“Fine,” Hocus said.
“Do you have a grapefruit juice?” Wright asked.
Packy gave him a funny look, but produced a cold glass of grapefruit juice.
Wright held it aloft and told us “It isn’t just for breakfast anymore” before draining it.
“Packy, I’ve got a name to bounce off of you. I want to see if it rings any bells with you.”
He leaned his powerful forearms on the bar and said, “Go ahead, hit me with your best shot.”
“Trelayne.”
Packy’s eyes took on a look I’d never seen there before, and he straightened right up.
“Right between the eyes,” Hocus said out of the side of his mouth.
“C’mon, Packy, who is he?” I asked.
“I ain’t heard that name in years,” Packy told us.
“How many?” Hocus asked.
‘The story goes back almost twenty,” he said.
“And how does the story go?” Hocus asked.
Packy started cleaning the already spotless bar with a rag while he spoke.
“It was in Chicago. Trelayne was managing an up-and-coming heavyweight, and he was approached to have his boy go in the tank.”
“Throw a fight,” I explained to the two detectives.
“I know what it means,” Hocus told me, sounding annoyed. “Go ahead,” he told Packy.
“The guy who approached Trelayne was the other kid’s father—and he was connected.”
“A wise guy?” Hocus asked.
“Mafia,” I told Packy.
“I know what that means,” Packy told me. “Yeah, the Mafia,” he told Hocus.
“So Trelayne crossed him and the wise guys have been after him for twenty years for that?” Hocus asked. “I don’t buy that.”
“That ain’t all of it. Trelayne didn’t tell his boy about the offer, and his boy went out and fought his heart out. He knocked that boy out in the fourth round, and I mean he knocked him cold—and that kid just never woke up.”
“He killed him,” I said. Hocus threw me another annoyed look, and Packy just said, “Yup.”
“So it’s not really the Mafia that’s been chasing this guy for twenty years,” Hocus said, “it’s the dead kid’s father, who just happens to be a wise guy.”
“He ain’t really in the Mafia,” Packy clarified, “but he’s connected.”
“What’s the father’s name?” I asked.
Packy shrugged.
“Trelayne would be the one who knows that,” he answered. “Why are you asking questions about Trelayne? Jeez, I didn’t even know he was still alive. He’d be an old geezer right about now.”
“About as old as Willy Wells,” I said.
“Right.”
“And Corky Purcell.”
“Purcell?” Packy said. “Is he around, too?”
“Not anymore, Packy,” I said, paying him for the drinks, “not anymore.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
It was almost eight and my office looked as foggy as Sherlock Holmes’s London, only this fog was man-made. Hocus’s cigars and Wright’s cigarettes were making it positively unlivable in there, and I was wishing to shit the damned phone would ring.
When we left Packy’s we finally knew whom we were looking for, and why Max the Ax was looking for him, too. He’d been hired by this long-dead fighter’s father to find Trelayne and kill him.
How had the father known that Trelayne was in New York?
That was something we might find out later. Right now our problem was finding Trelayne before the hit man did, and Hocus had figured out how to do that.
“We’ve got to make a target out of him,” he said on the way to my office.
“How?” I asked. “The man’s scared shitless.”
“You’ve got to talk him into it, Jacoby,” he told me. “If he calls here tonight it’s because he trusts you. He’ll listen to you if you tell him that it’s the only way.”
“The man’s been running for twenty years,” I told him. “What makes you think he’s going to stop and paint a target on his back now?”
“Twenty years is an awful long time to run,” Hocus pointed out. “This guy ain’t got many years left if he’s as old as you say. Maybe he’d like to spend his last few years in one spot, without looking over his shoulder.”
“I guess,” I agreed.
“Hey, don’t you have a bottle of something in a file drawer?” Hocus asked.
I gaped at him and said, “Are you for real?”
That’s when the phone rang.
“Private investigator,” I said, still not sure how to answer the phone.
“Is it you?” he asked.
“Yes, it’s me,” I told him. Hocus had suggested that I don’t let on right away that I knew his name. It might scare him off.
“Have you picked out a place to meet yet?” I asked.
“Uh-uh, I’ve decided not to meet you. I think I’m better off on my own.”
“Wrong,” I told him, “you’re dead wrong, friend. You need all the help you can get.”
“No,” he said again, “I’m better off by myself. I appreciate your offer, but no thanks.”
I was losing him. He was about to hang up unless I could do something or say something to prevent it.
“Trelayne, don’t hang up!” I shouted. Hocus looked up at the ceiling, and when he looked back at me I held up my hand to him, indicating that it was all right.
“What did you call me?”
“I called you by your name, Trelayne. I know who you are.”
“How—could you know that?” he stammered.
“Willy Wells told me.”
“Willy!” he snapped. “I trusted him.”
“And you were right to,” I told him. “Right now Willy is in the hospital because he wouldn’t tell a hit man where you were.”
I didn’t know that for sure, but what else could I tell him? Willy had told me that he hadn’t told the Ax anything, but I couldn’t be sure he hadn’t cracked under the ministrations of the man’s blade.
