by David Barry
As they drove down Second Avenue and crossed East 116th, the police car drew level with them. Jack glanced out of the corner of his eye and could feel them staring. He could sense Bill’s fear, a sour body odor that filled the car; or maybe it was his own fear he could taste. He risked a look towards the cop car. He felt they were about to signal that he should pull up. If that happened, it was all over. But suddenly their light began flashing and their siren began wailing. They accelerated away from Jack and Bill’s car at speed and screeched left round the next corner.
Bill let his breath out slowly. ‘That was lucky,’ he said.
‘Let’s hope it stays that way,’ Jack added. ‘There are some things you just can’t plan down to the last detail. ‘
Two weeks after the Bronx bank robbery, Bill and Louise strolled up Fifth Avenue towards the New York Public Library. They were drawn to the library for sentimental reasons, for that was where they had met over a year ago. Not only that, this late in May it was getting to be quite a scorcher and Louise, whose baby was due any day now, was overheating, and the library would be cool and comforting.
Louise posed beside one of the lions at the entrance while Bill took a snapshot of her with his Box Brownie. He loved her pregnancy, seeing it as the most positive event in his life, and he had photographed her every step of the way. And, in spite of her protestations against being photographed as she got bigger, she was secretly pleased and flattered that Bill cared so much and shared her excitement.
After the photograph had been taken, Bill slipped his hand into hers and they entered the library, Louise puffing as she reached the top step. But they were no sooner inside the coolness of the building when Louise’s waters broke.
‘Honey,’ she said. ‘I’ve just gone into labor,’
‘My God!’ Bill exclaimed. ‘Think you can make it down the steps. I’ll get a cab. ‘
‘Sure. It’s okay. Don’t panic. ‘
Out on Fifth Avenue, Bill whistled for a cab. ‘Mount Sinai Hospital,’ he told the cabbie dramatically. ‘And step on the gas. ‘
After that, events became a blur to Bill as the cab sped along Fifth Avenue to the hospital. He marveled at how calm and in control Louise appeared. He was a bag of nerves. He felt waves of panic surging inside him and everything seemed unreal. Time arrested, yet speeded up, as if it was a dance with a constantly changing tempo. The checking in at the hospital seemed so slow; the staff appeared frustratingly unconcerned. Then Louise was whisked off into the labor room and he was left kicking his heels in the waiting room. He lit a Camel, inhaled deeply and settled down to wait. After half an hour, which seemed interminable, and while he was already on his third cigarette, a nurse appeared and informed him that Louise’s contractions were at ten minute intervals. He must have looked blank because she then explained that he might have a long wait and why not pop out and get some coffee. He thanked her and said he’d sooner wait. The next hour was a torment. He fretted about Louise, imagined all kinds of pessimistic scenarios. Supposing there were complications? He’d heard of women dying in childbirth. Try as he might to banish these thoughts from his mind, they kept coming back to haunt him. The hands of the wall clock seemed to be moving slower than normal. He felt this was worse than the hour they’d spent at the banks waiting while the employees showed up.
The nurse, a mousey brunette in a pristine, stiffly-starched uniform, returned and smiled sympathetically at him. ‘I told you to get some coffee,’ she said.
‘What’s happening?’
‘Nothing to worry about,’ she assured him. ‘Contractions are now five minutes apart. ‘
‘Meaning?’
She shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe how dumb he was being, and said, ‘Meaning you might like to change your mind about the coffee. It’ll be some time yet. ‘
‘Any idea how long?’
The nurse shrugged. ‘I think if you disappeared for a good 45 minutes, you wouldn’t be missed. ‘
As reluctant as he was to wander far, just in case his child was born, he now felt relieved that he could legitimately escape from the tedium and worry of the stuffy waiting room and get some fresh air.
