He stood up and leaned over the desk to me. “I thought you ought to know what they’re saying, Frank. If it’s true they don’t like it.”
I looked up at him. “I know what they’re saying, Silk. I know it long before you hear it. I also know who’s saying it, and if I were you I’d put a zipper where you wear your mouth or one day you’ll wake up and find it sewed up for yuh—with needle and threat.”
For just the tiniest moment he gave himself the pleasure of letting his hatred for me jump into his eyes. But only for a second. It was too expensive a thing to overindulge. His eyelids dropped and he was back to normal. He waved his hand jauntily and walked toward the door. “O.K., pal,” he said from there, “I told you,” and went out.
I jumped on the phone and asked the girl to get Moscowits for me. He wasn’t at his club. I told the girl to try his home.
A woman’s voice answered the phone. She had a slightly Jewish accent. “Hello.”
“Mr. Moscowits there?” I asked.
“No, he’s not,” said the voice.
“This is Frank Kane,” I said. “Do you know where I can get him?”
“I don’t, Mr. Kane,” said the voice. “I’m worried; he didn’t come home last night.”
“Is this Mrs. Moscowits?” I asked.
“Yes,” said the voice. “I’m worried, Mr. Kane. Moishe always calls up when business keeps him out.”
“Where was he goin’ when you heard from him last?” I asked her.
“He said he was going downtown to meet a couple of the boys. That was yesterday afternoon.”
I thought a moment. Silk must have had Moscowits on ice or he wouldn’t have come over here. “Well,” I said, “don’t worry. He’s probably tied up in some deal and couldn’t call you. I’ll locate him and have him call you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kane,” she said.
“That’s all right. Good-bye.” I hung up and spun my chair to the window. It was a nice clear day, and you could see the cars driving along on the other side of the Hudson.
Sweet mother of murder! Silk had set me up again, and it was going to take more than a couple of breaks for me to look good after this. If they got rid of Moishe and I didn’t stop it, my control over them would be shot to hell. And Silk knew that.
The phone buzzed. I turned back to the desk. “Mr. Price is on the wire,” Miss Walsh told me.
“Put him on.”
“Hello, Frank?” Joe’s voice came over the wire.
“Yeah,” I said. “How are yuh, Joe?”
“O.K.,” he said.
“How are things goin’?” I asked.
“That’s what I called about,” he said. “This juke plant out here is going to be a gold mine. A government inspector and a couple of Army men just finished an inspection out here, and they want us to take on a government contract for radio-and-signal-corps equipment.”
“That’ll take dough,” I said.
“No it won’t,” Joe’s voice came back. “The government’ll finance the whole thing. It’s part of the national defense program. They put up the dough for conversion; we turn out the stuff and make profit on it.”
I had other things on my mind. I wasn’t going to worry about that crap too. “Look, Joe,” I said, “I’m as jammed up as all hell here. You do what you think is right out there, an’ I’ll speak to you later about it.”
“It looks good to me, Frank,” he said. “I think there’s a war coming on, and if we take it up we’ll be six jumps ahead of the field.”
“O.K., O.K.,” I said, “you do it!” I hung up. What did I give a damn about war coming when I had a private war of my own to run?
I pressed the buzzer. Miss Walsh came in. “I’m not in to anyone for the rest of the day, understand?”
She nodded and went out.
I got busy on the phone. I had to find out where they took Moscowits before they got around to knocking him off. And if they knocked him off I wanted to get that check off him before they got around to it. I didn’t think he’d deposit it until he got out to California, and I wasn’t taking any chances.
By four o’clock I knew where they had him. He was in a garage on Twelfth Avenue. Fennelli was going to bring some of the boys over to see him at ten o’clock. I would have to get there first.
I called down and ordered the car out. About six o’clock I went downstairs and had supper, then drove over to New York. I had some time to kill until about eight thirty and on impulse I drove over to Ruth’s place.
The elevator took me upstairs. I walked over to her door and rang the bell. She opened the door.
For a moment she stood there in the doorway looking at me.
I couldn’t speak. There was something on the tip of my tongue, like “Where’s Marty?”—a stall maybe—but no dice! All I had to do was look at her and bang!—that old feeling!
She stepped back from the door; she still hadn’t spoken.
I entered the apartment. As soon as the door had closed behind me, I kissed her.
“Hello, Ruth,” I whispered.
She stepped back a little. “Why did you come?”
“To see you,” I answered. I didn’t know how much I meant that until I said it; then I knew.
She turned and walked toward the parlor. I threw my hat and coat into a chair and followed her. She took a cigarette from a case on one of the end tables and lit it slowly, deliberately. She knew she had me crawling and was going to play it out.
I walked over and took the cigarette out of her hand, squashed it out on a tray, and took her in my arms. She was cool to my touch. I kissed her. “Hello, Ruth.”
Her hand had crept up and stroked my cheek; her head dropped to my shoulder. “Frank,” she whispered.
“Change your mind, darling,” I whispered. “We can’t go—”
Her lips stopped my words. I held her close to me and could feel the pounding of her heart under my hand. She kissed me again. “No, my sweet,” she whispered against my lips.