“Willy’s in the hospital? What happened to him?”
“He was tortured by the man who’s after you, but he didn’t tell him anything.”
“How’d he tell you my name, then?” he asked suspiciously.
“I found him and he figured my knowing your name would give me a head start on the hit man. He knew that if I found you first, you’d stay alive.”
He was silent for a few moments, then he said, “First Corky, now Willy. I’m getting all my friends killed, ain’t I?”
“Willy’s not dead, Trelayne, but we don’t know just how bad he’s hurt yet.”
“Creep,” he said, but I knew he didn’t mean me.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“I want you to meet me,” I told him.
“Where?”
“Somewhere where there’s a lot of people and we can talk without fear of being knifed to death—not in a crowd, anyway.”
“So where?”
“Grand Central Station,” I told him. “By the information desk. I’ve got a proposition for you, a way that you can stop running. If you’re interested.”
“I’m interested,” he told me. “I’m tired of running.”
“Okay, let’s make it nine o’clock tomorrow morning,” I told him. “The place will be mobbed at that time.”
“How will I know you?” he asked.
“I’ve got a bandage around my neck to go with the one over my eye,” I told him. “Compliments of your friend and mine.”
“All right,” he said, “I’ll be there.”
“Don’t come until nine,” I told him. “I’ll get there first.”
“O-Okay, Mister. I’m trusting you with my life.”
“Don’t worry,” I told him, “you’re in good hands.” I sounded more confident than I felt.
When I hung up Hocus looked at me and said, “Grand Central? The Ax could sidle up right next to you and slip a shiv between yo
ur ribs before you knew it. You wouldn’t even fall until the rush-hour crowd thinned out.”
“Well, you won’t let that happen,” I told him. I repeated what Trelayne had just said to me. “I’m putting my life in your hands.”
I was hoping he’d say something that would fill me with confidence.
He said, “Shit.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Grand Central Station is one of my least favorite places in the world—not that I’ve been too many places in the world, but I can think of a whole lot of other places I’d rather be, especially at 9 a.m. or 5 p.m.
Boxing is one of the few one-on-one sports, and I’m much more comfortable in the ring with one other guy—not counting the ref—than I was standing in the middle of Grand Central Station with a sea of people around me—especially when one of them might be out to kill me.
I got to the information booth at about eight-fifty and just stood there looking battered and bandaged, ogling the endless stream of secretaries with short skirts and tight tops.
After the first few minutes I gave up trying to pick Trelayne out of the crowd and started trying to find Hocus and Wright. I didn’t have any luck there either, but I hoped to hell they were out there somewhere with their eagle eyes on me.
At nine-ten I started to get worried, but as the big Longines clock struck nine-eleven a tall, gray-haired drink of water in a suit that looked ten years old approached me tentatively; and he was either my man, or he was going to ask me for a handout.
“Are you Jacoby?” he asked, looking furtively at the large crowds of people surrounding us.
“Yeah. Trelayne?”
He took a good look at me, taking in the acres of bandages I was wrapped in, and said, “You’re all fucked up, aren’t you?”
“That’s a nice thing to say to a man who’s trying to help you stay alive,” I commented.
He smiled, showing me yellow teeth, and said, “Just like I did for you the other night.”
I touched the bandage over my eye and said, “Right. C’mon, let’s walk.”
“Where?” he asked nervously.
“Just around,” I said. “We’ll walk in a circle. C’mon, he’s not going to try for either one of us with all of these people around.”
“Do you think he’s here?”
I shrugged.
“He was on one of us that night under the highway. He may have been on one of us now and followed us here. That’s why I wanted all these people around.”
I moved away from the information booth and started walking toward Lexington Avenue. He hesitated a moment, then hurriedly caught up with me.
“What’s this plan you got?” he asked me. Then before I could answer he said, “You got a cigarette?”
“I don’t smoke.”
“I ran low on funds,” he told me.
I walked him over to a magazine stand and bought him a pack of Camels. When he had one lit up we continued walking.
“Okay,” he asked again, “so what’s this plan?”
“In effect, I want to paint a target on your back and then grab the hit man when he tries to hit it,” I told him.
“That’s cute,” he said, assuming that I was joking.
“I wanted to be honest with you.”
“You mean, you’re not kidding? This is on the level?” he asked. “What do you think, I’m crazy?”
“I think you’re tired of running,” I told him, “and I’m offering you a way that you can stop.”
He frowned and then asked, “Is there more to this great plan?”
“Not much,” I answered. “It’ll be me and the cops covering you in a location that we’ll pick. We’ll have to assume that the hit man is following either you or me, so we’ll go to the location virtually at the same time, so that he’s not there alone with either one of us.”
“Then after he kills me you’ll grab him,” he finished.
“No, before he can even touch you we’ll grab him. There are a couple of other murders the cops want to talk to him about, and maybe they can get the name of the guy he’s working for.”
“I know who he’s working for,” he pointed out.
