by P. N. Elrod
“No.”
Well, it was really too much to hope for, but I did have to ask. As she opened the door we had a little dance routine when she tried to slip in and slam it in my face. I was wise to that and sidestepped her. She looked pretty annoyed, but I was used to that by now.
The room was a cut above the rest of the joint. The furnishings weren’t new, but not nearly junkyard leavings yet, and it looked like someone had cleaned it within the last week. It was a suite, or what passed for a suite at the turn of the century; it was small, but we had a sitting room with sofa, chairs, tables, radio, even a phone. Striped curtains covered the windows. I took a quick tour of the bedroom and found all the necessaries, including its own private bath. Very cozy. Once upon a time this must have been the place for honeymoons. It still wasn’t that bad except for the noisy neighbors. I could hear several of them through the thin walls making a night of it—or a quarter hour of it, anyway.
“Get out of here,” Opal stated, holding the door open.
“Not yet. I have to talk with Angela, and that hasn’t changed. The fastest way you can get rid of me is to call her.” I nodded at the phone, making an “after you” gesture.
She shut her mouth hard, thinking things over. “It’s not right having a strange man in my room.”
“Honey, in this place strange men in the room is normal.”
“Not for me.”
“I get the idea, but you don’t need to worry about my harboring designs on your virtue. All I want is to finish my business with Angela and then you’ll never see me again, promise.”
She didn’t look like she believed me. I thought about giving her a little mental push, but she saved me the trouble and closed the door. Nearly closed it. She left it ajar a few inches, probably so she could scream for help if she felt the need. Not that anyone here would bother to come running.
I got well out of the way so she could get to the phone. She dialed a number and waited, biting her thin lower lip. I could hear the faint ringing on the line, but no one answered. She waited a full two minutes before giving up, then looked at her watch.
“I’ll try again in a little while.”
“Okay,” I said, dropping into a chair. “Want to call room service and order champagne and sandwiches?”
“Stop making fun of me, I know this place doesn’t have room service.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you, Opal, that was a joke.”
“Oh.”
“It wasn’t much of one,” I admitted.
“I don’t like jokes.”
“Maybe I don’t tell them so good.” The radio was within reach. I turned it on and waited for the tubes to warm up. “You like music?”
“Sometimes.”
No music just then, but I found some comedy show, to judge by the laughter. She didn’t crack a single smile through the whole thing. It was painful to watch. Any other time I’d have left the radio off and toughed it out, but the moans, grunts, and squeaking bedsprings I was picking up all around us were distracting. Everyone in the joint was having a good time but me. And possibly Opal. I was sure her idea of a good time had to do with a balanced ledger sheet.
The radio-audience laughs died away, and after a cold-remedy ad the announcer introduced a band that did a catchy number I’d not heard before. That was saying a lot considering how much time I spent with Bobbi; she knew all the new music.
“Ever go dancing?” I asked.
Opal stared like I’d sprouted a new nose. “No, I haven’t.”
“Should try it sometime.”
“I don’t know how.”
“That’s easy enough to fix. Why don’t you let me teach you the fox-trot while we wait?”
“No.”
I hadn’t expected her to give any other answer, but there was no harm in trying. “Then what do you do for fun?”
“Fun?”
“When you’re not doing numbers and playing with the books, what do you do?”
“I read.”
“So do I. What kind of books you like?”
She shrugged, bored with the conversation.
“I like magazine stories myself, stuff like The Shadow. You ever hear his show? It’s pretty good.”
No comment to that one. She looked at her watch and dialed the phone again. This time she waited at least three minutes before giving up.
“Nobody home, huh? Where you trying to call? Maybe I could drive you there.”
“I do what I’m told.”
“In other words, you don’t know.”
“I’m not stupid!” she shrilled, startling me.
“Whoa, I didn’t say that.” I must have hit some sensitive phrase she’d heard too many times before. “Of course you’re not. Anyone says otherwise and I’ll punch ’em for you.”
She snorted. More disbelief, but she settled down a bit. “What’s your name?”
“I thought I told you the other night.”
“I forgot it. I’m not stupid, I just forgot.”
“That’s okay. I’m Jack Fleming. You do remember the car ride?”
“The one that made me throw up? I remember.”
“Uh, well, sorry about that. I didn’t intend any harm.”
“Yes, you did. You’re mean.”
From her point of view I was exactly that and beyond redemption. “If I’m so mean, how is it you can work for someone like Vaughn Kyler and now Angela? They gotta have me beat six ways to Sunday.”
Opal continued to stare at me like I was a particularly ugly bug.
“You must know what’s going on, the kinds of things she does. She kills people. Those were hand grenades she was throwing last night, not rice at a wedding. Why are you mixing yourself up with this crowd? Sure, the money’s good, but there’s another side to think about. It could get you killed.”
Opal swallowed, brows down with concentration as she struggled to release an answer. “She . . . she . . . ”
“She what?”
“Angela respects me.”
I traded stares with her. “Respects you?”