I drew her down to the couch. We kissed again. I could feel the pressures working in her. Her lips were cool to the taste but fiery with the promise. The room began to spin around. Suddenly she was crying against my shoulder. Her voice came heavy through her sobs. “Frank, Frank, you’ve got to stop. We’ve been through this before.”
The room stopped its mad whirling around. I stood up and reached for a cigarette with trembling fingers. I looked down at her. She was sitting up, looking at me through eyes wide and filled with tears. I sat down and put my arm around her. I was all right now. I drew her head to my shoulder.
“Ruth will you marry me—now—later tonight?” I didn’t recognize the voice as mine. It had a quality of pleading and longing in it that I had never heard before.
She didn’t answer right away. For a few minutes she fought to control her sobs, then: “I want you so, darling.”
“Will you marry me?” I repeated.
She looked deep into my eyes. “I can’t.”
I interrupted her. “You just said—”
“But, Frankie, I want you for always.”
I looked at her. The room was dark and her face was a white cameo in the dimness. I reached out and put one hand on each side of it and drew it toward me. Her skin was warm and smooth and soft.
I made her a promise—the first I ever made. “I love you,” I said, my voice shaking a little. “You won’t have to wait much longer for what you want. You’re going to be a June bride.”
Her eyes searched my face. “You wouldn’t lie to me, Frank?”
I shook my head. “Not to you, baby!”
She closed her eyes for a moment, her lips moved silently, then her eyes opened. “I still can’t believe it’s true.”
I kissed her. “You can believe that, baby!” I said.
I left her at exactly eight thirty.
74
I parked the car about two blocks away from the garage and walked the rest of the way. This was a neighborhood I know well. I was broug
ht up in it. This was part of the territory I first had covered for Keough. At night the section was deserted.
The garage was about a half-a-block long going down toward the river, and about a quarter of a block facing along the avenue. There was a big center door on the building, which was rolled down tight, and another entrance from a long alleyway on the side of the building.
I put my hands in my pockets. One hand closed comfortingly around the automatic I had put in there when I left the office, the other around a small pocket flashlight I had taken from my car. I walked once past the garage. There wasn’t a sign of life in it. On the way back I turned up the alley. It was dark—really dark: I couldn’t see a foot ahead of me. I put one hand on the side of the building and walked up toward the back of the alley. I didn’t dare use the flash for fear I would tip myself off to whoever was in the building. I tried to walk quietly, but my footsteps sounded unnecessarily loud to my ears. My heart began to pound a little. My breath was coming in short gasps and sweat stood out on my forehead though it wasn’t any too warm.
My hand hit a break in the wall. It was a door. The slightest touch told me it was locked. I kept going up the alley, hand along the wall, and came to a stop against a wooden wall. It was a cloudy night and everything was murky and dim, but I reached as high as I could and still the top of it was out of my reach. I felt along the wall for a break in it, but it was smooth and ran right to the building on the other side of the alley. I turned and walked down the alley, now on the opposite side, hand against the building. About halfway back toward the street there was a door. My eyes were used to the darkness by now, and I could see a little better.
I tried the door. It was locked. I looked at the keyhole. It looked as if an old-fashioned key would open it. I had one on my key ring. I took it out, fitted it into the lock and turned. It squeaked a little but turned all the way around and the door was open.
I stepped into the darkness of the building and shut the door behind me and locked it. Then I took out my flash and turned it on. I was in some sort of a warehouse; there were big wooden packing cases all around me. I kept the flash pointed down toward the floor so that no light would show outside through any of the windows—if there were any windows. I walked toward the back of the building. There was a door there, and I let myself out and was on some sort of a loading platform next to a railroad siding. There were a couple of freight cars on the siding.
I looked over toward the garage. The siding went past the garage on the other side of a fence. The freight cars were right next to the fence. I clambered up the side of the one next to the landing, walked across the top of it until I was right behind the garage, then about one quarter the way down the rungs until I was on top of the fence. I turned and looked at the garage again, still holding onto the rungs on the side of the freight.
The garage had two windows that had been painted black, but some light crept through the scratches on them. There was also a door. I let go of the rungs and dropped off the fence. I let myself fall limply, softly to the ground, then straightened up and walked toward the door. There were some huge oil drums left outside the back of the garage. I stepped around them and put one hand on the door and pushed softly. It opened.
It was dark inside the door, but a light came from somewhere on the left. I turned toward the light and walked softly. There were several big Fruehauf trailers in there, and until I passed them I couldn’t see where the light was coming from. Then I saw it.
It came from a little office at the corner of the garage. There were three men in there, seated at a table, playing cards. I recognized one of them as Moishe. I couldn’t recognize the others because they were sitting with their backs partly toward me. I looked across the clear space between the office and me. If I walked directly toward it they might hear me and turn, or maybe Moishe would see me and tip them off by looking up.
I faded back along the trailers to the wall, then moved up toward the office along the wall. That would give me only a few feet of open space to cross to get to the office. That was the only chance I had to take, and I had to take it.
