Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double

by Harold Robbins

  “I came to see Janet,” I replied, smiling easily. “How about you?” I had them. Neither would admit coming to see Janet even if they did.

  Marty murmured the old excuse about class business.

  “Well,” I said, “don’t let me interrupt. I’ll stick around till you’re through.” I sat down in her father’s chair and picked up a magazine. “Where are the folks?” I asked her.

  “They walked over to Grandma’s,” Janet replied. “She’s not been feeling too well.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said sympathetically. “Nothing serious?”

  “No, just a cold.”

  The boys gave up. “I guess we might as well run along; we’re about through anyway,” Jerry said, getting to his feet.

  “Don’t let me break up anything,” I said with a falsely begging-their-pardonish tone in my voice.

  “Yes,” Janet said picking up my cue, “don’t go. I’ll put on the radio. Maybe we can get something good.”

  Marty said something about having promised to be home early, and Jerry said: “Me too,” and they left in spite of our protests.

  When the door shut on them, we looked at each other and laughed. “C’mere, baby, and give me a kiss,” I said, holding out my arms to her.

  She came. I kissed her slowly. When we came up for air, I said: “Golly!”

  She smiled. “Long time no see.”

  “I was busy,” I said. “But if I’d’ve known what I was missing, I’d’ve been around more often.”

  “Don’t lie, Frankie,” she said. “Don’t ever lie to me, Frankie. You don’t have to.”

  “I know it, baby.”

  “I love you, Frankie.”

  I kissed her again but I knew I wouldn’t be kissing her long. Something seemed to tell me that she and Jerry…. But her kisses were sweet, and we were so young and so serious—even if I told myself I was not.

  24

  I was eating lunch one afternoon several weeks later when Marty slipped into the seat next to me. “Hi, Frankie!” he said. “What do ya know?”

  “Nothin’,” I said. “You tell me.”

  “There’s not much to tell. You’ve been making all the news late.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The whole school’s talking about your not running for class office again,” he said. “They say you think you’re too good for them.”

  I laughed at that. “Let them talk.”

  “Mrs. Scott doesn’t think too much of it either.”

  “Crap!” I said. I speared the cover from the bottle of milk with a fork.

  “What got into you anyway?” he asked.

  “Nothin’,” I said, drinking the milk. “I’m getting kind of fed up with the baloney she hands out about helping the students. All she’s doing is practicing on us. Maybe she’s going to write a book and call us experiment 999 or something.”

  He reached over and picked up my bottle of milk and took a drink out of it. I watched him. “Have some pie too,” I told him.

  He grinned. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.”

  “Then what the hell are you doing down here anyway?”

  “Well, if you really want to know, I came down to see you. Mrs. Scott thinks maybe you’d like to come back upstairs and work with us. She thinks you’re good.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said, standing up. He sat there looking up at me. “You can just run right back upstairs and tell her to get another stoolie. I’m out of business.”

  “O.K.!” he said, getting up from the bench. “If that’s what you want, I’ll tell her, but I think you’re maybe making a mistake.”

  “I know,” I said, “but don’t give it a thought. I make ’em all the time.”

  I walked out of the lunchroom into the yard and then across the street. There were a row of benches there. I sat down and lit a cigarette. It’s kind of on a hill there and you can look out across the river to the Bronx. It was about mid-April and the day was warm and hazyish. I heard the school gong ring announcing change of classes, and I thought: “The hell with it!” I didn’t feel like math anyway. I could see some students coming out and others going in. I leaned back against the bench. The cigarette had burned down; I lit another from it and threw the butt away.

  A few girls were walking down the path toward me. Janet was with them. I turned my head away, hoping she wouldn’t see me; I hadn’t seen her since that night three weeks ago. But she did. She said something to them and came over to me. The sun was in her hair and she looked very pretty, but I didn’t want to talk to her. I wished she hadn’t seen me.

  She came up. “Hello, Frankie.” She smiled. There was something about her smile that got me. It was like she had said: “Don’t be mad at me. If I did something wrong, I didn’t mean to.”

  I smiled back. “Hello, Janet.”

  “Haven’t you got a class?” she asked.

  “Yes, but I’m lazy. I guess I got spring fever.”

  “Oh! It is a nice day, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mind if I sit down?” she asked.

  “No. That’s what the benches are here for.”

  She sat down on the bench, a little way from me. For a while we didn’t speak; we just looked out over the river. But it was like holding a conversation. I could imagine her asking me why I hadn’t been around to see her and me saying I wanted to, but was too busy and then she would ask if I was going back to help Mrs. Scott because if Marty knew it she would know it working with them and I would say no because I thought Mrs. Scott was a faker and she really didn’t give a damn about us and then she would say that I was wrong and Mrs. Scott was O.K. and I would say it’s your opinion and you’re entitled to it and she would ask me how I was doing in my classes and I would say all right because I had been averaging about eighty and then she would ask me if I was going out for the swimming team again this year and I would say maybe I hadn’t made up my mind yet and when I knew that I had made up my mind to go out the coach had asked me and then she would ask me how my aunt and uncle were and I would say they’re all right but my uncle has a cold he’s been trying to shake all winter but the cough seems to hang on and ask her how her parents and grandmother were and she would tell me that they’re O.K. too but her grandmother is getting older and while we were talking I would be thinking of something else how she first kissed me and when she told me she loved me when she was ironing her slip in the kitchen and how the perfume in her hair used to tickle my nose and we would be talking about the kids we knew when we wanted to talk about whether she liked Jerry and I liked her—but we just sat there on the bench looking out across the river to the Bronx.