‘Okay,’ he told the nurse. ‘I could murder a coffee. ‘
Glad to be out walking, Bill headed towards Park Avenue and found a diner in one of the side streets. He drank two cups of strong black coffee, and glanced at his watch. He’d been gone almost half an hour. He hurriedly paid for the coffee and dashed back to the hospital waiting room. Time crawled at snail-pace again. Through the glass door of the waiting room, Bill observed the more hurried pace of the corridor outside, trolleys clattered and squeaked, and staff in white coats rushed purposefully along, stopping occasionally to read some notes, unsure of where they were supposed to be heading next. Another man arrived in the waiting room. He had shiny, jet black hair, a swarthy complexion and five o’clock shadow. Bill tried to engage him in conversation but he merely grunted and looked away. Bill assumed he must have been nervous or shy; either that or anti-social. The clock’s small hand had gained another hour, though to Bill it seemed more like a day. He got up, lit another cigarette; stubbed it out, then sat down again. The nurse returned and he looked up expectantly. She avoided his look and addressed the dark-haired man.
‘Mr. Gresham. Congratulations. Your wife has given birth to a six and a half pound boy. ‘
Bill stared at the man with a feeling of resentment and jealousy. Had he been waiting as long as Bill, been out for a breather then returned during the time Bill had gone for coffee, or had his wife been admitted during that time and given birth right away? If it was the latter, then it seemed to Bill to be unfair. Surely something was wrong. What was happening to Louise?
Sensing his concerns, the nurse turned to Bill and said reassuringly: ‘Won’t be long now. ‘
Bill waited another hour and a half, and a sinking, leaden feeling made his body ache with a tiredness he’d never known. Again his mind imagined all kinds of complications as time inched by. He observed that it was almost six hours since Louise had been admitted to the hospital. Then, just as he was about to get up and light his tenth cigarette, the nurse returned and announced, ‘At last, Mr Sutton: you’re a father. You have a beautiful baby girl. Congratulations. If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to see her. ‘
He followed her along the corridor to a private room. Although Louise had protested that a ward would be perfectly acceptable after the birth, Bill had insisted on a private room. Hang the cost!
Louise was propped against the pillow, her face pale and wan, bags under her eyes. But her eyes were bright and filled with the great mystery of life itself. Cradled in her arms was a small neat bundle. Bill approached cautiously.
The nurse said, ‘I’ll leave you to get acquainted with your daughter,’ and slipped out the door.
Bill peered at the tiny, wrinkled face of his daughter with wonderment. She looked so small and vulnerable and he was overcome with such paternal devotion that he felt a moistness behind the eyes.
‘Why don’t you hold your daughter,’ Louise suggested.
Bill took the bundle gently, anxious in case he might be too rough or clumsy. She felt warm against his chest, and he experienced a proud blushing sensation as he looked down into her eyes. They twinkled back at him and, although it seemed fanciful, he could almost swear that she knew instinctively he was her father.
‘You’re not disappointed it’s not a boy?’ Louise asked, her voice tremulous with concern.
Bill smiled at her, then the grin got wider as he looked down at his daughter. ‘I now know it’s a girl I wanted all along. ‘
‘We said if it was a girl we were going to call her Jenny,’ said Louise. ‘Jennifer Sutton. ‘
‘No, not Jennifer. Jenny,’ Bill emphasized. ‘Our little Jenny wren.’
From somewhere on F
ifth Avenue came the distant and familiar wail of a siren as a cop car hurtled to yet another crime scene. Holding his innocent bundle, Bill immediately felt the stirrings of guilt brought about by the sound as he gazed into his daughter’s eyes. Just for a brief moment it seemed as if the baby had vision. The cool eyes stared back at him accusingly, as if she knew her father was a professional criminal.
