, then his wrists and ankles.

  “He won’t feel so hot when he wakes up, but he’ll be glad to find out he’s still alive. A little poorer, that’s all.”

  When they moved the furniture in, Werner had installed a hasp and staple on the door of this bedroom. He secured it with a padlock.

  “Now for a drink,” Pam said grimly.

  “I still have to drive into town and mail the letter. But save some for me, please. And this may be the time to tell you about a small variation.”

  They had brought sandwiches and a bottle of scotch. Pam tried to open the bottle, but her fingers were trembling too badly. Werner opened it for her and poured some into a plastic glass. She drank it in two pulls, standing, filled the glass again, and sat down at the folding table.

  “What kind of a variation? Jack won’t like it unless you cleared it with him.”

  “Jack is the point, and I didn’t clear it with him.”

  The envelope addressed to Maye’s wife was ready to go, but unsealed. Werner was going to post it in the box in front of the main post office, all the way downtown on Fourth Street. It carried a special-handling stamp and would be delivered in the morning. Werner took out the letter and gave it to Pam.

  She looked up after a moment. “It says seven o’clock instead of eight.”

  “Remember the story of the Three Little Pigs? The smart little pig made a date with the wolf to pick apples in the morning, and he showed up an hour early. Jack’s a professional wolf. Every now and then, I catch a faint glint. Maybe he thinks he can eat us for breakfast. Maybe he begins to wonder if three-thirds might be a rounder figure than one-third. Haven’t you seen some of that?”

  “Werner,” she said pleadingly, “why don’t we call it off?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” He took the letter back, refolded it carefully, and licked the envelope. “He has a gun, and we both have guns, but that doesn’t make us equal. Neither one of us is a gun person. So we’ve got to look dumb and stay a step ahead of him. When we sit down at eight to count the money, I want our two-thirds to be somewhere else. That way we have a chance of hanging onto it.”

  She was staring at him. “I thought for a minute you were going to do him out of his third.”

  “Too risky. I’m willing to live up to the deal. I just don’t want to get screwed.”

  After a moment, she laughed. “They say a crisis brings out a person’s real character. This is a crisis, and maybe this is your true character.”

  She leaned across, took his face in both hands, gave it a quick shake, and kissed him hard on the mouth.

  Chapter 4

  Downey came clumping in, throwing off waves of competence and sexual authority. A man who had been around a long time, who wouldn’t panic or choke when trouble started. Pam had been bolting her drinks. She was no longer in awe of anybody. Wherever the river took her was where she would go.

  Downey jerked his head toward the locked bedroom. “O.K.?”

  “Sleeping like an infant,” Pam said. “Going up in value every minute.”

  “Listen, I said tack on another twenty-five,” Downey said. “No, that’d be bush. Stick with what we decided, one and a quarter. We know we can get that. Let’s see the envelope.”

  A muscle jerked over Werner’s eye, but he gave Downey the envelope, and Downey checked it for zip code and postage.

  “We got a winner here,” he said. “Drive careful.” After Werner left, Downey poured himself a drink and reached down to check the shape of Pam’s breasts under the sweat shirt.

  “Real tits again, that’s better. I don’t know who you thought you were fooling. You still looked female to me.” He looked at his watch. “I want to get laid.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said without moving.

  “No kidding. This is the time of night I get my second wind.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Come on. Big event there in the garage. Now I’m going to pay you off.” He ran his hand along the edge of her shoulder blade. “You are so damn thin. I don’t know why I don’t end up with cuts all over. Move, will you? We don’t have all night.”

  She fumbled with him for a moment, but she couldn’t do it like this. She couldn’t switch off one thing and switch on another one second later. His clothes smelled of dirt and sweat and his foul cigars. “No.”

  “No?” he repeated.

  “Jack, I don’t feel like it right now.”

  “I don’t like to stop once I get started. It makes me feel, I don’t know, jumpy.”

  “I don’t want to! It’s the wrong time, and look at this place. I feel a little sick.”

  “You’ll get over that. You can lie still if you want to, but I’ll give five to three I can get you moving.”

  Pam was revolted by the idea. She tasted whiskey at the back of her throat. Downey took off his pants. He needed a shave, and God, did he need a shower! His hands were filthy. The mattress was ripped and stained. And a lot more was involved than esthetics. She knew it was important not to submit.

  “Jack, sit down. We both deserve another drink.
Talk about it.”

