by Craig Rice
“I guess you can,” Steve Stone said. He grinned, too.
Just the same, Bingo thought, there’d be a couple of guys hanging around, within easy watching distance of the rooming house. Steve Stone didn’t look like the type of character who’d take unnecessary chances. Well, that would be all right, too.
He smiled amiably. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Stone. I’m glad we’ve been able to do business together in such a satisfactory manner.”
Handsome rose too, and said, “Been pleased to meet you.” It was all he’d had to say during the entire visit.
Steve Stone didn’t rise from behind his yellow-oak desk. He smiled and said, “Oh, I’ll see you both again. And won’t you spend the rest of the evening downstairs, as my guests?”
“No thanks,” Bingo said. Suddenly an evening at the Swan Club didn’t seem as attractive as it had before. He’d gone through the steel door with the trick lock, the tiny vestibule, past the gambling room, and was halfway down in the elevator before he realized that he was trembling.
Baby wasn’t in the checkroom when they went out. It was after ten, and she’d quit for the night and gone home. There was a glossy little blonde in her place, not as pretty as Baby, Bingo thought.
They paused for a moment out on the sidewalk. Bingo wanted to nod to the doorman and say, “Cab.” But another twenty-five cents would leave the bankroll down to a dollar and twenty-three pennies.
Handsome said, “Say, Bingo, I know I’m dumb. But I don’t understand. This guy figures he’s going to get this dough from the insurance company. How’s he gonna do it?”
“Mr. Penneyth owed him money,” Bingo said patiently. “That Logan dame told us it was more’n a hundred grand. So, he’ll make it look like it was five hundred grand.”
“Yes, but, Bingo,” Handsome said, “gambling debts can’t be collected off a guy’s estate. And with Mr. Penneyth dead, how’s he gonna lay his hands on that dough?”
Bingo stared at him for a minute. “He don’t know yet about Mr. Penneyth,” he said unconvincingly and unconvinced. But he must know. Art Frank and Marty Bucholtz would have told him.
Before he could say anything more, the doorman stepped up, tipped his hand to his cap, and said, “Mr. Riggs? The lady will have her car here in just a moment.”
“Lady?” Bingo said.
“The lady who’s calling for you,” the doorman said, as though Bingo knew all about it.
“Oh yes,” Bingo said. “Her.”
A moment later a dark-blue Buick sedan came roaring up to the curb. The doorman opened the door, held it for Bingo and Handsome, and closed it again.
“Lordy,” she said, wheeling out into the street, “I thought you’d never get out of that joint.”
It was Leonora Penneyth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Saw you go into that joint back there,” Leonora Penneyth mumbled. “Knew you’d come out again, so I went ’n’ got m’car. Just wanted give you nice ride home.”
She was very drunk, but she was still driving expertly, and she still had sense enough to drive slowly. She made the left turn into Fifth Avenue without any trouble, and began hugging the curb.
“Now look,” Bingo said. “Fun is fun, and all that, but me and my partner, we don’t have time to ride all the way home from South Ferry tonight.”
“I wanna apologize for that,” she mouthed. “That’s why I picked you up. Wanna tell you I’m terrible sorry.”
Handsome said, “Huh?”
She leaned over to him and said, “Your partner, he don’ like me. Maybe you don’ like me either.”
“Sure I do,” Handsome said gallantly. “I think you’re a very nice lady.”
“Pretty, too?” she asked archly.
Handsome said, “Sure.”
The car slowed down a little. She said, “Maybe you’d like to run down to my place for a little drink.”
“Now, now,” Bingo said reprovingly.
“A’right,” she said. “Was just asking. Gonna take you straight home, just to show m’intentions are good.”
She turned into the park as Handsome said politely, “That’s very kind of you, I’m sure.”
They drove through the park almost in silence. Once Leonora Penneyth commented, “Beaut’ful park. Beaut’ful night. Beaut’ful moon,” and once she sang a few phrases of Then You’ll Remember Me, in a surprisingly good contralto.
She turned into Central Park West at Seventy-second Street, drove slowly north. Then she said, “Want you to accept m’apology, Bingo Riggs. Was very dirty trick, am a very bad girl. Never do it again. Feel ashamed of m’self.”
