He Won't Need it Now (10 page)

     There was a heavy silence at the other end, and Duffy reached over for a cigarette. He had nothing to do, and plenty of time to do it in.
     Then Gleason said, “That's the way you're going to play it, huh?”
     “You got it. Ends against the middle. I ain't in a hurry, but you'd better start revising your ideas.”
     “You're going to find yourself in a heap of trouble,” Gleason said. His voice was suddenly steady. He seemed no longer excited. “I'd play ball on the level, Duffy, or...”
     “Listen, you yellow punk, you can't throw a scare into me. I know just where I've got you. Start the bidding at fifteen grand if you like, but the price is going to the roof.” He dropped the receiver back on the prong and sat back.
     Olga came out of the bedroom. She was still nude. “Are you handling this right?” she asked.
     Duffy went over to her and put his hands round her back. “This is the way it's going to go,” he said. “It'll take a little time, but it'll yield the most dough.”
     She looked up into his face. “Can't you trust him?”
     Duffy shook his head. “It's going to be tricky getting away with the dough,” he said, “but you watch me, we'll beat 'em.”
     She leant against him. “I didn't care what happened, but I do now. I don't want you to get into a jam after this.”
     He led her back into the bedroom. “Put on a wrap,” he said, “I can't think with you like that.”
     He watched her undo the small case she had brought with her, and find a wrap, then he helped her put it on.
     They went back into the sitting-room again. Olga lit a cigarette, drawing down the smoke and holding it. She said, “You're hatching something, what is it?”
     Duffy took from his inside pocket a little note-book and put it on the table. Then he brought out another book, identical with the first. He laid it beside the other.
     Olga looked at them closely, then released a cloud of smoke down her nostrils. “A double-cross,” she said.
     “You've got it.” Duffy drew up a chair and sat down. “I'm showing you how dough's made.” He took out a fountain-pen and began to copy the list of names from the first book into the second.
     She sat on the edge of the table and watched him.
     “Someone's going to get mighty sore about this,” she said at last.
     Duffy didn't look up. He went on writing, but he said, “We won't be there to see 'em.”
     When he had finished the list, he went back again to the beginning and studied the pages. “You know what these numbers stand for? Look, Max Hughson 5. Johnny Alvis 7. Trudie Irvine 4.”
     She leant over his shoulder. “Payments,” she told him. “Hughson used to pay five thousand dollars a month for his dope and protection ”
     “That's plenty. Why protection?”
     Olga swung her long legs. “That was Gleason's way. These birds aren't real hopheads. They just play at it. Gleason sold them the dope, then warned them that someone was on to them, and it would cost them so much to hush it up. He only had to put the screw on a little, scare them to hell, and show them that he could warn off all comers, to get himself put on their pension list.”
     Duffy did sums, then he looked up. “This little book is worth five hundred grand to a cool million, if they all pay.”
     Olga nodded. “When I was with Cattley and he was working it, they mostly did pay,” she said.
     Duffy grinned. “It's easy to make money, it you know how,” he said, getting to his feet. “Well, we'll see what Morgan's got to say.”
     She slid off the table. “What are you doing with the books?” she asked.
     “You shall have one and I'll have the other.” He gave her the copy. “Be careful with that.”
     She held the book in her hand for a moment, looking at him very hard, then she smiled and put the book in his hand.
     “What's this?”
     She said, “I hoped you would do that. I just wanted to see if you trusted me. It's screwy to keep this where it could be lifted. Keep it.”
     He said, “Well, I'll be goddamned.” But she looked so pleased that he took the book and put it with the other in his inside pocket.
     She said, “You're not going to Morgan alone. I'm coming with you.”
     He thought for a moment, then he nodded. “Oke, but you stay outside in the bus. We'll plant the lists at my bank on the way down.”
     She ran into the bedroom to change. Duffy called to her. “I'll get Morgan's address from the
Tribune.
They'll be bound to know it.”
     While he 'phoned, he vaguely heard her in the bathroom, and when he had got the address from the reporter's room, he wandered in. She was standing under the cold shower, holding her face up to the tingling pin-points of water. Her eyes were closed, and she held her breasts cupped in her hands.
     Duffy leant forward and turned the wheel on hard. The cold water struck her fiercely, and she ducked away, gasping. Duffy grabbed a towel and wrapped her in it.
     “Get busy,” he said, “we ain't got all day.”
     She mopped her face, then stepped out of the bath. “Try it,” she said, “it's nice.”
     Duffy shook his head. “Later,” he said. “I've got the money itch.”
