Dead Game

by Michael Avallone

  “Cut the comedy, Noon. There’s no time to waste.”

  “I will if you’ll give your playmate that cannon you’re waving. You’re making me nervous. And when I’m nervous, I crack more corn than you’ll get in a week on TV.”

  The short, wide man stopped chuckling.

  “He’s right, kitten. Give me the gun.”

  “All right, Mel. But hurry.” The gun changed hands too fast for me to make a move.

  “Now give me yours,” he said. I slid Mimi Tango’s .32 across the desk to him and watched him stick it in a coat pocket.

  “Well,” I said. “Mel Trilly. The catcher for the Ravens.” I looked at Mrs. Arongio. “What the hell were you doing—shacking up with the whole club?”

  Mel Trilly’s nostrils pinched.

  “The first thing you’ll do is watch your mouth, buddy.”

  Mrs. Arongio made a warning gesture at him.

  “Never mind his mouth. It’s just his way. Don’t let him rile you.”

  “No,” I agreed, staring at the man-destroyer in his fingers. “Don’t let me rile you.”

  He took three big steps toward me until the desk stopped him. Now he only looked as wide as Highway 40.

  “Don’t overplay it, buddy. Just do as we tell you.”

  “What are you telling me, Mr. Trilly?”

  “We’re telling you to take us to the husband. Pronto. And the only thing we want is cooperation. Got it?”

  “I got it all right.” I eyed Mrs. Arongio. “You’re wasting your time, kitten. Carl hasn’t got what you’re looking for.”

  She exploded. Picture an alley cat suddenly disturbed in a garbage pail. She spat.

  “Don’t con me! He has to have it. Lake’s dead, isn’t he? You told me yourself he’s been hunting high and low, didn’t you? Carl has to have the money. He and that little minx—that Tango bitch!”

  I looked pained. “No names, please. I must confess I don’t follow your line of logic. Lake’s dead, okay. But how does that put twenty thousand bucks in your husband’s pocket? By the way, how’s the phony diary business these days?”

  Her grin was triumphant behind the net and veil.

  “How do you know about all those things if you haven’t seen Carl? I was right, Mel. Carl spilled everything to Noon. Come on, Noon. Get up. We’re going for a ride.”

  Mel Trilly was coming around the desk to help me get up. I beat him to it, because I got the idea I wouldn’t care for the way he might do it. And it was too early for a play yet. I had to find out a bit more about how the ball rolled.

  “Look. You got it backward. I got in touch with him. He spilled all right, but only because the money is still missing. Lake did a pretty good job hiding it. Either that or his murderer still has it. And what ever became of the famous Poe diary?”

  Mrs. Arongio turned to stare at Mel Trilly. She stared at him so long and so hard that his face reddened and he growled.

  “What the hell,” he blurted. “What the hell you lookin’ at me for, Kitty? I haven’t got the dough. Hey, we in this together or aren’t we?”

  I laughed. “A woman’s intuition, Melvin, old boy. She’s pretty sure a Raven killed Lake. That makes you suspect.”

  “Kitty,” he pleaded with her. “Don’t lose your hairpins. Would I be here if I had the dough?” He whirled on me. “Clam up, you sonuvabitch. Stop puttin’ ideas in her head.”

  I spread my hands. But I clammed up.

  She shook herself free of whatever spell my words had wrapped around her.

  “Sorry, Mel. You’re right. Noon’s cracking wise again.”

  “Don’t mix me up with Milton Berle. Neither of us would like it. Okay. You think Carl’s got the money. Where does that leave me?”

  Mel Trilly grinned, and if ever a man didn’t mean a grin, he didn’t.

  “Walkin’ out that door with us right behind you. Takin’ us to where Carl is.”

  Mrs. Arongio nodded. “That’s it, mister. And no funny stuff or you’ll get hurt.”

  I shook my head. “Doesn’t this kind of patter ever change? Year in, year out, everybody threatens everybody else the same old way. Talk about corn. Sure, I’ll take you to Mr. Arongio. But you’re wasting your time. He hasn’t got the dough.”

  “If he hasn’t,” she muttered grimly, “I still won’t be wasting my time.”

