Doors

by Ed McBain

  “Hey, man,” he said, and stuck out his hand. Alex shook hands with him, and then paid and tipped the cabby.

  “Your people home?” he asked.

  “No,” Tommy said, “they’re at the store.”

  “Then let’s go upstairs, huh?”

  “Sure,” Tommy said. “Something I want to show you, anyway.”

  They moved past the guys on the stoop, who looked Alex over as though he were fuzz. The hallway was clean, it smelled of antiseptic; your tenements down here in Little Italy never stunk of piss the way they did in Harlem. They walked up to the third floor, and Tommy let them into the apartment with his key. They sat in the living room. On the wall opposite the sofa, there was a picture of Jesus Christ on the cross. Over his head, it said INRI.

  “What does that mean, anyway?” Alex asked. “Inri.”

  “Iron Nails Ran In,” Tommy said.

  “Come on, it’s Latin or something.”

  “No, it’s Iron Nails Ran In. From when the Jews nailed him up on the cross.”

  “I never heard that before,” Alex said.

  “Yeah, it’s true. My grandmother told me.”

  “I got something for you,” Alex said, and grinned and took out his wallet. Henry had paid him in twenties, and he counted off twenty-five of them now and handed the bills to Tommy. “Five hundred,” he said. “Okay?”

  “That’s too much,” Tommy said.

  “You were the one put me in touch with Henry.”

  “Still, that’s a lot.”

  “Be my guest,” Alex said. “How do you know him, anyhow?”

  “Henry? I met him through this Jew used to be my fall partner. Before I got busted that time. A guy named Jerry Stein, you know him?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, we done two jobs together. He went out as a single afterwards, but there was no hard feelings, we got along fine together. Yeah, we hit two liquor stores up in the Bronx. Jerry goes in, he don’t fuck around. He sticks the gun right in the guy’s ear, he says Empty the cash register or you have a tunnel through your head. He’s the one introduced me to Henry, right after I got out. He knew I was looking for something, he figured maybe Henry could think of something for me. He’s into a lot of things, Henry. But Henry told me what he needed right now was a good burglar, so I told him I knew the best burglar in New York.…”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “That’s no shit, Alex.” Tommy shrugged. “So that’s how it happened. It was a good job, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Easy?”

  “Medium. I would say medium.”

  “No trouble, huh?”

  “None at all.”

  “Good,” Tommy said. “Wait’ll you see what I got.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just sit right there, I’ll get it.”

  “It ain’t a gun, is it?”

  Tommy did not answer. Smiling, he went out of the living room and into the rear of the apartment. Alex waited. He knew fuckin-A well it was a gun.

  “Close your eyes,” Tommy said from the other room.

  “Come on, I don’t have to close my eyes,” Alex said.

  Tommy came back into the room with his hands behind his back.

  “It’s a gun, ain’t it?” Alex said.

  “Yeah, but what kind of gun you think it is?” Tommy said. His eyes were glowing, there was a broad smile on his face.

  “I’ll tell you what kind,” Alex said. “It’s the kind that’ll get you in trouble, whatever the fuck kind it is.”

  “Look,” Tommy said, and pulled his right hand from behind his back and thrust the pistol almost into Alex’s face. The gun was huge, the biggest pistol Alex had ever seen in his life.

  “What is that thing?” he asked. “Get that thing out of my face, will you? Is that thing loaded?”

  “No, it ain’t loaded,” Tommy said. “You know what it is?”

  “No, what is it? How do you know it ain’t loaded?”

  “Cause it ain’t loaded, look,” he said, and rolled out the cylinder to show Alex there were no cartridges in it.

  “How do I know there ain’t one in the chamber?” Alex said.

  “I’m telling you it ain’t loaded. What do you think of it?”

  “It looks like a cannon,” Alex said.

  “It is a cannon. It’s a .357 Magnum, that’s what it is. You know who’s using this gun now?”

  “Who?”

  “The troopers upstate, and also the Connecticut troopers.”

