Johnnie

by Dorothy B. Hughes

  “How do I get back in?”

  “There’s a key in the hall table drawer. Take it with you. Can you make it in the dark? Better not turn on the lights.”

  “I can make it.” He started to the wall.

  “Wait.” She caught his arm. “Wait.” She took a packet of safety matches from her pants pocket, lit the candle. “Turn out the light.” He obeyed. She carried the candle to the front window. She kept it in front of her while she signaled some message. He couldn’t get it. She said casually, “You wouldn’t get out otherwise. But don’t mention it to Rupe. He doesn’t have to know everything.”

  It struck him then; he might be walking Ruprecht back into a trap. Two princelings at one fell swoop. Well—he still had a string to his bow. Good thing he’d held it out. That bomb might come in handy yet.

  She pushed the wall again. “Make it quick, Johnnie. It may take you an hour but make it quick as you can. They’ll want to start to the airport in plenty of time. I’m sorry I can’t let you use one of the cars but I’m afraid to risk that. You will hurry?”

  “I sure will.”

  She turned her face up to his. Unaccountably she closed in. He didn’t question it. Her arms went around his neck. His arms went around her. He kissed her. It was a kiss. And then he yelped.

  “Now I know you’ll come back.” His dog tags dangled from fingers. The dirty little tramp, rubbing the back of his neck, cutting the plastic cord while he was otherwise engaged. She must have cut it, nobody could break one of those things.

  He lunged but she had a smile and the gun aimed at him. The gun wasn’t fooling any more than it had been earlier. “Run along, Johnnie, and hurry back.” She closed him in behind the wall.

  It would serve her right if he didn’t go looking for Ruprecht. It would serve her right if she never laid eyes on him again. Only what was he going to tell the sergeant about losing the dog tags? You couldn’t lose them. Not unless somebody sawed your neck in two jerking them off. And there was still the problem of the dead body. Somebody would have to call the police eventually. With him missing, who would they claim did it? Private First Class John Brown of the United States Army. That’s what he got for giving his right name.

  He had to go back. What’s more he wanted to go back. He wanted to get a crack at those Nazi-Rudamians. Dressing him up in a Nazi uniform and parading him across town. Making him think it was a chauffeur suit. He wasn’t so sure Magda wasn’t in on the plan to knock off Rudolph. Not the way she’d honeyed up to Ruprecht. He wasn’t so sure Dorp had killed Theo. After all Dorp and Theo had been pretty chummy. Magda, moreover, had a pretty curious glint in her green eye when she said she’d never killed a man. Then there was Ottomkopf of the glassy glims. And Ferenz Lessering of the Lesserings, making deals with Nazis even if he did make munitions to kill Nazis.

  He wasn’t so sure of Trudy’s wanting Ruprecht merely to get Rudolph away. If that was it, he, Johnnie, could do the job a lot quicker. How was Ruprecht going to help? He and Rudo were not aficionado. Johnnie found the key in the hall drawer. He stuck it in his pocket. He opened the front door cautiously, slipped out, closed it without sound. There were men walking down the street on this side, up the street on the other side even at this hour. There was a fellow and his girl doing some smooching on the stoop of the house across the way. No cops. No guards. No Terroristis that Trudy had dreamed up to keep him from skipping. And nobody paid any attention to him. He walked fast, his heels hitting hard on the pavement. Wasn’t far to Columbus Avenue. He found Hans’ place easy enough. Late as it was, the door opened. Hans was a long, tall drink of water with a scar taking up most of his right cheek. The place smelled good, like beer. It was a little joint, two booths, three red-checkered tables pushed together. The only customer was a big black cat. Johnnie clinked down a quarter. He had time for a beer. He’d take time for a beer. He needed fortifying.

  Hans asked, “What kind you want?”

  “Anything wet.” Johnnie drank from the bottle. “Rupe been in tonight?”

  “Who is that?”

  “Ruprecht of Rudamia.”

  “That is what I think you say.” Hans shook his long head. “Who send you? Kraken?”

  “Never heard of him.” He had but he couldn’t remember who it was.

  “I have not seen Ruprecht for one week,” Hans said.

  The cat had slant green eyes just like Magda’s.

  Johnnie said, “His cousin wants him to come home.” Trudy called Rupe’s father Uncle Ruffeni; that should make them cousins.

