“What choice do we have, Mr. Ladd?”
“Did they say when they’d release the boy?”
“After they got the money,” Claire said.
“But how long after and where?”
“They didn’t say that.”
“You should have gotten a time and location.” He banged the side of his fist on the table.
Claire looked like she might cry.
“Mr. Ladd, yer not bein fair. Claire did the best she could. She wasn’t the one in control of the chinfest they had. The kidnappers told her as much as they wanted and no more.”
“I suppose.”
“What I want to know is if ya kept to yer promise ya wouldn’t get the law involved,” I said.
“Of course. A promise is a promise.”
“What about last time?” Claire asked.
“I didn’t promise.”
I felt like I was with two first-graders. “The bag with the money is on the floor between ya. When ya get up, Claire, take it. We’ll leave one at a time. Someone mighta followed ya here.”
“But when will we know if they’ve gotten the money?” Ladd said.
“When Claire gets back, she’ll go right to her apartment, won’t ya Claire?”
“Sure.”
“And she’ll wait for the call that’ll tell her where we can find Charlie,” I said.
“I’ll stay there until I hear. Ya wanna wait with me, Mr. Ladd?”
“That might be a very good idea. Why don’t you call me at my hotel when you get back.”
I guess Claire’d gone beyond caring if Mr. Ladd saw her apartment or what he’d think of it.
“You still have my number, don’t you?”
“Natch.”
“How do I know you won’t just run off with the money?”
“This is too much,” Claire said and stood up. “I don’t need this kinda insult.” Under her powder and rouge, spots of angry color were breaking through.
“Sit down,” I said.
She did.
“Mr. Ladd, Claire wants Charlie back as much as you do.”
Looking down at the table he said, “I’m sorry.”
After a moment Claire put her hand on top of his. “Mr. Ladd, you have to understand that we’re both on the same side.”
He nodded.
“All I want is to get Charlie home.”
“Home?”
“Let’s not get goin on this now, okay?” I said. “Are you two gonna survive waitin together?”
“Would you come and wait with us, Miss Quick.”
Oh, brother. “Yeah. I guess.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Claire said. “When I get back, I’ll call you, too.”
“Swell.” I didn’t feature a night like that, but she was my client. An evening with the two of them? “I might not be in my office when ya call but I’ll be checkin in with my secretary. So let her know yer home.”
“Will do.”
“I think we’d better skedaddle now. Claire, pick up the case and walk out.”
She did. We watched her go.
“You trust her, Miss Quick?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know anything about the girl.”
“Ya know as much as ya seemed to know about Barbara Swanson.”
“What are you implying?”
“She’s not engaged to yer son.”
“How do you know?”
“I met her. Charlie hasn’t written to her for months. If anyone’s doin any lyin around here it’s you.”
“It’s always been assumed they’d marry.”
“Assumed by you and Mrs. Ladd, but not by Charlie. So why’d ya say that the other day?”
“I didn’t want Claire . . . I wanted to . . . I don’t know.”
I knew. “Try to be nice to Claire when ya go to her place to wait, will ya?”
“Yes. Of course I will.”
“Good. Ya can leave now.”
He got up from the table. “Thank you for your help, Miss Quick.”
“You’re welcome. See ya later.”
He tipped his hat.
I waited about ten minutes, thought about having another piece of pie, put it out of my mind, and left.
Outside in the Mojave Desert I looked for a phone booth. I knew I’d find one if I walked over to Grand Central, but I didn’t want to take that route. One of the snatchers might be eyeballing me and think I was following Claire.
I beat a path down to Forty-second and crossed Fifth Avenue. The library, with its guardian lions, was tempting. If anything could get the taste of that meeting outta my mouth, I’d find it in there. I was pretty soft on the place. Many a day I’d go to the research section, latch on to a book or a bunch of them about my current obsession, and read the afternoon away. Like last year when Montgomery’s victory at El Alamein got me exploring northern Africa. By the end of the day I was Faye of Arabia.
No time now for indulging myself. I kept walking until I got to Times Square, where I found a telephone booth. I asked the operator for the number for St. Vincent’s Hospital. When I was connected, I went through a rigmarole until I got somebody who could answer my question. Dolores could now have visitors for a brief time.
Then I rang my office.
“Claire’s gonna call when she’s home so I’ll be checkin in with ya.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why will Claire be callin to tell ya she’s home?”
“Bird, it’s too long to explain. If I don’t get ya before ya leave, I’ll give ya a jingle at home, if that’s all right with you.”
“It’s hunky-dory. Where ya goin now?”
“I’m gonna see Dolores.”
“Oh, that poor thing. Tell her I’m prayin for her.”
“I didn’t know ya prayed.”
“I don’t, but people like to hear that.”
“That’s the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”
“Then ya haven’t been listenin. Talk to ya later.”
I walked to the subway and took a train down to Fourteenth Street.
Dolores was on three. As hospital floors go it was pretty quiet. I went to the nurses’ station.
“I’m here to see Dolores Sidney.”
“Are you a member of the family?” She looked like she’d eaten a bar of Lux soap. I hadda be on my toes with this one.
