by Peter Rabe
“What’s yours?”
“Florence Nightingale.”
“Yours?”
“Catell.”
“Tessman, what was that name in the report?”
“Catell.”
“Guess that wraps it up. Take ‘em downtown. Parker, Lobos, you stay here. All right, boys, move it.”
At eleven o’clock that night, Catell moved slowly out of the storage room and back into the main office. Lobos sat up front, smoking in the dark. Parker sat by the desk at the side door, his head on his arms, snoring. The cold draft from the door woke Parker with a start, but by then Catell was half a block away. He got to Burbank three hours later.
Catell paid the taxi and walked up to the dark machine shop. At the back a hair of light was visible through a scratch in one of the painted windows. There were two cars at the side. One was a fish-tail convertible; the other was the getaway car.
The guy that stopped Catell inside the shop recognized him and let him pass. Catell walked past the machines, through the windowless room, and opened the door to the inner office without knocking.
“—is a funny sort of timing, Topper,” Smith was saying.
“But I saw them, Mr. Smith. I saw them—” And then Catell stepped inside the room.
Smith, leaning back in his chair, rolled the cigar around in his mouth. He looked at Catell, never changing his expression. It was calm, level, and just slightly interested. But Topper jumped.
“Why, you—how—” Controlling himself, he took a deep breath and said, “I see you made it, Catell.”
“Yeah.”
“How—what I mean is, did they follow you? Did you come alone?”
“Alone. Except for you, Topper.”
“You trying to be funny, Blue Lips?” Topper got up slowly, his eyes slits and his neck swelling over the white collar.
“Not funny, Topper. Serious.”
And while Smith sat in his chair, hands folded over his paunch, Catell’s hand whipped out, grazing Topper’s drawn lips. Topper had caught the jab with a fast block, and that was his mistake. With his full weight behind the punch, Catell, pivoting a half turn, rammed his other fist into Topper’s stomach. The man doubled over, gasping, when Catell fired a roundhouse at the contorted face. Something cracked, and through split lips three front teeth jagged out.
Topper crashed sideways across the desk, pushing phones and papers to the floor. Smith got up and stepped back. He was holding the cigar between his teeth.
When Topper kicked his leg out, catching Catell on the chest, he tried to follow the kick with a fast turn that would bring him back to his feet. But Catell stepped back and pulled. Holding on to Topper’s foot, he twisted and pushed. Topper slammed to the floor, screaming, one leg doubled over at a crazy angle. Then Catell knelt down over his chest.
Two minutes later he got up, leaving the ruined man curled on the floor.
“Do you carry a gun, Catell?” Smith came out from behind the desk; flicking some ashes on the floor.
“It belongs to Topper.”
“Give it to me.” Smith put out his hand.
Catell handed over the gun. Smith took it by the grip, and without seeming to aim he pulled the trigger. Three close shots crashed out and Topper twitched once, twice. Then he lay still.
“Too bad about Topper,” Smith said. “Valuable man.”
Then he walked around the puddle of blood on the floor. He pulled open a desk drawer and handed Catell two bills.
“Here’s your thousand. Got a way home?”
“No.”
“Take the limousine. And call me in a day or two.”
“So long.”
“See you, Catell.”
That night Catell didn’t go back to the Turtle’s room. He drove to Westwood and parked the car a few blocks from Lily’s apartment.
She opened the door for him, smiling a little. He could feel her warm body through the thin robe she was wearing. Walking to the bedroom with her, he could hear the fever pounding in his ears. A hysterical tension trembled through his body, making objects change shape before his eyes, plucking at his muscles.
They sat on the bed, and then his head sank into her lap. She hummed to him while he moaned into the cloth of her robe.
Chapter Fourteen
“I see nothing but gloom,” Smiley said. “I see gloom turning the corner, bearing poisonous grub.”
The police guard came up to the cell. Balancing a tray in one hand, he started to fumble with his keys with the other.
