“What do you do with it?”
“What?”
“The money.”
“I put it into the safe, and I sit around. Then a phone call comes through. Then a couple of people arrive and take it away. Bad?”
“Doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s going to get better.”
“How?”
“A full partnership, that’s how. You got an ambitious son, skipper.” He moved with the strong-box to the safe. He knelt and began to twirl the dial. We watched him, all of us with our backs to the door. His tone was thoughtful as he said, “Suppose seventy-five thousand of that were mine. Seventy-five thousand dollars a trip. How’s that sound, skipper?”
“Sounds like you’re a thief. Sounds crooked, and crookedness has a way of bouncing back at you...”
A voice said, “It’s bouncing right now.” Before we could move, it came again, urgently. “Don't turn around. Or you catch a load of bullets that I guarantee don’t bounce. Listen to a sample.”
A shot sounded, and the smack of a bullet into a wall. The acrid smell of cordite filled the room. None of us moved. The voice said, “Okay, you down there with the box. Back it up, move it toward me, and don't turn around.”
The voice was a heavy, gutteral, half-whispering rasp; an unforgettable sound.
Frank moved the box back. The voice coached him. “A little more, that’s it, just a little more, nice and easy... okay, fine,”
Frank said, “Can I talk?”
“Talk. But don’t talk loud, pal.”
“I’m talking to my father and his friend. I’m saying for nobody to get excited. People have worked it out. That box is insured. I don’t want anybody making like a hero.”
The voice said. “Smart boy. Stand up.”
Frank rose.
“Okay. Now everybody put your hands on your heads. Fine. Now march forward right smack up against that wall and stay like that. Fine.”
Then everything happened in a hurry. There were five quick shots. Frank fell. The door slammed. The key grated in the lock. Feet echoed in the hallway, running down the stairs.
The old man bent to his son, while I yanked at the door. It didn’t budge. A car started up in the street, and pulled away with a scrape of tires.
“He’s dead,” the old man said. “He’s dead.”
I dialed the phone for cops.
6.
When Detective-Lieutenant Louis Parker arrived, the door was open. I had found a key in Frank’s clothes, poked the other key out, and opened the door. I had gone down and looked around but that was as futile as it sounds.
Parker’s photographers and technicians had done their job, and then they and the corpse and the old man were gone. Parker poked a cigar in his mouth. “What do you think, friend?”
“Murder. Louis.”
“What kind of murder, Pete? A homicide during the commission of a felony, or the other kind?”
“The other kind.”
“But from what you’ve told me...”
“The guy had it done. Palance himself had spoken up and said he didn’t want trouble. The guy had the box, and the key in the door, and three soldiers with their hands on their heads and their noses to the wall. He didn’t have to shoot. Plus.”
“Plus what?”
“Five bullets into one guy. Not one for me or the old man. Coldblooded, premeditated, intentional murder.”
“No question.” Parker said. “You’re a hundred percent right.” There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” Parker said.
Cassidy, a young detective, pushed open the door. He winked hello at me. He said, “Frank Palance was the registered owner of the boat, Lieutenant.” He put his hand into his jacket pocket and brought out a paper.
“What’s that?” Parker said.
“Bill of lading, sir. It shows what the vessel was carrying.”
“And what was that, Cassidy?”
“Rope, sir.”
“Rope? Did you say rope?”
“That’s right, sir. A thirty thousand-dollar consignment of rope.”
I said, “What about that hundred and fifty thousand in the strongbox?”
Parker turned to me. “Did you see it? The money?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know it was there?”
“I don’t. But suppose that boat were carrying, how do you call it... contraband?” I looked toward Cassidy. “Is that freighter big enough to carry additional cargo?”
“Big enough to carry the Statue of Liberty. It’s enormous.”
Parker said, “It’s a theory. Now what about you, Pete? What were you doing down here?”
“Came down with the old man.”
“I know. Why?”
“I know a gal Palance was engaged to. They were scrapping. The old man’s been a friend of mine for years. I went up and talked to him about that. He told me I was talking to the wrong guy, told me he was coming down here to see his son, asked me to come along with him. That’s it.”
“Okay,” Parker said. “Let’s get out of here. Keep available, Pete. Check in with me. Often.”
It was a quarter to eleven when I leaned on the buzzer at Lola’s apartment. She said, “Who is it?”
“Pete.”
She opened the door and I smiled out loud. That girl went from great to greater. She wore ice blue satin, clinging lounging pajamas with the cleavage on top going down to the sash in the middle. She kissed me the moment the door closed behind me, her body softly pressed to mine, her hands around my neck. She didn’t let go. I lifted her and carried her into the living room. She even knew how to be carried, her head hanging, her arms loose at her sides, her body pliant and yielding. I put her down, gently, on a wide divan, and sat beside her. I kissed her because her mouth and her eyes demanded that I kiss her. She sat up and said, “What’s the matter?”
“Matter?”
“Your mind’s not on kissing. You’re not here. You’re somewhere else.” One corner of her mouth trembled. “Cooled off already?”
“Nope,” I said. “Not that quick.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
I dug in for cigarettes, tapped out two, gave her one and lit them. I blew smoke.
She said, “What’s the matter?”
I said, “Honey, you signed a contract with me.”
“Contract?”
“The paper back there at the Lido.”
“That. Look. If I can depend upon you to protect me from Frank, if I don’t have to worry about a broken nose or losing an eye, then you’re worth every penny of that percentage you arranged — which you’ll never get anyway, because that policy’s been switched. I told you.”
“And the ring? And the Caddy?”
“I'll never return them. Believe me, I wasn’t kidding when I said I earned them. And I don’t want you to think I'm a bitch, because I'm not. It’s the first time in my life I ever hung on to anything that somebody wanted back. But nobody’s going to make a monkey out of me. Nobody.”
“Nobody’s going to.”
She raised the cigarette and inhaled deeply. “I’m not as bad as I sound. You’ve got to believe that.” She looked away.
“I do.” I put a finger under her chin and turned her face to me. “You don’t have to worry about Frank any more, ever, all your life. And the ring and the Caddy are never going back.”
A wrinkle came between her eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”
“He's dead.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, pressing it in, distorting it. Her eyes, moving up to mine, held horror.
“You killed him.”
“No. No, I didn’t.”
The horror spread, and now it was fright, shock, bewilderment. The hand fell away from her mouth. I took the cigarette out of her fingers and rubbed it out in an ashtray.