  “You know his cousin?”

  Hans might be too chatty; he might be one of Dorp’s stool pigeons. Johnnie said, “Sure. Just came from a date with her. She asked me to drop by and see if he was here.”

  “He lives at Ferenz Lessering’s,” Hans stated with importance.

  “He isn’t home.” Johnnie finished the beer, took up his change. “Thanks. Which way to Broadway?”

  “Right across town.” Hans pointed.

  Johnnie didn’t walk back to Dorp’s street, not with Hans maybe watching him. He went on up another block before turning crosstown. He tried not to keep looking over his shoulder but somehow he couldn’t help it. The brownout was practically a blackout here uptown. He felt better when he crossed Broadway and there still wasn’t anybody following him. Now down to 103d. The blocks going this way were short. He swung along getting back his confidence. It was sure quiet though here uptown, quieter than Corpus Christi. A trolley bumped up the tracks, the few passengers slumped down behind the lighted windows.

  And Johnnie smacked headlong into a guy as tall as himself. He umphed, “Excuse me, Mister.” Then he looked. For a minute he thought it was one of the Nazi-Rudamian peasants. It wasn’t. The guy was a cop. “Excuse me,” he repeated. “Should have been looking where I was going, sir. Guess I was too busy watching the street car.” He kept stammering because he sure didn’t want to be kept by a policeman right now. It was bad luck, that’s what it was. The black cat with Magda’s eyes.

  The cop said pleasantly, “That’s all right, soldier.” In the dim light he appeared a good-looking dark fellow, not much older than Johnnie himself. His dark eyes were good-natured. But he didn’t move out of Johnnie’s way. “You on a furlough?”

  “Just a pass.”

  “Live up this way?”

  “No, sir. I’m from Texas. This is the first time I’ve ever been in New York.”

  The cop grinned. “How do you like it?”

  “Well—I—” How did he like it? That hadn’t occurred to him. He hadn’t had time to think about New York at all. He hadn’t even had time to see it. All at once he got mad. Not at the cop; he liked the guy’s face. He’d always wished instead of yellow curly cowlicks he had black hair, not skimpy patent leather hair like Rudolph’s but thick, like this fellow’s would be from the looks of what showed under his cap.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Oh, I sure do!” Johnnie said quickly. “I always like new places. I’d never been out of Texas, only to Mexico, till I joined the Army. I’ve sure been enjoying all the strange places I’ve been seeing.”

  The cop grinned some more. “Glad you like it, soldier. It’s my home town. Doesn’t look the way it should because of the war. Wish you could have seen her when she was lit up. But then if it weren’t for the war you wouldn’t be here at all, would you?”

  “That’s right,” Johnnie grinned back. He liked this young cop. Only he ought to be getting on his way. There wasn’t much time left. “I haven’t seen much of it yet but tomorrow—I guess it’s today—anyhow I’m going to see the town, the whole town. The Empire State Building and Radio City and the Statue of Liberty and—”

  “You should see the Bronx Zoo and the Metropolitan Museum, too. Sure most of the best pictures are sent away but there’s the Roman Gardens—they’re worth the price of admission. And the Egyptian tombs—” The cop broke off. He looked a little anxious, like Bill. “You’d better get going on your wa
y now, soldier. It’s not safe wandering around at nights any more.” He shook his head sadly. “It used to be safe any time of the day or night up in these parts but it just doesn’t seem to be since the brownout. You’d better get inside.”

  “Okay,” Johnnie nodded.

  “’Night.”

  “Good night.”

  He started out but the cop turned after him. “Where are you stopping, soldier?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Johnnie admitted. “My compadres are downtown waiting for me.” He hoped. “Bill always takes care of things like that.”

  “How did you get so far uptown?”

  “I came for a subway ride,” Johnnie explained.

  The cop doubled up. “That’s a good one.”

  “Well, I wanted to,” Johnnie defended. “Hank and Bill thought I was crazy but that’s what I wanted to do.”

  “Pardon me for laughing,” the cop apologized. “I couldn’t help it. I live in the Bronx. Twice a day, every day, I’m a whole hour wasting time on the subway getting from and to home. I couldn’t imagine anyone riding the subway for fun.” He removed his cap now, brushed back the thick dark hair, just a little curly not like Johnnie’s yellow bush. “Come on and have a cup of coffee with me just to show there’s no hard feelings. Then I’ll see you to your subway and you can go downtown to your friends.”