  “Whyn’t you go put it away?” Alex said. “You make me nervous, waving it around like that.”

  “You can blow off a man’s leg with this gun. One shot, you can blow off his leg.”

  “I believe it,” Alex said.

  “You know how long this barrel is?”

  “How long?”

  “Almost a foot long. Eleven and one-quarter inches, that’s how long it is.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said, and looked at the barrel. “Put it away, all right?”

  “There’re cases,” Tommy said, “a guy shot somebody with a .357, the bullet went right through him and also killed a second guy. This is one fuckin powerful gun. The Connecticut troopers are using hollow-point bullets in it, they tumble through the air and flatten out when they hit somebody. That’s so if they shoot in a crowd, the bullet’ll rip into the body and go off at angles inside there, and it won’t pass through and hit no innocent bystander. Cause this thing is so powerful, it could put a hole in an engine block, would you believe it?”

  “I told you I believe it. Now put it away.”

  “You know how much I paid for this thing? On the street, I mean.”

  “How much?”

  “Two hundred and forty bucks. You could stop a buffalo with this fuckin piece.”

  “Too bad there ain’t no buffalos in New York,” Alex said.

  “I got me a very big buffalo in mind,” Tommy said, and grinned conspiratorially, and then said, “I better put this back in my drawer. My old lady walks in here, she’ll take a fit.”

  “You got a drawer big enough to put it in?” Alex said, and Tommy laughed and went out of the room. “You’re crazy, you know that?” Alex called after him.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Tommy said.

  “You must want to go back up real bad.”

  “Anybody tries to send me back up,” Tommy said, “I’ll blow his fuckin head off. This piece can blow a man’s head off.”

  “I thought you said his leg.”

  “His head, too,” Tommy said, and came back into the room. “You want to hear my idea?”

  “No. Not if it involves that thing you just showed me.”

  “Of course it does, why you think I bought it?”

  “Cause you’re crazy.”

  “You want to hear this, or not?”

  “Tommy, you want my advice? Throw that gun in the garbage.”

  “It cost me two hundred and forty bucks,” Tommy said.

  “Throw it in the garbage. Here,” Alex said, and took out his wallet and opened it. “Here’s the two-forty, go throw the gun away.”

  “I need that gun,” Tommy said.

  “What for?”

  “I been feelin like shit ever since I got out. Didn’t know what was the matter with me, my mother kept askin was I sick. You should be glad you’re home, she said, why you goin around with a long face all the time? Okay. This morning, I bought the piece. You see a long face on me now? What you see now is a happy person.”

  “Who’s heading right back to Sing Sing.”

  “Not me,” Tommy said. “I got a good plan for that piece.”

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “You’re the one give me the idea,” Tommy said.

  “Me?”

  “You. I wouldn’t have thought of it, it wasn’t for you.”

  “Tommy, are you crazy? Are you really crazy, or what?”

  “Just listen a minute, and you’ll see how crazy I am. You want a beer?
There’s Heineken and Schlitz in the fridge, which you want?”

  “The Heineken.”

  “That’s what my old man drinks,” Tommy said, and went out to the kitchen. “He used to make wine, you know? In the basement? No more. All he does now is drink Heineken beer. He brings home three six-packs every day, drinks them at night while he’s watching TV. He counts them, makes sure nobody else in the house is drinking them. For me, he brings home the Schlitz. I touch the Heineken, he whacks me in the head.”

  “Okay, I’ll have a Schlitz,” Alex said.

  “No, I’ll tell him a friend stopped by. My old man’s a real ginzo, hospitality’s a big thing with him.” Tommy came back into the room with a bottle of Schlitz, a bottle of Heineken, and an opener. He uncapped both bottles, and handed the Heineken to Alex. “Here’s lookin up your whole family,” he said, and tilted the bottle of Schlitz to his mouth. “Good,” he said, wiping his lips. “Just as good as that Dutch shit. You want to hear my plan?”

