With Intent to Kill

by George Harmon Coxe

  “The place is sort of jumping tonight. The hotel must have a full house.”

  Sanford, turning only his head, remembered that he owed Breck a drink and asked him what he would have. Breck said he’d have a Scotch-on-the-rocks and Sanford relayed the order to Pedro. Then, not thinking beyond the resentment he now felt for this man who had run him down and brought King Hubbard to the scene with, his mad but unshakable desire for vengeance, he said:

  “How come you’re not over with that merry little group in the corner?”

  “Hunh?” Breck said, the hooded gray eyes momentarily puzzled.

  “Don’t you associate socially with your employer and his friends?”

  This time the brows bunched and the eyes were watchful. Breck kept them that way as the thin mouth moved into a tight straight line. After a second of this he grunted sardonically and shrugged.

  “I don’t read you,” he said. “We must be working at a different wave length. What employer? What social association?”

  Sanford realized then that he had popped off out of turn. His remarks had been impulsive and a little stupid because he understood now that there was no way that he could accuse Breck of working for Hubbard without mentioning that he had looked over the detective’s room and found the evidence to support the accusation.

  “Forget it,” he said flatly. “I don’t know where I got it but I had the impression that you knew King Hubbard.”

  “King Hubbard?” Breck reached for his glass and took a sip. He put it down deliberately. “Is that the guy from the houseboat? Never saw him before in my life.”

  Sanford nursed his drink, and when his attention finally came back to the group in the corner he saw Peter Janovic stand up and say something to Irene Dumont as he took her hand. She came to her feet, slender and attractive now in the subdued lighting that gave a natural look to her medium blonde hair. They were laughing about something, and as Janovic led her to the piano she saw Sanford and gave him a small salute before she sat down. She put her nearly empty glass at the bass end of the keyboard and played a few chords; then modulated into a chorus of Tea for Two.

  The two couples at the bar turned to watch because she was playing easily and using both hands equally well. With the second chorus George Breck slipped off the stool and went over to lean on the near corner of the small grand piano. Janovic was propped up approvingly at the opposite side and Sanford was again aware that this was a very large and muscular man, with a sort of rugged handsomeness in spite of the small scars around the blond brows and the slightly off-center nose. He had the size, the thick neck, and heavy shoulders of a professional football player and Sanford was ready to believe that the scars could have been cleat marks.

  There was some applause as Irene finished the piece and now she kicked some more chords around and, apparently in answer to some request from the ever attentive Janovic, eased into Someone to Watch Over Me. Occasionally she would glance up in reply to something that George Breck had said and now Sanford moved over and stood behind her to watch her graceful and strong-fingered hands. When he realized that her glass was empty he picked it up. She glanced round at the movement and saw who it was. When he lifted his brows and gave her a small questioning nod of invitation she gave him an answering nod of acceptance and he went back to the bar for a refill.

  She had just finished the second piece when he returned. She thanked him as she accepted the glass. She lifted it and was about to take a sip when one of the white-mess-jacketed young waiters tried to get between her and the man sitting at the nearest table. As he did so the man leaned back slightly and the boy was forced against Irene’s shoulders. He did not really bump her; he just brushed against her but that was enough to spill her drink and a few drops dribbled on her chin.

  She said: “Ooops,” not sounding annoyed as she leaned forward to keep any of the drink from spilling on her dress. At the same time Breck whipped a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his jacket.

  Janovic reacting at the same time, reached out and clamped a big hand on the boy’s arm. He spun him partway round, his gaze stony.

  “Watch it, kid. Where do you think you’re going?”

  Irene, patting her mouth and chin with the folded handkerchief, spoke quickly.

  “It’s all right, Pete. No harm done. It’s not his fault.” She turned and smiled to reassure the boy, who looked frightened and was apologizing profusely, first in Spanish and then in English. “Don’t worry about it, Carlos,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “He could have spilled the whole drink,” Janovic said as though not quite satisfied with the apology.

  “Yes, but he didn’t. So what do you want to hear now?”

  “How about Just One of Those Things?” George Breck said. “If you don’t know it play anything.”

  “I know it,” Irene said, and began immediately to prove it.

  Sanford stayed where he was until Breck went back to the bar to get another drink. When, a moment later, Janovic turned to get some cigarettes, Sanford leaned over to whisper to the girl. “How about dinner? Could we eat together?”

  She took a small breath and shook her head, her smile apologetic. “I’m sorry,” she said: “I’d like to but George asked me last night.” She put out her hand to cover his. “But you might take me home. I’m afraid I feel a headache building up and I really want to leave early.”

  Sanford had no chance to reply because Janovic came back and now Irene began to fool with some more chord progressions. He took his glass back to the bar and noticed that Blanche Hubbard was no longer with the group. He did not think anything about it until, a few minutes later, he saw her coming from the hall and knew she had been to the Ladies Room. To his surprise she stopped beside him and perched on the stool on his left.

  “Hello,” she said, her voice thick. “I should have time for a quick one. They’re coming too slow at our table … Gin,” she said. “A little—a very little—soda.”

