“And then what’s their plan?”
“I don’t think they have one. At least they haven’t told me. I think you were right, Miss Quick. Claire Turner should have gone.”
This was a big admission for someone like Ladd. And I had no desire to rub it in. “The kidnappers may try to contact Claire again, give her strict orders.”
“Do you think they’ve killed Charles?” His voice shook on the last words.
“Cause of the foul-up?” I didn’t wanna make it all his fault. “I’ve got no way of knowin, but I doubt it.”
He didn’t ask me why I doubted it cause he wanted to believe I was right.
“So you’re saying if the kidnappers don’t pick up the money by morning, they’ll get in touch with Claire and we can try again?” he said.
“That’s what I hope will happen.”
“And now we just wait?”
“I’m afraid so. Why don’t ya try to get some sleep, Mr. Ladd.”
“Ahh. There’s no way I can do that.”
I understood. “Okay. Could ya call me if anything happens?”
“Yes. Yes, I will, Miss Quick.”
We were back to the formalities. “Good. And I’ll call you if they contact Claire.”
“Yes.”
“And Mr. Ladd, you’ll keep the cops and the FBI outta this?”
“I will. I promise.”
“All right. That’s good. Let’s not tie up our lines now in case anybody is tryin to get us.”
“Yes. Miss Quick?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Yer welcome.”
After I hung up, Johnny said, “He thanked you?”
I nodded.
“That must make you feel good.” He smiled and put Zach down.
“It would if I didn’t feel so sorry for him.”
Johnny came over to me and gently pulled me to him. “You’re a special girl, Faye.”
He leaned down and kissed me and that’s when the phone rang. It startled us both. I hated to leave his arms but I knew I had to.
It was Claire.
“They called.”
“Who?”
“The kidnappers.”
“What’d they say?”
“They said I hadn’t followed orders but they were gonna give me one more chance. No cops. No one else deliverin the dough.”
“When and where?”
“They said they’d be callin back with those instructions.”
“Okay. This is good news, Claire.”
“What should I do now?”
“Go to sleep.”
“I’ll never be able to sleep.”
“Get in bed and try. They won’t call back tonight.”
“Ya sure?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t sure at all. But if I was wrong, I’d admit it.
After we hung up Johnny said, “They didn’t tell her where or when, did they?”
“No.”
“I’m glad. If they had that all set up, I’d be nervous about Charlie’s chances.”
“I know what ya mean.”
“I’m gonna go, Faye.”
“Okay.” I was disappointed that he was leaving so soon. But it was late and tomorrow might be a big day. I walked him to the door.
“Don’t forget to call back Ladd.”
“I won’t.”
We kissed good night. It was long and loving and made me feel good all over.
When he was gone, I went right to the phone and called William Ladd with the skinny.
First thing Monday morning I called St. Vincent’s Hospital. Dolores was no longer in intensive care. She wasn’t out of the woods, though she’d been moved to a room. She couldn’t have visitors, but that might change later in the day.
Claire hadn’t heard anything more and neither had William Ladd. He said the cops seemed suspicious, but he thought he’d convinced them he was telling the truth.
When I left my apartment, it seemed strange not to see Dolores sweeping. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. I walked to the subway and went uptown to my office.
I stopped at Stork’s for smokes and all the boys were there, lounging around, shooting the breeze, flipping through magazines: Collier’s and Life, sheets on the nags. Fat Freddy was marking up the racing form, per usual.
“Hey, hey, Faye, Faye,” Larry the Loser said.
“You’re in fine fettle,” I said. Even a smile from him was scarce as hen’s teeth.
Fat Freddy said, “The dirty dog inherited a nice bundle of long green.”
“It ain’t that much,” Larry said.
“It’s enough to lend a friend a Benjamin.”
“I ain’t lendin ya a Donald Duck, Freddy.”
“Can ya believe that, Faye? Some friend.”
“He’s just smart,” Blackshirt Bob said.
“Who’d ya inherit from, Larry?”
“My aunt Elsa. Haven’t seen the broad in years and she up and leaves me a nice piece a change.”
“Good for you,” I said.
“I’m gonna move outta my SRO, get a real apartment.”
Stork said, “I wouldn’t be too quick. You’ll probably lose it all before the day’s over.”
He wasn’t called Larry the Loser for nothing.
“Whaddaya say, Larry? Ya gonna gamble it away?”
“Nah. I’ve changed my ways, Faye.”
“No kiddin. How’d ya do that?” Once a gambler always a gambler was my thinking. I’d lived it. My pop might be working at the theater for now, but it was only a matter of time before he got in a game, bet on the ponies, tossed the dice.
Larry wasn’t interested in the track; his downfall was poker.
Blackshirt Bob said, “He got religion.”
They all laughed except Larry.
“That true?” I asked.
Larry looked sheepish, like he’d boosted an old lady. “I took a meal at the Salvation Army. Ya gotta listen to the preacher afterwards. So these mugs think that makes me a knee bender.”
“It’s nothin to be ashamed of if it’s true, Larry.”
“It ain’t true.”
