The Complete Crime Stories (30 page)

“Dark, handsome reason?”

“I don't want to talk about it, but that reason took the Rocks for a ride, for every cent they got for the place, and tried to take me too, for other things beside money. When they went off to Italy, they thought they had it fixed, he was to keep me at my salary, in case Maryland
would
legalize, and if not, to send me home, with severance pay, as it's called. And instead of that—”

“I'm listening.”

“I've said too much.”

“What's this guy to you?”

“Nothing! I never even saw him until the three of us stepped off the plane—with our hopes. In a way it seemed reasonable. Maryland had tracks, and they help with the taxes. Why not wheels?

“And
who
is this guy?”

“I'd be ashamed to say, but I'll say this much: I won't e a kept floozy. I don't care who he thinks he is, or—”

She bit her lip, started to cry, and really shut up then. To switch off, I asked why she was working for Jack, and she said: “Why not? You can't go home in a barrel. But he's been swell to me.”

Saying people were swell seemed to be what she like, and she calmed down, letting her hand stay when I pressed it in both of mine. Then we were really close, close enough that I'd be warranted in laying it on the line, she should let that plane fly away, and not go to Nevada at all. But while I was working on that, business was picking up, with waiters stopping by to let her look at their trays, and I hadn't much chance to say it, whatever I wanted to say. Then, through the IN door, a waiter came through with a tray that had a wine bottle on it. A guy followed him in, a little noisy guy, who said the bottle was full and grabbed it off the tray. He had hardly gone out, when Jack was in the door, watching him as he staggered back to the table. The waiter swore the bottle was empty, but all Jack did was nod.

Then Jack came over to her, took another little peep through the window in the OUT door, which was just under her balcony, and said: “Lydiay, what did you make of him?”

“Why—he's drunk, that's all.”

“You notice him, Mr. Cameron?”

“No—except it crossed my mind he wasn't as tight as the act he was putting on.”

“Just what crossed
my
mind! How could he get that drunk on a split of Napa red? What did he want back here?”

by now, the waiter had gone out on the floor and come back, saying the guy wanted his check. But as he started to shuffle it out of the bunch he had tucked in his best, Jack stopped him and said: “He don't get any check—not till I give the word. Tell Joe I said stand by and see he don't get out.
Move!
”

The waiter had looked kind of blank, but hustled out as told, and then Jack looked at her. He said: “Lady, I'll be back. I'm taking a look around.”

He went, and she drew another of her long, trembly breaths. I cut my eye around, but no one had noticed a thing, and yet it seemed kind of funny they'd all be slicing bread, wiping glass, of fixing cocktails set-ups, with Jack mumbling it low out of the side of his mouth. I had a creepy feeling of things going on, and my mind took it a little, fitting it together, what she had said about the bag checked at the airport, the guy trying to make her, and most of all, the way Jack had acted, the second she showed with her cigarettes, shooing her off the floor, getting her out of sight. She kept staring through the window, at the drunk where he sat with his bottle, and seemed to ease when a captain I took to be Joe planted himself pretty solid in a spot that would block off a run-out.

Then Jack was back, marching around, snapping his fingers, giving orders for the night. But as he passed the back door, I noticed his hand touched the lock, as though putting the catch on. He started back to the floor, but stopped as he passed her desk, and shot it quick in a whisper: “He's out there, Lydia, parked in back. This drunk, like I thought, is a finger he sent in to spot you, but he won't be getting out till you're gone. You're leaving for the airport, right now.”

“Will you call me a cab, Jack?”

“Cab? I'm taking you.”

He stepped near me and whispered: “Mr. Cameron, I'm sorry, this little lady has to leave, for—”

“I know about that.”

“She's in danger—”

“I've also caught on to that.”

“From a no-good imitation goon that's been trying to get to her here, which is why I'm shipping her out. I hate to break this up, but if you'll ride with us, Mr. Cameron—”

“I'll follow you down.”

“That's right, you have your car. It's Friendship Airport, just down the road.”

He told her to get ready, while he was having his car brought up, and the boy who would take her place on the desk was changing his clothes. Step on it, he said, but wait until he came back. He went out on the floor and marched past the drunk without even turning his head. But she sat watching me. She said: “You're not coming, are you?”

“Friendship's a little cold.”

“But not mine, Bill, no.”

She got off her stool, stood near me and touched my hair. She said: “Ships that pass in the night pass so close, so close.” And then: “I'm ashamed, Bill, I'd have to go for this reason. I wonder, for the first time, if gamblings's really much good.” She pulled the chain of the light, so we were half in the dark. Then she kissed me. She said: “God bless and keep you, Bill.”

“And you, Lydia.”

I felt her tears on my cheek, and then she pulled away and stepped to the little office, where she began putting a coat on and tying a scarf on her head. She looked so pretty it came to me I still hadn't given her the one little bouquet I'd been saving for the last. I picked up the guitar and started
Nevada.

