The Killing

by Lionel White

  “Whoever she is,” he said, “George knows her. But he wasn't expecting her; he was as surprised as any of us.”

  Kennan had lifted Sherry's slight, unconscious form and carried her into the other room. He closed the door behind himself and was gone several minutes before he returned. He held a smal pocketbook in his hand and was carrying a driver's license.

  “Tied her up and gagged her,” he said. “It's his wife.”

  Johnny and Mike between them had lifted George Peatty up and half sat him on the couch. He was stil unconscious.

  “Christ,” Mike said, “you shouldn't of hit him so hard. You maybe fractured his skul .”

  Randy grunted.

  “Wish I had,” he said. “The bastard. But don't worry. I didn't. I know how to hit them safe.”

  “Wel , let's get him so he can talk,” Johnny said.

  Unger looked up then.

  “He's supposed to be your friend, Clay,” he said, “how wel ...”

  “I know him,” Johnny said shortly. “Let's just get the story before we go off half cocked.”

  “He must have told her,” Randy said. “The damn fool, he must have told her about the meet.”

  Peatty began to groan and a moment later his eyes opened. He looked up then, dazed, for a second. His eyes cleared and he darted a glance around the room. They could see that he was looking for his wife.

  Johnny reached down and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat.

  “O.K., George,” he said. “O.K., boy. Let's have it Quick!”

  Peatty looked up at him, watery blue eyes wide with fear. “Jesus, Johnny,” he said, “she must a fol owed me. She must have fol owed me here.

  Where...”

  “She's in the other room,” Johnny said. “Never mind about her. Just tel me; what have you told her—what does she know?”

  “Nothing,” George said, stuttering to get the words out. “I swear to God she don't know anything. She must have fol owed me.”

  He looked up and his eyes were wide and beseeching.

  “Johnny—Johnny, don't hurt her. She's—wel , she doesn't mean anything.”

  Mike walked over in front of them. He stared coldly at George.

  “You give her this address?”

  George shook his head violently.

  “God no!” he said. “I never even...”

  Randy got up and slapped his face hard.

  “Shut up,” he said. “God damn it, Johnny, this does it. If this bastard's been talking...”

  “I haven't,” Peatty said. “I swear I haven't. She fol owed me.”

  “How much do you suppose she heard?” Johnny said.

  Randy and Mike both shrugged.

  “Couldn't have heard too much,” Randy said. “But that isn't the point. What was she doing at that door listening? Why did she come? That's what we got to find out.”

  Marvin Unger crossed the room and spoke to Johnny.

  “You got to get her out of here,” he said. “We can't have anything happen here.”

  Johnny sat down on the couch and thought for several minutes. Final y he looked up.

  “Al right,” he said. “There's only one thing to do. First, get Peatty out. You Randy, take him home; stick with him. Don't let him out of your sight. Mike, you and Unger take a powder for a while. Go for a long walk. I'm going to find out what she was doing here; what she knows.”

  Peatty looked over at Johnny, his eyes wild.

  “God,” he said, “don't hurt her. Don't do anything to her!”

  “I'l ...”

  Peatty interrupted him.

  “Listen, Johnny,” he said. “I had the address here written down. I know it was crazy, but I thought I might forget it. She probably found it and came here. Maybe she thought I was two-timing her or something. Yeah, that was probably it. It couldn't have anything to do with the...”

  “Pipe down,” Randy said, making a threatening gesture.

  “I won't hurt her,” Johnny said. “But George, get one thing straight. I'm not letting anything interfere with this job. I've planned it too long; there's too much at stake. Nothing is going to crap up this deal—you or your goddamned wife or anything else.”

  “She doesn't know anything. She...”

  “I'l find out what she knows,” Johnny said. “Get up now and go with Randy. Don't give him no trouble. You're tel ing the truth then you got nothing to worry about.”

  “Johnny,” Peatty said. “Please don't...”

  Johnny Clay looked at him coldly.

  “I'm going to find out what she knows,” he said. “If she knows too much then she's got to be cooled off until this thing is over. Someway she's got to be cooled.”

  “You can't do it to her here,” Unger said hurriedly. “Jesus, Clay, you wouldn't...”

  “You damned fool,” he said, “I'm not going to kil her. But I am going to find out the score. If you're nervous, take a powder.”

  Big Mike reached over and his ham-like hand grabbed Peatty by the shoulder and he pul ed him to his feet.

  “I'l go along with Randy,” he said. “We'l take George out for a ride around the park for an hour or an hour and a half. You go ahead and do what you have to do.”

  A moment later he pushed the other man in front of him through the door. Randy fol owed on their heels.

  Unger waited until they were gone and then turned to Johnny.

  “I'l go out for a while,” he said. “I don't want to...”

  “Go ahead,” Johnny said.

  He turned to the bedroom as the other man put his hat on.

  “Don't let this throw you,” he said, over his shoulder. “Peatty himself is al right. I know he's O.K. About the dame—wel , we'l soon find out. When you're shooting for this kind of dough,” he added, “you have to expect trouble. It never comes easy. And I'd just as soon have the trouble now as later.”

