Clancy swung back from his contemplation of the window scene.
'That's the story,' he said quietly, in the room with him, twelve hours each, on and off.' His fingers picked up a pencil and he began to twiddle it. it's only until next Tuesday.'
'Sounds peachy,' Stanton said. 'Where's the Farnsworth?'
'Over on 93rd, near the river. A small residential hotel. Probably like all of them over there.'
'I never heard of it,' Stanton said.
'I wouldn't be surprised that's why he picked it out,' Clancy said. He stared at Stanton quietly. 'Do you suppose there's any possibility he picked it out for the reason that nobody ever heard of it?'
'Maybe,' Stanton said, and grinned.
'Johnny Rossi,' Kaproski said musingly. He teetered his chair back against one of the filing cabinets and slowly eased his weight back. 'That's something, ain't it? That's really something. We got to be watchdogs for a no-good hood like that.'
'Yeah, it's something.' Clancy said. If he felt any reaction at hearing his own sentiments repeated, he did not show it. 'Anyway, that's the job. Whether we like it or not.'
'I'll tell you somebody ain't going to like it,' Kaproski said sagely. 'That's his big brother Pete. And the mob the two work for.'
'Lots of people aren't going to like it,' Clancy said philosophically. 'On the other hand, lots of people are.'
'Well,' Kaproski said thoughtfully, 'when and if he spills - which I still ain't convinced he's going to do - the coppers out on the coast ought to be busy a year just picking up the pieces.'
'As long as they aren't his pieces until after he tells his story,' Clancy said, 'I couldn't care less.'
'You know,' Stanton said in a puzzled tone, 'I don't get it. Johnny Rossi . ..'
'Don't get what?' Kaproski asked, turning his head carefully so as not to disturb his equilibrium. 'Why he's blowing the whistle?'
'Not that. Though I'm damned if I get that either. What I don't get,' Stanton said, 'is that you'd think a hood like that could arrange bodyguards for himself from here to South Chigary. What's he need us for?'
'Bodyguards in that outfit work for the Syndicate like everyone else,' Clancy said flatly. 'They're day-workers, with all the loyalty of an alligator. One whisper that he was going to peep and his bodyguards would be the first to cut him down.'
'Yeah, but ...'
'I know.' Clancy sighed and ran his hand through his hair. 'The whole deal is screwy. Well, that's not our worry. Our job is simply to see that he's healthy enough to go up before the Crime Commission next Tuesday. Under his own power.'
'One thing,' Kaproski said with a reflective smile, 'at least I'll get a chance to see how the other half lives. I'll bet we have pate de foie gras and champagne for breakfast.'
Stanton eyed him and snorted. 'You've got a hope! At a fleabag like the Farnsworth.'
'They live good, these big-time hoods,' Kaproski insisted. 'You'll see.’
‘Yeah,' Clancy said dryly. 'The same as the poor people. Goose liver on rye and a bottle of dago red. Only at uptown prices.' He pushed himself to his feet, looking at his watch. 'Well, let's go. He ought to be registered in by now. Stanton, you first - you've got a short day. I'll go over with you. Kaproski, eight tonight.'
Kaproski nodded genially, nearly losing his balance. Stanton stood up, towering over the slender Lieutenant. The two men took their hats, nodded to the third, and left the office, turning down a narrow corridor that led to the police garage at the rear of the precinct. Clancy walked around an old sedan, kicking at the tires, and then crawled in behind the wheel; Stanton bent precariously to slide in at his side. He slammed the door; they swung about on the oily concrete of the dim garage, pulled through the narrow alley that led to the street, and entered the city's traffic.
Stanton leaned back comfortably against the worn upholstery, pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and flipped the match out of the window. 'This Rossi…’' he began.
'Randall,' Clancy said shortly. 'From now on until next Tuesday, he's Randall. We might as well get started right.' He glanced over at the tall detective at his side. 'What about him?'
Stanton stared at the end of his cigarette. 'I was just going to say, I hope he plays gin rummy.'
'Gin rummy?'
'Yeah.' Stanton shrugged. 'After all, twelve hours together every day. We have to do something.'