  “I got no choice,” Alex said. “I’m drinking your old man’s beer.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Tommy said and laughed. “I’ll tell him a very good friend drank it. You could even drink another one if you like. I’ll tell him I knew you from Sing Sing. He just loves my old pals from Sing Sing.”

  “I’ll bet he’s gonna love that Magnum, too, he ever gets a look at it.”

  “Only one person gonna see that piece,” Tommy said, “and then it goes down the sewer.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The person who’s gonna see it? Guess.”

  “Who?”

  “Henry Green.”

  Alex put down his beer bottle, and then turned on the sofa to look at Tommy.

  “Yeah,” Tommy said, and grinned. “I’m gonna stick up Henry’s shop. Whattya thing of that?”

  “I think it’s the stupidest fuckin idea I ever heard in my life.”

  “You think so, huh? Well, I don’t think so. I think it’s a very good idea, in fact. You want to know why? Here’s why.”

  “I don’t want to know why.”

  “Henry set up a job for you, am I right? Okay, I got to figure a jeweler don’t go settin up a job there’s nothing in it for him, am I right? He doesn’t go sendin you in after a two-dollar watch, he’s got to have something bigger in mind, no? Okay. So yesterday you done the job, I know that cause you’re here now to pay me off, so you musta done it yesterday, that’s maid’s day off. Okay, so where’s the haul now? I got to figure if Henry already paid you for it, then it’s in Henry’s shop. I can’t believe he could’ve got rid of it so fast, so it’s still got to be there, am I right? Okay. It ain’t gonna be there after six tonight.”

  Tommy was grinning. Alex was staring at him.

  “Good, huh?” Tommy said.

  “Very good,” Alex said. “I’ll send you cigarettes and spending money.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “What’s wrong with it? Henry knows you, you stupid fuck!”

  “That don’t matter.”

  “Oh, it don’t. I see, it don’t. It don’t matter he’ll call the cops the minute you go out of there, tell them Tommy Palumbo just held up his store.”

  “He won’t call the cops.”

  “What’re you gonna do? Put a bullet in his head before you leave? Add a little homicide to the rap?”

  “I don’t have to put no bullet in his head.”

  “Tommy …”

  “The stuff is hot, don’t you see? He can’t report the fuckin holdup. Because if he tells them it was me, and the cops come after me, what they’re gonna find is all the stuff you stole yesterday. Henry can’t risk that because then they’ll know he fenced the job and maybe set it up besides. You understand, Alex? I got him by the balls.”

  “Unless he already got rid of the stuff,” Alex said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Suppose he already got rid of it? Suppose it ain’t there in his shop?”

  “No,” Tommy said, “he wouldn’t have got rid of it so fast. You think he might have got rid of it?”

  “Sure,” Alex said.

  “So fast?”

  “Sure.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy said.

  “So if you hold him up for just the legitimate stuff he’s got in the shop there, he’ll call the cops the minute you go out.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy said.

  “Unless you kill him, of course.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now you don’t want to kill the man, do you, Tommy?”

  “No, I don’t want to kill him. But …”

  “That’s very heavy shit, killing a man.”

  “Yeah, I know, but … Jesus, it was such a good idea.”

  “It was, Tommy. I’ll give you that. It was a good idea. But only if the stuff would still be in the shop. If he already got rid of it, then it wouldn’t work. Cause he’d blow the whistle, you see.”

  “Yeah, that’s what he’d do, all right.”

  “So you better forget it.”

  “Yeah,” Tommy said. “Jesus, it was such a good idea.”

  On Saturday night, while he was dressing for his date with Jessica, the telephone rang. Archie was on the other end of the line.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Archie asked.

  “I’m busy. Why, what’s up?”

  “I been talking to Daisy,” he said. “I want to fill you in on this.”

  “How does it look?”

  “Not bad. You think you can get up here tomorrow morning?”

  “That depends on how tonight goes,” Alex said. “I don’t want to leave nothing good here in the sack.”

  “Man, you mixin business with pleasure,” Archie said.