     She took oft the rubber cap that protected her hair and threw it at him. The drops of water splashed his face. Duffy aimed a smack at her, then he jerked her to him and kissed her.
     He thought, “We're behaving like a couple of kids.”
     She said, looking up at him, “Will you always be kind to me?”
     He gripped her arms suddenly, hurting her. “Let's go,” he said, “there's work to be done.” And he left her, standing quite still, holding the towel round her, with a little bewildered look in her eyes.
      
      
     

     
     DUFFY LEFT THE BUICK at the kerb and climbed the five flat steps to the front door. Morgan's house was in a big way. Duffy was quite surprised. He expected something good, but this was a lot better than good.
     The front door was a plate-glass affair, plastered with wrought iron. The bell had to be reached for and pulled down, like the plumbing in an old-fashioned toilet.
     Duffy called back to Olga, who was sitting in the car, “Some joint.” He self-consciously jerked the bell-pull hard.
     Clive opened the door.
     Duffy said, “Tell your Queen I want to see him.”
     Clive threw up his hands and backed away from the door. He said in a shrill voice, “You get out...” Duffy pushed the door wide open, but he stayed where he was. He said in a level voice, “Get going or I'll start on you.”
     Clive slid his hand inside his coat, and Duffy took a quick step forward and smacked Clive across the face.
     The little guy said from the head of the stairs, “Don't hit him again. He'll be all right.”
     Clive took his hand away from his coat and backed farther away. A high whinnying sound was coming from his mouth. Duffy said, “Why don't you take this bum away?”
     The little guy came down the stairs. He wore his hat pulled low down. Duffy couldn't imagine him without that hat.
     Duffy said, “Where's Morgan?”
     The little guy was very cautious, he did not get too close to Duffy. He said with a thin smile, “You surprised him.”
     Duffy said, “I don't care about that. I came to see Morgan.”
     The little guy turned his head to speak to Clive. “You heard him?” he said. “He came to see Morgan.”
     Duffy reached forward and grabbed the little guy by the coat-front. His eyes were like granite. “Cut this circus stuff of yours out.”
     The little guy pushed an automatic hard into Duffy's vest. “Don't get tough, Mister,” he said.
      
     Duffy took his hand away, and stepped back a little. He said, “Put that rod up and use your head.”
     The little guy said to Clive, “Tell Morgan.”
     Duffy stood there watching the little guy thoughtfully.
     The little guy said hopefully, “You ain't going to start trouble, are you ?”
     Duffy shook his head. “Your daffodil went for her gun,” he said. “I wouldn't stand for a thing like that.”
     The little guy giggled. “You'd like Clive once you got to know him,” he said.
     Duffy still stood motionless. “Suppose you put that heater away,” he said evenly. “This ain't the time for pop-guns.”
     The little guy shoved the gun into his shoulder-holster. “I get nervous sometimes,” he said, waving his hands apologetically.
     A door at the end of the hall opened and Morgan came out. He called, “Come in here.”
     Duffy walked the length of the hall slowly. Then he entered the room. Morgan was standing just inside. Across the room, Joe leant against the wall, chasing holes in his teeth with a wooden pick.
     Duffy nodded at Morgan.
     Joe said, “Why, for the love of Mike, here's the pip back again.”
     Morgan half raised his hand, stopping Joe. He said, “Have you brought the photos after all, Mr. Duffy?”
     Duffy said, “Clear your thugs out, I want to talk to you.”
     “Shall I pat him around?” Joe asked. “He likes it, and can he take it?”
     Morgan said, “Wait outside.”
     Joe shrugged, but he went out, passing close to Duffy. As he passed, he pushed his flat face into Duffy's and grinned. “Nice boy, ain't you?” he said.
     Duffy didn't move. “Your breath's bad,” was all he said.
     Joe shut the door behind him, then Duffy walked over to a big arm-chair and sat down. He didn't remove his hat. Morgan leant against the overmantel and waited.
     “We're due for a talk, ain't we?” Duffy said.
     Morgan took out a cigar case, selected a long thin Havana, put it between his small teeth, bit off the end neatly and spat the end into the empty grate. He put the cigar case back in his pocket.
     Duffy said, “I'll smoke too.”
     Morgan looked at him. His hooded eyes were very hostile. “Not mine, you won't. You talk.”
     Duffy shrugged and took a cigarette from his case. “If that's how you feel...”
     Morgan hid his face behind thick smoke as he lit the cigar. “You've still got five hundred bucks of mine,” he said.