“Daughter,” I said.
She looked at a page in a file. “It only mentions sons here.”
“There’s a reason for that,” I said.
“Yes?”
Oh, no. “I was adopted.”
“What difference would that make?”
“Not by Mrs. Sidney, from her.”
She frowned underneath her winged white cap. “Are you saying Mrs. Sidney gave you up for adoption?”
“Yes. That’s right.” Why hadn’t I said granddaughter?
“All right. Then why are you here?”
“I just found out she’s my mother and I need to see her.”
“That might frighten her. I think you’d better go.”
“But . . .”
She narrowed the slits of her eyes further. “Don’t make me come out from behind this desk. You won’t like it.”
I believed her. And left. I went to the end of the hall and turned out of her sight. Then I waited. Eventually, the Warden would have to leave her post.
An hour later she hadn’t. I hadda try something. So I crossed the hall, jammed myself against the wall, and crawled. As I passed under the nurses’ station I was glad I had no more stockings cause they’d be ruined. I hadn’t had stockings for a dog’s age. I guess I was trying to count my blessings. When I got to the end of the station it was make-or-break time.
If the Witch had glanced to her left she woulda caught me. I slithered like an eel, hugging the wall and feeling like a character from Freaks. I’d seen the movie when I was fifteen and never quite gotten over it.
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br /> But she didn’t see me and I was on my way. The trouble was I didn’t know Dolores’s room number. At the first open door I called in a hoarse whisper: “Dolores?”
Nothing. I called again. Nothing. It occurred to me I might not even be on the right side of the hall. Couldn’t be helped. I snaked along to the next room and went through the same routine. The next and the next.
At the last door I was feeling skunked. Schneidered. I knew crossing the hall was probably gonna do me in. So I tried one last time.
“Dolores.”
“I’m in here, bubele.”
TWENTY-SIX
I took a peek and saw she was in a private room. No neighbors. But I stayed on my hands and knees until I got inside. Then I stood and went to her bedside. She was as white as a marshmallow and her eyes didn’t have their usual sparkle. Tubes and wires were hooked up to her body, keeping her arms at her sides. And there was no wig. She had wispy white hair like a newborn chicken.
“I look meshuga, huh? Something out of a Saturday serial at the pictures.”
“You look fine to me, Dolores. I’m in seventh heaven you’re okay.”
“It ain’t under my belt yet, bubele. Faye, why were you crawling in here?”
“They wouldn’t let me in cause I’m not family.”
“Stupid. They shoulda asked. Yer family to me.”
“Thanks. Can ya tell me what happened?”
“Why couldn’t I tell ya? I don’t have amnesia.”
“I don’t wanna tire ya out.”
“I’ll tell ya when I get tired.”
“Promise?”
“Yeah. Sure. Ya want the whole megillah?”
“As much as ya can remember.”
“What’s this with memory? Sharp as a tack.”
I smiled. “I know ya are, Dolores.”
“Okay. So I was sweepin and this young man, with a punim like a movie star, came in and was lookin around the lobby. He smiled at me and asked which was yer apartment.”
“Like the last time?”
“But this time I was ready for him. At least I thought I was. He said he’s an old friend of yers. I tell him he should call ya at yer office. He said he did, which was how he got the address, but no one told him which apartment.”
“Did he say who he talked to?”
“I think we can agree he never called nobody. Would ya give me a little water, Faye?”
I poured a glass from her bedside pitcher. “Ya want me to hold it for ya?”
“You think I’m an octopus, I’m hiding other arms in the bed?”
She seemed to be her feisty self, which I thought was a good sign. I got one hand under the back of her head and lifted gently while I held the glass to her lips. She drank a small amount, then closed her eyes and moved back, pressing against my hand. When her head was on the pillow, she opened her eyes.
“Where was I?”
“He said he got the address from my office.”
“I told him I couldn’t help him. That he’d better call ya at home.”
“What’d he say?”
“That he was already at home, your home. Why should he have to call when he was already there? I shrugged and went back to sweepin. Next thing I knew he was holding a gun to my back. He said we were going into my apartment and that’s what we did.”
“You let him into your place?”
“Faye, it’s not like I asked him in to chat, have a glass a tea. I had a gun in my back. You’d have a better idea?”
“Sorry.”
“So I opened my door and led him inside. He asked I’m alone. I told him yes. Then he asked me again which is yer apartment and when you’ll be home. I told him I don’t know either thing.”
“You shoulda told him, Dolores.”
“You think I’m a shnook? I could identify this putz. I knew he was gonna kill me, so I was making a little stall. He tells me to go into my bedroom. I asked him what he wanted with me.”
I shook my head at the thought of the chances she took.
“Enough with the shaking.”
“You were so brave.”
“Brave shmave. I knew I was a goner, I might as well save your tushy. He told me he wanted to make sure nobody’s in the bedroom. I swear there isn’t. But he’s not taking my word on this.
“He said he ain’t gonna ask me again. I knew what that meant. He pushes the gun in my back and we go into the bedroom. My bed was made, thank God. He tells me turn around. I do. He looks under the bed and in the bathroom, but the gun is on me the whole time.
