The Killing

by Lionel White

  “It's like this, kid,” he told her, “I like you. Like you a lot. But the trouble is, I'm liking you too damn much. I got no objections to laying some other guy's wife, but I do object to fal ing in love with another guy's dol . So from now on, I think it's going to be best if we just forget about things.”

  She'd tried to protest, to tel him that George, her husband, didn't mean anything to her; that in fact, she couldn't even stand to have him touch her any more.

  “O.K.,” Val had said. “Leave him then.”

  “And if I leave him, what then? Do we...”

  He'd looked over at her, his eyes indifferent, almost cold.

  “I'm not making bargains,” he said softly. “Leave him and we'l see what happens. I'm not going to horse trade. You get rid of that bum you're married to; get yourself free and clear. Then you and I can start fresh.”

  She'd been furious, burned up. She'd wanted to spit on him and curse him. But she was crazier than ever about him and he must have known the power he had over her. He hadn't moved an inch.

  When they'd left the hotel the next morning, he'd dropped her off a few blocks from her apartment.

  “Lemme hear from you,” he'd said.

  She knew what he had meant. Let me hear from you when you have left your husband.

  She had, at last, made up her mind to leave George Peatty. Her decision came on the very afternoon that he had come home and broken down and told her about the plan to rob the race track.

  The doorman at the Plaza eyed her suspiciously as she walked back and forth in front of the main entrance of the hotel. She looked down several times at the tiny wrist watch and she knew that she stil had a couple of minutes to wait. The doorman had asked if he could cal her a cab, but she had shaken her head.

  She was standing stil , tapping her foot in irritation, when the Cadil ac pul ed around the circle and stopped opposite her. She started for the car, but the doorman reached in front of her and opened the door handle. He tipped his hat as she got in.

  “Damn it, Val,” she said, “I wish you wouldn't make me meet you on the street like this. That damned flunky thought I was out on the town.”

  Val laughed.

  “Where to, kid?” he asked.

  “Any quiet spot where we can talk,” she said.

  He nodded and was silent for a time as he swung the car into the traffic heading across town.

  “Decided to dump old George at last?” he final y asked.

  She looked at him, a surge of sudden anger coming over her. But when she spoke, her voice was calm.

  “Something more important than that, Val,” she said. “That is, if you consider money—say a mil ion or so—important.”

  He looked over at her quickly and whistled under his breath.

  “We better find a quiet spot,” he said softly.

  Twenty minutes later they were seated in a table-high booth in an almost deserted Chinese restaurant on Upper Broadway. Canned music drifted from a speaker on the wal over their heads and drowned out the sound of their voices as they talked in low tones. Neither did more than toy with the dishes in front of them.

  Val listened quietly as Sherry told him of her conversation with George.

  For several seconds, after she was through, he sat silent and thoughtful. Final y he looked up.

  “You mean,” he said, “that your husband told you seriously that he and some mob are planning on knocking over the race track? I just can't believe it.”

  She looked at him, annoyed.

  “You can believe it al right,” she said. “George may be a fool—in fact he is—but he's no liar. Don't forget, he works at the track; he'd be the logical guy to use as a fingerman on the job.”

  Val whistled, under his breath.

  “He's crazy,” he said. “The guy's nuts. It can't be done.”

  “Yeah, that's what I told him,” Sherry said. “But he said that it was going to be done—that the job was al set up. They got the mob and they got everything set.”

  “Who's in it with him? He can't be masterminding it alone, that's for sure. I thought you always told me this husband of yours was strictly a square?”

  Sherry shook her head.

  “You can't tel about George,” she said. “For me—I believe him.”

  Val reached for the drink he had ordered and hadn't touched so far. He stared for a long time at the girl before speaking.

  “Look,” he said final y. “What's your angle in this? Why are you tel ing me about it? I should think...”