  “I’m not going downtown just yet,” Johnnie said hesitantly. “There’s no hard feelings only I haven’t got time for a coffee. Wish I had but I’m late now.”

  “Where are you going?” A bit of suspicion went into that question.

  Johnnie recited glibly, “The Dragham on West End Avenue.”

  “You know somebody there?”

  “Oh yes,” Johnnie nodded rapidly. “I don’t know Edna Riggens—it’s her apartment—but I know Rupe. He’s the one I’m looking for.”

  “No trouble?” The cop wasn’t suspicious but he was anxious again.

  Johnnie laughed. “No, sir. I like Rupe.” He closed his mouth quick. If he weren’t careful he’d be talking too much. He brought his hand up vaguely, “Well, good night, sir. I sure enjoyed talking to you.”

  The cop settled his cap. “I might as well walk that far with you, soldier. Seeing’s you’re a stranger, you might get lost.”

  “You needn’t do that,” Johnnie assured him. “I never get lost. Except once in Newark and that was the parade.”

  “No trouble at all, soldier. I’m not looking forward to my subway ride.” He haw-hawed on that, started Johnnie down the street.

  You just couldn’t tell a cop, “Run along, Bub,” not even a cop off duty. Besides this fellow was nice. He talked kind of funny, sort of “dese” and “dose” and “goil,” but so did most the New Yorkers he’d met at camp. Anyhow this cop was a regular Joe. He was trying to be helpful. He didn’t know that Johnnie was mixed up with a mess of screwballs. If he, Johnnie, had had a guy like this with him tonight, he would have cleaned out that place hours ago, not wasted a good evening. For a moment Johnnie was inclined to tell all. He buttoned up his lip tighter. It wasn’t going to do him any good in the Army if he got mixed up in a murder investigation. He would let Trudy take care of the police angle. She’d call them. She said she would.

  “What’s your name, soldier?” the cop asked chattily.

  “Private First Class Johnnie Brown.”

  “How is it down in Texas? Lots of broncos and sagebrush and Indians?”

  “Sure,” Johnnie grinned. “What’s your name?”

  “Mike Costello.”

  “Say!” Johnnie shouted. “You played left end for Fordham two years ago. Or are you that Michael Costello?”

  The cop looked modest. “I’m the one.”

  “I was right end at Texas A. and M. last year. Not that I was in your class, Officer Costello.”

  “Call me Mike, Johnnie. We turn here.”

  They were on a long side street now. Almost pitch dark. Wasn’t bad having someone beside you. Not that Johnnie was scared of the dark. But he liked company. “Remember that game you played with N. Y. U.?”

  “De Vi’lets,” Mike Costello growled. “They spiked me in the first two minutes of play. I’ll tell you how it was.”

  Johnnie hung on every word. He didn’t even realize they’d been standing under the canopy of a mid-street apartment house until Mike concluded, “And that’s why I scummed four of those gorillas—by accident, I mean. We always play clean. Well, here we are at the Dragham. You don’t want me to wait and show you to the subway?”

  “No, thanks,” Johnnie said. “I’ll be walking back with Rupe to his cousin’s. I guess they’ll see I find the right subway later.” He clasped Mike Costello’s hand. “I’m sure glad I bumped into you. I really did, didn’t I? Anyhow it’s something I’ll always remember. My kid brother’s going to get a big boot out of it when I write him I met Mike Costello of Fordham. Good night, Mike.”

  “Good night, Johnnie. Happy landings.” He strode back into the gloom. Johnnie peered into the dim foyer. This wasn’t any dump. The lobby was full of over-stuffed furniture. In one chair there was a plum uniform with brass braid. The little guy in it nodded in snoring rhythm. Johnnie put his hand on the door. And suppose Rupe wasn’t here? Who was he, Johnnie, to barge in on some strange woman at two o’clock in the morning? He took one long-legged stride back to the pavement. He spread his mouth wide with his forefinger and his little finger and he whistled. It sounded loud in the pitch quiet of West End Avenue. The murky figure down near the corner turned. Johnnie waved an arm wildly. Mike Costello came pounding back.