  Unger didn't answer. He didn't look happy as he left the apartment.

  Johnny hesitated for a minute and then turned and went to the door and locked it after the other man. He looked over toward the bedroom door then for a minute, but instead of going in that direction, turned and went into the kitchen. He poured a stiff shot of Scotch in a water glass and downed it without a chaser.

  Then he went to the bedroom.

  She lay in a crumpled heap on the bed, her hands bound with a necktie at her back. Her feet were also tied and her short skirt was hitched up almost to her waist.

  Johnny tried to keep his eyes from the soft bare flesh of her thighs as he approached. He leaned down and with one hand turned her over so that she lay on her back facing up at him.

  Her huge midnight eyes were wide open and they stared into his own.

  He reached under her head and untied the handkerchief gagging her mouth. There was a single drop of blood on her chin.

  He felt around and behind her and found the knot binding her wrists.

  Untying it, he said, “One God damn peep out of you and I'l knock your teeth down your pretty throat.”

  As he released her hands he looked once more into her face. He looked for the fear that he knew he would find there.

  She was looking right at him. She was laughing.

  Chapter Four

  She lay there on the bed, curled up like a kitten. Irrelevantly, he wondered how the hel did George ever rate anything this pretty.

  There were other things on his mind, plenty of other things. But for the moment al he could do was think of George Peatty and this dark, sulky girl who was his wife. It was easy enough to understand what Peatty saw in her; but what had she seen in him?

  He shrugged. The hel with it.

  She had stopped laughing now and was watching his face, wide-eyed.

  “You have an interesting breath,” she said, suddenly. “Is there any more of it around?”

  “You're not only nosy—you're a comedian.”

  She didn't smile.

  “No,” she said, “I just feel like a drink. The way you al are acting,
I could use one. Where's George?”

  “George went out for a walk,” he said. “You and I are going to have a little talk.”

  “I talk better with a drink in me,” she said.

  He stared at her for a minute.

  “Al right,” he said, “I'l get you a drink. Stay just where you are.”

  “Why should I move,” she said. “I like beds. Make it a straight shot with a water chaser.”

  He turned and left the room. When he came back with the bottle and the glasses, she hadn't moved. He poured two stiff shots, then went back for a couple of glasses of water. He handed her the drink and the chaser.

  She gulped it in two swal ows and held out the empty glasses after sipping the water. Her smal face, puckered in distaste, made her look like a little girl who had just taken some unpleasant medicine.

  Johnny Clay barely touched his own drink. He put the glasses on the floor, then went over and closed the bedroom door. He pul ed a straight backed chair alongside the bed and sat astride it, leaning his arms over the back.

  “Al right,” he said. “Let's have it. What did George tel you—what are you doing here?” His eyes were bleak as he looked at her.

  “He told me he was going out on business. I didn't believe him and so I fol owed him to this place. I was outside the door trying to listen, when you opened it.”

  “And what did you hear?”

  “Nothing.”

  He stood up then, kicked the chair back so that it fel over. He reached down and took her by both arms, half pul ing her from the bed to her feet. He shook her as he would have shaken a rag dol .

  “You lie,” he said. “What did he tel you? What did you hear?”

  She stood straight then, directly in front of him, staring into his face.

  “Stop shaking me,” she said, her voice low and husky. “Stop shaking me and maybe I can talk.”

  He stil held her by the arms, his fingers making deep marks in her soft flesh. He looked at her without expression. For a brief second they held the tableau.

  The movement was so swift he had no time to prepare himself. Her right leg bent and she brought it up, catching him in the groin.

  He suddenly freed her arms, bent double.

  She stepped back and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Don't manhandle me, you bastard,” she said.

  Gradual y he straightened himself. His face was white with pain and anger.

  “You bitch! You bitch, I could...”

  “You could sit down and listen to me,” she said. “And keep your hands off of me until I want you to touch me. I haven't done anything. It's like I told you, I fol owed George here. I was listening outside the door, but I couldn't hear anything. You think I'm lying, go outside and try it. You won't hear anything.”

  “Do you always fol ow your husband around?” Johnny asked.

  She smiled.

  “God no. He never, usual y, goes anywhere. But he said it was business and I just wanted to know what kind of business. So maybe now that we're friends again, you can tel me.”

  “We're not friends,” Johnny said.

  “We could be. Very good friends.” She stood up and walked toward him. “What's the matter?” she asked. “Aren't I your type?”

  He stared at her. She's any man's type, he thought. He also realized he was getting nowhere. She wasn't the kind of girl to frighten. He suddenly knew that he'd never learn anything, trying to bul y it out of her. It was an effort, because he was stil in pain, but he smiled. It was the old Johnny smile, the smile which had always charmed them.

  “Jesus,” he said, “old George real y took the jackpot.”

  She liked it.

  “Think so?” she asked. “Maybe you're right—only I don't like that word pot.”

  “Come here,” he said.

  “Men come to me.”

  He took a step then and reached for her.