Moishe was the first to see me. He didn’t blink an eyelash, just threw three cards down on the table and said: “I’ll take three.”
One of the others said: “Can you beat that guy’s luck? He calls for the limit each time and wins. I’m almost broke.”
“What difference does that make?” growled the other. “Where he’s goin’ he won’t need the dough. We’ll get it anyway.”
The first man laughed. “That’s right, Flix. I didn’t think of that.”
Moishe picked up his three cards and looked at them. By that time I was in the doorway.
I spoke softly, hands in my coat pockets. “I’ll finish your hand for yuh, Moishe.”
Moishe looked up and smiled. The two men turned suddenly for the doorway. I recognized one: the man called Flix. He was the guy that had brought me into town that time for Silk. He was moving fast, his hand toward his gun on the table.
Moishe was faster. He picked up the gun.
I looked steadily at Flix. My voice was still soft. I took my hands out of my coat pockets empty. “Give him back his rod, Moishe,” I said. “This baby thinks he’s a powerhouse!”
Moishe looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. Then he held the gun toward Flix, who had frozen into a sort of semi-rigid statue goggling at me.
“Take it, Flix,” I urged softly. “Take it, don’t be bashful.”
He tore his eyes from my face. He pulled his hands close to him, away from the gun in Moishe’s outstretched hand. My hands were still empty. I walked over toward Flix. He was still seated, bent over in a sort of half-crouch. I leaned over him.
“Well, steamboat,” I said to him, “you’re not so tough without a rod, are yuh?”
He didn’t answer.
I reached down and grabbed him by his lapels and hauled him to his feet. He stood there in front of me still half bent over. I brought my knee up under his crotch and he snapped forward still further. Then I hit him with the other hand on the side of the face. He went down in a heap on the floor. I kicked him in the side. He didn’t move.
I turned to the other guy. “Pick him up and put him in a chair,” I said.
The man looked at me. His face had gone white in the light. He seemed incapable of movement.
“You heard me!” I snarled suddenly.
The man jumped to do as he was told. When he had put Flix back in the chair, he turned to me. Flix was half in the chair, half slumped across the table. He wasn’t out cold but he couldn’t move.
Moishe was watching me. He didn’t speak until now. “At first I thought it was you, Frank.”
“I know what you thought,” I said quietly, “but I gave you my word.”
He finished. “But now I know different.”
“O.K., Moishe,” I said. “It’s over anyway and doesn’t matter. Beat it home; your wife is worried about you. As soon as you see her, get on your way.”
I moved toward a chair and sat down.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Finish your hand.” I picked it up—not a bad hand either: Straight flush in spades.
75
I watched Moishe walk toward the exit. At the door he turned and half waved his hand to me in a sort of farewell. I watched him a moment, then nodded. He turned and walked out.
I looked at the two hoods. Flix was beginning to show a little interest in things. He picked up his head.
I looked at him. “How long you been with Fennelli?” I asked.
“I don’t know the guy,” was his answer.
“Who told you to pick up Moscowits then?”
“A guy slipped me five C’s on a street corner and fingered him for me.”
I scoffed at that. “Don’t give me that crap! A geister like you don’t work without a cover.”
He didn’t answer.
“Who got you out on the gun charge?”
“My lawyer,”
he answered.
We sat there silently for a while, just staring at one another. Flix was stewing something over in his mind. I knew by watching him that it wouldn’t take long in breaking out. All I had to do was wait for it.
It came sooner than I thought.
A flame seemed to burn bright in his eyes. “Why’d yuh knock off my sister?” he asked.
I smiled and could see he didn’t like that. I smiled anyway. “I didn’t knock her off. I didn’t know she was your sister. And if she was your sister, why did you drag her into that racket?”
He didn’t answer.
“I didn’t knock off your sister,” I continued, “but I know who did. Maybe we can swap some dope?”
He knew what I meant. He thought about that a few minutes. “Maybe we can,” he finally answered.
I leaned forward. This was beginning to look promising. “Well?” I asked, “start talking.”
He opened his mouth, but a creak from the front door stopped him. He turned his head on one side and listened.
I was listening too. I heard voices from the door. I stepped back from the light and drew my gun. The gun was nice and warm and cozy in my hand. I held my finger to my lips. The voices came closer.
I saw who it was: Fennelli, Riordan and Taylor. All they needed was a few more men and they would have a quorum. They were talking as they came up. They entered the room.
Flix had turned to face them; the other guy still sat in the chair. He didn’t know what the hell to do he was so scared.
Fennelli still didn’t see me; I was well behind the light. “Moishe,” he said.
I stepped around the light in front of him. I still held the gun in my hand. “Moishe had to go out of town.” I said. “I’m sitting in for him.”
Silk didn’t bat an eyelash. “Geeze, Frank, I’m glad to see you! I’ve been trying to locate you all afternoon. Moishe was trying to give us the slip.”
I smiled. It was almost funny. “So you were going to stop him for me?” My voice was cold.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“And you brought a couple of the boys over to see him when you couldn’t get ahold of me?”
Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double Page 44