“Lemme give you a helping hand, Inspector. You hold the tray and I’ll just—”
“Keep your hands off, Short Stuff! Maybe you think I’m stupid or something?”
“You’re gettin’ warm, Pop. You’re gettin’ real warm.”
The guard stepped back and put the tray on the floor. When he raised himself, the exertion had turned his bald head a shiny purple, and he puffed air through his white mustache.
“Nature is cruel,” Swensen said from the back of the cell. “Look at all that gorgeous hair under his nose, and nothing but bare rocks on top.”
“You guys don’t shut up I’ll take the food back,” said the guard.
“And eat it yourself?” Smiley asked.
“He’s bluffing,” Swensen said. “He come to poison us good and proper this tune. All this threatening is just a bluff.”
“Let’s see ya eat the stuff, Pop. I dare ya.”
Mumbling through his mustache, the guard unlocked the cell door. Then he stepped back to pick up the tray, but stopped halfway down, grunting when he straightened up again.
“One of you guys come out here and pick that tray up.”
“So’s you won’t be blamed for the consequences? Swensen, whaddaya think of old Pop now? Pretty sharp, this switch, eh?”
“Pretty sharp. Experience, I’d say.”
“Whaddaya say, Tur—uh, Catell? Ya think we should do this thing for Poison Pop?”
“Give ‘im a thrill, Smiley. Go out there and make a break for it.”
“Come on, you nuts.” The guard sounded querulous. “One of you come out here and pick up that tray.”
“All right, men. When I give the signal, we rush him. One, two—”
The old man started to look confused. He stepped back.
Smiley said, “Good thing I can’t count to three, Pop. It saved your life.”
Then he stepped out of the cell and brought the tray back in.
“Knock on the bars when you’re done.” The guard was locking the door. “Knock on the bars and I pick up the tray.”
“Get that,” Smiley said “How’s he expect us to knock on the bars, us dead from poisoning and layin’ here stiff?”
“Buncha nuts,” said the guard, shuffling off.
“Poisoner!”
They started to eat, laughing about the old man and making small talk. But they didn’t feel right. They didn’t feel right about being caught in a double cross.
“That Catell sure got a friend in you, Turtle. You realize what this means?”
“That’s O.K. I been in stir but twice. Builds character, I always say.”
“Yeah? I rather be without character,” Smiley said. “Got a smoke?”
“Won’t be much for the Turtle,” Swensen put in. “What are they going to charge him with, lying to an officer of the law?”
“Associating with bad company. It’s us they got over a barrel, Swensen. I get faint just thinking about it.”
“Smith’ll come through. I’ve seen him come through before. So you get a few years, rest up. You know.”
“Swensen, for chrissakes, don’t talk like that. Me, I’m a vital boy. I can’t stand being locked up someplace.”
“Whaddaya yammering about? You had Rosie yesterday. Look at us with nothin’ to give us strength.”
“Ah, Rosie. Such a friendly, friendly girl.”
“Listen to that mush,” Swensen said. “And I bet he don’t even remember her face or the color of her
hair.”
“I ain’t in the habit of remembering broads by unimportant details, Swensen.”
“Oh, Christ. A jump artist. Wait’ll they get you up to—”
“Catell. Up front.” The police guard opened the door.
“But we didn’t rattle the bars yet, Pop. Look,” and Smiley held his plate up. “We ain’t finished yet.”
The Turtle got up and, stepping over Swensen, went to the open door.
“Fare thee well, men. And whilst I’m off to the torture chambers, fear not, for Pop here will be with youse.”
“Come on, Catell, get a move on.”
They walked down the corridor that led to the door and the precinct desk.
“Keep in touch,” Smiley called. “You’re O.K.”
They put handcuffs on the Turtle and put him in a police car. Then they drove him downtown, to the office of the FBI. The Turtle didn’t say anything during the long ride. He didn’t think that funny talk would make any difference any more.
