by Ralph Dennis
“Might be the two who tried to mug Hump for the check.”
Patience wasn’t Art’s big virtue. “What the hell is going on, Jim?”
“That picture you got for me.”
“Ben Pride?”
“I think Ben Pride just put down a palace revolt.”
“You think?”
“More than that,” I said. “He told us where to look.”
“The sheet on him. Nothing about execution-style killings in there.”
“Better than half a million tax-free,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Could change somebody.”
Art carried the rest of his coffee to the trash receptacle next to the drugstore’s front door. “Where’ll you be?”
I gave him the address on Charles Allen.
One more sip of the coffee and he dropped the cup in the trash. He said he’d be there as soon as he could shake free. If he could.
“I trust that you verified it.”
I heard that much and stepped away. Art leaned in and put his ear near the receiver. I went over and sat next to Hump. He looked fresh and rested. I knew I looked like the wrong end of a mule.
“I heard it was a mess,” Bill said.
A pause while Bill listened.
“The price is still fifty big ones.”
I looked at my watch. Nine o’clock.
“You’re the one wants the meeting,” Bill said. “All I want is the cash. In fact, after what happened behind the theater, I’m not sure I want to be anywhere near you.”
I left the sofa and nudged Art out of the way. He’d heard enough to know the story was straight.
“… only way you’ll see the money,” the man said.
“All right.”
“Tonight at ten I want …”
I shook my head at Bill. “Daytime only,” he said. “People get killed in the dark.”
“What do you suggest?”
I’d set it up with Bill. The location and the time.
“I’ll be at the Midnight Sun bar at one this afternoon.”
“No,” the man said.
“The reason I picked the Midnight Sun is that it’s only a block from the federal building.”
“You talk like you’ve got all the cards,” the man said.
“All fifty-two,” Bill said. “You see, the good faith you showed this morning put your other ball in the crack. It’s murder now.” He paused. “In fact, I have some trouble thinking of those killings as a show of good faith. I think you were cutting down the way you split the score.”
I mouthed, raise the money.
“I can’t be in Atlanta by one this afternoon.”
“You’re already here,” Bill said. “And the money has just gone up to seventy-five thousand. There’s more to be silent about.”
“If I come …”
“You’ll come.”
“… how will I know you?”
Bill gave him a rundown. Physical details. “I’ll be wearing a gray suit and reading the New York Times sports section.”
“The New York Times has a sports section?”
Ben Pride broke the connection.
“Boxed,” Art said. He picked up the black raincoat that he wore as a light topcoat in the fall. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain all this to Captain …”
“Not a box,” I said. “It’s going to be a box with one end open.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Ben Pride walks in, makes his meet with Bill, and walks out again.”
And then I told him the how and the why of it. It had to do with half a million in cash and a bundle of checks that hadn’t been cashed yet.
I never did convince him but I turned his flank. By the time I’d drawn the layout of the underground mall at Peachtree Center and started x-ing in the spots it became a chess match for him. He couldn’t resist it.
And since he’d done most of the planning, I pretended it had been his idea the whole time. Not that he bought a nickel’s worth of that.
Hump said it was brilliant.
I said it was beautiful.
Bill slapped him on the back.
Art said, “Screw you, all of you.” And he didn’t smile.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By twelve-thirty, we’d built the box in the underground mall of Peachtree Center. There’s an open courtyard on the street level on Peachtree Street. Up there, Hump had that end. He was seated on one of the concrete benches that surround a jumble of plants. It’s girl-watching territory but, in case that didn’t give him a cover, I’d set him up with a New York Daily News and the want ads from the Constitution.
Anyone entering the underground mall would pass through the street-level courtyard. Once past that point, there was a choice of two sets of escalators. It wasn’t much of a choice. Both escalators dropped you in the open-air patio, a wide airy place filled with outdoor cafe metal tables and chairs. According to which escalator you took, you either turned right or left and you were at the Midnight Sun. If you continued through the patio there was a single entrance that led into the covered mall of other restaurants and shops.