Clancy was forced to smile.
'Why don't you just pass the time by watching him? That's the assignment.'
'Sure, but I mean .. .'
'Look,' Clancy said, 'I don't mind your losing a week's pay, but once that's gone, I don't want you betting your gun.' His voice suddenly sobered. 'Much as I hate this hood's guts, our job is to keep him alive, and if word that he plans to squeal ever gets out, the chances are good you'll be needing your gun.'
'Lose?' Stanton was hurt. 'Who, me? In gin rummy? Please, Lieutenant!'
‘It's a funny thing,' Clancy said reflectively, swinging the steering wheel. 'I've met a lot of people in my life, but I've never met a bad gin rummy player. All I ever seem to meet are the champs.' His eyes came up with a crinkled grin. 'The only thing I'd like to remind you of is that characters like this Rossi - Randall, I mean - wouldn't be above cheating. Not if they were only playing for matches.'
Stanton smiled. 'Lieutenant, I can see you never played cards with any of the boys around the precinct. If there is any manner, form, type, kind, or way of cheating that I'm not wise to, I'd like to know.'
'I'm sure,' Clancy said, and grinned.
They pulled around a corner into the traffic of Broadway, cut around a bread-truck almost angle-parked to the curb, and drew up before a block of shabby buildings. Cartons full of rubbish lined the curb, awaiting the street-cleaning trucks. Clancy passed them, pulled in to the curb, turned off the ignition and set the hand brake. He prepared to descend. Stanton's eyebrows raised.
'Here?' he asked, puzzled. 'I thought you said this Farnsworth was down by the river?'
‘It is,' Clancy said shortly. 'And we walk. And we go in the service entrance. Come on.'
They crossed the side street, walking quietly in the shadow of the tall apartments there. The Hotel Farnsworth was in the second block, a typical uptown residential hotel, set almost flush with the sidewalk; eight stories of dark brick and dusty windows with a few steps leading to swinging glass doors. Shades were half-drawn over the first-floor windows, like heavy-lidded eyes. A chipped enamel sign tucked in the corner of one window announced the services of a dentist. The two men passed the entrance without hesitation and turned into the driveway at the far side of the hotel. They walked the length of the narrow canyon, pulled open a door set in the side of the building at the rear, and stepped inside.
'Well, it isn't the Ritz-Carlton,' Stanton said, staring about. He pressed the button of the service elevator. 'On the other hand, I've been in worse-looking places. Including the 52nd Precinct.'
Clancy did not answer. There was a rattle and a clank; Stanton tugged at the door and it opened. They entered the small elevator and rose amidst a symphony of threatening groans from the cables, flanked in the tiny car by towel- baskets and brooms and empty cartons; an over-all odor of something resembling the men's room at Grand Central rose with them. The fourth floor was deserted when they gratefully emerged; they closed the elevator door behind them and walked down the worn carpeted hall. One turn in the narrow corridor and they faced Room 456. Clancy tapped.
There was a hesitant shuffling sound from behind the door. A throat was audibly cleared. 'Who ... who's there?'
'The name is Clancy…’
There was the sound of a chain sliding back; the door edged open and an eye surveyed them cautiously. The door swung open; the man in the opening glanced quickly up and down the deserted hallway and then stepped aside to allow the two detectives to enter. He closed the door behind them, fumbled a bit as he tried to slip the chain into place once again, and then finally managed it. He turned a bit nervously to face the two me
n; his hand wiped itself against his thigh and was then stretched out in greeting.
'Hi, Lieutenant. Mr. Chalmers said you'd be here.'
Clancy pointedly ignored the outstretched hand, measuring the famous figure with cold eyes. He saw a stocky, well-built man in his late thirties, with black curly hair, a high smooth forehead; a pencil mustache covered the sensual full upper lip. Large, almost liquid eyes peered at him from beneath eyebrows that had obviously been recently trimmed. He was wearing a loud, expensive dressing gown over light brown Italian silk trousers and a white silk shirt, open at the throat. Not quite the same picture as the mug-shots in the police folder down at Centre Street - the advantages of money and good grooming since the early days, Clancy thought. The large eyes began to narrow at the continued snub; the outstretched hand fell.