Bingo discovered he felt a little ashamed of himself too, for the homicidal thoughts he’d had about Leonora Penneyth. He said, “Sure I forgive you. It’s all O.K. Forget it.”
“You think I’m terrible person,” she said. “Not terrible person at all. Really, very good person.”
“Sure you are,” Bingo said consolingly. “We think you’re a very wonderful person.”
“Nice of you,” she said, sniffling a little. “Want you to say we gonna be frien’s.”
“Absolutely,” Bingo said. “The best of friends.”
She stopped the car long enough to cry a little, blow her nose, and sing a few bars of Old Pal. Then she drove as far as Eighty-first Street and stopped again.
“You’re m’frien’s,” she said. “Gonna take you ri’ to your door. Tell me where it is.”
Bingo gave her the address first and thought later. Oh, well, maybe she wouldn’t remember the address by tomorrow. Chances were that she wouldn’t.
She reassured him by missing the address by one number and stopping in front of Morrie Gelberg’s Shamrock Tavern. “Look,” she said, as though she’d discovered a lost gold mine. “A saloon!”
“Right on your first guess,” Bingo said.
“Wonnerful,” she said. “Now I can buy you drink. Owe you drink. Consider it part of apology.”
Before Bingo could refuse, Handsome surprised him by saying, “That’s very nice of you, ma’am, and we accept with pleasure.”
They found a booth inside, Leonora Penneyth headed for the ladies’ room, and then Handsome said in a low voice, “I got to worrying about her, Bingo. After she leaves us out, maybe she’ll go roaming around and get into trouble, and that would be a shame, a nice old lady like her. So there’s a fella here that’s a good friend of mine, and he’ll drive her right straight home, and not steal her dough or anything. So I thought we’d better come in when she so kindly invited us.”
“A very good idea,” Bingo said. He wished he’d thought of it himself.
She came back, ordered three gins and three small beers, wiped a few tears off her face, and said, “I’m really not a terrible person, Bingo Riggs, but I’ve had a very unfortunate life.”
Bingo started to say, “I’m sure you have,” realized it wouldn’t sound polite, and said instead, “That’s too bad, and I’m really very sorry.”
After she’d downed the gin and beer, she began telling him all about the unfortunate life, not leaving out a thing.
“Brother and I, both very talented,” she said. “Extremely talented. Hadda wonnerful act. Always worked together. Was a beautiful girl. Beautiful voice.” She trilled a few notes to prove it. “Brother was always great hit with girls. Was tall ’n’ slender ’n’ good-looking. Very good-looking. No-good son of bitch, though. Never liked him. He never liked me, either. But hadda wonnerful act, jussa same.”
“It must have been,” Bingo said politely. “I wish I’d seen it.”
She waved a deprecatory hand. “Aw, that was years ago. Wonnerful act, though. Jus’ bad luck. Terrible billing. No-good agents. Never had any money. Never had enough stockings. Hadda wash ’em out and let ’em dry overnight in those stinking ol’ hotel bathrooms. Look.” She thrust out a shapely leg. “Know what I got now? I got four dozen pair silk stockings put away at home, two dollars a pair.” She glanced down at her leg, sa
w a run moving down toward her ankle, and said, “Hell!”
“Don’t worry,” Bingo said, “you’ve still got four dozen pairs put away at home.”
“That’s right,” she said, “how’dja know?”
Bingo finished his drink and said, “I guessed.”
“You’re a wonnerful man,” Leonora Penneyth said. She waved at the bartender and called for three more gins and three more small beers. “There we were in Columbus, Ohio. Manager gave me the check because Harky was out with some babe. Always out with some babe. So when I cashed it, I jus’ held out a little on him. Wanted t’buy some stockings.” She paused, and seemed to breathe in the gin rather than drink it. “Son of a bitch,” she said, looking down at the run in her stockings. “Two dollars a pair, and I jus’ put ’em on.”
“Don’t you worry,” Handsome said soothingly. “You can buy four dozen more pairs, ma’am.”
“Tha’s right,” she said. “Four dozen million billion trillion more pairs, if I wanna. And why? Because I’m so smart, that’s why.” She gulped the beer chaser and said, “Harky found out because the manager told him.”
Bingo had to think for a minute before he connected that with Columbus, Ohio, and the check. “Oh yes,” he said.