  This time his hands didn't stop at her arms. He reached around her slender, trim waist, pul ed her to him. One hand cupped in back of the tight dark curls as she lifted her smal face.

  She leaned close to him and her own hand went behind his head, pul ing his face to her own.

  Her mouth was moist and her lips half parted. She clung to him then and he felt the fire of her tongue.

  He'd started it as a trick, a technique designed toward a definite end. It didn't stay that way.

  He half carried her over to the bed.

  In that next moment he tried to tel himself that this was business, strictly business. He had to find out what she knew and this was the best way to do it.

  But he knew different. He knew that it was more than business; a lot more. He thought, then, in a flashing moment, of Fay, with whom he had shared this same bed just a few hours previously. Instinctively he hesitated, but just as instinctively, his muscles again tightened. And then, for the next few moments he was unable to think clearly of anything.

  One hand was fumbling with the catch of her brassiere when it happened.

  She was like an eel; one second she was in his arms, pushing against him, her lips stil pressed to his own. And then in the next second she had wriggled free and darted across the room and stood over by the window.

  She was laughing.

  “Some guy,” she said. “You work fast. Don't you think I should at least know your name?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her. It took him a half a minute to come to. And then he, too, laughed.

  “You are right, Mrs. Peatty,” he said. “You certainly should. I'm Johnny—Johnny Clay, a friend of your husband's.”

  She watched his face, stil half laughing.

  “I didn't know George had friends like you,” she said. “Where's he been hiding you, anyway?”

  “Where's he been hiding you?”

  “He's been hiding me any place where I can't spend money,” she said. “And that should answer your first question. George told me he had a date with a guy about a business deal which might lead to some real dough. That's al he told me. I'm interested in money—among other things. That's why I came; I wanted to know if he was tel ing the truth, or if it was just another one of his pipe dreams.”

  He nodded, slowly. He began to get the picture. Suddenly, he felt sorry for Peatty.

  “How long have you and George been married?” he asked.

  She sulked then, for a minute.

  “It's real y none of your damned business,” she said. “But a couple of years. Too long, in any case. Let's get back to the point—what's the big business deal?”

  “Didn't you hear?” he asked.

  “I told you I just got to the door when you heard me. I didn't hear anything. If I had, I wouldn't have to ask. Anyway, you can tel me anything you can tel George. Whatever brains there are in the family, I've got them. Ask George—he'l tel you as much himself.”

  “I don't have to ask him,” Johnny said. “You not only seem to have the brains, you've also got...”

  She looked down at her slender, perfectly shaped legs. There was a coy smile around her mouth.

  “I know what I've got,” she said. “I stil want to know about the 'business' deal.”

  The idea of tel ing her never crossed his mind. That she was smart, he was wel aware. Probably a lot smarter than her husband. But she was also dynamite. He knew that he would have to tel her something, however.

  “Al right,” he said. “Here it is. George is around the track a lot. A cashier gets to hear things. Several of us—the men you saw in the other room, have a betting syndicate. We want to have George get us certain information from some of the jocks. In case we win, we cut him in on the take. It's as simple as that.”

  She looked at him without change of expression.

  He's cagey, she thought, very cagey. That's good. Maybe, just maybe, the stickup plan might real y work.

  Johnny himself was wondering if she'd go for the story. If she did, then he could worry. He knew that she was smart; and a smart girl would know
that George would have no information to peddle. He waited, anxiously, for her next words.

  “You guys must be nuts,” she said then. “My God, don't you think that if old Georgie knew anything, had any real information, we'd be using it ourselves?”

  “Maybe your husband is smarter than you think,” Johnny said.

  Sherry Peatty laughed.

  “The only smart thing George ever did was talk me into marrying him.”

  “That was smart?”

  She pouted.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think he was lucky.”

  She walked over to him. Leaning down, she lightly brushed his lips with her own.

  “You're nice,” she said. “When am I going to see you?”

  He thought for a minute. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to be dead sure she didn't know anything.

  “Wel ,” he said, “that's up to you. Right now, I'm staying in this dump. And for certain reasons, I've got to stay around the place for the next few days. If you want to show up the first of the week, say Monday around two o'clock, we might have a little party. Can't promise you much except Scotch and...”

  “And what...”

  “You name it,” Johnny said.

  She smiled at him.

  “I'l be here, Monday at two. And we can name it together. Only remember one thing, no more rough stuff. I don't take that from anyone.”

  He nodded and stood up.

  “It's a deal,” he said. “By the way, how does George feel about you having dates?”

  “George won't know.”

  “Oke.”

  He went into the other room with her and waited while she made up her face.

  “I'd take you home,” he began, “but...”

  “I know,” she said. “But you better not. You're right.”

  She reached for the doorknob and he started toward her, but she put up one hand.

  “Monday,” she said.

  She closed the door softly behind herself.

  Johnny went back into the bedroom and retrieved the bottle. It was almost empty. He poured himself a smal drink, went into the kitchen and mixed it with water.

  He was lifting the glass when the phone rang.