Invitation to Violence

by Lionel White

  She reached across the table suddenly, jerking him by the sleeve of his jacket and interrupting his thoughts.

  “You wanted to talk to me, Mister,” she said, fury in her low, husky voice. “What kind of man are you, anyway? Don’t just sit there staring at me. Tell me…”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, refocusing his eyes on her.

  “I don’t understand you,” Sue Dunne said. “I don’t understand you at all. I have to believe you, but I simply can’t understand you. You don’t look like a hoodlum-and God knows, I’ve seen enough of them to know. You don’t look like a thief or a crook. Maybe you are an insurance man like you say. Maybe you are legitimate.

  “And yet you come here, or rather bring me here, and tell me about my brother. Tell me about his getting into your car. You say that he had the jewels and that now you have them. Or that you know how to get hold of them.

  “Why? Why in the name of God do you come to me?”

  “It’s like I explained,” Gerald said. “There was nothing I could have done for your brother. He died within minutes of the time he got into the car. There was nothing I could have done for him. But, I want to know who else is mixed up in the thing. If anyone else was involved in the robbery. I want to know how they planned to get rid of the stuff once they had it.”

  “But why? Why do you want to know? Say, are you some kind of cop or something? You said you were an insurance man. Is that why…”

  Gerald slowly shook his head.

  “No,” he said. “No that isn’t why. And I am not any sort of cop or anything like that. It’s like I have told you. Five men have already died because of these jewels. One of them was your brother. Nothing can be done about that part of it any longer. But you have to be sensible, be realistic. It doesn’t make the jewels any less valuable.”

  He hesitated a second and watched her closely.

  “You see,” he said, “I don’t know anything about mobs, or gangsters, or fences, or anything like that. I just assumed that maybe you, being the sister of one of the men who took the stuff…”

  She pushed back her chair and angrily got to her feet, leaning down with her hands on the table and staring into his face.

  “My brother’s dead,” she said. “I don’t say that he didn’t get what was coming to him; I don’t even blame the policeman who fired the bullet which killed him. But the very thought of those jewels makes me sick. Makes me want to vomit. Do you understand? I hate the jewels and I hate the men who helped Vincent steal them.”

  Her slender body suddenly began to shake and Gerald himself leaned forward, taking her by the arms. In a moment she again sat down, half collapsing in the seat.

  He leaned forward, still holding her.

  “Please,” he said. “Please. Just take it easy. I’m not trying to hurt you. I don’t want to…”

  She swallowed a sob and looked up at him. The hatred was still there, but there was a difference. He could tell that the hatred had nothing to do with him personally. He was no longer important.

  “If there is anything I could do to see that the man who got Vince into this thing was arrested,” she said in a low, choked voice, “anything I could do at all, why I’d give my life.”

  She lifted her eyes again and stared at him intently. “And you expect me to help you contact him? You expect me to help you make money out of the very thing which killed my brother? You must be a fool as well as a scoundrel!”

  She leaned back in her seat in sudden tired resignation and he could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

  “Vince was weak,” she said, her voice soft and barely above a whisper, as though she were speaking to herself and had forgotten his very presence. “Yes, Vince was weak. I always knew that he wasn’t much good. But if they’d let him alone, if they’d only left him alone! He could have turned out all right. I would have seen to that. I could have helped him, protected him.”

  She looked up again and once more her mood changed.

  “Yes,” she said, bitterly. “Yes, I could have helped him. But they didn’t. They didn’t leave him alone. They need kids like Vince to do their dirty work-take the chances they are afraid to take themselves.”

  Suddenly she reached for the Martini and lifting it to her lips, swallowed it in one long draught. She made a wry face as she replaced the glass.

  “As far as you’re concerned,” she said, looking into his face and not bothering to conceal the repugnance in her voice, “as far as you’re concerned, if you have the jewels like you say you do, then keep them. Or, if you aren’t just a cheap thief, give them back to the people they belong to.