  I knew what she meant and I didn’t like it. One thing I can’t do is stand around watching somebody getting his lumps. Maybe that’s why I don’t like prizefighting. Mr. Arongio was in for it.

  I sized up Mel Trilly. He was just the guy for the job, too. The real strong-arm type. He’d probably enjoy every punch of it.

  I did some fast figuring. I sure wasn’t going to be able to talk myself out of being a guide to Mr. Arongio. I’d have to take them and just wait for a chance to swing things my way.

  “I’ll take you,” I said. “It’s a wild goose chase but I’ll take you.”

  “Good,” she said.

  “No monkey-shines,” Mel Trilly warned.

  “Word of honor. What’s left of it. What’s your interest in this, Trilly?”

  “That’s none of your business, wise man.” We all started for the door.

  “I guess like dear old Banjo Brice, you’re tired of playing for peanuts. What’s the matter with you guys? You could make the big leagues and earn some real dough without all this cops and robbers stuff. Or is it all for the love of a good woman?”

  At mention of Brice’s name, he looked surprised. But the rest of my little sermon made him cock his free hand and that looked like a small ham.

  “Dry up. And now. Quit shootin’ your mouth off. I got no patience with fast talkers. Do like I’m tellin’ you or you won’t have so many teeth to brush tomorrow mornin’.”

  I shrugged and let them push me through the office door. They let me lock up, which was nice of them. We moved down the hall, Mrs. Arongio just in front of me, Mel Trilly just behind. The hand that was in his pocket kept reminding me about the inadvisability of false moves and sudden heroics.

  We took the elevator down. Once more, I marveled at the peculiar building I had set up shop in. We ran into absolutely nobody. Not in the corridor, the elevator, or the small lobby downstairs. Unless, of course, you exclude Tiger, the large gray cat that was always hanging around the building. Tiger stared up mournfully at us as we passed and then shied away, springing up the stairway.

  I thought of mice and men for no good reason. Trilly nudged me out to the sidewalk.

  We stood in the deepening night. It was getting very late. Some cars crawled past. A horn squalled at the intersection. I looked across the street at Benny’s place.

  The soft drink emporium was jumping with some heavy evening trade. I wondered if Benny would ever take me in as a partner. Just this minute, it was twice as attractive as real estate to me.

  Trilly made a noise in his throat.

  “Shall I call a cab?” I inquired sweetly.

  “Where’s your car?” His eyes told me to cut out the jokes. The Buick gleamed bright and new a few doors away.

  No sense in making a scene. Shrugging, I led the way.

  Trilly let me fish for the car keys, his eyes and gun hand on me all the while. I slid in behind the wheel.

  “Lots of room up front,” I suggested.

  His grin was tight.

  “We’ll sit in the back. And play ball, Noon. You’ve got two strikes on you as it is.”

  Mrs. Arongio settled down in back of me. When Trilly got in beside her, the Buick seemed to sag with his bulk. I gunned the motor.

  “Get rolling, Noon.”

  “How about a movie?” I offered. “Radio City’s got the latest Gene Kelly musical…”

  He cursed and I laughed. I put the Buick in gear and eased away from the curb.

  They weren’t interested in Radio City. Or Gene Kelly. They were far more interested in the program over at the Plato Hotel.

  After all, the Plato had Mr. Arongio. And a cha
nce at a twenty-thousand-dollar jackpot.

  SEVENTEEN

  We reached the Plato too soon for my liking. I needed some thinking time, a plan of action to save the whole show from getting out of hand. I had a bad feeling that Mr. Arongio, at the very least, was going to get a severe beating. Mrs. Arongio’s face and demeanor shouted it to the rooftops.

  But Mel Trilly knew something about driving a car in the city. After I let myself get nailed twice in a row by red lights I could easily have avoided, he slapped me behind the neck with the back of his hand none too gently.

  “You can do better than that.” He gritted it out. “At any rate, you better.”

  I did. We drew to a full stop in front of the Plato ten minutes sooner than I had planned.

  I turned off the ignition and stared straight ahead.

  “Three’s a crowd,” I suggested. “Even for the lobby of a hotel like this one. It’s your move.”