A lift of her chin. Defiance. “Yes. And so did Vaughn.”
It made sense. Opal probably didn’t get a whole lot of regard, high or low, from most people. My guess was, if not for her weird talent with numbers, she’d be nothing much to anyone, which was a damn sorry state to be in. Even with her talent, she was more likely to be viewed as some kind of a freak rather than as a person with feelings. Having someone’s respect, even if that someone was Angela Paco, would make for a very strong loyalty.
“Respect is a good thing, but what happens to you if Angela goes out of business?”
“She won’t, business is good.”
“Other people think so, too, they want to take it away from her.”
“Like Sean Sullivan?”
“So you know about him?”
“I heard them talking. I met him once when I was with Vaughn.”
“What was he like?”
“A jerk.”
“You know he’s going to try taking over Angela’s territory?”
“They won’t let him.”
“It could happen. The mugs here won’t want to work for a girl, even if she is Big Frankie Paco’s kid.”
“She’s just filling in until he’s better.”
“They won’t believe that story for long, and when she runs out of payoff money, the whole setup will come apart.”
“She won’t. The daily receipts give her plenty to work with. Then Vaughn had a big packet of cash hidden away.”
“He did? How much?”
“About seven hundred thousand. He didn’t let me count it exactly, but that’s my estimate based on the subtractions he had me—”
“Seven hundred thou—” That’s as far as I got; the air rushed out of my lungs. “Good God in heaven. Where is it?”
“Someplace safe.” She was pretty smug, which I took to mean she knew exactly where.
“How’d he get so much together without
his bosses finding out?” With that kind of money I could figure he had to keep it very quiet. The mobs didn’t mind taking from other people, but thieves within the organization were just begging for an early funeral.
“He had me fix it for him in the books. I did a good job.”
“I’m sure, but it’s not something you want to talk about to just anyone.”
“Doesn’t matter. Angela’s going to get it soon.”
“You’re turning it all over to her?”
“It’s not mine.”
“But you helped Kyler steal it. If the boys in New York find out what you’ve done, they’ll kill you.”
“I was just doing what I was told, why should they?”
“They shoot cookie-baking grannies just for the hell of it, Opal. If I’d been one of Sullivan’s men, you’d be scragged right now.”
“No I wouldn’t. You’d want to find the money first.”
“Which wouldn’t be too hard. They know how to hurt people and they would hurt you to make you tell.”
Her face darkened. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“It ain’t gonna go away just because you don’t like the subject.”
She crossed her arms and stared at the floor, mouth set.
I shrugged. “Right, have it your way, but do yourself a favor, Opal, and don’t mention that money to anyone else. Not even to Angela’s lieutenants, one of them might start to get big ideas and then you’ll all be in the soup. You got that?”
She finally glanced up. “I got it.”
While we were looking at each other I did a little hypnotic push on her and waited until her face went blank. “Where is the money hidden?”
“At the roadhouse,” she said with hardly a blink.
“The one where Kyler died?”
“Yes.”
“And Angela’s not gotten to it yet?”
“No.”
Well, glory hallelujah. I just found something that I wanted more than Kyler’s used Caddie.
“Where in the roadhouse?” I asked.
“Basement. Behind a panel in the wall.”
“How about you draw me a picture of what to look for?”
“All right.”
I fished out my notebook and gave her a pencil. She went to work and soon had a fairly clear sketch I thought I could follow. When she’d finished I went back to my side of the room, tucked the book away, and told her to forget about the artwork. She went back to stewing and glaring at the telephone, and I shut my eyes and let the numbers for seven hundred thousand float across my brain.
What an awful lot of zeros.
Sure, I could do the honorable thing and disdain all that dirty, ill-gotten cash, but I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t at least learn more about it. What went through my mind was that in reality I didn’t stand a chance in hell of getting it, but the mere thought of it was very much of the mouthwatering kind, and I might as well pursue it as sit here and twiddle my thumbs waiting. With that kind of money I wouldn’t have to wait for a magazine to buy my stories, I could get myself a whole frigging publishing house of my own.
Or I could buy my own nightclub and make Bobbi the permanent headliner if she wanted.
Or put my parents—my whole family—on easy street for life.
Or . . . a hundred other quite wonderful things.
Of course, there’d be hell to pay with the taxes, but I could think of some way to smooth it over. Or pay someone to do it for me.
That was how I spent the next half hour as Opal kept trying the phone over and over again. Very pleasant stuff, if on the daydream side. Maybe I’d get the cash, maybe not. It wasn’t exactly real to me and probably wouldn’t be until I actually had it in my hands. And that couldn’t happen until I got things wound up with Angela tonight.
“Try again,” I said to Opal after another wait.
Until now I’d been Mr. Patience himself, but after her initial surprise wore off, she dialed. Another full minute of ringing and the start of the next.
Then someone picked up the other end. I heard their faint hello.