  “I wouldn’t help you if I could. I don’t even know why I’m stupid enough to sit here talking to you. I think maybe you are as bad as Fred Slaughter himself. There’s something darned funny about you and I think maybe I should just go to the telephone and…”

  “Slaughter? Was this Fred Slaughter the man-the fence or whatever it is?”

  For a long moment she stared at him and then quickly looked away.

  “If you are smart,” she said, “you’ll forget that name. Forget that you ever heard it.”

  This time when she stood up there was no doubt about what her intentions were.

  “I don’t know what your angle is, Mister,” she said. “Maybe you are just a screwball after all. You certainly don’t look like a thief and you don’t look like a cop. But if you should by any chance know anything about those stolen jewels, I would advise you to get rid of them just as quickly as you can. I’d advise you to go right to the police and tell them everything you know.”

  She hesitated a moment and for the first time as she looked at him, there was no longer the disgust and the dislike in her expression.

  “You are older than Vince was,” she said. “You should be a lot smarter. Maybe you are and maybe you’re not. Maybe, you too just have to be told what is right and what is wrong.”

  She moved a step away from the table as he started to stand up.

  “I’m going now,” she said. “We’ve had our talk. I’m going home now and I don’t think I ever want to see you again.”

  She swung on her heel and stalked out into the night and Gerald stood there.

  Somehow he felt a sudden sadness, a sudden odd sense of loss. It didn’t matter how she felt about it. He knew that he himself would want to see her again. Would like to see her soon and often and…

  * * *

  He didn’t notice the man several tables away who also sat watching the girl leave. The man himself, for a moment, made as though to get up and follow her. Then, after a moment, he once more sat back and his eyes returned to Gerald.

  It was a decision he had to make on the spur of the moment. There was no time to call in and find out which one of the two they wanted him to keep his eye on in case they split up. Well, he couldn’t, very obviously, tail both of them. And he guessed that the man would probably be the most important one. The man usually was.

  It is more or less of a shame that he reached this particular decision, because, if he hadn’t and had decided to follow Sue Dunne instead of stay with Gerald Hanna, he might have been able to do something about what was to happen a few moments later.

  At least he would have seen the car which was waiting at the curb, in front of Sue’s apartment house when she arrived. He would have seen the man who leaped to the dark street and crossed over and accosted her and a second later threw a strangle hold around her neck and pulled her to the edge of the gutter. He would have seen the other hands reach out and drag her into the machine as it left the curb to speed off into the night.

  But instead, this man who had to make the decision stayed on as Gerald sat and finished his warm drink and called the waiter over and asked for his check. He followed him when Gerald went out and got into his car. He was behind him, in his own unmarked police car, all of the way out to Long Island. He was parked across the street, watching, as Gerald closed the garage doors and went on up to his apartment. />
  * * *

  He wasn’t prepared for it. It was funny how that was the first thought that passed through his mind as his hand reached out and he flicked on the wall switch in the living room.

  Even before the sense of surprise, of fear, reached his brain, that was the thought. He should have known or at least have guessed. But he hadn’t. That was the trouble with having no experience. Experience was always valuable. Gerald could only assume the rule applied to almost any given situation.

  A criminal, a man who operated outside the law, would have had that experience and would have known. Would have sensed it the moment he entered the room. But he, Gerald Hanna, was without experience and that is why, as the yellow brilliance filtered through the dark room and he saw the two of them, one on the couch and the other standing by the door, he reacted as he did.

  The hand which had found the fight switch went to his mouth and his eyes, in the sudden glare of the light, were wide and almost hysterical. He gasped and instinctively he turned and took a step back toward the hallway.

  It was the short, fat one, the one called Finn, who spoke. He didn’t move and didn’t take the dead cigar from between his lips and he didn’t raise his voice but spoke in a cool, detached manner.

  “Don’t leave now, Mr. Hanna,” he said. “You just got here. This is your house, you know. Your castle. You may stay.”