“Damned if that night he didn’t try to kill me,” Leonora Penneyth said. “Hadda cute knife-throwing act then, y’know. I wore a thing like a suit o’ armor, only cut like a bathing suit, you know whadda mean. Know what he did? He tried to make it look like it was a terrible accident, and d’ya know what I did? I ducked, tha’s what I did. And d’ya know what I did after that? I picked up the knife and threw it right back at him, the dirty bastard. Missed him. They hadda ring down the curtain.” She looked in the glass, said, “Imagine that, ’sall gone,” waved at the bartender, and called, “Hey!” Then she went on. “’Nother time, we were playing Omaha—” She paused, leaned her elbows on the table, cocked her head on one side, and said, “You mus’ be frightfully bored, list’ning to me talk about m’self. Le’s talk about you now.”
“No, go on,” Bingo said.
Handsome said, “Oh, sure. It ain’t every day I get to talk to a real ex-actress.”
She made a gesture that knocked two glasses off the table, and said, “Actress! Who’s a actress! I’m a designer, know what I mean? A designing woman, tha’s what I am.” She giggled, hiccuped faintly, and said, “That’s pretty good, you know it? I’m a designing woman. I design stuff. Get it?” She lit a cigarette, waved it in the air, and said, “Always hadda talent for it. Started making stage scenery. Very fine. Gotta li’l dough, opened li’l shop. Made money. Open’ bigger shop, made more money. Then set up li’l antique shop for brother, the bastard. ’Long comes this li’l Mr. Pigeon and says to brother, ‘Le’s go into business together.’ Pigeon ’n Penneyth. Made a helluva lot of money, too.”
The waiter arrived; she leaned back and looked dignified until he was gone. Then she grabbed at her gin and said, “Now wha’ was I talkin’ about?”
“Nothing very important,” Bingo said. Handsome patted her shoulder.
She finished the gin and began to cry. “Never shoulda married that man,” she said. “He was very wonnerful, though. Never knew man who could make love like that. Didn’ marry him because get in society, married him because love so wonnerful. Then got his damn kids on m’hands. Girl always hasta have dough. Boy steals all m’letters an’ listens to m’ phone calls.” She straightened up suddenly, threw a glass on the floor, and said, “Sometime I’m gonna break his damn neck.”
Bingo sipped at his own glass and said, “Why don’t you?”
“Never shoulda married him,” she repeated. The tears were beginning to flow hard now. “Doesn’ go to bed with me anna more, y’know. Jus’ too ol’ and fat and ugly. Always remember first time he ever did. Tha’s why keep my li’l hideaway, take nice men home wi’ me. Keep thinking maybe sometime be like that other time. Never is, though. Never will be. All jussa waste of time ’n’ money.”
She leaned her head against the back of the booth and let the tears flow down her cheeks, washing off the powder base.
“We had a wonnerful act, though,” she whispered, “that time we opened in Detroit.”
She paid the check, cried a little more, and then went quietly to sleep.
Bingo looked at her thoughtfully. Even if she’d had the money with her, it wouldn’t have done any good to take advantage of this meeting to show her that they really did have Mr. Pigeon. Right now, she wouldn’t have known Mr. Pigeon from a flight of ducks. Oh, well, the business could be transacted tomorrow night, as per schedule.
Handsome arranged with the trustworthy friend to drive Leonora Penneyth home, and Bingo gave him the address. With the help of a waiter, they got her comfortably tucked into the car.
The night air was still warm and steamy. Bingo looked up at the dingy brown façade of the rooming house. Up there, where the lights showed, was home.
It had been a difficult evening. The Swan Club, Steve Stone, and then Leonora Penneyth. He felt shaken and, in spite of the heat, a trifle shivery.
But up there, on the third floor, little Mr. Pigeon and Baby would be playing cribbage. Rinaldo would be sitting at the table, writing a poem, probably about Baby’s new hair-do. There would be cold beer in the icebox. His family, and home.
While Leonora Penneyth was going back to that fancy joint with the funny-looking furniture, and nobody to tuck her in bed. Bingo sighed. He remembered suddenly what Uncle Herman had said, the time Aunt Kate’s cousin’s widow had fallen and broken her hip on her way out of the hospital, where she’d been since having five ribs broken in a traffic accident on the way to her husband’s funeral. Uncle Herman had said it while explaining why he couldn’t pay the hospital bill. “Some people are just born to trouble.”