  “Get out,” Trilly snapped. “Walk in. We’ll be right behind you. Don’t stop at the desk either. Anybody asks, we’re goin’ up to see our old friend Arongio and we’re expected. It’s a cinch.”

  “Where have I heard that before? Look, he hasn’t got the room. Mimi Tango has.” I sighed wearily. But I got out of the car on the street side and waited. They took up their positions again.

  Mrs. Arongio’s eyes were two chunks of fire behind the veil. Under her dark dress, her bosom was heaving with expectancy. You would have thought love had brought her to the Plato. Not hate. Not even twenty thousand dollars. The news about Mimi Tango having the room had fired her up all over again. I could see it was going to be some reunion upstairs.

  Trilly gave me the nudging business with the gun again. On cue, I marched into the Plato. They were right on my heels.

  Luck favors the bad guys, too. As well as the good ones. There was no bald head bent over a paper at the desk like last time. The elevator doors were wide open and lounging in a chair alongside was the car commander, the smiling old Negro of my last visit.

  “Evenin’.” His smile was just as big with just as many white teeth in it. “More real good friends?”

  “The best, Lionel.” I smiled right back at him. “Thirteen-oh-five, please.”

  Trilly poked me warningly. I stepped into the car and made room for everybody. Mrs. Arongio came in and stood next to me. Trilly stationed himself near the door and looked daggers at me. Or maybe baseball bats.

  “Lionel and I are old friends, Mel,” I explained. “We have to say hello to our old friends. Don’t we, Lionel?” He was moving into the car, his black face wrinkled with laughter, his white teeth flashing.

  “ ’Deed we do. My, yes.” His shoulders convulsed as he arced the lever up.

  Mel Trilly made a face at him. Lionel shrugged and the car rose. I watched Mrs. Arongio. Her cute little figure was at peace now. You might never know that she had come in war. But something in her was shaking around loose. I could feel it. I thought fast.

  Mel Trilly’s eyes were riveted on me like a snake on a mongoose. His small orbs were on my hands, my face, my mouth, waiting for me to try to tip Lionel to the deal in some way. His eyes told me not to try. I didn’t.

  We made the rest of the trip in silence. The floors fell away like last year’s styles. Lionel flexed an arm and the car settled on the rise.

  “Thirteen, folks. The end of the line.” He was a real cat, Lionel was. He pronounced “the” like a Quaker saying “thee.”

  Trilly backed out, his eyes still on me. I zippered my lips and stepped past Lionel, feeling Mrs. Arongio breathing down my back. As the car door closed behind us, I heard Lionel inquire loudly, “What’s life?” Then he was gone. I could hear the cage humming down.

  Trilly cursed. “What were you trying to pull?”

  “Don’t be a sap, Trilly. If I hadn’t talked to him, he would have been suspicious.”

  “Forget it, Mel.” Mrs. Arongio was impatient. “He got us here. That’s all I’m interested in. It’s the only thing that counts.”

  “That and adding machines,” I mocked. “Follow the leader.”

  They followed me down the hall like a pair of Indians stalking Custer. Right up to the door. I kept hoping against hope that Arongio and Mimi Tango were out, that they had gone out for a meal or something. Even that they might have flown the coop altogether. I had a feeling that anything would be better than what might be coming up.

  Something dropped dead within me when I saw a light under the door of 1305. The birds were in. They hadn’t flown. It didn’t look good.

  My one last hope was the door. It might be locked. That was the last hope. It was too late for me to try anything like a little noise or a commotion.

  Mel Trilly had impressed me as a guy who never bluffed about anything. I couldn’t do anybody any good with bullet holes in me. Least of all myself.

  He pawed the door knob slowly. It turned, clicked. The door was locked. But they had heard the noise inside. Somebody stirred off a chair. The scrape of wood along the floor was unmistakable.

  Trilly uncovered the antique revolver and let me get a good look down the big, black ugly throat of the thing. He pantomimed toward the door violently.

  It suddenly struck me that as a ball player, he made a damn good-looking gangster. His face and size were just right for the part. And he had all the best instincts of a professional torpedo.

  I hate playing the Judas bit, but what can you do when somebody twists your arm? This was worse besides. I wasn’t even working for the thirty pieces of silver.

  I got in close to the door and knocked softly, shave-and-haircut rhythm.