'Say ...'
Clancy turned away without speaking, studying the room. His eyes passed rapidly over the twin beds with their standard tan unpatterned bedspreads and lumpy pillows, took in the threadbare and stained carpeting, the skimpy desk and chair, the discouraged easy-chair set in the corner with its obvious broken springs, and the ever-present water-color depicting a bowl of wilted flowers which hung crookedly on the wall. He stepped to the window, lifted the shade, and peered downwards. 'Where's the fire-escape?'
The stocky man hesitated and then shrugged. 'I wouldn't know. I just checked in. It's probably down the end of the hall, or maybe they don't even have one. It's a small hotel, and ...'
'Yeah. Well, it's just as well. As long as it doesn't pass your windows.' Clancy looked about once more, walked to the bathroom, opened the door, and checked the interior. He swung the plastic shower-curtain to one side, glanced at the tiny window, noting it was latched, looked back of the door he had opened, and then came out, closing the door behind him. He walked to the closet, opened the door, clicked on the light, and then raised his eyebrows at its emptiness.
'Traveling light, eh?'
The other didn't answer. Clancy turned off the light and closed the door. He took one last look about the room.
'Well, I guess that's it, Randall.' He eyed the other with ill-concealed contempt. 'This is Detective Stanton. He'll stay with you from eight in the morning until eight at night. There will be a replacement named Kaproski who will stay with you the rest of the time.'
'I've got a good cover for your man,' the stocky man said. His voice seemed to indicate a willingness to assume a part of the responsibility, if anybody asks, I can say he's my cousin from the coast…’
'Very bright,' Clancy said with disgust. 'That certainly ought to fool your brother. And the rest of that west-coast mob that have known you all your life.' He shook his head. 'Look, Randall; don't complicate simple things. Nobody is going to find you. And if they do, leave everything to Stanton here. That's what he's here for.'
The broad smooth forehead wrinkled. 'Look, Lieutenant…’
'And don't leave the room,' Clancy added coldly. 'For any reason whatsoever.'
'Don't leave the room?'
Clancy looked over at Stanton. The large detective nodded. 'He won't leave the room, Lieutenant.' He cleared his throat. 'What do you do for food in this joint?'
Randall's frown deepened at this interruption. He swung around impatiently. 'The bellboy goes down to some restaurant over on Broadway. You can get anything you want.' He turned back to Clancy. 'Look, Lieutenant ...'
Clancy stared at him. 'Well?'
The stocky man searched for words. 'This deal is worth dough. I don't see where anything can go wrong .. .' He hesitated as if in admission that he could easily see where many things could go wrong. He wet his lips. 'Well, anyway, there's dough in this. And I'm no hog.' He looked at Clancy significantly.
'Save your money,' Clancy said dryly. 'Buy cemetery lots. I hear they're a good investment.'
The stocky man clenched his jaw. 'You don't understand . ..'
'All right,' Clancy said. 'Make me understand.'
The stocky man turned away and then swung back. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it.
Clancy eyed him coldly. 'Understand one thing, Randall. I'm not interested in why you're going to spill. Or how there's dough in it. I couldn't care less. That's Chalmers' problem. My job is to keep you alive until the Commission meets next Tuesday. If you have to talk, talk to Stanton here. He has to listen to you; I don't.'
Stanton had been staring about the room. 'Say, Rossi - I mean Randall - do you have any cards?'
'Cards?'
'Yeah. Playing cards. You know, to play gin rummy.'
'No. I don't play cards.'
'You don't play gin rummy?' Stanton was incredulous.
'No.' He swung away impatiently, returning his attention to Clancy, but the slim Lieutenant had already crossed the room and was sliding back the chain-bolt on the door.
'Lieutenant...'
'Let's get some up from room-service,' Stanton said. 'They must have some. I'll teach you.'
'What?'
'I said I'd teach you how to play gin rummy,' Stanton said patiently, it's simple.’
But the stocky man wasn't paying any attention. He crossed the room, grasping Clancy by the arm. Clancy shook his arm free but the man in the dressing gown grasped it again.