     Duffy nodded. “Sure,” he took his wallet out and counted out five one-hundred bills, then tossed them on the table. “I've been keeping them for you.”
     Morgan's face was quite blank. He looked hard at the five bills, then he put his hands behind him, and raised himself slightly on his toes. “That came as a surprise,” he said, “I thought you were taking me for a ride.”
     Duffy said, “That's scent money; buy your nance a present.”
     Morgan stiffened. “You watch your mouth,” he said in a thick voice.
     “Let's skip this, and get down to things. I've been wanting a talk with you for some time. When you sent me out on that phoney photo stunt of yours, I fell right into trouble, and I've been that way ever since. I'm getting to like it, and I'm seeing quite a bit of dough hanging to it. You play ball with me now, and you going to get into something that's going to make your ears flap. Let's get this straight. You wanted to put the screws on Edwin English, through his daughter, ain't that the way it goes?”
     Morgan stared at him for several minutes, his eyes expressionless, then he said, “Suppose it was?”
     “If I'd turned in those photos of Cattley and the girl together, you could have cracked down on English. You could have warned him off your rackets, and he would have had to like it.”
     Morgan wandered over to a chair and sat down, but he didn't say anything.
     “You know Murray Gleason?”
     A flicker of surprise went over Morgan's face. “Yeah, I know him.”
     “What do you know about him?”
     “Where's this leading?” Morgan was suddenly impatient.
     “I'll tell you. Gleason is running a big dope racket amongst some of the real big shots in the upper circle. He's got them so short that they're screaming murder. That guy has a pension from them of nearly a million bucks. Did you know that?”
     Morgan shook his head. His thick lips curled a little. “That ain't true,” he said. “Gleason is only a cheap peddler—was when last I knew him.”
     Duffy laughed. “You're out of date,” he said. “Gleason's moved into the big-shot class, but he's smart enough to keep it to himself. He stands no chance of having any political boss smacking his ears down for him.”
     Morgan said at last, “I ain't interested in Gleason.”
     Duffy nodded. “Sure you ain't,” he agreed, “but you'd like his racket, wouldn't you?”
     “When I want his racket, I'll take it,” Morgan aid, tapping the long ash into the tray.
     Duffy leant back and studied the ceiling. “Gleason's had a list of all his customers and the amounts they pay for protection,” he said.
     Morgan looked up sharply. “You said 'had'?”
     Duffy still didn't take his eyes from the ceiling. “Sure, that's right. I've got it now.”
     Morgan sat silent, then he said, “I see.”
     Duffy said, “It's in the market right now.”
     Morgan became elaborately casual. Duffy nearly laughed at him. “It might be useful,” he said.
     Duffy said, “You ain't got the idea quite.” He spoke carefully, as if to a child. “This English girl is tied up with Gleason. She's as wild and crazy as a loon. These two are working this racket between them. And they're making plenty out of it. With the list, you can smash their little game, put English on the spot, and have three hundred big shots pouring their dough into your lap, just to keep out of it.”
     Morgan chewed on his cigar. “The way you're putting it, it sounds good,” he said.
     “It is good. That's why I'm offering it to you.”
     “What have I done?”
     “You got the dough.”
     “How much?”
     “Fifty grand,” Duffy said. “I don't mean thirty, or forty. It's worth fifty, and it's fifty I want.”
     Morgan shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I guess you'd never peddle that for that amount of dough,” he said.
     Duffy stood up. “Okay,” he said, “I'll get the money from the other side. Why should I worry?”
     “Wait. You've overlooked something.” Morgan looked foxy. “You've given me some nice information. I don't doubt that. Think, would you pay that much money? You forget, I've got three guys who're eating their heads off for a job. I ain't paying fancy prices for a thing like that. Do you know what I'd do if I had a list like that?”
     Duffy said, “What would you do?”
     Morgan grinned. He looked like a wolf. “What you've done. Make a duplicate and sell it to both sides.”
     Duffy's face was quite blank. “It's an idea,” he said, considering it.
     Morgan shook his head. “It was a pip of an idea, but not now. When you've sold that list to Gleason, I'll call on him and take it away from him.”
     Duffy said, with a hard smile, “You're pretty sure of yourself, ain't you?”
     Morgan raised his fat shoulders again. “And I'll tell you something else,” he went on, flicking his ash into the tray, “I'll send Joe to collect that fifty grand off you, when Gleason has paid it. That ought to show you.”
     Duffy moved to the door. “I guess you and I won't get on so well in the future,” he said sadly. “I'm sorry about that.”
     “You will be,” Morgan said very gently.
