A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) (36 page)

I took the envelope with the dough in it and placed it in the envelope that he had given me. I sealed it carefully and wrote my name across it as I had been told. I watched the clerk turn and place it in the safe, wondering what he’d do if he knew there was a hundred grand in that envelope.

He turned the lock. “It will be safe and sound here until you want it, sir,” he said to me.

I thanked him and looked at my watch. It was almost seven o’clock. “I don’t think I’ll go to my room just yet,” I said to the clerk as if an idea had just come to me. “I promised a friend of mine I’d meet him here at seven—Steve Parrish. Is he here yet?”

The clerk looked over his shoulder at the key rack. “He’s in, sir,” he replied. “Shall I tell him you’re here?”

“Please.”

He whispered a few words into a telephone, waited a few moments for a reply, then looked up at me. “He says for you to come right up, sir. Room 224.”

“Thanks,” I said. I was already walking to the back of the lobby where I had noticed the elevator.

The gilt numerals on the door glittered in the dimly lighted hallway. I knocked. I could hear the hum of conversation that had been coming from the room suddenly fade away into silence.

The door opened slowly and Parrish peered out. “Danny!” he said, smiling when he saw me. He stepped back from the door, pulling it open. “You’re right on time. Come on in.”

There were three other men in there with him. They stared up at me from their seats. I turned to Steve. Steve’s face was a little pale and drawn, but he held a fairly steady hand toward me. I shook it.

“I’m glad you were able to make it, Danny,” he said.

I nodded my head without answering.

Steve turned to the other men in the room. “Gentlemen,” he announced, “this is Danny Fisher.” Then, one at a time, he introduced them to me.

One at a time they rose and shook my hand briefly. They didn’t try to make any conversation.

“How about a drink, Danny?” Steve held a bottle of whisky in his hand.

“No, thanks, Steve,” I replied quickly. “Never drink while I’m workin’.”

Steve nodded as he poured himself a drink. “Good policy, Danny,” he said, swallowing it. “Approve of it highly.”

I looked at him closely. Steve had quite a few drinks in him already. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Ready to get down to business?” I asked.

Steve looked at me. “I guess so,” he said hesitantly. “You bring the money?”

I nodded.

One of the men got to his feet quickly. “Let’s see the colour,” he said.

I turned to him and smiled. “You’ll see it,” I replied, “after I see the stuff.”

“You got it on you?” the man asked suspiciously.

“Do I look like that kind of a fool?” I retorted quietly. “Don’t worry, though. If the stuff’s okay, you’ll get your dough. Where you got it?”

“In a garage a few blocks from here,” the man replied. “Want to see it?”

“You bet.”

The man picked up his hat from a chair. “Well, come on then,” he said, starting for the door.

The truck was loaded just as Steve had told me it would be. I stared at the neatly piled cases sceptically. I had a feeling that something was wrong, but I didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was because
everything
was going so smoothly. I turned to the man I had spoken to back in the hotel room. “No offence meant,” I said’ politely, “but this is a lot of dough. I’d like to score the load.”

“That’ll mean unloading every box and putting it back on the truck again,” the man protested.

My eyes met his levelly. “Like I said, it’s a lot of dough and I’d like to check.”

He looked at the others and then turned back to me, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s okay with me, but you won’t get out of here until two in the morning.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

I looked at Steve wearily, then at the others. They were standing in a semicircle around me, their faces flushed and their shirts damp with sweat. “I guess it’s okay,” I said. But I couldn’t understand it. That feeling still hung on. I shrugged nervously; I guess I was catching it from Nellie.

“I told you that right away, Danny,” Steve said quickly. “You didn’t have to check.”

“For a hundred grand,” I said flatly, “I check,” I turned back to the others. “Who’s driving the truck down?” I asked.

One of the men stepped forward. “I am,” he answered.

“Okay,” I said. “Then hop in the truck and drive me back to the hotel. We’ll start from there.”

“Now?” the man asked, staring at me.

“Now,” I nodded.

“But my helper ain’t due to show up till morning,” he protested.

“We ain’t waitin’,” I said. “I’ll ride down with you. This stuff’s gotta be in New York by tomorrow morning.”

The desk clerk turned towards me. “Yes, Mr. Fisher?”

“I had to change my plans,” I said. “I’m checkin’ out. If you’ll give me my envelope——”

“Right away, Mr. Fisher,” he answered in a tired voice. He opened the safe, tossed the envelope on the counter in front of me, and watched while I ripped open the hotel envelope and took out the smaller one that I had enclosed. “Everything all right, sir?” he asked with a yawn.

I nodded and put a dollar on the counter for him. “Fine,” I said, turning away. His thanks followed me out into the street.

The truck was waiting under a street lamp. The men were standing around it. I climbed into the cab and handed the envelope down to Steve. Steve turned and gave it to the man who had done the talking in the hotel. He ripped it open quickly and peered into it. His fingers riffled the bills as he counted them.

Then he looked up at me and made a half-salute toward me. I waved back at him and turned to the driver. “Okay, boy,” I said. “Let’s hit the road.”