Herron closed the folder, left his desk, and walked across the hall to the room they used for interrogations. There was a table in it, a water cooler, and a few chairs. On the wall was a two-year-old calendar with a big picture on top. It showed some kids jumping around in the water of an old swimming hole. A sign said, “No bathing.”
Herron sat down on the table and lit a cigarette. His palms were wet and he sucked on his cigarette with nervous puffs. Then the door opened. Two officers and the Turtle came in.
“Here he is, Herron. Friendly as all get-out.”
They unlocked the handcuffs and one of the men sat down at the table with a pad and pencil.
“This is supposed to be Catell?” Herron swallowed hard a few times and stared at the Turtle. “You mean this guy is Catell and just a few days ago I shook hands with him in a nightclub not knowing he’s the guy I’ve been chasing all over the country?”
The Turtle looked down modestly.
“Sure it’s Catell. And like the tip said, we caught him red-handed, knocking over that safe.”
“Have his prints been taken?”
“Sure. Last night yet.”
“Did you run them through?”
“No, but we will, if you want. Shall I get them started on it?”
“I wish you would, Parker. And let me know right away.”
When Parker closed the door behind him, Herron got off the table and walked around the Turtle, looking him over.
“I must say—uh—Catell, you don’t look much the way I figured. You don’t look much like your pictures, either.”
“Couldn’t have been a very flattering likelihood,” said the Turtle “You know how them mug shots distract a guy’s personality.”
“Yeah. I guess. Tell me, Catell, how’s your health been lately?”
“Lately? Fine, till yesterday.”
“Yeah? Then what?”
“Well, it’s like this: There was this guy they call Poison Pop; old geezer runs the clink at the Twenty-ninth Precinct in San Pedro. Now, soon as me and the boys—”
“Never mind. All right, Catell, let’s cut out the bull and get down to cases. I guess you know we got you dead to rights this time and anything you do to stall the investigation can only make things worse. You understand that?”
“You mean worse than life? What, I ask, can be worse than life?”
“Where’s the gold, Catell?”
“What gold?”
“When did you see it last?”
“See who?”
“Dick, you got that down? Catell, every attempt to stall this investigation will be held against you And just to get things straight, it might interest you to know that we are preparing a charge of assault with intent to kill. One of the guards at the university isn’t doing so hot.”
“Listen, Herron, you I can do without.”
“Now you listen, Catell—”
“Catell? You talking to me, Herron? Because if you are, Buster, you got the wrong man.”
Herron didn’t say anything for a moment. He watched the stenographer finish his entry.
“That’s the name you gave when arrested.”
“That’s the name they give me when I was arrested. For what, I know not. And now, if you please, who is Catell?”
“What’s your name?”
“Who’s Catell?”
“Listen, you. What I said before about co-operation still goes, no matter who you are. What’s your name?”
“I wanna lawyer.”
“All I want is your name, for chrissakes. You can give me your name without fear of self-incrimination, can’t you?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what my handle was.”
“What is it?”
“Egbert.”
“Egbert? Egbert what?”
“Egbert the Terrible.”
“Oh, for chrissakes!”
“I useta be a wrestler. They gimme the handle on account—”
“What you got, Parker?” The door had opened and Parker came in with papers in his hand.
“They don’t match up, Herron. This guy ain’t Catell.”
“Didn’t I tell ya, Mr. Herron? Didn’t I just—”
“Aw, shut up. So who’s this guy, Parker?”
“Local dip. Two minor convictions.”
“And his name?”
“Turtforth. Egbert Turtforth. And get this: Used to be a specialty wrestler called Egbert the Terrible. Then for a while he was a magician with—”
“For the lovamike, get out of here. Hold him under your own charges, drop him in a well, I don’t care what. Dick, let’s go. Wait till Jones hears about this. Christ, I can just see him now.”
They walked across the hall to the large room where Herron’s desk was.
