“Huh? Yeah?” I grunted. “Who is it?”
“Telegram for you, Mr. Young.” The voice was much higher than Monk’s.
I almost laughed. One wrong move for Monk. He didn’t have two cents worth of imagination in his whole body. I was tempted to tell him to slide it under the door, but that would only delay things.
“Okay,” I called. “Right away.”
I shuffled over to the door noisily and turned the lock and pulled the door opened. I kept one hand high on the door and the other out front rubbing my eye.
“I wasn’t expecting a telegram from any...” I stopped talking and put the most surprised look on my face I could. “Monk! Am I glad to see you. Come on in.”
He was standing a little off to the right, his 38 automatic held up high in his left hand. It was aimed right at my heart. His face was set, his mouth grim, his eyes bird-bright.
“Monk, what is this?” I said. I thought my voice sounded surprised too.
“Shut up and get back in the room,” he growled.
I backed up fast, my hands still way out front. Monk followed me in and closed the door. Then he locked it carefully. He leaned against the bureau and motioned me into the chair I had just left.
“Now we can have a nice little talk without being disturbed,” he said. “Just sit there nice and quiet and answer my questions. Make one quick move and you’re a dead one. In fact, if you make a slow move you’re a dead one too. Understand?”
“Sure, Monk, sure,” I said. I tried to put a whine in my voice. “What’s this all about, anyway? Coming up here putting a gun on me — I thought I was supposed to be working for you.”
“Yeah, good buddy. I thought you were working for me too. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe you’re working for yourself, or for somebody besides me, or maybe you’re working against me, who knows? Now tell me just what happened this afternoon, right from the beginning. And the first time I catch you in a lie it’s just like you pull the trigger yourself. You don’t know just how much I know about what happened, so let’s have it, real straight.”
That’s where Monk was wrong. I knew more about every single move he’d made all afternoon than he did himself. In fact I think I knew more about Monk Saunders, past, present, and future, than he could ever know himself.
“Okay, okay, Monk,” I said. “You don’t have to wave that gun under my nose. I didn’t know how to get in touch with you or Larry, so I thought the best thing to do was come back here and wait in my room for you. I thought maybe you’d call and give me a meet. I stashed the stuff away so it’s safe. I don’t want any part of it, I just did what I thought was right, so help me, Monk.”
“What happened this afternoon?” Monk repeated. His voice was grim.
“Jeez, Monk, you were there. You know as much about it as I do. After I met you at the bridge we rode down in the subway to Radio City. The guy Pete who was supposed to show me which jeweler to go to sat across from me all the way down, reading a paper. I never even nodded to him. When he got off at 47th Street I followed him, just about ten feet behind, like you said. You saw us, you and Larry in the same car.”
“Yeah, I saw you all right in the subway, but what happened on the street?”
“I followed Pete up the subway steps to the street. Just as he got to the top two coppers grabbed him and pushed him into a cigar store. I had that bag full of stuff and it sure felt awfully heavy right then. I was sure they’d grab me too. There was nothing I could do but keep on going as fast as I could. I did. I figured you and Larry would be right behind me but when I looked for you at the next corner I couldn’t see either of you. I guess I panicked a little but I knew I had to get out of that neighborhood fast, so I just kept travelling until I came to Grand Central. Then I calmed down a bit and thought the best thing to do was stash that stuff someplace real quick.”
“Where is it?” Monk interrupted.
“I put it in a subway locker in Grand Central Station,” I told him. “It was the nearest and best and safest place I could think of. After all, I’m not used to carrying a load of hot jewelry around. Anything could happen, then you’d blame me.”
“Okay, buddy, let’s have the key.” Monk held out his free hand.
I swallowed hard. “Look, Monk, let me explain. These coppers scared me the way they grabbed Pete. As soon as I put the stuff in the locker I got a heavy brown envelope in a store there and mailed the key to myself here at the hotel. Nobody saw me, I’m sure of that. One night last week my parole officer was sitting right here in this room waiting for me to come in, and when I did he tossed me from head to foot. If he was waiting here tonight he’d do the same thing. I just didn’t want to take a single chance, that’s why I did it. The key will be here in the morning mail, Monk. You can stay right here with me and I’ll go down with you to get the stuff. That’s the truth, so help me.”
“Maybe it is, and maybe it isn’t,” Monk said. His mouth was still a thin line, his eyes still shiny-bright.
I could read a little relief there, when he heard the stuff was stashed someplace where he might get his hands on it again — the greed showed through.
I knew he’d never kill me until he had his hands on that haul again and right now I was his only chance of doing just that. If that did happen, and I knew it couldn’t, I’d never need my Blue Cross again, but might be able to use a clear title to a little plot in some graveyard.
“That’s a pretty good story,” Monk said slowly. “Trouble is, I don’t believe it. This whole deal today smells, and the more I figure it, the more I think it’s you that stinks.”
“Look, Monk, I did what I thought was right. I did just what you told me to. You got no right saying that to me.”
“I got right,” Monk said. He raised the .38 a little higher on me. “I got all the right I need. Me and Larry and the Boss talked a lot about you tonight, and none of it was good. We even figure you might be a stoolie.”
I half rose out of my chair, my face angry. “I’m no stoolie, Monk. If you didn’t have that gun on me I’d wrap your nose around your face for calling me that. If I was crossing you I could have grabbed a train in Grand Central and been on my way to Chicago with the stuff by now. But I come back here to wait for you to give you your lousy diamonds and you peg me as a stoolie. You and your friends are the ones who stink.”
“Shut up and sit down,” he growled.
I could see I’d scored heavily by the doubt and confusion in his face. Monk was badly rattled by everything that had happened today. He wasn’t a fast thinker and I wanted to keep him off balance.
“What you don’t know,” he continued, “is that when those cops grabbed Pete two young punks with copper written all over them tried to nail me and Larry at the same time. Only we saw them coming and took off real fast. Larry had to belt one of them to get away, but we made it. Then later we couldn’t figure out how come Pete was grabbed so nice and how they tried to grab me and Larry at just the same time. It looks too much like a finger job, and the only finger we can come up with is you. You walk clear away with our diamonds and nobody even looks at you. How come?”
“Are you blaming me because half the detectives in New York hang around the Jewelry Exchange? You paid me five hundred to cart that stuff around for you, just because you thought you might be picked up. You’re known jewel thieves — those coppers probably have your mugs framed on their desks, you know that — then you call me a stoolie. Drop dead!”
Monk’s head snapped up. I saw the red flush of anger creep up around his neck. His hand tightened on the gun. I knew I had gotten under his skin. My only hope was to make him angry enough to stop thinking.
“Too bad you said that, good buddy,” he rasped. “Something else you don’t know is that I saw one of those young coppers coming down on the train with us, so we’re pretty sure it was a finger job. And even Pete didn’t know where we had to meet you. So that leaves only you. Stand up, boy. Lock your hands behind you. I’ll teach you some manners. You ever been pistol-whipped?”