She wheeled, but what stared at me were eyes as hard as glass. I was so startled I stopped, but she kept right on staring. Outside a car door slammed, and she listened at the window beside her. Then a last she looked away, to peep through the Venetian blind. Jack popped in, wearing his coat and hat, and motioned her to hurry. But he caught something and said, low yet so I could hear him: “Lydia! What's the matter?”

She stalked over to me, with him following along, pointed her finger, and then didn't say it, but spat it: “He's the finger—that's what's the matter, that's all. He played
Nevada
, as though we hadn't had enough trouble wit it already. And Vanny heard it. He hopped out of his car and he's under the window right now.”

“Then O.K., let's go.”

I was a little too burned to make with the explanations, and took my time, parking the guitar, sliding off, and climbing down, to give them a chance to blow. But she still had something to say, and to me, not to him. She pushed her face up to mine, and mocking how I had spoken, yipped: “Oh! …
Oh!
OH!” Then she went, with Jack. Then I went, clumping after.

Then it broke wide open.

The drunk, who was supposed to sit there, conveniently boxed in, while she went slipping out, turned out more of a hog-calling­ type, and instead of playing his part, jumped up and yelled: “Vanny!
Vanny!
Here she comes! She's leaving! VANNY”

He kept I up, while women creamed all over, then pulled a gun from his pocket, and let go at the ceiling, so it sounded like the field artillery, as shots always do when fired inside a room. Jack jumped for him and hit the deck, as his feet shot from under him on the slippery wood of the dance floor. Joe swung, missed, swung again, and landed, so Mr. Drunk went down. But when Joe scrambled for the gun, there came this voice through the smoke: “Hold it! As you were—and leave that gun alone.”

Then hulking in came this short-necked, thick-shouldered thing, in Homburg hat, double-breasted coat, and white muffler, one hand in his pocket, the other giving an imitation of a movie gangster. He said keep still and nobody would get hurt, but “I won't stand for tricks.” He helped Jack up, asked how he'd been. Jack said: “Young man, let me tell you something—”

“How you been? I asked.”

“Fine, Mr. Rocco.”

“Any telling, Jack—I'll do it.”

Then, to her: “Lydia, how've
you
been?”

“That doesn't concern you.”

Then she burst out about what he had done to his mother, the gyp he'd handed his father, and his propositions to her, and I got it, at last, who this idiot was. He listened, but right in the middle of it, he waved his hand toward me and asked: “Who's this guy?”

“Vanny, I think you know.”

“Guy, are you the boy friend?”

“If so I don't tell you.”

I sounded tough, but my belly didn't feel that way. They had it some more, and he connected me with the tune, and seemed to enjoy it a lot, that it had told him where to find her, on the broadcast as here now tonight. But he kept creeping closer, to where we were all lined up, with the drunk stretched on the floor, the gun under his hand, and I suddenly felt the prickle, that Vanny was really nuts, and in a minute meant to kill her. It also crossed my mind, that a guy who plays the guitar has a left hand made of steel, from squeezing down on the strings, and is a dead sure judge of distance, to the last eighth of an inch. I prayed I could forget it, told myself I owed her nothing at all, that she'd turned on me cold, with no good reason. I concentrated, to dismiss the thought entirely.

No soap.

I grabbed for my chord and got it.

I choked down on his hand, the one he held in his pocket, while hell broke loose in the place, with women screaming, men running, and fists trying to help, I had the gun hand all right, but when I reached for the other he twisted, butted, and bit, and for that long I thought he'd get loose, and that I was a gone pigeon. The gun barked, and a piledriver hit my leg. I went down. Another gun spoke and he went down beside me. Then here was Jack, the drunk's gun in his hand, stepping in close, and firing again to make sure.

I blacked out.

I came to, and then she was there, a knife in her hand, ripping the cloth away from the outside of my leg, grabbing napkins, stanching blood, while somewhere ten miles off I could hear Jack's voice, as he yelled into a phone. On the floor right beside me was something under a tablecloth.

That went on for some time, with Joe calming things down and some people sliding out. The band came in, and I heard a boy ask for his guitar. Somebody brought it to him. And then, at last, came the screech of sirens, and she whispered some thanks to God.

Then, while the cops were catching up, with me, with Jack, and what was under the cloth, we both went kind of haywire, me laughing, she crying, and both in each others' arms. I said: “Lydia, Lydia, you're not taking that plane. They legalize things in Maryland, one thing specially, except that instead of wheels, they generally use a ring.”

Still holding my leg with one hand she pulled me close with the other, kissed me and kept on kissing me, and couldn't speak at all. All legalized now, is what I started to tell about—with Jack as best man, naturally.

