1972 - Just a Matter of Time (19 page)

The thing was to escape from this stinking room, get to the Plaza Beach Hotel, tell Sheila, then talk to his aunt.

Soon after 23.30, he heard Joey’s strangled snoring. Sweating and tense, Gerald looked at his watch. In another hour he would start his escape plan. He wanted Joey to be in a deep, whisky sleep. He waited, lying on his bed and as he waited, he thought of Sheila. He was sure she didn’t know the way he was being treated. He was sure she wouldn’t stand for him being kept in a goddamn slum like this. She was tricky . . . he had to admit that. He had had nearly a month on his own to do nothing but watch television and think. He had come up with a lot of ideas and these ideas he would have to persuade Sheila to accept. He had to convince her that the people running this stinking world had to go. This system of living entirely for money, thinking only of money, living a blind rat-in-a-cage life for money had to go. The scene had to be changed. All these lying politicians, the rich, the people who had power to say this and that and make it stick had to go. The old, useless people who lived on dividends, they had to go too: the non-productive.

He wanted to make a clean sweep of them all! Anyone over sixty years of age was so much waste of food. He wanted them all shoved into gas ovens. Imagine! No more old men, no more old women cluttering up the streets: just the young . . . what a marvellous world that could be! How marvellous to go into the streets and find no old people! The scene had to be changed. He was eager to talk to Sheila and to convince her.

But, first he had to get out of here.

At 23.40, he went silently into the kitchen, took a knife from a drawer and returned to his room. He stripped the bed until he reached the bare, lumpy mattress. He dug holes in the mattress, pulling out the kapok in small tufts. Then, satisfied, he moved to the door and listened. He could hear Joey snoring. Again he went silently into the kitchen, opened a cupboard and lifted out an iron frying pan: it made a solid weapon. He balanced it in his hand, then returning to the room, he looked at his watch.

He wouldn’t wait any longer. With his heart beating unevenly, he put the frying pan on the floor by the door, took a box of matches from his pocket, struck a match and ignited one of the tufts of kapok. He ignited four other tufts, then stood back.

He had reasoned, when thinking up this plan of escape, that by setting fire to the kapok he would create a great deal of smoke. He would then yell for Joey who would come blundering into the smoke and Gerald, waiting against the wall would hit him on the head with the frying pan, then bolt down the stairs and away. It seemed to him that this was pretty foolproof, but it didn’t work that way. The kapok was years old and as dry as tinder. It certainly produced a lot of smoke, but also a terrifying sheet of flame. The flame leapt up, and in a moment or so, the wall by the bed was blazing.

Feeling the scorching heat, Gerald, choking from the smoke and in a panic, battered on the door, screaming to be let out.

Joey came awake. He had drunk a half bottle of whisky and he had been dreaming. When he drank too much he always dreamed of the Chinese cook. In his dream he again felt the hellish agony as the hot fat hit his face. He came awake with such a start that he fell off his chair and sprawled on the floor.

He saw smoke billowing out from under the door. He heard the crackling of flames as they took hold of the dry, rotten walls. He felt the heat and terror gripped him. He heard Gerald screaming to be let out. Too drunk to think, feeling the heat, choking in the smoke, hearing people yelling to one another, realizing he was on the top floor and it was a long run down, Joey stumbled to his feet and not caring a damn for anyone or anything except his own safety, he went blindly down the five flights of stairs, kicking, hitting and cursing anyone who got in his way.

By the time he reached the street, the top floor of the tenement building was a furnace of flames.

* * *

Around 20.00 on the same evening Bromhead was giving Harry Miller his final instructions. They were together in the motel cabin. The shades were drawn and both men were drinking Vat 69.

Harry had shown Bromhead the piano tuner’s equipment he had bought which consisted of several tuning forks, a number of piano tuning keys, a selection of piano wire and so on.

‘This is jumping the gun a little, Harry,’ Bromhead said. ‘Her regular piano tuner isn’t due until next month, but Sheila will fix that. She can talk the old girl into anything. You have to be careful of the hall porter, he has a good memory. It wouldn’t surprise me if he knows when the piano tuner is due to come, so watch that. You have the card I gave you!’

‘Don’t make so much of this,’ Harry said a little irritably. ‘I can handle any goddamn hall porter.’

‘I’m just warning you. I don’t want a last minute slip up.’