Leonora Penneyth was one of those.
Halfway up the steps, Handsome stopped him, looking back in the direction her car had taken. There might even have been tears in Handsome’s eyes.
“Golly,” he said. “I bet that was a wonderful act. I wish I could’ve seen it, so I could’ve told her how much I liked it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“But there must be more than seventy-five cents,” Bingo said almost desperately, shaking the three quarters out of their envelopes. He stared at them for a moment as though making sure they wouldn’t magically multiply themselves into ten times their number. “Are you sure there weren’t any letters for us put in the wrong mailboxes?”
“I looked in all of them,” Handsome said. “The guy who sells brushes has a letter from somebody in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, and the lady who does the corset fits has a couple of bills. There wasn’t anything in any of the other boxes, not anything at all.” He looked at Bingo hopefully.
“Well,” Bingo said, “every business has its ups and downs. This is just a bad morning, that’s all.” Bad morning, hell. Tonight he’d meet Leonora Penneyth, show her that he really had Mr. Pigeon, and collect twenty-five hundred bucks. They’d come home in a taxi; in fact, he’d tell the driver to go five times around Central Park on the way home. And he’d get the other camera out of hock, even if it was the middle of the night, he’d get Uncle Max out of bed, and then Handsome would be happy again. He’d bring home a couple of chickens, big, fat roasting chickens, and let Mr. Pigeon really have something on which to exercise his talents. He’d bring in the biggest bunch of flowers he could lay his hands on for Baby, and a slightly smaller bunch for Ma. He’d knock Ma’s eyes out by paying up all the back rent and a month in advance. And he’d buy a present for Rinaldo, too. He wasn’t just sure what, but something elaborate and expensive.
Then there was that suit in Finchley’s window, the one with the narrow brown pin stripe.
“We’re all out of developer,” Handsome said unhappily, “and there’s no more stamps and envelopes, and no film left in the camera.”
Bingo said crossly, “Don’t bother me. You have faith in the International Foto, Mo
tion Picture, and Television Corporation of America, haven’t you?”
“Oh sure, Bingo,” Handsome said, “only—”
“All right,” Bingo said.
Five minutes later Handsome said, “And, Bingo, we gotta get something for breakfast, because Rinaldo boiled all the eggs last night and ate ’em.”
“That Rinaldo,” Bingo said. “He eats like a horse.”
“Horses don’t eat boiled eggs,” Handsome said. “And besides, he gets hungry. And so, Bingo, we gotta get something for breakfast because Mr. Pigeon is waking up, and there isn’t anything in the icebox because last night Rinaldo—”
“—ate all the eggs,” Bingo said. “It’s a mercy he didn’t eat all the plaster off the walls, too.”
“So we gotta buy something for breakfast,” Handsome said again. “And some film and some stamps and envelopes and some developer.” He looked at Bingo hopefully.
“I’ll think of something,” Bingo said crossly. “I always do, don’t I?” He looked at the cash total, one dollar and seventy-nine cents.
“Baby has a little money,” Handsome said. He sounded discouraged.
“Huh-uh,” Bingo said, shaking his head. “It’s not honest to borrow from a dame, even when it’s Baby. Even when it’s an investment.” He looked at the cash total again and said, “Maybe we can make this last all day, if we skip the film and stuff and don’t eat much.” He sounded discouraged, too, in spite of the fact that after just this one day, there would be dough, plenty of it.
“Maybe some more will come in the afternoon mail,” Handsome said dispiritedly. Once more he glanced at Mr. Pigeon’s coat hanging over the chair back, and at the bulge in it that was made by Mr. Pigeon’s wallet.
“No,” Bingo said.
There was a knock at the door, and Rinaldo came in wearing Handsome’s pajamas and Bingo’s slippers. He beamed at them as though there wasn’t a care in the world.
“Good morning, my friends,” he said. “It is a beautiful day, no?” He took one of Bingo’s last two cigarettes and lit it with a careless gesture. “I apologize, but I could not help but to overhear. It is that you are troubled about money, yes?”