I glanced wearily at my watch as we came out of Newburgh. It was a few minutes after ten. I turned my eyes back to the road as my foot went down on the accelerator. Slowly the truck began to pick up speed. The road loomed white and clear before me.

I threw the engine into overdrive and looked at my companion. The man was sleeping with his head resting uncomfortably against the door. I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, but I didn’t dare stop. This load was too hot. Besides, if I kept on rolling I could make New York by noon.

The driver’s voice cut into my thoughts. “I’ll take over now, Danny,” he said. “You get yourself some sleep. You look bushed.”

“I don’t mind driving a little while longer,” I said. “This baby handles like a charm.”

“All the same, you better knock off for a while.” he said. “Your eyes are all red. You may not feel it, but you’re tired.”

“Okay,” I answered, pressing my foot down on the brake pedal. The powerful air brakes hissed as they took hold. Slowly the big truck rolled to a stop. I pulled up the safety brake and moved out from behind the wheel.

He clambered in front of me and got in behind the wheel. “You better get some sleep,” he said, lowering the safety brake.
“You haven’t slept since we left Buffalo an’ you been up all night.”

“I can sleep when this ride is over,” I replied. “I’ll feel a lot better then.” I put my hands up behind my head and leaned back against the seat.

The truck began to move and the hum of the engine to fill the cab. I tried to take my eyes from the white line that ran monotonously down the road before us, but it fascinated me. There was something about the way it stretched endlessly before us, as far as the eye could see. A little white line running down the middle of the road. Stay on the right side of it and you were safe. Cross it and you were dead. Stay on the right side—the right side—the right side—the … right … side … I could feel my head lolling sleepily against the door. I shook it desperately, trying to keep my eyes open, but there was no use. I was too tired. Reluctantly I let myself slip into slumber.

I awoke with a start. The truck was standing still, its engine silent. Blinking my eyes rapidly, I turned to the driver, sitting next to me. “What’s the matter?” I asked sleepily. “Is anything wrong?”

He was looking at me with a sardonic expression. He didn’t answer.

A voice came from the other side of me and I snapped around. My eyes widened. I was awake now. A man was standing on the running board of the cab. There was a gun in his hand, and it pointed at my face. “Okay, sleeping beauty,” the man was saying. “Rise and shine.”

I started to lean forward, my hand reaching for the wrench that lay on the floor beneath my feet.

The man gestured swiftly with the gun. “Keep the hands up where I can see them, Danny boy,” he said softly.

Slowly I brought my hands back to my lap. My mind was working furiously. I looked at the driver again. He was sitting absolutely motionless, his eyes fixed steadily on the road before him. Things began to add up. “You in on this?” I asked unsteadily.

The driver didn’t answer. Instead the man with the gun spoke again. “What do you think?” he asked sarcastically.

I turned quietly toward him. “I got dough if you let me get this load into New York,” I said desperately.

The gunman grinned at me, showing yellow discoloured teeth. He spit a stream of tobacco juice toward the road. “We already got your dough,” he said flatly. His hand twisted the door open and he stepped down from the running board, his gun still pointing at me. “Get out,” he said. “The buggy ride is over.”

“Ten grand,” I said quickly, staring at him.

He gestured with his gun. “I said come down outta there.”

Slowly I clambered down from the seat. The sky loomed dark and ominously grey overhead. It was going to rain. I could feel my anger rising. I had been a sucker. What a fool I had been! I should have known better.

My legs were stiff and weary and I moved awkwardly. I heard footsteps coming from the rear of the truck and turned my head. An automobile was parked directly behind us. They had probably been on my tail ever since we left Buffalo, waiting for a spot like this to jump me. My anger spilled over. What a shnook I had been, shooting the works on a deal like this! I should have had my head examined!

The man coming from behind me called out: “Everything okay there?”

The gunman’s eyes shifted from me to the man behind me.
Desperately
I lunged at him, my fist grazing his jaw as he instinctively jumped to the side. I shot past him and my feet slipped in the dirt on the side of the road. Frantically I tried to keep myself from falling.

A sudden pain exploded against the side of my head and I sprawled face-forward into the dirt. I tried to raise myself on my hands and knees; but there was another burst of pain in the same place and all the strength in my arms and legs ran out of me. The dirt was all around my face and a wave of darkness was rolling heavily toward me. I forced it back with my mind, but it was coming toward me inexorably. I could feel myself sliding into it.

Faintly, as if from a distance, I could hear voices. I tried to make out what they were saying, but some of the words weren’t clear. One of the men was saying that Gordon wouldn’t like this. Another was laughing sarcastically.

I let myself slide toward the darkness. Then a split second’s thought raced through my mind before I gave myself completely up to the darkness. Crossed! Crossed right from the beginning! That was why Steve had kept talking about Sam when he called me. To make me think of him!

Then the thought was gone and I couldn’t remember anything. I drew a deep breath and tried to pull myself up through the darkness. But it was no use. It was all around me now.