  My second cigarette turned low. I lit another from it and threw the butt over the railing, and we watched it fall over until it was out of sight. At last she spoke.

  “You’ve changed, Frankie—changed a lot in the last year.”

  “We all do,” I said. “We’re not getting younger.”

  “That’s not it, Frankie,” she said slowly. “Somehow I’ve got the feeling you’re a person I never knew before, you’re so different. I know we’ve all changed—Jerry and Marty and me—but you’ve seemed to grow cold and hard and selfish. You never were like that before.”

  I remembered that was what Ruth had said once. I looked at Janet. “That’s the way I always was,” I said flatly.

  We were silent again, and looked out at the river and watched a small boat chugging upstream against the current. I threw my cigarette away. I didn’t light another because my mouth tasted lousy. A light wind had come up behind our backs; I could feel it blowing across my head. I looked at Janet. Her hair was blowing in the wind forming small curls around her face. I wanted to touch her hair; it always felt so soft and crinkly.

  She looked at me. “You look like a small boy just after an undeserved spanking,” she said, gamely trying to smile. She didn’t quite make it.

  I didn’t answer.

  “Frankie, why don’t you come to see me anymor
e?” There, she said it. I could never know how much courage it took for her to ask that question.

  I didn’t know what to answer. I mumbled something about being busy…

  “You were busy before and yet you found time,” she said.

  I said something about her going around with Jerry.

  “I only started to go around with Jerry after you started with the other crowd. What did you want me to do—stay home and mope or wait for you to come back?” Her face was white and tense.

  “But Janet,” I said, “we were kids and maybe we didn’t exactly know what we were saying…”

  “Maybe you mean you didn’t.” She was crying now. Tears stood in her eyes, sparkling like little diamonds where the sun caught them. “But I did. I thought you loved me.” She covered her face with her hands and leaned forward, weeping soundlessly.

  My throat felt funny. I could hardly speak. Nervously I looked around. Thank God there wasn’t anyone near us! “But Janet—” I said, leaning forward and touching her shoulder. How could I tell her I was sorry I had hurt her, or that I felt like a fool? I thought of Eve, the girl in the senior class I had been running around with the last few weeks, and her wet, hot kisses and the tricks she had of promising with a look of her eye or a movement of her body—of promising a lot and giving just a little—and teasing, always teasing. How could I tell Janet that I loved her freshness, her simple, direct, honest look, the warmth of her eyes? How could I tell her that I wanted her—and something more?

  She shook my hand from her shoulder angrily. “Go away!” she cried. “I feel so cheap—I hate you, I hate you!”

  She got up and ran toward the school, wiping at her face with a small, ineffectual handkerchief. I started to get up and go after her. Then I remembered we could be seen from the windows of the school. I sat there and watched her run into the school.

  I looked out across the river. The day was getting colder. I shivered. The gong rang announcing change of classes. I was almost glad. I got up and went in. I had a Spanish class coming up. On the second floor I saw Janet coming out of the girls’ room. I went over to her. “Janet,” I said.

  She turned her face away. “Don’t speak to me again—ever.” She spoke in a low, cold tone of voice.

  “All right,” I said just as coldly, “if that’s the way you want it.”

  She walked on down the hall. I watched her turn the corridor.

  “Damn!” I said to myself. “Goddamn school, anyway! It’s kid stuff.” And she turned and walked out of the building.

  25

  The family was just sitting down for dinner when I came in. The kids were all scrubbed up; Irene was already sitting at the table but Essie was helping her mother at the stove.

  “Hi ya, folks!” I said as I came in.

  “I was wondering where you were, Frankie,” said my aunt. “Hurry and wash up. We almost started without you.”

  I looked at her strangely; this, for her, was almost sharp. Her face seemed to be screwed up in little worry wrinkles. “You know me, Aunt Bertha!” I said trying to get a laugh out of her. “Meals is one thing I’m never late for.”

  The kids laughed at that. “That’s right, Mommy,” said Essie, “he’s never late for meals.”

  I went into the parlor. My uncle was sitting there in a chair near the window. He seemed to be staring into space, his hands clenched nervously on the edge of the chair. “Uncle Morris, you surprised me. I didn’t think you were home yet.”

  “Hello, Frankie, I came home early.” He tried to smile but it didn’t take. It was merely a facial grimace. “I was tired.”

  I went into the bathroom and started to wash my hands. I called in to him. “You’d better go in to eat; they’re starting now.”

  I could hardly hear his answer: “I’m not hungry.”