Weeks before the birth of his daughter, Bill had given up collecting for Dutch Schultz. He made out he was taking a few weeks’ vacation after the baby was born, so that he could spend some time pampering Louise and admiring his offspring. But he still had to pretend to Louise that he had a steady job. So ten days after Louise had been home from the hospital Bill left the house at midday, telling her that he was now needed back at work. Louise knew that the work he did for Mr Schultz was not nine-to-five, the hours being fairly flexible, but Bill would still have to leave the house on a fairly regular basis and do something to occupy himself while he was out. So on his first day back at the bogus job he decided to stroll through Manhattan to his and Jack’s new apartment on West 42nd. To kill time, he drove over the Williamsburg Bridge and along Lower East Side, parked near Madison Square, and walked towards the Empire State Building. He had wanted to be there on May 1st, when President Hoover had declared it open, but the birth of his baby was imminent and Bill knew it was dangerous to subject Louise to the stifling crowds in her heavily pregnant condition. Now, as he craned back his neck and gazed up at the mighty edifice, he marveled at this feat of engineering, now officially the tallest building in the world. It made him proud to be a New Yorker. And as he continued towards his apartment, where he intended fine tuning their plot to rob Rosenthal’s jewelry store, the irony of the situation was wasted on this proud citizen.
He’d been at the apartment a mere five minutes when the phone rang. It was Kitty Bassett. Her voice was clipped and angry.
‘I have to speak to you,’ she demanded. ‘Urgently. ‘
‘What about?’ he asked, though he had a pretty good idea what was bothering her.
‘I’d sooner not discuss it on the phone. ‘
‘Okay,’ he agreed. ‘Let’s meet - say in half-an-hour -at Jake’s Café. It’s on the corner. . . ‘
‘I know it,’ she barked. ‘Half-an-hour. I’ll be there. ‘
The line went dead. Bill stared at the receiver thoughtfully. This was bad news. If Kitty had found out about Jack’s affairs. . .
He grabbed his hat from the coat peg near the door and stood at the mirror to check his reflection. He folded the brim of the fedora down and brushed a few particles of dandruff from the collar of his double-breasted pinstriped suit. The face that stared back at him was beginning to look gaunt, but then the baby had woken him several times in the night over the last four days. All the same, the business with Kitty was deeply disturbing and a great frown wrinkled his forehead like indelible pencil marks.
On his way over to Jake’s Café, he worked out what he could tell Kitty. Whatever he told her, it would have to be a convincing performance. This would be a test of his ability as an actor. He smiled wryly as he walked along Broadway. He was no actor. Who was he trying to kid? Con artist was nearer the mark. On the other hand, he thought, a con artist had to give a more convincing performance than most actors.
When he got to Jake’s Café, Kitty was already installed in one of the booths. He slid into the seat opposite her. She looked up at him, and he could see that her dark brown eyes were no longer so stunning. He guessed that she hadn’t slept much and had probably been weeping. Whatever her problems, Bill noticed that she still managed to put in an elegant appearance: the long, ivory cigarette holder delicately held between brightly painted fingernails; the expensive-looking red cloche hat, covering her dark brown hair, with kiss curls appearing from beneath the hat and plastered to her cheeks; the red of her hat perfectly matching the color of her fingernails and lipstick; and the tight black Chanel dress showing off her stunning figure.
The waitress appeared and Bill ordered a pastrami on rye and a black coffee for himself. He looked at Kitty.
‘Anything to eat?’ he offered.
She shook her head. ‘I couldn’t. Just another coffee. ‘
As soon as the waitress had departed, Bill smiled at Kitty. ‘So what’s the problem?’ he asked. ‘You sounded distraught on the telephone. ‘
The hand holding her cigarette holder began to tremble involuntarily and Bill wondered if she’d been drinking. Tears welled up in her eyes but she brushed them quickly away and drew deeply on her cigarette.
‘I love Jack,’ she said plaintively, her voice soft and girlish.
‘And I know Jack loves you,’ Bill replied. ‘So what’s the problem?’
She took the cigarette out of her holder and ground it out in the ashtray. ‘He’s having an affair. ‘ she said, grinding the cigarette as if she would have liked the ashtray to have been his face. ‘
Bill pictured his own performance now, the sheer staggering surprise of his expression.
‘Jack?’ he said. ‘An affair? That’s ridiculous. ‘
Kitty stared at him, searching for any signs of insincerity. She said, ‘Why is that so ridiculous? Men do have affairs, you know. ‘
He saw himself shaking his head as he gave her the finding-it-hard-to-believe performance, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
‘Jack and I are very close,’ he said. ‘I’d know if he was having an affair. Believe me, Kitty, Jack loves you and is one hundred per cent loyal to you. I mean. . . what makes you think. . . ‘
He let his question hang in the air, unfinished. And he shrugged and turned his hands palms upwards, throwing the ball into her court. Obviously she had to have some evidence, and he needed to know just how much information she had and how bad it was.