  “Let me call you in the morning, okay?”

  “I hope you can get up here,” Archie said. “This looks kind of interesting.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Alex said.

  He hung up, and went back to the dresser, and began knotting his tie. Archie wouldn’t have called if he hadn’t done some preliminary work and figured there was a chance for a shot. He was almost tempted to call Jessica and tell her something important had come up, he’d have to take a rain check. No, Archie could wait till tomorrow. If what he had was so hot, it would hold till tomorrow. Anyway, Archie had only said it looked kind of interesting, and that was no reason to go running uptown, not for something that looked only kind of interesting. Still, Archie had a way of making things sound small and unimportant, that was his particular superstition. Never make the thing sound big, because then you’d only be disappointed if it turned out to be small potatoes. He wanted very much to hear what Archie had come up with, but it could wait. He realized as he put on his jacket that he was pretty excited about seeing Jessica.

  The last time he’d dated a square girl was that time in Miami, when he’d told her he was a burglar. He had struck out completely that night because it turned out the girl thought he was being what she called “flippant.” Even after he told her he wasn’t really a burglar but just an insurance salesman, she insisted he was being “flippant,” and said she didn’t know what to believe from him anymore. He had taken her to dinner at an expensive restaurant and then had driven the rented car all the way to Lauderdale, but the minute he pulled into the motel courtyard, she said, “Hey, what’s this?”

  “I thought we’d go in and watch some television,” he said.

  “You said we were just going for a drive.”

  “Yeah, but now the drive is over.”

  “What kind of girl do you think I am?” she said.

  “I don’t know,” he said, “Are you a burglar?”

  “Very funny. Just turn this thing around and let’s get out of here, okay?”

  “You don’t want to watch some television? The sign says they’ve got color television.”

  “I’ve got television in my own room,” she said. “If I want to watch television, I can go back to the hotel.”

  “Okay,
let’s do that,” Alex suggested.

  “I don’t want to watch televsion.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I thought this was going to be a big night,” she said.

  “It could be a very big night.”

  “Not that kind of night.”

  “I’ve got a good idea,” Alex said.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  “Get the fuck out of the car.”

  “What?”

  “Get out.” He leaned over her and opened the door on her side, and then said, “Out.”

  He still wondered how she had got back to Miami that night. The last time he’d seen her, she was standing under the motel sign with her hands on her hips. That was in the rear-view mirror, as he drove off. He supposed he had played it wrong. Maybe he should have taken her to the fronton after dinner, or maybe the track, show her a good time, play it slow and easy.

  Tonight, he’d play it slow and easy. He took one last look at himself in the mirror, and then went out of the apartment and downstairs to 5C. The girl who answered the door looked sixteen. She was wearing eyeglasses, and she had pimples all over her face. She looked him up and down the way young kids did nowadays.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi,” she answered.

  “Is that you, Alex?” Jessica called from someplace in the apartment.

  “That’s me,” he said.

  “Be with you in a minute,” she called. “Sit down, will you? Felice, show him where the bar is. Fix yourself a drink if you like, Alex.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and followed Felice into the living room.

  “The bar’s there,” she said, and pointed to a corner of the room. He walked to it, and checked out the liquor supply. Jessica had some nice stuff. Her husband was maybe a chintzy bastard, like she’d said, but she sure wasn’t scrimping on the booze.

  “How long you gonna be?” he called through the apartment.

  “Oh, just a minute,” she said. “But fix yourself a drink.”

  He figured that meant she’d be at least ten minutes, so he poured himself some Scotch over ice, and then went to sit on the sofa. Felice sat in a chair opposite him, watching him like an owl from behind her glasses. The living room was nicely furnished, though not to his taste, with a lot of ornate-looking stuff with inlaid wood and curlicues, Louis XV, he supposed it was, or XVI, who the hell knew? Or cared. There was a piano in one corner of the room, he wondered if Jessica played the piano. He also wondered what her husband did for a living; the place must have cost a penny or two to put together.