  Something was wrong, I thought. I could feel the tension in the air. I didn’t feel quite right. I wondered whether I had done anything wrong. I couldn’t tell. I dried my hands and went into the kitchen to eat. We ate the meal quietly. Uncle Morris didn’t come in at all. After dinner I helped Essie with the dishes. She washed and I dried and put them away. Then we went inside and listened to the radio awhile. At eight o’clock the kids went to sleep. About nine thirty I announced I was going to turn in. I kind of felt my aunt and uncle wanted to talk and I was in the way. It had been a quiet, gloomy evening. Usually Uncle Morris laughed and joked and played with the kids. But tonight he was quiet. When they kissed him he let them kiss him on the cheek and didn’t kiss them back. I went into my room and shut the door and started to undress. Through the closed door I could hear my aunt and uncle talking in low tones. An occasional group of words would come through. I got into bed and stretched out, my arms behind my head, and looked out the window. It had been a long, tiring day. I dozed lightly, troubled by a strange feeling of depression that had descended on me. Suddenly I became completely awake. My aunt and uncle were talking in the hall outside my door. I looked over at the clock on my dresser; its radium dials said it was about two o’clock. I listened.

  My aunt was crying softly. My uncle was speaking. “It’s nothing too much to worry about. You heard the doctor. A couple of years in Arizona and I’ll be all right,” he said. “I’m lucky we caught it in such an early stage. It’s completely curable.”

  She said something about the kids. I could hear my name but I couldn’t quite get what she was saying. It was something about my not being sixteen yet.

  “Don’t worry about that either,” my uncle said. “They’ve got just as good schools out there as they have here. And Frankie will come with us. All we have to do is explain the case to them. I’m sure they’ll listen. After all, he’s only about four months away, and I guess they’ll stretch a point.”

  She said something else and I heard the door of their room close. I wondered what we were going to Arizona for, and what my not being sixteen had to do with it. I had almost fallen asleep again when the thought hit me. I sat up in bed. Arizona—t.b.—that’s what it was! That explained the cough he had all winter. It wasn’t a cold. It was t.b.!

  I jumped out of bed and slipped into my bathrobe and went out into the hall. I stood in front of their door a moment before I knocked. “It’s me,” I whispered loudly. “Can I come in?”

  “Yes,” said my uncle, and I opened the door and went into the room. “What are you doing up so late?” he asked.

  “I heard you talking,” I blurted out, “and I woke up. Something’s wrong. I can feel it. What’s the matter?”

  My aunt and uncle exchanged glances. My uncle spoke. “Nothing. We were thinking of moving, that’s all.”

  “Yes, I know,” I said. “To Arizona. Why?”

  They didn’t answer.

  “Is it because you’re sick?” I asked.

  He looked at me. “You heard?” It was a question the way he said it.

  “Yes. I can guess. I’m no baby.”

  “Well,” he said, “then you know.”

  “Look,” I said going over to the edge of the bed and sitting down, “I have some money in a bank on Broadway if you need it.”

  He smiled. “No, thanks. We’re pretty well fixed. Keep it.”

  “If it will help,” I said, “you’re welcome to it. It’s more than fifteen hundred dollars.”

  He was surprised at that. “Fifteen hundred dollars! That’s a lot of money. Where’d you get it?”

  “I had a job,” I said, standing up. “I’ll tell you about it sometime. But if you should ever need it, all you have to do is say so.”

  “No, son, we don’t need it. Thanks anyway,” he said.

  I started out but my aunt called me back. “Come here and kiss me good night.”

  I knelt over her and kissed her. “You’re a sweet kid,” she said smiling. “Now go back to bed and don’t worry about it. We’ll be all right.”

  I left the room and went back and got into bed. I remembered what they said about my being not sixteen, I had forgotten to ask the
m about that. I was going to go back and ask them, but then I decided to let it wait until morning. Anyway I thought if it was money I was glad I let them know I had enough to pay my own way. I fell asleep.

  26

  I woke up late the next morning and had to run out of the house without speaking to anyone. All I had time to say was: “So long, see you after school.” I just made the first class. At study period I saw Jerry. We spoke casually for a few minutes; then I left him. At lunchtime I ran into Ruth. I sat down near her.

  “How’ve you been?” I asked.

  “O.K. I’m boning pretty hard. I graduate this term, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Where have you been keeping yourself lately? You haven’t been down with Marty in a long time. You two haven’t had an argument or anything, have you?”

  “Nope,” I said, “we haven’t. But we’ve got different things to do.”

  “Well, come around sometimes. The folks will be glad to see you.” She left.

  I looked around the lunchroom. Somehow the school looked different to me. I thought maybe it was because I figured I wouldn’t be there long if the family moved to Arizona.

  I headed home right after basketball practice. I came in just as the kids were going to play. My aunt was reading the paper in the parlor. She looked up as I sat down. “This is the first chance I’ve had to sit down and look at the paper today,” she said.

  “Yes,” I said, and then without even thinking about what she had said, asked: “When are we going to move?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “There are some things we have to work out first. Your uncle has to sell his territory. We have to arrange for a place to live, schools for you and the children. We’ll have to budget ourselves very carefully. Your uncle will have to take it easy for a while.”

  “I can work,” I said.

  “I hope it won’t be necessary. I want you to finish school and go to college. Have you ever thought about what you wanted to do?”