The Robbery

“G
ood evening.”

“Good evening.”

“I guess we've seen each other a couple of times before, haven't we? Me and my wife, we live downstairs.”

“Yeah, I know who you are. What do you want?”

“Just want to talk to you about something.”

“Well—come in.”

“No. Just close that door behind you and we'll sit on the steps.”

“All right. That suits me. Now what's the big idea?”

“Today we was robbed. Somebody come in the apartment, turned the whole place inside out, and got away with some money, and my wife's jewelry. Three rings and a couple of wrist watches. It's got her broke up pretty bad. I got her in bed now, but she's crying and carrying on all the time. I feel right down sorry for her.”

“Well, that's tough. But what you coming to me about it for?”

“Nothing special. But of course I'm trying to find out who done it, so I thought I would come around and see you. Just to see if you got any idea about it.”

“Yeah?”

“That's it:”

“Well, I haven't got no idea.”

“You haven't? That's funny.”

“What's funny about it?”

“Seems like most everybody on the block has an idea about it. I ain't got in the house yet before about seven people stopped me and told me about it, and all of them had an idea about who done it. Of course, some of them ideas wasn't much good, but still they was ideas. So you haven't got no idea?”

“No. I haven't got no idea. And what's more, you're too late.”

“How you mean, too late?”

“I mean them detectives has been up here already. I mean that fine wife of yours sent them up here, and what I had to say about this I told them, and I ain't got time to say it over again for you. And let me tell you something: You tell any more detectives I was the one robbed your place, and that's right where the trouble starts. They got laws in this country. They got laws against people that goes around telling lies about their neighbors, and don't you think for a minute you're going to get by with that stuff no more. You get me?”

“I'll be doggone. Them cops been up here already? Them boys sure do work fast, don't they?”

“Yeah, they work fast when some fool woman that has lost a couple of rings calls up the station house and fills them full of lies. They work fast, but they don't always work so good. They ain't got nothing on me at all, see? So you're wasting your time, just like they did!”

“What did you tell them, if you don't mind my asking?”

“I told them just what I'm telling you: that I don't know a thing about you or your wife, or your flat, or who robbed you, or what goes on down there, 'cepting I wish to hell you would turn off that radio at night once, so I can get some sleep. That's what I told them, and if you don't like it you know what you can do.”

“Well, now, old man, I tell you. Fact of the matter, my wife didn't send them cops up here at all. When she come home, and found out we was robbed, why it got her all excited. So she rung up the station house, and told the cops what she found, and then she went to bed. And that's where she's at now. She ain't seen no detectives. She's to see them tomorrow. So it looks like them detectives thought up that little visit all by theirself, don't it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean maybe even them detectives could figure out that this here job was done by somebody that knowed all about me and my wife, when we was home, when we was out, and all like of that. And 'specially, that it was done by somebody that knowed we had the money in the house to pay the last installment on the furniture.”

“How would I know that?”

“Well, you might know by remembering what time the man came around to get the money last month and figuring he would come around the same day this month, and that we would have the money here waiting for him. That would be one way, wouldn't it?”

“Let me tell you something, fellow: I don't know a thing about this, or your furniture, or the collector, or nothing. And there ain't nothing to show what I know. So you ain't got nothing on me, see? So shag on. Go on down where you come from. So shut up. So that's all. So good-bye.”

“Now, not so fast,”

“What now? I ain't going to stay but here all night.”

“I'm just thinking about something. First off, we ain't got nothing on you. That sure is a fact. We ain't got nothing on you at all. Next off, them detectives ain't got nothing on you. They called me up a little while ago and told me so. Said they couldn't prove nothing.”

“It's about time you was getting wise to yourself.”

“Just the same, you are the one that done it.”

“Huh?”

“I say you are the one that done it.”

“All right. All right. I'm the one that done it. Now go ahead and prove it.”

“Ain't going to try to prove it. That's a funny thing, ain't it? Them detectives, when they start out on a thing like this, they always got to prove something, haven't they? But me, I don't have to prove nothing.”

“Come on. What you getting at?”

“Just this: Come on with that money, and come on with them jewels, or I sock you. And make it quick.”

“Now wait a minute. … Wait a minute.”

“Sure. I ain't in no hurry.”

“Maybe if I was to go in and look around. … Maybe some of my kids done that, just for a joke—”

“Just what I told my wife, old man, now you mention it. I says to her, I says, ‘Them detectives is all wrong on that idea. Them kids upstairs done it,' I says, ‘just for a joke.'”

“I'll go in and take a look—”

“No. You and me, we set out here till I get them things in my hand. You just holler inside and tell the kids to bring them.”

“I'll ring the bell and get one of them to the door—”

“That sure is nice of you, old man. I bet there's a whole slew of them robberies done by kids just for a joke, don't you? I always did think so.”