  Sanford motioned to Pedro and gave the order, and he knew now what Blanche Hubbard’s trouble was. He had wondered that morning about the fixed and glassy stare in the blue eyes and her complete lack of interest in what went on around her. She was drunk now; she had been well on her way to drunkenness then. She must, he knew, have been very pretty once, with white skin and delicate features. He did not think she was any older than he was but her makeup could not hide the flushed and mottled complexion, and the puffiness around the eyes and mouth and chin was all too apparent.

  “So you’re Barry Sanford,” she said after she had taken a swallow of her drink.

  “Then you know about me?” Sanford said, still a little astonished that she should stop to talk to him.

  “Oh yes. And about Arthur, and what happened. And about you and Laura too.” She fumbled for her glass and took another swallow. “My dear husband manages to keep me loaded most of the time. He finds it convenient and that way I’m seldom much of a problem. But I hear things now and then … Would you say I might have been pretty not too long ago?”

  He smiled at her and nodded slowly, deciding that with some self-discipline and a modicum of exercise she could be a most attractive woman.

  “You still are.”

  “I’m a twenty-nine-year-old bag,” she said. “Courtesy of the rich Mr. Hubbard.” She leaned forward to peer at him, and he put out his hand to steady her as she started to waver on the stool. “But I’m not always loaded like I am now. Not always,” she said again. “I have my moments. You know why King came down here, don’t you?”

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

  “Then why don’t you do something about it?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like getting the hell out of here while you can. Like the song says. I think it’s the Sunny Side of the Street—‘Grab your coat and get your hat.’ Don’t worry so much about your self-respect. Don’t get stubborn and try to be a hero. It’s better to give in a little on the courage than be dead, isn’t it? You just do
n’t know how far that man will go when he hates someone. He knows more ways to destroy people than the Joint Chiefs of Staff.”

  She leaned forward again, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “You know he intends to kill you if he can, don’t you?” She put her hand on his forearm and squeezed, and even in her present condition her concern was obvious. “I mean it.”

  “Who else knows about it?”

  “I don’t know who knows but I’m his wife, remember? Until I get cut out myself. So I hear and see more of his tantrums than anyone else.”

  “He’s already tried four times.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. I only know about now. I think you must be a nice guy. I like you. I like Laura too. Don’t think she didn’t have her problems with that jerk Arthur.”

  “How long am I supposed to keep running?”

  “Who knows? It took King a long time to find you this time. Maybe he won’t even find you at all if you—”

  She stopped and tried to pull herself erect as her head came round. Only then did Sanford realize that the man who had been introduced to him that morning as Fred Cushman had come up behind them and now had a hand on Blanche Hubbard’s shoulder.

  “You better come back to the table now, Blanche,” he said. “I’m sure Mr. Sanford will excuse you.”

  Sanford stood up and examined the man whom Hubbard had called his secretary and man Friday. He had good height to carry his bulk but there was a soft sedentary look about him; and behind his glasses—amber rimmed and the same color as his eyes—there was a look of resignation and possibly defeat.

  Blanche Hubbard looked away and said: “I haven’t finished the drink this nice man bought me.”

  “We’re about to go in to dinner,” Cushman said quietly. “King would like you to come now … You can order another at the table if you like.”

  She finished the drink and put the glass down hard. Sanford took her arm as she slid off the stool, and, after an obvious and deliberate attempt to get her balance, succeeded. She showed small even teeth as she smiled crookedly at him but the blue eyes seemed slightly out of focus.

  “Thanks for the drink,” she said and patted his hand. “And remember what I said … All right, Freddie,” she added to Cushman. “I suppose we mustn’t keep the master waiting.”

  As Sanford watched them move away he was aware that the piano had stopped and now, glancing round, he saw George Breck and Irene Dumont going into the dining-room. At the corner table everyone was standing and as they started to move slowly through the doorway he kept watching to see if Laura Maynard would turn round and look at him. After he was sure they were all settled in the other room, he ordered a drink he did not need. When it came he carried it with him, going into the hall and using the other dining-room entrance so he could sit as far away from the others as possible.

  10

  Barry Sanford was dawdling over his coffee at five minutes after nine when one of the clerks from the lobby came bustling up to his table and announced that there was a telephone call for him.

  “From Florida, Mr. Sanford.”

  Sanford threw down his napkin and got up in a hurry, muttering under his breath. He had completely forgotten about the client in Florida during the past hour in his brooding interest about the group at the large table by the windows. He had heard some occasional laughter and a bit of loud talk now and then, and two or three times Laura Maynard had looked at him but he was too far away to read her expression. Now he moved along the mezzanine at a half trot, and as he came into the lobby he saw Williamson standing in the entrance talking to the tall, straight, and black-faced figure of Police Constable Pierce.

  “Sanford?” said the client from Florida whose name was Harriman. “How’s it going?”

  “Going fine, sir.”

  “Everything under control? When do you think I can see those sketches?”

  “I should have them in the mail by the end of the week.”