‘When I say I’ll do something, you can consider it done.’

Bromhead nodded.

‘Okay, Harry. All the same, I’d like to go over the routine again. You arrive at ten o’clock. You go to the desk, tell the hall porter who you are, show your card and cope with him if he turns tricky. He will call the penthouse. Sheila will answer. She’ll say it’s okay for you to come up. You go up. The old lady will be around, either on the terrace or in the living room where the piano is. Sheila will let you in. You knock her out.’ Bromhead paused and regarded Harry. ‘You can do this without hutting her? She won’t know it is going to happen, but I don’t

want her hurt.’

‘That’s no problem,’ Harry said. ‘A small bruise that’ll look good . . . she won’t know what hit her.’

‘You strap her with tape and leave her in the vestibule. You then take care of the old lady. You take her jewellery. You wait in the penthouse for at least twenty minutes - you’re supposed to be fixing the piano - then you leave. You come back here, get rid of your disguise, put the jewels in the box I’ve given you and mail it to Solly Marks. You’ve got his address?’

Harry nodded.

‘Unless, of course, Harry, you change your mind and want to keep the stuff. I’d like you to keep it.’

‘I don’t want it.’

Bromhead shrugged.

‘Okay, so you don’t want it. You have your return ticket?’

‘Don’t fuss, Jack. I have the scene. It will be done. You didn’t fuss when you pulled me out of that gang-up.’ Harry stared at him. ‘This makes us quits.’

‘Okay, Harry, but it worries me you get nothing out of this.’

‘I’m fine as I am.’

There was a long pause, then Bromhead said, ‘There is a little problem. I’d like to fill you in about Sheila. Like me, she’s money hungry. When I told her the possibilities she didn’t hesitate, but now, I get the feeling she is hesitating. The trouble is, Harry, the old girl has a way with her. If she was an old bitch like most of the rich old women in this town, it wouldn’t be so tough. You following me?’

Harry sipped his drink.

‘Keep talking.’ The cold flat note in his voice told Bromhead that Harry had no scruples. That was okay with Bromhead.

This was a job for a man with no scruples.

‘Sheila doesn’t know what is going to happen, but she’s no fool. I have an idea she suspects what is going to happen. You must watch this. She could lose her nerve.’

‘What does that mean?’ Harry asked.

‘Possibly a complication. I’ve been thinking about it. No matter how carefully an operation is planned, something can turn up to hitch it. My thinking is this: suppose at the last moment, Sheila loses her nerve. What does she do? She gets a call from the hall porter telling her you have arrived. If her nerve holds, she will tell him to send you up. If her nerve doesn’t hold, she will say it isn’t convenient for you to come up and that will be that. There is no way for you to get up to the penthouse unless she says so. Don’t try it. She may say it’s okay for you to come up, then lose her nerve and not answer the door when you ring. Ring once: don’t keep ringing as that could alert the old lady. Just ring once and if Sheila doesn’t answer the door, walk down to the next floor. There’s a fire staircase on this floor. You go up the stairs and you can get into Sheila’s room. The door is bolted, but I have loosened the screws. All you have to do is to lean on the door and it will open. Take care of Sheila first, then go ahead with the job.’

Harry finished his drink. He sat for a long moment, thinking.

‘It’s a damn funny thing,’ he said, ‘you get an assignment that looks easy and suddenly it isn’t. Well, okay. So if this broad loses her nerve and doesn’t give the hall porter the green light, I do nothing . . . is that it?’

‘There’s nothing else to do. You won’t get up to the penthouse without her say-so, but I’m looking for trouble, Harry. I’m pretty sure this won’t happen. I’m going back now and I’m talking to her. I’ve got a screw to turn and now’s the time to turn it. I just want you to be fully in the photo.’

‘So if this flops . . . I go back home?’

‘Stick around for a week, Harry . . . I could think up another idea. I’m not worried about this. It’ll work, but I believe in looking ahead and thinking of possible trouble.’

‘Okay. I like it here . . . makes a change from New York. I’ll stick around.’

Bromhead got to his feet.

‘Ten o’clock tomorrow then.’

‘That’s it.’

The two men shook hands and Bromhead left. He drove back to the Plaza Beach Hotel, reached his room, then put through a call to the penthouse.