  “I'm tel ing you for a couple of reasons,” Sherry said, her eyes bright and hard. “Until I learned of this when George got home, I was al set to leave him. I guess you know why I was leaving, too. But now things are changed. If this deal goes through—if by some miracle they do knock off the track—

  George wil be in the chips. He'l have plenty.”

  Quickly Val interrupted her.

  “That's al he needs, isn't it?” he said, his thin lips cynical.

  “He'd stil be George,” Sherry said. “With it or without it, he'd stil be George.”

  Val nodded.

  “And you think, that let's say they do pul the job and that George gets his cut, maybe I could take it away from him?”

  Sherry stared him straight in the face and didn't blush. She nodded her head slowly.

  “Yes,” she said. “I think you could.”

  There was a long interval of silence and they picked at their food. Neither was hungry.

  “How about the others—any idea who they are? Any idea when this thing is to come off?” Val asked at last.

  “Only this,” Sherry said, reaching for her handbag, and taking out her lipstick to repair her face. “I know George is having a meeting with the mob tonight. While he was cleaning up in the bathroom, I went through his clothes. I found a slip of paper. It said, 712 East 31st Street Room 411 Eight o'clock.'”

  “Address mean anything to you?”

  “Nothing.”

  Val took a cigar from a thin leather case. He put it in his mouth but didn't light it. For a long time again he thought before speaking.

  “Kid,” he said at last, “I think we got something. If they're having a meeting tonight, the chances are they'l be making final plans. Most of the mob wil be there. And they'l take plenty of time. This thing, if it's true, is a lot bigger than you think. You're interested in George's cut, but sweetheart, let me tel you something. George's cut wil probably be peanuts compared with the total take.”

  Sherry looked up at him then, sudden surprise on her face.

  “What we gotta know,” Val continued, “is a little more about the over-al plan. You think George wil tel you anything...”

  “Not a chance,” Sherry interrupted. “I could see that he was scared stiff that he'd talked as much as he did. I don't think I'l find out any more until it's over and done with. George is smart enough to know that my interest isn't in what he's going to pul , but only in the dough that it brings in.”

  Val smiled thinly and nodded.

  “Probably right,” he said. He watched her closely as he continued to speak. “What we got to know,” he said, “is who's at that meeting on Thirty-first Street and what goes on during it.”

  “You mean...”

  “I mean that one of us wants to get up there and get outside the door of that room and case the place.”

  Sherry nodded, hesitantly.

  “You're the baby to do it,” Val said. “If by any chance your husband does run into you—that he leaves early or something—why tel him you just didn't believe his story in the first place. Tel him the address fel out of his pocket when he took his coat off, that you read it and thought he might be two timing you.”

  Sherry laughed.

  “George knows damn wel I wouldn't care if he was,” she said.

  “So what if he does know. You're smart; you can handle it.”

  A half hour later they left the restaurant and Val drove downtown. He dropped Sherry at Thi
rty-fourth Street.

  “Take a cab and get out a half a block from the place,” he said. “I gotta couple of things to do, but I'l be in the neighborhood a little later. George comes out and if he's got anyone with him, I want to tail them. You see what you can find out, but be careful as hel . Don't be seen if you can help it. I won't plan to see you again tonight, but I'l stop by tomorrow around noon, as soon as George leaves for the track.”

  Sherry was stepping into a taxi as he pul ed the Caddie away from the curb and turned back uptown.

  * * *

  Only Marvin Unger looked up at him, sharp and startled, when he finished speaking. Big Mike sat solidly on the couch, his legs spread and staring at a spot of floor between his large feet. Randy Kennan stretched out in a chair, fingers interlaced in back of his neck and his eyes closed. Peatty paced back and forth at one end of the room, nervously dropping ashes on the floor.

  “You mean to say,” Unger said, “that there are going to be three more guys in this? Three more guys and that we're not to even know who they are?”

  He sounded incredulous.

  “That's right,” Johnny Clay said.