  “Arongio. It’s me, Noon. Open up.” I spoke quietly but quickly, anxious to get the rotten business over with.

  Things happened after that. Happened fast, twisted, and crazy.

  The door whipped back. Arongio stood there, as large as the Pentagon Building, and suddenly Trilly hurled me against him with a shove that would have sidetracked an elephant, let alone Ed Noon. I had just a flying instant to see Mr. Arongio’s expression change as fast as a kaleidoscope. Then it was all montage. The real crazy kind.

  Arongio grunted as we collided, his breath filling my face. We teetered crazily, fighting for balance. Mimi Tango rushed from a corner of the room, wielding a table lamp with the ferocity of a maniac. Female species. Mrs. Arongio sailed right by me, clawing, scratching, hissing. Right for her.

  I caught myself up against the table in the heart of the room and bounded to my feet. Then the movie ended. For me.

  The heaviest something in the world came down on my head from behind. The floor leaped up to embrace me, face-first. And I couldn’t get my face out of the way.

  After that it was black. Black in caps. BLACK, BLACK, BLACK. The world was a great big bottle of Higgins India Ink.

  And I was the cork.

  EIGHTEEN

  The blackout stayed black. There were no dreams, no dizzy kaleidoscopes of images and pictures. No monsters in 3-D trying to drown me or strangle me or whatever else they do to you in your dreams. Nothing spinned or turned. Nothing moved. Somebody had just turned the lights out and it stayed that way.

  Time lapses I knew from nothing. How long does it take between deep sleep and awakening? Only a clock can tell you that, but how long is it really? I mean how long does it feel?

  When I climbed out of the bottle of ink and uncorked myself by opening my eyes, it seemed like everything that had happened had been no longer than a minute ago.

  But the shape of things had changed so much, it had to be longer. I couldn’t move myself because the weight pressing down on the top of my head wouldn’t go away. I just looked.

  The window shades of the room were drawn all the way down. Mimi Tango was propped up against the backboard of the bed. It looked like it was still Room 1305 of the Plato. She was bound hand and foot. Her mouth looked bigger than usual, but that was only because a gag of some kind had split the lower half of her face wide open into a gargoyle-style m
ask. From the condition of her hair and clothes, she had come out second-best in a hair-pulling match. Her black curls were plucked and awry on her head. Her big eyes were shooting me beacons of hysteria and distress.

  My eyes traveled. My brain really wasn’t functioning at that point. The eyes get the messages first, anyway, then your poor old brain translates. These messages were short and sweet. But they were starting to scare hell out of me.

  There was a group of three people in the center of the room. The table had been pushed to one side out of the way like somebody had needed a lot of elbow room to do something in.

  The two standing were Mel Trilly and Mrs. Arongio. Mr. Arongio was sitting. But not because he felt like sitting. He had sagged forward against the bedsheets they had used to lash him to the chair. The white handkerchief that plastered his mouth shut nearly hid his floor-mop mustache. Only the handkerchief wasn’t so white. The patches of red that spotted it weren’t some sort of design either.

  Something smelled funny in the room. I had a hard time trying to classify the odor. Stink was more like it. Then my eyes got another message. This message started off funny.

  Arongio wasn’t wearing any shoes. Or socks. And his feet were mammoth, the size feet you’d expect a really big man like him to have.

  Only the soles of his feet were all wrong. They weren’t the right color. They were black and scorched. The same effect you get when you singe things with matches.

  The message didn’t end funny at all. The rug beneath his shoeless feet was strewn with an army of wooden safety matches. And they all had burned heads.

  Mel Trilly was swearing. His back was to me but I could hear him plain. “Damn, he’s passed out again …”

  His sleeves were rolled up past his hairy biceps. His arms were ropy and sweaty. They looked like the beams they use to reinforce a ceiling. Mrs. Arongio was in profile. If ever a pair of human beings looked like hounds from hell, they did to me right then.

  My brain finally got some messages down to my muscles. Mad anger welled up in my chest, tried to charge out of my throat. I surged forward, taking the chair I was sitting in to the floor with me but it refused to leave me. We were inseparable. It was tied to me with what felt like my own belt and someone else’s.