  Detective Lieutenant Hopper merely sat still and relaxed on the couch, his glasses half down on his thin, bony nose and his hat pushed back on his head. He didn’t look up. His eyes were on the floor and he seemed to be inspecting the carpet under Gerald’s feet.

  “Yes, do stay. It wouldn’t be polite to leave while you have guests,” Finn said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He dusted a spot of cigar ash from the unpressed lapel of his dark-gray suit and looked up into Gerald’s face, smiling politely.

  “You’re real cute, Mr. Hanna,” he said.

  Lieutenant Hopper raised his eyes and sighed. He looked over at the fat man, ignoring Gerald, who still stood half in and half out of the doorway.

  “I’ll take it, Finn,” he said in a tired voice. He transferred his gaze to Gerald.

  “Come in and sit down, Mr. Hanna,” he said. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Gerald entered the room, attempting to compose his expression. He took off his hat and carefully placed it on the side table and then moved across the room and pulled a straight-backed chair out from the wall. He straddled it and then just sat there, waiting.

  “Where have you been?”

  The lieutenant’s expression was disinterested as he asked the question in a soft, gentle voice.

  “Why… why, out,” Gerald said. The moment the words left his lips he realized the inane vacuity of them. Realized how silly they sounded. But he still hadn’t gotten over his shock at finding the men in his apartment, hadn’t adjusted to the reality of their presence.

  “He’s been out,” Finn said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “I told you he’s cute, Lieutenant. Not tricky-nothing cagey or deceitful or reticent about him. Just cute. You ask him where he’s been and like a little man he ups and he tells you. He’s been out. Simple? Straightforward? Certainly. A man would have to be a damned ingrate not to be satisfied with that sort of answer.”

  He moved then, moved with amazing swiftness for a man of his bulk. He was halfway across the room when he again spoke.

  “Why, you dirty little…”

  “Sit down, Finn. I said I’d take it!”

  The lieutenant stood up then himself and stared down at Gerald. He began to speak in the same soft, unimpassioned tone of voice, almost apologetically, but his gray eyes were like ice.

  “I’d like to explain something to you, Mr. Hanna,” he said. He took a step forward, standing in front of Gerald on straddled legs. As he spoke he reached up and pushed his glasses into position.

  “I don’t believe it’s any news to you that we have been working on a robbery. The Gorden-Frost job, to be precise. A quarter of a million dollars in stones and assorted gems. But do you know, in spite of the money involved, in spite of the fact that the thieves got away with the stuff, we aren’t really primarily concerned. Interested of course, that more or less being our business, but not hysterical about it or anything.

  “On the other hand, it just so happens that two policemen were shot during that particular robbery. One of them was a man a year or so younger than you, but unlike you, he was married. Had a two-year-old baby. His name was Hardy, Don Hardy. I never knew him personally as he was just a rookie when he was shot. He’ll never be anything else. He’s dead.

  “The other one was a man named Dillon. Dillon was a sergeant, an old-timer. Dillon I did know. Knew him. knew his wife, and knew his two sons and his daughter. You’d have liked Dillon-a good solid family man and honest as the day is long. Dillon was the sort of cop who hated to write out a traffic ticket. He wasn’t a cop’s cop-he was a layman’s cop. Everyone liked Dillon. Well, he’s dead too. I take his death pretty hard; you see he stood up at my wedding and we were friends.

  “But I don’t want you to let that influence your reaction to what I am saying to you. A lot of men have friends and a lot of those friends die, sooner or later. Not exactly the way Hardy and Dillon died, of course, but they do die.”

  Lieutenant Hopper shifted his weight and scratched vaguely at the side of his nose before going on. His voice was softer than ever.

  “Around New York,” he said, “we take it seriously when someone shoots a cop. We don’t like it. Not at all, we don’t like it.”

  Gerald, staring up at the other man, half nodded. He didn’t speak.