  Unger almost snorted.

  “What the hel is this anyway,” he snapped. “I don't get it. First, why three more; secondly, why don't we know who they are? Don't you trust...”

  Johnny stood up suddenly and his face was hard. His voice was tense with anger as he answered.

  “Listen,” he said. “Let's get something straight. Right now! I'm running this show. Al the way through. And to answer your last question first—yeah, I trust you fine. But I don't trust the three men I'm bringing in on the deal. If you guys don't know who they are, then you can be sure they won't know who you are. That make sense to you?”

  He stopped for a moment then and looked at the others. No one said anything.

  “These guys we got to have,” he said then. “One of them I need for the job with the rifle. Somebody's got to handle that and I don't think any of you want to do it.”

  Once more he looked at them, one after the other. Once more no one answered him.

  “I need a second guy for the rumble in the lobby,” he said. “The third one runs interference for me when I leave that office. These men are not going to be in on the basic scheme. They're getting paid to perform certain definite duties at a certain definite time. They're not cutting in on the take. They wil be paid a flat price to do a straight job.”

  Kennan opened his eyes and looked at Johnny. He winked, imperceptibly and so that the others didn't see it.

  “Johnny's right, Unger,” he said. “They don't know who we are, or what the deal is, so much the better. And if we don't know who they are, what's the difference. If you don't know something, you can't talk about it.”

  Big Mike grunted.

  “We can trust Johnny to handle that end al right,” he said.

  Unger stil didn't seem satisfied.

  “If they don't know anything about the basic plan, about the job,” he asked, “then why are they doing it? How do they know they're going to get paid if they don't know where the dough's coming from?”

  “Simple,” Johnny said. “These boys are straight hoods. They get paid in advance. Five grand for the guy with the rifle; twenty-five hundred apiece for each of the others.”

  This time they al looked up at Johnny, startled.

  It was Marvin Unger, however, who spoke.

  “Ten thousand dol ars,” he said, aghast. “Where in the hel are you...”

  Johnny cut in quick.

  “Yeah, ten grand,” he said. “And cheap. For Christ sake, we're shooting for between a mil ion and a half and two mil ion dol ars. What the hel are you doing, screaming about a lousy ten grand?”

  For the first time George Peatty spoke up.

  “It isn't that, Johnny,” he said, “it's just that where are we going to get the ten grand from.”

  Johnny looked at him coldly.

  “What the hel do I care where you get it from,” he said caustical y. “There are four of you—that's twenty-five hundred apiece. You'l just have to get it up.”

  Unger interrupted angrily.

  “Fine,” he said, “just get it up. So what about you—you going to get your share up too?”

  Johnny went over to the couch and sat down before answering.

  “Listen,” he said, at last, his voice unhurried. “Let's get one thing straight. This is my caper; I'm setting it up, I'm doing the brain work and the planning.

  I'm the one who figured it out and got you guys together. I've worked four damned long years perfecting this thing. Also, I'm the guy who's taking the big chance when we pul the job. I'm the guy who goes in with the chopper under his arm.

  “Each one of you is working; each one has a job. You got some sort of income, some sort of legit connections. So go to the banks if you got any dough; borrow from 'em if you haven't. Go to the loan sharks if you can't get it from the banks. It's the least you can do. We're shooting for real money; you can't be pikers if you want in on this deal.”

  He turned suddenly to Marvin Unger.

  “You,” he said, “what about you? You're supposed to be financing this thing. What the hel do you think you're in this for—a few lousy sandwiches, a flop for a couple of weeks and a messenger service that any kid could handle? You're too goddamn yel ow to waltz in on the caper itself—the least you can do is get up some dough!”

  Unger reddened and for a moment looked sheepish.

  Kennan stood up and stretched.

  “I'm not at al sure, Johnny,” he said, “that I can get any dough. I'm head over...”

  Big Mike and Peatty both started to talk at once, but Johnny interrupted them.