  “What is it?” He asked. He wasn’t a bit out of breath.

  “Listen,” Johnnie began. He barged right in without thinking of any consequences. “Listen, Mike, would you be interested in a murder?”

  3.

  Mike Costello leaned to him, smelled his breath. “I thought it was beer. It is beer.”

  “Only one beer,” Johnnie said. “And the champagne was hours ago. I’m strictly sober.”

  “Didn’t you say murder?”

  Johnnie nodded.

  “Here?”

  “Oh no, not here. I haven’t been here yet.” Johnnie was polite. “I thought maybe if you aren’t in too big a hurry to get home you might go in with me here to get Rupe, then we’ll go back to where the murder is.”

  “And where is that?”

  Johnnie’s face fell. “I didn’t even think. If Rupe isn’t here I don’t know how to get back.” He reared up. “I’ve got to get back. She snitched my dog tags.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “Trudy. She’s the one sent me after Rupe. And she took my dog tags so I’d come back.”

  Mike was patient. “What about this murder?”

  “That’s where it happened. In that house we’re going back to—if Rupe’s here.”

  “There really was a murder?”

  “Yeah. Rudo and me found the body.”

  “Who is it?”

  “A little guy named Theo. I don’t know his last name.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “I don’t know,” Johnnie said wide-eyed. “You’re a policeman. I thought maybe you could find out. Trudy said she was going to call the police but I’ve been thinking maybe she won’t. The whole bunch is pretty loopy. I think they’re—”

  Mike Costello sniffed again.

  “I know it makes me sound loopy but I’m not,” Johnnie defended. “Strictly not. You come along with me and I’ll show you.”

  The cop said, “I ought to turn in an alarm if this is straight. Even if I am really off duty—I was just going to check out at my precinct when I met you. You say you don’t know where this house is. How did you get there in the first place?”

  “I followed a fat old man I saw on the subway. His name’s Dorp. He was talking German and I didn’t like it. It’s his house. Listen, Mike, I have to hurry and get Rupe back before they take Rudo to the Clipper. I got to get my dog tags. You don’t know that top
sergeant of mine. I’ll tell you all about it after we get Rupe.”

  Mike scratched his head. “Either you’re stir crazy or giving me a rib is what I think, soldier.”

  “I’ll prove it,” Johnnie coaxed. “Will you come?”

  Mike hesitated. “I might as well, Texas. Any guy with an imagination like yours needs a caretaker.”

  Johnnie sighed relief. “I sure hoped you would. And honestly every word is true.”

  They entered the foyer. Costello tapped the sleeping plum uniform on the knee. The little guy jumped up. When he recognized a cop he jumped again.

  Mike asked, “What’s that name, Johnnie?”

  “Edna Riggens.”

  The little guy talked foreign. “What is it? I will call the manager, yes?”

  “That you won’t,” Mike said. “You’ll take us up to Edna Riggens’ apartment and you won’t call her either.” He softened. “It isn’t a pinch. We’re pals.”

  Normal pallor returned to the man’s face. “Yes. Yes indeed.”

  “Get going,” Mike ordered. “Into the elevator with you. What’s her number?”

  “Ten B.”

  “That better be right.”

  “It is right.”

  “And we don’t want any manager in this. So be sure you don’t talk until we leave.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said sullenly. He stopped the cage at ten. “It is front left.”

  Johnnie stepped out first. Mike Costello followed. He said, “I ought to run that guy in on suspicion.”

  “Not now. We haven’t time.” Johnnie stopped at B. “Listen, Mike, don’t tell Rupe anything about the murder yet or he might not come with us.”

  “I won’t,” Mike swore. “I won’t mention it to a soul.” It was obvious that he still didn’t believe it.

  Johnnie pushed the button, kept his finger there. They waited. He didn’t like this. Trudy didn’t know Rupe was here. Edna wasn’t going to appreciate getting out of bed at two in the morning for nothing.

  The door opened with, “Hold your horses.” The girl inside the darkened hall looked out at them and then she took another look, opening her brown eyes as big as plates. She was a honey. Upswept red hair, uplift black satin tight as a cinch. She smelled like whisky. Her voice wasn’t pleasant when she said, “You got the wrong number, soldier.” There was a Conga squawking away in the inner room. She yelled back, “Turn that damn thing off, Rupe.”