“Well, we’re ninety-nine percent sure he’s working for the man who approached you twenty years ago to have your fighter throw a bout.”
“Willy told you about that, huh?”
“No, we got the story from someone else who was around the fight game back then. How the hell have you stayed out of sight for all these years, and why surface now?”
He shrugged.
“I’m tired of running, you know that. I wanted to come out in the open again, even if it was only for one night, so I got Corky to let me use his ticket and went to the Garden that night. The rest is history. Somebody must have spotted me, and the next thing I know some guy with a knife is on my tail.”
“And then I started asking questions, trying to find out who sent me that advice. Whoever is after you wanted to get me out of the way before I could find you. What’s the guy’s name, Trelayne?”
“Oh, no,” he told me. “The guy’s mad enough at me as it is, if I gave you his name and you gave it to the cops—uh-uh, no way. You catch this hit man, and then if he doesn’t give you the name, maybe I will; but even then I’ll need some guarantees.”
“It would be a lot easier if you would give us his name now,” I pointed out to him.
“Sorry,” he said shortly, and that was that.
We had circled around and were now walking toward the Vanderbilt Avenue side of the station.
“Where are we gonna do this?” he asked. “And when?”
“I’ve given that a lot of thought, and I think I have a good place. The cops can get us the okay.”
“Where?”
“The Felt Forum,” I told him, which was the part of Madison Square Garden where they had held the fight that night. Hocus could get official okays from the police and Garden officials.
“The cops can be all over the place and still be out of sight.”
“Do you think this guy is gonna fall for this?” he asked.
“I hope so. We arranged to meet once and he was there, so I’m counting on its happening again.”
“You’re hoping,” he repeated. “I think I’m crazy to go along with this, but you got one thing right. It would be a relief to get this over with.”
“Okay, so it’s settled. We’ll make the arrangements, and hopefully we’ll be able to go tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“The sooner the better, Trelayne,” I told him.
“I guess.”
“Call me at my office later today, at six. I’ll let you know if it’s on for tonight, and if not I’ll let you know when. Okay?”
“I still say I’m crazy, but okay.”
As we reached the wide staircase that led to the Vanderbilt Avenue exit I asked him, “Listen, how did you first learn that I was looking for you?”
“I, uh, Willy Wells told me when I first called him. He also said I could trust you; that’s why I called you the first time.”
“I see,” I said. Pointing up the stairs, I told him, “Go out this way, hop in a cab and tell the driver you’re being followed. He’s a hack driver—he’ll know what to do.”
“I thought we wanted this guy to follow me?” he asked.
“Not right now,” I told him. “I’d rather have him follow me now, which is what I’m going to try to do. When I leave here I’m going to walk downtown, making it very easy for him to tail me.”
“What if he just goes ahead and kills you?” he asked, more with curiosity than concern.
“I’m betting he won’t. He had his chance last night at the gym, and he passed it up,” I explained. “The only time he really tried for me was under the highway, when he had you and me in the same place at the same time. I think he’ll wait for that situation to arise again.”
“You hope.”
“Trelayne, I’m betting both our lives on it.”
“D
on’t remind me. Uh, listen—”
“Yeah?”
“What if this guy spots the cops and takes off? He’s gonna know we set him up, he’s gonna be pissed. If he’s gonna kill me I’d rather he did it quick. If he’s mad, he might make it last—”
“All right, calm down. I’ve got another idea, but I didn’t think you’d go for it.”
“What is it?”
“Well, I’ll set up the meet with the cops for nine-thirty, but you and I will get there at nine o’clock. When Collins gets there, whether he’s following me or you, he won’t see any cops, because they won’t come until later.”
“Jeez—” he said, and I thought he’d balk, but he surprised me. “Okay, Kid. If I’m gonna trust you I’ll trust you all the way. At least the cops’ll show up in time to grab him.”
“And if something does go wrong, in time to keep him from killing us.”
“You hope,” he said.
Again I told him, “We’re betting our lives on it, pal.”
Chapter Fifty
I went to Eddie’s apartment to have lunch with Julie and to await a phone call from Hocus telling me that all of the arrangements had been made.
Hopefully.
I was hoping to put this whole thing to bed tonight.
Talk about bed, Julie brought about definite thoughts in that direction as she looked particularly fetching in a hooded, maroon terry-cloth robe. She had explained that since she wasn’t going out, she had decided there was no reason to get dressed. I had no complaints about that. I enjoyed the way her large breasts moved beneath the robe and the way her large nipples made their presence very obvious.
Leaving Grand Central Station, I still had not been able to spot either Hocus or his partner, but I was sure—almost—that they were there. I had drifted up the steps after Trelayne and watched him get into a cab, and had not seen anyone who looked like they might be following him. After that I walked uptown instead of downtown and stopped at a pay phone to call Julie and tell her I was bringing lunch. At no time while walking or while I was on the phone was I able to spot anyone following me. If the guy was tailing me, he was damned good at it.
I stopped in at a Charles & Co. and bought some cold cuts and bread for lunch.
Eye in the Ring Page 18