  “Al right,” he said, “let's settle it this way. We'l bring in three more boys; cut 'em in on the total take that you guys are splitting. It's simple enough.”

  They began to protest al at once and Johnny suddenly pounded the table in front of him.

  “For Christ sake, quiet down,” he said. “You want everyone on the block to hear you?”

  Unger spoke then as the others suddenly stopped talking.

  “Al right,” he said. “I guess it's up to me. I'l raise the ten grand. Only thing is,” he added petulantly, “I feel I should be reimbursed...”

  Randy Kennan guffawed.

  “Haw,” he said. “Reimbursed! Brother, you're being reimbursed several hundred thousand dol ars worth. However, once we pul this job and get the dough, I'm perfectly wil ing to see you get an extra ten off the top.”

  The others agreed and Johnny turned back to the rol ed up drawing lying on the table.

  “Wel , that's that, then,” he said. “I'l see that the contacts are made, that the three boys are arranged for. Just be sure I got the money to operate on. I'l need half of it by the first of this next week; the other half the day before the big race.”

  He reached down and picked up the rol of paper and careful y spread it out.

  “This is rough,” he said. “It's a drawing of the clubhouse and track as I remember it. Randy,” he turned toward the cop, “you got to get me a damned good street map of the whole district. And you, George, I want you and Mike to go over this drawing with me careful as hel . I want to bring it completely up to date. Add or subtract even the slightest change which may have been made. Even if it's something as unimportant as the placing of a soda stand.”

  The four men in the room crowded around him looking down at the two foot square of paper he spread out. Randy Kennan pul ed a tal piano lamp over and took the shade off so that they could see better.

  The room was thick with smoke and Unger began to cough. He left the table and walked to the window and started to raise it. Johnny turned toward him at once.

  “Goddamn it,” he said, “keep that window closed. You want...”

  “It only opens on a court,” Unger said.

  “I don't care, keep it closed.” He turned back to the table.

  He reached down wit
h the yel ow pencil in his right hand so that it traced a line from the section marked off “club house” to the main entrance gate.

  “This,” he began, and then his voice went suddenly silent. He lifted his head and listened intently. In a moment he looked up at the others who were staring at him. He started to speak again, but quickly whirled and took three swift steps across the room. His hand reached out and he turned the snap lock on the front door of the apartment and jerked it open.

  There was a quick short cry and the sound of a sudden scuffle.

  A minute later and he was back in the room.

  He held the girl by both arms as he pul ed her in with him. She started to scream again and one of his hands reached up and covered her mouth.

  “Close that door!” He snapped out the command as he half carried the girl across the room.

  Randy Kennan quickly kicked the door shut. Mike and Unger stood in the center of the room, motionless and speechless. George Peatty was completely white and he weaved on his feet. He looked as though he were about to faint.

  Johnny took his right hand from over the girl's mouth and simultaneously his left hand shot out and his fist caught her flush on the chin. She sank back on the couch unconscious.

  * * *

  “Oh my God, Sherry!”

  The four men took their eyes from the girl and stared at George Peatty as the words left his mouth.

  Randy Kennan was the first to recover. He was across the room in a flash. He spoke as he pul ed the blackjack from his hip pocket.

  “You stupid, double-crossing, son of a bitch,” he said. He lifted the blackjack.

  George was stil staring helplessly at his wife as the weapon descended across the front of his forehead. He fel slowly to the floor.

  Johnny reached the cop as his foot started back to kick the fal en man.

  “Hold it,” he said. “Hold it, boy. Get the girl in the other room before she comes to. We'l bring this bastard around and find out what this is al about.

  And keep it as quiet as you can. We don't want a rumble.”

  Unger was looking pale and he went over to a chair and sat down, his eyes stil on the girl. Big Mike looked at Peatty for a moment and then went into the kitchen. He came back with a glass of water and threw it into the fal en man's face.