“Then outta nowhere he says, ‘Yer a kike, aren’t ya?’ My blood boils. I make believe I don’t know what that means.”
“Did he . . .”
“What’s going on in here?” The Warden.
“We’re having a clambake, what else?” Dolores said.
“And you. I thought I told you, you couldn’t see Mrs. Sidney.”
What could I say?
“This girl is my daughter.”
“You have two sons according to one of them. No daughters.”
“My son was here?”
“Yes. I can’t remember his name now.”
“Larry?”
I said, “No, Dolores. It was Morris.”
“Morris. Yes. That was his name,” the nurse said.
“Morris,” Dolores said.
“At any rate, this young woman is not your daughter.”
“She is. I adopted her.” Dolores’s face was turning red.
“Mrs. Sidney, please don’t upset yourself.”
The nurse came around the bed and bumped me out of the way. She took Dolores’s pulse.
“Pulse isn’t good,” she said. “Please try to calm down.”
“I was calm till ya came in here.”
“If your . . . daughter hadn’t come sneaking in here, this would never have happened. I think she should go.”
“She ain’t goin. I’m tellin a story and I gotta finish.”
“Go ahead then.”
“Out,” Dolores said.
“Mrs. Sidney, I . . .”
“Out.”
“I’m calling your doctor,” the nurse said.
“I guess I gave her what-for.” Dolores smiled weakly.
“You did. Think ya can go on with what happened?”
“Why not? Where was I? Oh, yeah. The schlemiel asked me was I a kike. And I said, ya mean am I of the Jewish faith? And I guess he didn’t like my question cause that was when he shot me. That’s it.”
“You poor thing.”
“One thing I’m not, Faye, is a poor thing.”
“You said he was good lookin. Can ya describe him in any more detail? What was he wearin?”
“A white, short-sleeve shirt and those blue pants. No tie. No jacket. No hat. I knew he was no gentleman in that getup.”
“Blue pants? Ya mean plain blue trousers?”
“Nah. The ones ya see on cowboys in the movies.”
“Dungarees?”
“I don’t know what ya call them.”
I knew that’s what she meant. They were made of denim and sometimes sailors wore them, too.
“Ya know what, kid? I’m tired now.”
“Oh, Dolores, why didn’t ya tell me sooner?”
“Sooner I wasn’t tired.”
“Have the police been here?”
“Excuse me, miss. I demand to know what you think you’re doing?” It was a man in a three-piece suit he musta gotten before the war. They didn’t make vests anymore. They said it was cause of the war, which I didn’t quite get. Did that extra bit of material make so much difference?
“Did you hear me, young lady?” he said.
“I did. And what I’m doin is leavin.”
“Exactly.”
“This is Dr. Hatfield,” the nurse said. She looked up at him like he was Adonis. He reminded me of a giraffe.
I kissed Dolores, who was already asleep, on the cheek. Then I made my way past the two who stood like guards at t
he end of her bed.
“And don’t come back,” the doctor said.
I didn’t say anything to that cause it was so stupid. When she was better, it was up to Dolores who came to visit. I was glad I didn’t have to crawl to get out of there.
Even though it was still hot and humid, I was happy to be on the street and in the neighborhood I loved.
I walked down Seventh Avenue to Grove and turned right at my street. There was a knot of neighbors on my stoop. Byington, Jory, and Kilbride.
“There she is,” Bruce Jory said.
I felt like it was a lynch mob waiting for me. When I got right in front of them, they all started to talk at once.
“Wait, wait. One at a time.”
“Have you seen Dolores?”
“Is she okay?”
“Who did it?”
“Quiet,” I yelled. “I did see her and she’s awake and full of . . . she’s snappy as ever.”
“When will she be home?”
“Not for a while, I’d guess.”
“Did the police catch whoever did this?”
“Not yet.”
“Will you find out, Faye?”
“I’m gonna do my best.” And I would, cause now I knew for sure the shooting was linked to my case. I didn’t know when I’d get over that one. “I gotta go in now.”
“Will you keep us informed?”
“I will. I promise.”
That seemed to calm them down some.
“Faye?” Jerome Byington said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you have any idea why someone would shoot Dolores? We heard robbery wasn’t involved. Would it be, by any stretch of the imagination, mistaken identity?”
“I don’t get ya?”
“Jerome thinks the bad man might’ve been after you, Faye,” Ethel Kilbride said.
I stalled. “You mean ya think the shooter might’ve mistaken Dolores for me?”
“I told him that was absurd,” Ethel said.
“I don’t think anyone would get us confused.” I wasn’t lying. But I wasn’t about to tell them the particulars.
“That’s what I said. You and Dolores?” said Bruce Jory.
“We’ll find out. Don’t worry. At least Dolores is on the mend.”
“You mean,” Ethel said, “we don’t have to be afraid?”
Ah. So that’s what this was really about. Not that they didn’t love Dolores, cause I knew they did. But they were scared. They thought there was a killer in the neighborhood. “I don’t know. But I’d lock yer doors when yer inside. I’m sure gonna lock mine.”
Too Darn Hot Page 21