  “Well, don’t do it Hang onto them. I think I can get down there next week. Just be sure and have everything ready. If I can’t make it I’ll cable you and you can put the stuff in the mail. Okay?”

  When Sanford hung up he saw that Pierce had gone but as he walked to the entrance he found Williamson talking to one of the taxi drivers.

  “I don’t think there’s any point in you hanging around any longer,” Sanford said when the detective came over.

  Williamson gave him a surprised and doubtful look, “Superintendent Kirby said I was to stay with you, sir.”

  “I know it,” Sanford said. “But I’m going back upstairs for a while. The only good you could do would be to hang around here for another hour or two until I’m ready to leave and then walk me back to the Cay Queen.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “But Constable Pierce stops here every hour on his rounds.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “So when he comes by at ten o’clock, or maybe eleven, I’ll be ready. He can walk me over and see that I’m tucked in and go about his business.” He paused and when he saw that Williamson was still hesitant he said: “If there’s any trouble Pierce is bigger than you are.”

  “Yes sir. But the superintendent—”

  “The superintendent also said,” Sanford interrupted, “that you were under my orders, in a manner of speaking. With Pierce here it just doesn’t make any sense for you to hang around. You can pick me up in the morning at the ketch. Say around eight. Okay?”

  Sensing that Williamson was not yet convinced, but not wanting to argue any more, Sanford turned away and headed for the stairs. When he entered the cocktail lounge the piano was going again, with Janovic and Breck still in attendance. When he saw that Hubbard’s group was back in the corner he climbed up on the bar stool and ordered a brandy and another cup of coffee.

  He was still there about a half an hour later when the corner group started to break up. Hubbard called Janovic who went over and was taken to one side while he had a few words with his employer. Then King and Blanche Hubbard, Fred Cushman, and Laura Maynard started down the outer steps. Sanford watched them circle the floodlighted pool and continue to the gate in the wall which fronted on the road. He could see now that Tom Silva was waiting in the runabout at the end of the hotel jetty. Sanford glanced at his watch as Silva helped his passengers aboard. It was then twenty minutes of ten and he sat where he was as the little boat backed away from the pier and then circled out into the darkness toward the houseboat.

  Reluctantly bringing his attention back to the room, he saw that Howard Aldington was sitting in the shadows by the railing smoking a cigar as he looked out across the water. Irene Dumont was still at the piano but Breck and Janovic were momentarily absent. A few minutes later Pedro came up in front of him and leaned across the counter.

  “I think Miss Dumont wants to speak to you, Mr. Sanford,” he said.

  Sanford slipped off the stool and went over to the piano. Irene smiled and made a little backward movement of her head as she played to indicate that he was to lean closer.

  “I’m going to cut out after this set,” she said. “I’ve had enough for tonight and I don’t want to get tangled up with my other two admirers. If they come back I’ll say I’m going to the john. You come out three or four minutes later and I’ll either meet you in the hall or downstairs in the lobby.”

  She had not missed a note as she talked but when Sanford went back to his stool she put more weight on the keys and her chords were a little fuller.

  It was perhaps five minutes later when Breck and Janovic reappeared but as they started for the piano Irene, who had just finished a piece, stood up. Sanford didn’t know what she said to them but she gave him a quick glance as she turned and left the room and now the two men came over to the bar.

  Sanford waited for what he thought was an appropriate time and then he stood up.

  “What’s your rush?” Breck said. “Come on, have a drink with us.”

  “You coming back?” Janovic asked. />
  “Yes,” Sanford said. “I’m coming back.”

  “Well, what are you drinking?” Breck said. “I’ll order it for you.”

  “Let’s wait ’til I get here,” Sanford said. “I may change my mind.”

  He was moving as he spoke, coming into the hall and finding it empty and continuing down the stairs where Irene was waiting. He took her arm as he moved beside her to the entrance. They went down the two steps but as he started toward the waiting taxi she pulled him to a stop.

  “Do you mind walking? It isn’t too far and I need the air.”

  The request was reasonable enough because Sanford had walked the girl home before, and even as he hesitated he knew that there could be but one answer. He could not insist that they ride without giving a reason, and his pride would not let him admit that he was perhaps afraid of the dark streets.

  “I had one too many before dinner,” the girl said, “and I smoked too much, and it’s not a good time of the month for me, if you know what I mean. I really do need the air.”

  She took his arm as they turned and walked through the gate posts to the street. There was very little traffic here at this time of the night and there was none as they walked along the edge of the macadam toward the nearest intersection. After a silent block sidewalks became available and when Sanford stayed on the macadam the girl mentioned the fact.

  “What’s the matter with the sidewalk?”

  What indeed?

  “You get more air out here,” Sanford said. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Then to get off the subject he said: “How’re you getting along with George Breck?”

  “I’m fighting him all the way.” Irene said cheerfully. “He’s a persistent so-and-so, I’ll give him that”

  “Well, you’re an attractive girl.”

  “Also I’ve been around. And so has Breck. He’s got the idea—and of course he’s right—that I am not always a consistent practitioner of the art of sleeping alone. I’ve had some practice in handling that kind before.”

  “So what do you tell him?”