The patio was my end of the box. The tables and chairs were for people who brought their own lunch or made do on the hot dogs and beverages that the Primrose stand offers.
It was a gray, chill day and I’d known there wasn’t going to be much cover from other lunch-timers in the patio. I’d called Marcy and she’d agreed to meet me. She’d arrived at twenty of one and she’d made a lot out of the fact that she thought I’d invited her to lunch at the Midnight Sun. It was a misunderstanding that would cost me a sixty-dollar dinner in a week or two.
I’d selected a table off to one side, near the Primrose hot dog stand and away from the walkway that led to the covered part of the mall. My seat faced the two entrances to the Midnight Sun and, to either side, the two escalators.
Hump and I were the two open ends. If Ben Pride entered, carried out his transaction, and left by the escalator to the street level Hump would follow until we caught up. If, after leaving the Midnight Sun, Ben Pride entered the covered part of the mall Marcy and I would follow.
And in the Midnight Sun bar Bill and Art did their waiting. Art was at the back end of the bar drinking scotch and water. Bill was about center bar. He was drinking Coke and reading the front section of the Times. The sports section was carefully put aside for his one o’clock reading.
At ten of one, I left Marcy at the table and bought three hot dogs, one of them without onions for her, and two cups of coffee. I’d finished the first of my two and had started the second when Ben Pride walked out of the covered mall behind me. He still wore his hair the silver-gray that we’d heard about in Tiflon. His dark suit looked like about four hundred dollars worth of cloth and thread. His tie was silver-gray. His shoes were pebble-grained and English-made. He carried a thin black attache case in one hand and one of the distinctive book bags from Brentano’s. So, he’d come early and browsed in the bookstore. That didn’t make sense. He was too careful for that. Unless …
With his hand on the door to the Midnight Sun lounge Ben Pride turned and looked across the patio. By the time his eyes flicked to my table, I’d stuffed most of the second hot dog into my face. Mustard ran down my chin, bits of onion tumbled down my shirtfront, and Marcy, without any coaching, had her head back, laughing at me.
I think we passed muster. Ben Pride swung the bar door open and stepped inside. It was, by my watch, still two minutes until one.
I chewed and chewed and finally got the hot dog down. Marcy leaned across the table and wiped my chin with her napkin. “There, there, little baby.”
“He’s in the Midnight Sun,” I said.
“You mean I can stop acting?”
“Eat your hot dog,” I said.
She ate it delicately, quarter inch by quarter inch. No mustard ran down her chin. That was Marcy, her upbringing. She could eat spareribs without getting grease on her fingers.
Unless
…
Then I saw the second man. He’d been at the hot dog stand. When he stepped away, he carried a single hot dog in his hand. He was a tall, lean man, coal-dark hair worn short. It was a long, dour face, topped by dark-rimmed glasses. He’d been looking past us, toward the covered part of the mall. Yes, to see if anyone tailed Pride. Nobody had.
Now he passed the front of the Midnight Sun and stopped at the base of the escalator to my left.
Eric Pender. It had to be.
I gathered hot dog containers and the balled-up napkins. “I’ve got to see Hump. Watch for Art.”
I pushed back my chair and headed for the trash can at the base of the other escalator. I was a step away from the can when Eric Pender turned and stepped onto the escalator. I stuffed the trash in the can on the way by and hit the escalator running. I didn’t wait for it to move me up. I ran the steps. That would be my edge if I had one. On the other escalator, hidden from me, Pender might be taking the ride, letting it move him upward to the street level.
I hit the street level. No sign of Pender. I slowed to a fast walk. Hump looked up at me. I sat down next to him and scooped up his Daily News. “Eric Pender’s coming out now. The escalator behind us.”
“Who?”
“Pender, the accountant who worked for Temple.”
“I remember.”
“Don’t lose him but lie back.”