'Lieutenant ..
'What now?'
'Do you think - well, I know nothing can go wrong, but. .. You said I can't leave the room ... That goes for your men, too, doesn't it? They'll be here with me all the time?'
Clancy's hand was on the knob. 'One or the other will be with you all the time, so relax.' He suddenly frowned, his eyes narrowing. 'I was told that nobody knows where you are, or what name you're using. You don't seem to be so sure, yourself.'
'Oh, that's not it,' Randall said hastily. 'It's just ...'
He closed his mouth, almost as if he had already said too much. Clancy waited patiently, staring into the worried liquid eyes steadily for several seconds. Then he opened the door.
'Learn gin rummy,' he said quietly, it'll take your mind off your troubles.' He started to close the door after him and then added, 'Anyway, until Tuesday ...'
CHAPTER TWO
Saturday - 2:40 a.m.
The shrill insistent ringing of the telephone finally wormed its way through Clancy's heavy sleep, dragging him reluctantly back from a wonderful dream world where there was no crime and therefore - beautiful thought - no police department. He lay there a moment, trying to awaken, and then rolled over, groping for the bed-lamp. His fingers found it and flicked it on; the ringing continued stridently. His blurred eyes found the clock on the night-stand and he could have wept with frustration. Less than three hours since he'd finally managed to get to bed and already some miserable bastard was calling to disturb him! His hand went out, picking up the telephone, jamming it against one ear.
'Yes? Hello?'
'Hello, Lieutenant? This is Kaproski ...'
Premonition swept the man in bed. He sat up, swinging his feet over the side, cringing a bit at the dampness of the bare floor. His hand clutched the receiver tighter; he shook his head violently, trying to clear the remnants of sleep from his brain. The whisper of traffic came up softly from the deserted street below.
'What's the trouble?'
'I don't know.' The large detective calling from the hotel room sounded more puzzled than worried. 'He's sick, I guess.
Rossi, I mean. He's moaning and groaning and hanging onto his belly like he was afraid somebody was going to try to take it away from him.'
'When did that start?'
'Just a little while ago. He was all right before.'
'Does he have a fever?'
'Naw. He doesn't seem to. From the racket he's making you'd think he ought to be hotter than a Mexican phone-booth, but he ain't. I felt him; he feels O.K.'
'What did he eat?'
‘It couldn't be that, Lieutenant. We both ate the same thing. As a matter of fact he wasn't too hungry and I finished up what he left over. And I'm all right
.'
Clancy was tempted to ask if it had been pate de foie gras but didn't. The thought, however, inspired another. 'Did he have anything to drink?'
'He sent down for a bottle, but all he had was one shot There was an embarrassed pause, and then Kaproski continued bravely, '... it couldn't have been that, either, Lieutenant.'
Clancy disregarded the implied confession. He clutched the telephone, thinking. Kaproski cleared his throat, breaking into the silence.
'Lieutenant, he wanted to go out and see a doctor .. .'
'At almost three o'clock in the morning?' Clancy stared at the telephone in disbelief.
'That's right, but I shut him up and called you instead.'
'Well, I should hope so!' Clancy snorted. 'He must be crazy. Can he hear you?'
'Yeah. He's sitting up in bed looking at me like he'd like to run a shiv through me.'
'Well, keep him quiet.' Clancy thought a moment. Nursemaid to a hood; some fun! He sighed. 'Well, I'll have to get hold of a doctor we can trust and get over there, I suppose.’
‘Thanks, Lieutenant.'
'And don't let him get any more stupid ideas about leaving.'
'Right.'
'Or calling anybody,' Clancy added, if he does, sit on him, sick or not. I'll try and get a doctor and get over there inside of half an hour. Keep him quiet in the meantime.'
'Right.'
The phone clicked. Clancy frowned, trying to remember Doc Freeman's telephone number. His brain was foggy; he forced himself to concentrate and then nodded to himself, his face clearing. He reached over, dialing. The ringing at the other end finally stopped; a receiver was lifted but no voice came on the line. Clancy waited a moment and then cleared his throat and spoke.
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