“One blind alley after another. One funk after another. So help me, Dick, I don’t think there is such a guy as Catell. I think this whole thing is nothing but a sly way of testing a man’s sanity. Did you ever hear such a name as Egforth?”
“Egbert. Egbert Turtforth.”
“All right, all right. And I bet you can read that name backward and get a valuable clue on how to win a box top free. I have a good mind right now—”
“You’re wanted on line three, Herron.” An agent at one of the desks was holding the phone, waving at Herron to take the call at his own desk.
Herron picked up the receiver. “Agent Herron speaking, may I help you?”
It was a woman’s voice. It was a slurry voice that nevertheless made no attempt to disguise itself. “Hi, you Herron? Listen, I bet you haven’t found my boyfriend Catell yet, have you? Well, it’s time you got a little help around here. Wanna meet me?”
“Who’s this calling? Your name, please.”
“I’m in the Lifeboat, Beverly and La Cienaga, you know. You come on over, Mr. Herron. Ask for Selma.”
Chapter Fifteen
When Catell woke in the morning, he remembered the way the night had started. He turned, leaning on his elbow. Lily was asleep there, her naked back a breathing curve. Catell remembered the rest of the night and felt better.
For the next five days they lived together, seeing no one, needing no one.
“I’ve never had it like this,” he said. “Never in my life.”
“Me neither,” she said.
“That’s because you’re so young,” he answered.
They ate out of cans, and Catell boiled coffee. Lily didn’t know how to cook.
After two days they left the apartment and drove to Santa Barbara. During the day they lay on the beach; at night they stayed in a motel near the pier. It had two tiny rooms, fixed up like a home. Lying in bed at night, they could hear the surf; if they sat up they could see the slow roll of the breakers on the long, empty beach. The little ruffled curtains would move in the breeze.
“Let’s play house,” Lily said.
“We can’t. You don’t know how to cook.”
“You hungry?”
“Nope.”
&n
bsp; “Then why’re you talking about cooking?”
“Because you said that about playing house.”
“I may not know how to cook, but I know how to play house.” Lily smiled and let herself fall back on the bed.
There was nobody in Santa Barbara that they knew or that bothered to know them. Either way, they wouldn’t have paid any attention. On the beach they lay in the hot sun, watching the play around them, not caring to join in.
“See those kids with the ball, Lily? High-school kids.”
“They are?”
“Yeah. They’re your age.”
“Maybe. But not really,” and Lily stretched in the sand, like a cat rubbing her back, smiling at Catell with a slow sideways look.
Catell suffered only in the evenings, or early in the mornings. None of his wounds had healed, and sometimes he felt weak, shivery, his body like a rag doll soaked in water.
“How long have you been like this, Tony?”
“I don’t know. A long time, it seems.”
Lily bandaged his hand; the gauze became stained quickly. And once, in the waves, his body froze with a sick terror, a steel vise cramping his chest, and the breath stuck in his throat like a solid thing. This he never told Lily, but the rest of the day he kept still, lying flat, sweat breaking from his pores with each movement.
Sometimes he thought of his gold; each time the hard will that dominated all his acts flashed up like a blinding flame, forging his doubts, his pains, even his pleasures into a sharp steely point, like a weapon. The new start, the new life, the big time. Lily. Did any of this exist without Lily? The gold had been there before Lily, and all his sudden strength that came on him suddenly like a cramp, that too had been with him before Lily. But all this, no different now than it had been before, existed now because of the girl—the woman he had found.
Lily had never spoken of such things. Her face was open and seemed to say nothing, and she gave her body without gesture. Lily had happy days with Catell.
When they left Santa Barbara they moved into an apartment in Santa Monica. Then Catell called Smith.
“I have an office downtown,” Smith said. “The Western Development Company. Look it up in the book. I’ll expect you tonight at eight.”
Lily went to the club to do her job, and Catell went downtown.