  “Now let’s take you,” the lieutenant said. “By some amazing coincidence, you just happen to be driving by the scene of a crime at the time or around the time it is taking place. And, through an even more fascinating coincidence, you were driving the same make of car which was driven by one of the men who engineered the getaway.

  “Sort of coincidental, eh? But that isn’t all of it. Oh, no, we have even more and greater surprises in store. Your license plate ends in the same number as the license plate of the getaway car. The truth is really stranger than fiction, isn’t it, Mr. Hanna?”

  The lieutenant tipped his hat back a bit farther on his head and then took off his glasses. He pulled a linen handkerchief from his breast pocket, carefully polished both lenses and then put the glasses into a leather case and placed the case back in his jacket pocket.

  “Now you tell us, Mr, Hanna, that you didn’t know anything about that robbery. Didn’t know anything about those two policemen who were killed in the line of duty. You tell us further that you didn’t know the three men who were known to have been involved in the crime. That you never as much as heard of Vince Dunne, or Dominick Petri or Jake Riddle.

  “And yet, tonight, by another one of those utterly fascinating coincidences, you spent a few casual, carefree hours with the sister of one of those men. You met her at a pleasant, restful saloon and the two of you enjoyed the cool of the summer evening over a few drinks. I certainly can’t criticize you for that, Mr. Hanna. Having met the young lady, I can only congratulate you on your good taste. I can only envy you your youth and your freedom and your luck. But do you know something, Mr. Hanna? Do you know that I experience another sensation even stronger than envy?”

  Suddenly the soft voice was no longer soft, no longer gentle and conciliatory.

  “You s-o-b,” the lieutenant said, “start talking! Start talking and make it good. Make it damned good!”

  As Lieutenant Hopper finished speaking, Finn moved swiftly across the room. His meaty right hand swung from his hip and the hard side of the palm caught Gerald across the eyes. Twice more, before Gerald could raise his arms in defense, Finn back slapped him, rocking his head from side to side.

  “He’ll talk,” Finn said. “He’ll talk. You’re damn right he’ll talk.”

  Gerald talked.

  He tried not t
o lose his head, tried not to panic. Tried to tell them the truth, straight and simple.

  Yes, he’d met Sue Dunne and he’d spent an hour or so with her.

  They didn’t interrupt him as he explained it. He told them that he had read about the robbery in the newspapers and that after that first visit the two had paid him, he’d made the connection and reread the stories in the newspapers. He had realized what it was they had wanted to see him about.

  Naturally he had been curious. Who wouldn’t be? He’d gone on and followed the case for the last couple of days, reading the papers and tuning in on the news broadcasts. He himself had been fascinated by the coincidences in the thing. The fact that he had a Chevvie, that its license ended in the number “3.” That he had been near the scene of the crime at the time it had taken place. Who wouldn’t be curious?

  He’d seen the girl’s name in the newspapers and her address as well. There had been a picture of her and he had thought she was enchanting.

  At this point Lieutenant Hopper interrupted his story. Finn was back, seated on the couch and the lieutenant still stood, a few feet away.

  “Enchanting?” he said. “I’m rather surprised, Mr. Hanna… and you an engaged man. In fact, I believe that you and Miss Swiftwater have been engaged for several years. A nice girl, Miss Swiftwater. Not enchanting, perhaps, but nice. I don’t believe, however, that nice as she is, she would quite approve of her fiance finding Miss Dunne enchanting.”

  Gerald blushed, but continued.

  “I couldn’t understand,” Gerald said, “how a girl who looked like Miss Dunne could be mixed up with a lot of thugs.”

  “And is she mixed up with thugs?” the lieutenant asked.

  “What I mean to say,” Gerald explained, “is how she could be the sister of a thief and a gunman. In any case, curiosity got the better of me, and because I was interested in the case, and because you had questioned me about it, I looked up Miss Dunne and arranged to see her. It was as simple as that.”