Hump lowered the want ads and looked over his shoulder. When he turned back, he said, “I got him. He’s heading for Baker Street.” He got to his feet. “See you.”
I kept the Daily News in front of my face and counted to twenty. I lowered the paper and both of them were out of sight.
Back in the patio, I bought two more cups of coffee at the Primrose stand. “Nothing yet?”
“Unless you think two men trying to pick me up is nothing.”
“Any luck?”
“I told them I was waiting for dessert.”
It was a hint. I crossed to the Midnight Sun Bakery and bought her a hamburger-bun-shaped éclair. While she nibbled at it, I checked my watch. Ben Pride had been in the bar for ten minutes.
Another five minutes passed before the door to the bar opened and Bill and Ben Pride came out together. They were laughing and I got a look at Bill’s flushed face. Oh, shit, he’d been in the sauce. All that sauce and he’d decided to have some of it mixed in with his Coke. And Art, even if he’d known, couldn’t do anything about it.
Ben Pride still carried the attaché case. The book bag was tucked under the armpit. The other hand, his left, was on Bill’s shoulder. A bit of pressure and Ben Pride turned Bill toward the escalator to my left. That wasn’t in the plan. Bill wasn’t to leave with him. Told expressly not to.
As soon as they stepped on the escalator, backs to me, I said, “Call you later,” to Marcy. I headed for the escalator to my right. I was halfway there when Art came out of the bar. I waved an arm in the direction of the escalator they’d taken. He turned that way and stopped. I knew he was counting it off in his head, letting them reach the street level.
My escalator was crowded. I couldn’t run it this time. I was halfway up when I heard the woman scream. I tried to push my way up and out but a man said, “I beg your pardon,” and pushed back. I didn’t want to start a fight so I said, “Excuse me,” and waited. I reached the street level and moved around him. My first look was toward the courtyard, toward the street. I didn’t see Bill or Ben Pride anywhere. Then the woman screamed again and I ran in the direction of the other escalator.
I found Bill Heffner. He was seated, back braced against the outside of the handrail. He had both hands pressed over his chest. Art leaned over him and pulled at his hands. Off to one side, a young girl, probably a secretary on her lunch break, leaned against the wall in shock. I didn’t see the attaché case. The Brentano’s book bag was at Bill’s feet.
Art nodded toward the street. I ran in that direction. I looked both ways. No sign of Ben Pride. I returned to the escalator well. The secretary was mumbling, “… gray-haired man said it was a heart attack and that he was going to call a doctor.”
I stepped past her and leaned over Bill. His eyes were closed. Blood ran through his tightly pressed fingers.
“Ambulance is on the way,” Art said.
“Bill,” I said, “Bill.”
He opened his eyes. “Conned me,” he said.
“How?”
“Said he had a good idea about … how to … run the geochemist … scam. Said he … couldn’t … talk in the bar. Dumb … but I knew … you … were watching …”
He closed his eyes. The pain was bad.
“A knife, I think,” Art said. “Just leaned on him, stuck it in him, and walked away.”
I could smell the booze on Bill’s breath. I straightened up. The girl said, “But it was funny.”
“What was?”
“He said he was going to call a doctor but when he got to the street, he looked in both directions and a bus pulled up at the stop and he got on.”
So, he hadn’t planned it. Nobody planned on a bus for a getaway. He’d made the meet with the idea of paying off and he’d seen Bill with booze in him and he’d improvised. He hadn’t done a make on either Art in the bar or me in the patio. And Eric Pender had been his backstop and he hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary either. Probably, if he had, he’d have looked in the bar. Going away, leaving, meant it was clear.
And Ben Pride had decided that he didn’t have to pay off a scam man with a drinking problem. Also, because Bill drank, he couldn’t trust him.
I could hear the ambulance siren as it came down Peachtree.
Art pulled me aside. His breath hissed at me. “Where the fuck was Hump?”
“Following Eric Pender,” I said.
“You blew it,” Art said.