     Duffy opened the door. Joe was standing just outside. Duffy looked over his shoulder at Morgan. “There ain't anything more now, is there?”
     Morgan shook his head. Then a thought crossed his mind and he said, “Wait.”
     Duffy stood still. He didn't turn his back to Joe, but stood three-quarters, so that he could watch Joe from the corner of his eye. “Yeah?” he said.
     Morgan picked up the five bills from the table. “Suppose you take these and give me the list?”
     “What for?” Duffy was quite startled.
     “You can't break into the game,” Morgan said. “You're soft. What've you got that'll stand up against an outfit like mine? Get wise to yourself, you little heel. Where's the dough coming for your protection? Who's going to work for an out-of-work button-pusher? You must be nuts to come to me with a proposition like that. Here, give me the list and take the five hundred bucks. That's what you're worth, and save yourself a lot of grief.”
     Duffy's expression didn't change, but his eyes went suddenly frosty. “Soft? Was that it?” he said.
     Morgan shrugged. “I've wasted enough time with you. Scram, I'll do the job myself.” He put the five bills into his pocket. Then he looked up quickly. “I want that list tonight,” he said evenly. “You can't buck the rap. The list tonight, or I'll turn Joe loose on you.”
     Duffy nodded; he stepped past Joe carefully, who grinned at him, then he walked to the front door and down the steps.
     Olga looked at him and said, “So it didn't work.”
     Duffy engaged the gear and drove the Buick down the block. He began to swear softly under his breath, without moving his lips. Olga laced her fingers round her knees and stared ahead.
     Duffy swung, the Buick into Seventh Avenue and went with the traffic. He cut right at Longacre Square and drove into Central Park. When he reached the lake, he stalled the engine and stopped.
     Olga said, “Don't get mad.”
     For a moment he said nothing, then he took off his hat and tossed it at the back of the car. “Those birds certainly got me going,” he said. A grim little smile came to his mouth, and she liked him a lot better.
     “Tell me,” she said.
     He screwed round in his seat, so that he was facing her, and took her gloved hands in his. “This is going to get tough,” he said. “You'd better skip before the war starts.”
     Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Suppose you cut out the hysterics and tell me.”
     Duffy said, “Morgan wants the list. I'm to hand it over tonight or else...”
     Olga said, “No dough?”
     Duffy nodded. “That's right. No dough.” She was silent for a minute.
     “And then....?”
     “Morgan's got big ideas. He thinks he's the only big shot round here. He told me to lay off the big dough with a few compliments on the side.”
     Olga took her hands away and began to pull off her gloves.
     “I expected it, didn't you?” she said. “Does this dough mean anything to you?”
     Duffy said, “How do you mean, anything?”
     “High-pressure bastards like Morgan can't imagine you're serious. You've got to have a reputation as a killer to get away with a proposition that you've put up.”
     Duffy said, “For God's sake, what can I do?”
     She leant forward, touched the spring on the dashboard, and took out the Colt automatic.
     “A rat less won't make any difference. Pop him, before he pops you.”
     Duffy looked at the gun with distaste. He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I guess I wouldn't go that far.”
     For a moment she sat very still, then she said, “He's right. You're soft and you're yellow.”
     Duffy took the gun from her and put it back into the panel. He sat looking at the knife-edge crease of his trousers. “No dough's worth murder,” he said. “If you and me are going to get along, we got to think the same way.”
     She put her hand on his arm. “I guess I'm a heel,” she said.
     “Forget it,” he said. “You're fine.”
     “You go ahead. The next move's yours.”
     “Let's take Gleason for a ride. If we get some dough out of him, we can scram to the coast. Would you like that? Some nice hot place with plenty of yellow sand. With a sky real blue and just you and me?”
     She leant back. “It sounds pretty good.”
     “It would be a lot better than having the cops chasing you and getting that nice little bottom of yours burnt. Come on, honey, let's look Gleason up.”
     He started the engine and drove out of Central Park, down Second Avenue.
     She said, “Go along the river. It's nice there.”
     He turned left when he could and came out at Bellevue Hospital. They drove with the traffic as far as the Williamsburg Bridge, then Duffy spun the wheel and they headed East.
     They got back to his apartment just as the evening sun was dropping behind the roofs, throwing long, starved shadows.
     They left the Buick at the kerb and walked up the stairs together. Duffy said, “It seems a mighty long time since I had my last drink.”
     “How about putting on the glad rags and taking me out?” she asked.
     He put his hand on her back and pushed her a little. “These stairs are hell, ain't they? Sure, we'll go places, but I want Gleason first.”