‘Girl friend of mine, saw them driving off together. She said he was with this little blonde girl. ‘
As if there had been a great misunderstanding, Bill chuckled and shook his head.
‘Oh that must have been Gloria your friend saw him with. ‘
‘Who the hell’s Gloria?’
‘Now don’t go jumping to conclusions. Jack’s got a friend - Harry McCarthy’s his name - and Gloria’s his girl. Harry’s doing a five stretch in Sing Sing and Harry asked him to look after Gloria; take her to the penitentiary on visiting days and generally keep his eye on her. ‘
Kitty’s eyes narrowed shrewdly. ‘Well if that’s all it is, why didn’t he tell me about it?’
‘Harry’s been mixed with some pretty tough boys, and they might try and get back at him through Gloria. I guess Jack didn’t want to worry you. ‘
‘You mean he could be in some kind of danger?’
‘I think Harry’s being cautious, that’s all. He just wants to know Gloria’s in good hands. ‘
Kitty, who had no illusions about what a flirt and a charmer her husband was, exclaimed: ‘Huh!’ as she rammed another cigarette into her holder. ‘She’ll be in good hands all right if Jack’s looking after her. ‘
‘Look,’ said Bill, lighting her cigarette, ‘I know Jack turns on the charm where the ladies are concerned, but I know he loves you Kitty. He’s as much as told me.
And if you’re concerned about Gloria, don’t be. If Jack were to cross Harry. . . You see, Harry’s obsessively jealous. He’d go crazy if he thought Jack and Gloria were. . . well, I just don’t think Jack would. ‘ Bill grinned as he stared into her eyes through the blue plume of smoke from her cigarette. ‘Honor among thieves and all that. ‘
Kitty sat upright, posing with her cigarette holder, as the waitress arrived with their order. After the waitress had departed, Bill immediately tucked into his sandwich.
‘I’m starving,’ he said, which was another lie. He wasn’t in the slightest bit hungry. He just wanted Kitty
to see that his appetite wasn’t in any way dimmed by her worries, showing her that she was wrong to harbor doubts about Jack. Life a normal everyday routine.
Kitty shook her head thoughtfully. ‘The fool. The stupid fool. Jack should have known if he was seen with this Gloria I’d have thought the worst. ‘
‘I expect he wanted to save himself any arguments,’ Bill mumbled through a mouthful of pastrami.
Kitty eyed him suspiciously. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘Well, put it this way, Kitty, if you thought Jack was in the slightest danger - and I don’t think he is - you’d have argued him out of looking after Gloria. ‘
‘I guess you’re right,’ she admitted, with a faraway look in her eyes. When she refocused on Bill, her gaze was searching, like the stare of a cat.
‘You wouldn’t lie to me, Bill?’
Bill gave her a look of exasperation. ‘I promise you, Kitty. . . I swear to you that as far as I know Jack is not having an affair. And if he is, believe me I’d be the first to know. ‘
‘Thanks’ she said, then her eyes drifted off into that faraway place again.
Bill found it difficult to interpret these distant looks of Kitty’s. Either his story was working its magic, or she was plotting something. Whatever she was thinking, Bill knew that she would confront Jack about Gloria. And Jack wouldn’t have a clue what she was on about. After all, Bill had concocted this story out of thin air on his way to meet Kitty. Now he desperately needed to tell Jack the same story. Fortunately, he knew his partner was at this very moment playing billiards in a club on the Upper West Side and was planning on coming over to their apartment afterwards. But just in case something went wrong. . .
Bill snatched a look at his watch and pushed his half-eaten sandwich to one side.
‘I have an appointment to meet the Dutchman,’ he told Kitty. ‘And he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I’m sorry. I have to go. And don’t worry about Jack. Everything’s above board. You have my word on it.’