  “Fuck that. If you want to talk, talk about it after.” He ate rotten food, fried stuff and cheap hamburgers. He got all his exercise behind the wheel of his car. His ass was too fat. His legs were stumpy.

  When he reached for her sweat shirt to pull it off, she said, “You really are a crude monster, Jack. Hasn’t anybody ever told you some times are better than others?”

  “Too often,” he said thickly.

  He ripped the sweat shirt over her head, balled it, and threw it across the room. His face changed as the blood flooded into it. The flesh contracted around his eyes. He looked dangerous all at once.

  “All right,” she said hastily. “But in theory, sex is a two-person thing-the man’s not supposed to have fun if the woman’s not having any.”

  “Who said you won’t have any?”

  He left on his shirt and socks. He was naked in the places where it was important to be naked. She spread her clothes on the mattress and lay down. She knew it would be prudent not to ask Downey to wash. This was one of the most completely unpleasant things that had ever happened to her. He was in less of a hurry now that he had carried his point. He finished his drink, standing.

  “That fag,” he said, meaning Werner. “He damn near let Eddie get away from him. Somebody who handles money, you can’t ever be sure he won’t have a gun. But if I’d said there was a chance, Werner would be peeing his pants in there. Be with you in a minute,” he added, pouring more scotch.

  “Don’t feel you have to rush.”

  A slight breeze was blowing through the open window. Pam was sweating, and the same time she was ice cold. He was a meat-and-potatoes man, Downey. He didn’t go in for anything fancy. The first time had been hard, brutal, sudden, and she had responded with a kind of brutality of her own. It had surprised her. Then it had been much less good. He telescoped the preliminaries; he believed he was doing her enough of a favor by being big enough for the entry. It had been a relief to be back with Werner. When Werner liked something, he liked to linger over it. He had real skill and sensitivity. They had reached some astonishing highs. And yet when she dreamed or daydreamed, it was about Downey lately. He had the sureness and strength that Pam lacked and needed.

  He came down to the mattress and was soon inside her. His unshaven face ground and scraped against hers. He pounded hard, and at the end she was struggling and gasping.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” he said, withdrawing.

  “Of all the smug bastards-”

  Downey grinned. Smug was the word.

  “I never had any complaints. If they complain, they know I’ll push their face in.”

  “You big strong complacent men.”

  “And there’s something to be said for experience, too, you know. I’ve been doing this for quite a number of years.”

  She would have liked to puncture that conceit by telling him that the reason she had been out of breath was that he had rammed it out of her. She hadn’t felt a thing. She stifled the impulse.

  He buckled himself into his harness and poured more scotch. He wasn’t quite smiling, but there was something different about him.

  “You think I’m a slob, don’t you? You and your long-fingernailed boy friend.”

  “Slob is a bit strong. I was just thinking you remind me of Humphrey Bogart.”

  “Who?”

  “Bogart. He made a million movies. Short legs like you. He looked funny in a bathing suit, but he was very popular in his day.”

  “I look funny with no clothes on, is that the message?”

  She came up on her elbows. “You wanted to get laid. You got laid. Of course you’re a bit of a slob, for Christ’s sake. That’s part of your charm.”

  “You don’t surprise me a bit, you know that? Now I want to take a look at Eddie.”

  “Don’t worry, he’s taped up. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “For laughs.”

  A tag attached to the padlock gave the combination. The unconscious loan shark lay on his side as they had left him, forcing the air in and out through his nose, having bad dreams.

  “Eddie, you prick,” Downey said with loathing. “Any towels in the bathroom?”

  “A couple, why?”

  “Bring them.”

  When she came back, he was fitting a small metal nub to the barrel of his pistol.

  “What’s that?”

  “You ask too many fucking questions.”

  He folded one of the towels the long way and wound it around Maye’s forehead, putting the other folded towel underneath like a pillow. Pam’s mind was working slowly after all the scotch. She didn’t understand what was happening until Downey picked his gun off the mattress, pointed it at Maye’s head, and fired.

  It made a snick, not a bang. The body jerked.

  Pam seized Downey’s shoulder, yelling, “What are you-”

  Maye was obviously already dead. His body had arched, and he was lying on his taped wrists. The towel had slipped over his eyes and was already beginning to redden.

  “Damn you, you killed him, what did you do that for?”