“What’s true is the guy’s got a lot of do re mi now,” Stork said.
It wasn’t like I saw a blinding light or a major revelation smacked me in the puss. More like seeing something from a different angle.
“What’s the matter, Faye?” Bob asked.
“Hmmm?”
“Yer starin at nothin.”
“I am? Yeah, I guess I am. Stork, gimme a pack a Camels. I gotta make tracks.”
“You okay?”
“Sure.”
“On the level?”
“You bet. I gotta get to work, is all.”
“Okay. Cigs and the papers?”
“Just one today.” I paid him and grabbed the Post from the rack. “So long, boys. Don’t lose that money, Larry.”
“Ya can count on it, Faye.”
Outside, you could feel the temp rising, like a pot of boiling water getting the flame turned up. I ankled around the corner to my office. Birdie was typing away.
“As I live and breathe, a boss returns.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I hung my straw hat on the coatrack.
“Seems like I ain’t seen ya in a dog’s age.”
“Ya saw me Saturday. This is Monday. Same as always we had a Sunday in between.”
“Yeah. I know. And what a Sunday it was.”
I didn’t ask her what she meant cause I knew it was about Pete and I wasn’t in the mood.
“Any calls?”
She shook her head, sulking.
“Pete do somethin heinous?” What a softie I was.
“Heinous?”
“Yeah. Heinous.”
“Is that got to do with sex?”
“Nah. It means somethin really foul.”
“I guess it depends how ya look at it.”
“How do you look at it?”
“Heinous.”
“We were supposed to spend a nice Sunday together, the park, a movie, dinner. All like that.”
“And instead?”
“Sunday mornin he wouldn’t get outta bed. Pulled the covers up to his chin. He said he had the flu.”
“I suppose ya hadda wait on him all day, too.”
“Yeah. That was the heinous part.”
“Sorry, Bird.”
“Thanks. What’s up with the case?” She lit a cig.
I filled her in best as I could.
“So what yer sayin is that it’s not much different from Saturday.”
“Guess I am. Except for the meetin with Barbara Swanson.”
“From what ya said that didn’t tell ya too much, did it?”
“It told me that lies and deceit are more a part of the picture than I already thought. And I gotta look at the whole case from a new angle.”
“What kinda angle is that?”
“I was in Stork’s and Larry the Loser was talkin . . . ah, it doesn’t matter what he was sayin . . . but he inherited some lettuce and he thinks he’s a changed palooka.”
“So?”
“People think they get money, their life is gonna change . . . they’re gonna have natural curly hair instead a straight.”
“Larry’s got a new hairdo?”
“Never mind, Bird.”
“Yer losin me here.”
“That’s cause I don’t know what I’m talkin about.”
“You feel all right?”
“I’m fine. Somethin hit me at Stork’s but I don’t know what exactly. It’s gone now.”
“Lemme know when it comes back.”
“I will. Somethin else happened Sunday, too. Ya know Dolores, my neighbor across the hall?”
“Yeah, sure. The sweeper lady.”
“Somebody shot her. She’s in the hospital.” I got my Camels from my pocketbook.
“Was she burgled?”
“No. That’s why I think there’s a connection.”
“To what?”
“Me. The case.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I don’t, either. I mean, I can’t figure out the thing or who coulda done it, but I’m as sure as death and taxes there’s a link. Maybe it was meant as a warnin for me.” I opened the pack and shook one out.
“That’s some warnin.”
“I’ll never forgive myself if that turns out to be true.”
“Ah, Faye, even if it is, it’s not yer fault.”
“Maybe I oughta get outta this line of work.”
“You kiddin?”
I thought for a few seconds. “Yeah.”
“That’s a relief.”
“I didn’t know ya cared about me so much, Bird.”
“Who said I did? I’d be out of a job.”
“Yer all heart.”
The phone rang and Birdie answered.
“Who’s callin, please? Just a minute.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “It’s the Turner dame.”
I stubbed out my cig in Birdie’s ashtray and went into my office.
“Hello.”
“Faye?”
“Yeah.”
“They called again.”
“And?”
“They wanna do it today.”
“Where and when?”
“Grand Central at two P.M.”
So now they were trying a crowded place instead of a secluded one. It didn’t make much sense, though. The cops could so easily be watching.
“Where in Grand Central?”
“Nowhere.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“I gotta catch a train there?”
“To where?”
“I go get my shoes shined, say the magic words, and the shoe shine boy gives me a piece a paper that tells me what train.”
“What’re the magic words?”
“Has Charlie gone home?”
I didn’t like the sound of this at all, but I didn’t let on to Claire. “So that’s it. Ya take the train on the paper? How d’ya know where to get off?”
“I go to the bar car and say the same thing to the bartender. He gives me another piece of paper, which tells me where I should get off.”
“Then what happens?”
“I leave the bag a money in the ladies’ room at the station and take a train back to the city.”
The ladies’ room? Either the destination was remote or there was a broad involved.
“Okay. We gotta meet Ladd and get the dough. I’ll call him now and ring ya back.”