I didn’t have any answer for that. I stepped around him and looked down at Bill. He was shivering. Blood soaked the front of his trousers. I squatted and picked up the book bag from Brentano’s. I tore the staple away and pulled a book out. It was Angels: God’s Secret Agents by Billy Graham.
Bill died in the ambulance on the way to Grady Hospital.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I drove home in a blue funk and rage.
When the ambulance arrived, Art had shown his I.D. and we’d hopped a ride. We’d been a block away from Grady when the attendant shook out a towel and placed it over Bill’s face. Done, ended.
Art and I remained on the ramp after they pushed the stretcher bed inside. He’d been rough on me and he knew it. The anger had washed away and he realized I was as hurt as he was. Maybe even more so because I’d recruited Bill into it.
“The way I see it,” Art said, “Bill let the smell of alcohol get to him. After that, it was simple enough to order booze mixed with his Coke. I didn’t even notice it. I had my eyes on the entrance.”
“I told him. You were there. I told him not to leave the bar until ten minutes after Ben Pride did.”
“Sober, I think Bill knew that. But you know how Bill felt about Pride. He was number one, the king. I couldn’t hear what they talked about in the bar. From what Bill said, I think he told Pride about the geochemist scam he’d developed. My guess is Pride complimented him on it, seemed interested, and told Bill he saw an angle or two on the scam that Bill didn’t. There Bill was, alcohol running strong in him, and Ben Pride, the Ben Pride, was going to help him and give him some ideas. No way Ben could have walked away from him.”
“Scams, scams,” I said. “I thought Bill was smarter than that.”
“Write that on his headstone,” Art said.
I caught a cab that took me to the Davison deck where I’d left my car. I left Art to do his lying. Was in the underground mall. Doing some shopping. Heard a woman scream and found a man dying on the escalator on the ground level. The witness, a Miss Sissy Jackson, said a gray-haired man. …
The blue funk didn’t want to leave. I found most of a bottle of J&B and had a drink. Then a
nother. I couldn’t shake it out of my head. Except for Hump’s good intentions, except for my willingness to use Bill Heffner, he might still be alive. He’d be shivering in the late afternoon sun in front of the Union Mission, free and easy, his only worry the next drink of wine and how he’d get it.
“Where the hell have you been?” It was Hump. I could hear street noises in the background. I figured he was using a pay phone and he’d left the door partly open. “This is the second time I’ve called.”
“Where’re you?”
“It’s been some afternoon.”
“You lose him?”
“No, I’m looking at him right now. Anyway, we went to this movie. I followed him straight from Peachtree Center to the Ashley Art. Lord, that was some movie. You wouldn’t believe what those boys and girls were doing to each other. One hour on the dot and he left and stood at the bus stop right outside the theater.”
“You wait with him?”
“Thought that might be obvious. No, I walked down a block to the next stop, where Ivy cuts in on Peachtree. I could see him from there. I passed up the buses he did. Saw him catch a number 2. Got on myself. He was sitting up front. I did my slightly drunk nigger act and sat in back, near the rear exit door. Saw him get up just before we reached the Plaza. Got off there too. Gave him fifty yards and followed him. You know the Shady Rest? Little hotel near Manuel’s Tavern?”
I said I did.
“He was in there twenty minutes. I think he was checking out. Now he’s sitting out front on a bench with a big suitcase next to him. He’s been there an hour. I think he’s been stood up.”
“Where’re you now?”
“A 7-11 down the street but I’ll be at the bus stop on the other side of the street from the Shady Rest when you get here.”
I said I’d be there in fifteen or less.
I caught the green lights and made it in twelve. I cruised past the hotel. Eric Pender was still there. He looked grim and angry. A heavy topcoat was draped over the suitcase next to the bench. I found Hump half a block down the street on the left. He was leaning on the bus stop with his back to the Shady Rest. I waved at him and made a left turn into the seven-eleven parking lot. Hump trotted after me and slid into the passenger seat in front.