  Downey unscrewed the silencer so he could put his pistol away. She shook his arm and threw it away from her so hard that he had to stagger to keep his balance. She couldn’t believe it had happened. Everything was much brighter, in sharper focus, as though the overhead bulb had gone from fifty watts to two hundred.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Downey told her.

  “Don’t worry about it! Don’t worry about it! You killed him!”

  She came at him again. He lifted an elbow hard against her breast. The pain cleared her head, and the light in the room returned to normal. She forced herself to look at the dead man, as though hoping he could give her an explanation.

  “What are you going to do, bawl?” Downey demanded. “That cock-sucker is a pure Mafia Shylock. Do you know what those people do? If I told you, you’d hold the tears, believe me. They’re one hundred percent bad. No redeeming features. Shoot one of them in the head, you’re doing a service. Aah-have a drink. We’ve got to talk before the kid gets back.”

  Her cheekbones ached, and she could feel needlepoints of pain against her eyelids. She covered her face and continued to stand there helplessly until he turned her and forced her out of the room.

  “Now I don’t want a lot of Goddamn argument. I was going to tell you first, but what’s the percentage? You notice I didn’t call for a vote. This saves a lot of conversation. It’s the only way to get any real money, so for God’s sake have a drink and listen.”

  He pushed her into the chair and splashed scotch into her glass.

  “Now drink it, do you want me to pour it in with a funnel? Is that the first stiff you ever saw? You act like it. When you shoot them in the head from six inches they get dead-that’s the rule. Think back a half hour. He had a gun, he was trying to kill you. And if I hadn’t been there, he would have. And you’re crying?”

  She tried to say something. All she could manage was, “In cold blood-”

  “Cold blood, hot blood, what difference? He’s dead, and I’ll tell you why I did it if you’ll do me the courtesy of listening. Do you think this hasn’t crossed my mind dozens of times? You saw one little write-up in a New York paper. Hell, this is happening all over. It’s like an epidemic. But you really must be out of your fucking mind if you think I’d take that kind of risk for a piddling forty-one grand.”

  “The whole idea was that it had to be small.”

  “That was Wernie-boy’s idea, not mine. Look at the stakes here. You stand to lose however many years they decide to give you. I lose that plus my investment in the pension. So I want a big man, and I want big money.”

  “Who?”

  “O.K., now you’re asking the right questions. As long as you realize you’re not the prosecuting attorney, you’re a co-defendant. I didn’t pull that trigger all by myself, you helped.”

  When she started to protest, he said roughly, “That’s the law. It’s called
conspiracy. You brought me the towels. We’re all in the kidnapping, we’re all in the killing.”

  “I’m going to be sick.”

  “No time. Get used to the idea-you can’t take the bullet out of his head and put it back in the gun. The cock-sucker’s dead, so what do we do now? We move on. I want you to get yourself together so you can explain it to Werner. He’s such a daisy, who knows how he’ll react? You’re tough, kid. You’re going to be fine. Because what we’re shooting for here is a million bucks, one third of a million apiece. How does it sound?”

  She touched the glass to her lips and tossed it back. “Larger.” She could feel some of the pounding start to subside.

  “That’s my little girl,” Downey said with satisfaction, sitting down. “It sounds a lot larger. We’re going for the top, Big Larry Canada. He’s number one on the charts, and if one-twenty-five was right for Eddie Maye, an even million is right for Larry. When you were hinting around about was I open to a proposition, that night you did it with your mouth, I almost busted out laughing. Honey, I’ve been looking and looking for a couple of birds like you. You’re such virgins, nobody would have the least idea. You’re going to be out in front, and I’ll give odds they’ll put me in charge of the investigation. How can we miss?”

  “Why did you have to-”

  “Stomp on Eddie? Shit, think about it. The bad thing about amateurs is how far can you trust them. This way, you stay in line because you’ve got to. The only plea you can cop is second-degree, and that carries a twenty-year ticket. No way you can start worrying and back out when I need you.”

  “But that’s not all.”

  “Baby, I love you. The old brain is beginning to squirm. This way, Larry and his people will know we mean it. Eddie got cute and tried to escape so we put him out of his misery, and we’ll do the same with whoever. I mean, we aren’t fooling around. They’ll have to buy it, and Larry will be very, very cooperative, is my forecast for today.”

  “But will Werner buy it? If you thought I freaked out, wait till you see him.”