When Sheila answered, he said, ‘I want to talk. Can you come down to my room?’

‘I can’t get away,’ Sheila said, ‘but it’s all right for you to come up. She has friends.’

Bromhead let himself into the penthouse. He could hear voices on the terrace and caught a quick glimpse of four people playing cards. He went straight to Sheila’s bedroom.

‘What is it?’ Sheila asked as he came in. She was standing by the window and he could see she was nervous and strained.

‘We have to talk,’ Bromhead said. ‘Your boyfriend has got us into trouble.’

She stiffened.

‘Gerald? What’s happened?’

Bromhead sat on the bed and waved her to the lounging chair.

‘Sit down.’

She hesitated, then obeyed.

‘I told you this was a long term operation,’ Bromhead said. ‘The way I figured it, it looked good and simple. Up to now, it has worked: you fixed Patterson: I fixed the will. All we had to do, the way I saw it, was to sit it out and wait for the old lady to die . . . that was the plan, but it is not working out like this because of Gerald. He had landed us both in serious trouble. I admit it is partly my fault. By the way he was behaving, I had to put him on ice. I had to get him out of the way where he couldn’t become a nuisance. I made a mistake. I went to a man who agreed to take care of Gerald. This man was well recommended. I thought he was safe, but he has found out that you and I work for the old lady and he knows how wealthy she is. He is putting on the bite. He has Gerald locked up somewhere. Now he is asking for thirty thousand dollars.’

Sheila leaned forward.

‘You mean he has Gerald a prisoner?’

‘That’s what I’m telling you. This man is dangerous. No thirty thousand dollars . . . no Gerald. This man won’t hesitate to knock Gerald on the head and dump him in the sea. I’m not being an alarmist. I’m stating facts.’ As she began to speak, Bromhead held up his hand, stopping her. ‘I’ve done a deal with him. I had to . . . there was no other alternative. Now listen carefully . . . tomorrow morning at ten o’clock a man will arrive to repair the Steinway. The hall porter will ask you if he can come up and you will say it’s okay.’ Bromhead paused and stared bleakly at Sheila. ‘When he rings the bell, you will let him in. That’s all you have to do. It’s not difficult, but I want to know now that you will do it.’

Her face white, her eyes wide, Sheila asked, ‘Where is Gerald?’

Bromhead made an impatient movement.

‘Never mind about him. He’s all right now, but if you don’t do what I’m telling you . . . if you don’t let this man in . . . then Gerald won’t be all right.’

‘Suppose I let this man in . . . what will he do?’

‘He will take some of the old lady’s jewels. At ten o’clock, she is always on the terrace. She won’t even know he has come and gone. He will gag and bind you. You don’t have to worry . . . he won’t hurt you. He will go to her bedroom, take her jewel box and leave. It’s as simple as that. When the police arrive, they will question you. You will say you thought the old lady had called the piano people. It never occurred to you to check with her. The jewels will be sold and you and I will be out of hock and Gerald will be free. Then, later, you two can go off together and wait until the old lady dies.’

She regarded him for a long moment.

‘Suppose she sees this man?’

‘That’s not likely. You know as well as I do, she is always on the terrace at that time.’

Sheila shuddered.

‘No! I’m not going to do it! I wish I had never met you! No!’

‘I think you will have to,’ Bromhead said, a sudden edge to his voice. ‘If you don’t care about Gerald, you might care what could happen to you. You’re in this thing too deep now to back out. If I tell this man you won’t play, he’ll fix you. A squirt of acid can do a lot of damage. It comes without warning. You’re walking along a street, in a Self-service store, getting into a taxi . . . then your face is finished, and if you’re unlucky, your eyes too.’

She shook her head.

‘No!’

‘Use your brains,’ he went on. ‘The old lady is so rich if she loses some of her jewels, she can always replace them and they are insured anyway.’ He got to his feet. ‘You now know the situation. Just remember at ten o’clock, you hold Gerald’s life in your hands. It sounds dramatic, doesn’t it? Like a bad TV movie, but it happens to be a fact. I have to pay this money. If you don’t mind acid in your face, you should think of him.’

He went from the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

Hank Washington ran his great hand down the Mulatto’s slim back as his mind dwelt on what was going to happen in another hour. As the three—piece band began turning on the heat, the sudden clanging of fire bells and police sirens made him miss a step.