Opal sat up straight, identified herself, and asked for Angela. A pause and she had the boss lady herself. “I’m at the hotel like you said, but that man Jack Fleming is here with me. He wouldn’t go away. What do I do?”
5
GOOD thing for me that I didn’t mind having Angela wise on where I’d gotten to; in fact, I wanted her to know I was keeping Opal company. Then she might be more inclined toward setting up another face-to-face talk, and I could put this whole circus to bed in a few hours and go back to my typewriter.
I shut off the radio to better hear the other side of the conversation, but apparently Angela was as fast at giving orders as she was at making escapes. When I turned again it was to find Opal in the process of drawing a gun out of her purse. She aimed it square at me, one-handed, as she held the receiver in the other. My own hands slightly raised with the palms out, I tensed and waited to see if she was going to shoot. A dozen of her fast heartbeats went by with neither of us moving or blinking.
“You know how to use that?” I finally asked. It was a short-barreled .22 revolver, apparently double action since she didn’t bother to cock it, one of the easiest guns in the world to use. Just aim in the right direction and pull the trigger like kids do when they play cops and robbers; it wouldn’t have much of a kick and the balloon-popping noise of the shot would go unnoticed or ignored in this kind of joint. The bullet might not even go through the walls.
“Angela taught me,” she said.
Opal had enough confidence in her manner to make me think twice about trying any quick moves. I could go invisible and get the drop on her, but decided to let things play themselves out. If she was going to shoot me, she’d have done so by now.
“I’ve got him,” she said into the phone.
“Okay, put him on,” said Angela, her voice thin through the wires. “Don’t let him get close enough to make a grab.”
Opal set the receiver down, backed off a few paces, and told me to pick it up. Too bad Angela hadn’t told her to search me; I’d lifted a .38 off Tinny at the house and tucked it into my coat pocket just in case things got hot tonight, but didn’t see much advantage to it right now. Besides, I was beginning to like Opal in spite of her associates, so I obliged her and said hello into the phone.
“Fleming?” Angela made it more of a demand than a question. She sounded pretty fed up.
“None other, Miss Paco.”
“You’re getting to be a pain in the butt.”
“I do my best.”
“You lay one finger on Opal and I’ll skin you alive with a dull knife.”
“She’s safe. Besides, with that gun on me I’m much too scared to do anything.”
Opal gave me a “go to hell” look, but I was used to those.
Angela made a growling sound in response. “What do you want?”
“Just to finish our conversation.”
“You’ve got a hell of a nerve after leading the cops in and breaking up my place.”
“Hey, that was nothing to do with me.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“If I’d been with the cops, then I’d have had Opal down at the local station house answering a lot of questions right now, not sitting in this dump waiting for you to haul your act together. I’m sure they’d be fascinated to find out what Big Frankie Paco’s little girl has been up to for the last few days.”
“You—” She broke off into rapid, and probably very rude, Italian. The connection faded, followed by a sharp and loud clunking sound. My guess was she’d slammed the phone against something hard. The lady had a short fuse tonight.
“Hello?” I said patiently, eyes toward the ceiling. “Hello-hello?”
After a few minutes, where I heard a lot of raving and swearing in the background, she came back on again.
“What do you want?” She still sounded mad, but was in control of herself.
; “To continue the little talk we were having before all hell broke loose.”
“So talk.”
Fine and dandy with me, but you can’t hypnotize people over the phone. I can’t, anyway. “Set up a meeting place, anywhere you like, and I’ll be there. Or you can come here yourself. You can be certain that Opal’s not going to let me go running off.”
“I don’t have time for this tonight.”
“Make the time, Miss Paco. Your prize bookkeeper is standing here and not too happy about things. She’s under the impression that you’re going to take care of her. You wouldn’t want disillusionment to set in, would you? It’d be very easy for something like that to happen in an outhouse like this.”
“You say one word—”
“I know, the dull-knife routine. So put some grease on the wheels, Miss Paco, and get things moving. We’ll be waiting for you.”
I hung up.
Opal squawked and for a second I thought she’d shoot, not in anger but from reflex, since she seemed to forget about her gun. I got my hands up again and backed hastily away, making calming noises.
“What’d you do that for?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time. I can see it was rude of me. Did you still have to speak with Angela?”
“I need to know what she wants me to do.”
“Keep me covered just like this, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot until after your boss and I have had our talk.”
No more than a minute went by before the phone rang again. I’d expected Angela to call back with more instructions for Opal and I was right. Opal grabbed the phone up and they talked close. I didn’t let on I could hear both sides. The upshot was no surprise: She wanted Opal to sit tight until a couple of her boys came around for us.
“What about the car?” Opal asked.
“One of them will drive it back for you.”
“Angela . . . ?”
“Yeah, what?”
“I—I sort of accidentally told him about the money at the roadhouse.”
“You what?”
“I didn’t mean to, it just came out.”
A long silence from Angela.
Opal got nervous. “I’m sorry, it was an accident, please don’t be mad at me.”
“Okay, okay, calm down, lemme think.”