I hung up and dialed the hotel. When the clerk answered, I gave Ladd’s room number. He answered quickly and I filled him in. I also made him swear again. No cops. No FBI.
We agreed to meet at Horn and Hardart at Forty-fifth and Fifth at one o’clock. I called Claire back and told her.
If I got there before the other two, I’d have time for a slice of apple pie and cheddar. Maybe two.
TWENTY-FIVE
Oh, be still my heart. How I loved the Automat. For lotsa reasons. No waitresses to make me feel like a worm. Nice little rectangular windows so I could see the food I’d be eating. The style of the place, with its geometric designs repeating over and over. And the brightness that made it so much nicer than eating in a dark, stuffy dining room.
The tables were round, the chairs wooden. The floor was tile with all these intersecting circles. In the center of the big room a large column shot off in four sections when it reached the flashy ceiling.
The food was always fresh and cost practically nothing. But that wasn’t the only thing you could say about the food. It was good. And no one made a better cup a joe.
Some people might not like that anyone could sit at any table at Horn and Hardart. This meant you might find yourself with strangers. That never bothered me. I’d met some pretty interesting characters that way. The elite didn’t meet to eat here. H&H was a place meant for the hoi polloi.
I went over to the wall where the shiny little chrome-edged windows were lined up in their sections: SOUPS; SANDWICHES; HOT ENTRÉES; VEGETABLES; DESSERTS; CAKES AND PIES. I headed for the pies cause I wouldn’t have time for a whole meal like macaroni and cheese, baked beans, or creamed spinach, some of my favorites.
With the war on, the dessert entries had been narrowed down, and the pie section had gotten pretty sparse. But they still had my favorite. I put in two coins, turned the handle, and listened for the click, which was the door unlocking so I could open it wide and take out my apple pie with the cheddar cheese on top. I got a cup a java, too, and carried it and the pie to an empty table near one of the big windows.
While I ate my pie, I looked around. The Automat was filled with soldiers, sailors, and marines. They were everywhere these days. And so young. That’s how they looked to me anyway. Maybe the older fellas had families already and spent their leaves with them. Maybe New York City had a special pull for fledglings outta the nest for the first time. You could still see the fuzz on some of their faces. I knew we hadda fight this war, but why did kids hafta do it? On the other hand they were the most able.
I gazed out the window and saw more boys in uniform, lots of them with girls on their arms. It had become a world of instant love and heartbreak.
These kids would meet one night, marry the next day, and be off to war the day after that. Lots of em never came back. Their brides sometimes had babies, and those could be sad stories. It happened cause everybody was lonely, and lots of the tenderfeet shipping out were scared.
I’d volunteered at the USO center when I could, and those boys were homesick and in need of company, eager to yak and grateful for distraction.
News on the radio focused on where the bombs fell, what ground was taken. Same stuff in the papers, along with shining a spotlight on the brass handing out grand strategies. No one ever talked about the boys. Except Ernie Pyle.
It occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t the best place to hold our meet. Any strang
er could throw a monkey wrench into our plans by sitting with us. Had my desire for the pie clouded my judgment?
In fact, a guy was making a beeline for my table at that moment. I began making strange noises and talking to myself. I flapped my hands and made like I was deep in conversation as I faced an empty chair.
The mug took a sharp right turn and headed for another table. I looked at my wristwatch and saw that I’d better get going on my pie.
I hadda put on my loony act two more times to keep the table free of strangers until the others arrived. I finished my pie and a busboy came and took my empty plate. I breathed a sigh of relief. My pie eating would now be my little secret.
As I was lighting up, Claire came in.
“I’ll be right with ya, Faye. I’m gonna get some coffee.”
I watched her cross the room in her white dress and white pumps, the clack of her shoes on the tile floor sounding almost like tap dancing.
William Ladd came in carrying what coulda passed for a doctor’s bag. He saw me right away, came directly to the table, sat, shed his panama hat, and parked it on an empty chair. He set the bag on the floor next to him.
“Why isn’t she here?”
Hello to you, too. “She is here. She’s gettin some coffee.”
“How can she drink coffee at a time like this?”
I picked mine up and took a swallow. “Easy.”
He drummed his fingers on the table.
“I hope I haven’t made a mistake about meetin here. Anyone could sit with us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t ya ever been to an Automat before?”
“No. We don’t have such places in Rhode Island.”
You woulda thought it was a burlesque house. “The tables aren’t reserved.”
“That’s uncivilized.”
“That’s the way it is.”
He reached inside his jacket for a leather case, which I guess was for daytime, plucked out a cig, then lit it with a matching lighter.
When Claire arrived with her coffee, Mr. Ladd stood and they exchanged cold hellos.
I said, “We’re doin one thing here, so let’s do it and get out.”
“But there are things to discuss, Miss Quick.”
“Yeah? What things?”
“Well, exactly what Miss Turner is going to do?”
“We know what. She’s told us.”
“But what if something goes wrong?”
“What could go wrong?” Claire said.
“There’s something about handing over that money and not getting Charles in exchange right away that I don’t like.”
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