“But first we gamble.”
I looked at her hard. She wasn’t kidding. I said, “Okay, baby, it’ll be you and me. We’ll give it a try. Maybe we can make the good parts come out.”
“What will we do?”
“Tonight’s Saturday night, kid. We’re going dancing.” A puzzled frown creased her forehead. “You’ll need a costume for the act, sugar. Where we’ll be you’ll want the west side trollop look. Think you can make it?”
She nodded, the frown deepening.
“A missing link was killed last night,” I continued. “He had a dance ticket in his pocket. Chances are his partner had one too. On top of which, if he knows his buddy’s dead, he’ll want to be with a crowd. It’s easy to die alone.”
“This one... he can clear you?”
I grinned at that one. “Not him. But this bird can supply a lot of answers.”
“Then what can I do?”
“First you can go out and buy some clothes. Cheap and flashy. Get perfume and accessories to match and if you can get the stuff secondhand, do that. Guys alone at those jumps can’t move around the way a couple can and locating this guy will be easier with two of us asking questions.”
I took her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Still want to try it?”
She grinned impishly, made like she was going to give me a tiny kiss, then stuck her tongue in my mouth. Before my hands could tighten on her she pulled away and went to the door.
“You’ll stay here?”
“I don’t know.”
She opened her purse, took out a key and tossed it to me. “If you come in the back way you can by-pass the clerk.” She blew a kiss and was gone.
I got up, yanked my coat on and shoved the .45 under my belt. I went out the back way and headed for the old brownstone. The sun died before I reached Sixth and the air had a cold, clammy touch to it. I stopped at a candy store and had a Coke, then another, trying to think the pieces together.
A pattern was there, all right. Crude and irregular, but it had a purpose.
Outside it began to rain again.
A beat cop sauntered by and looked in, but I was in the shadows and my face didn’t mean a thing to him. When he was gone, I picked up my change and walked out, my collar up around my neck, the hatbrim screening my face.
I was almost at Lexington when they had me. It worked real easy, the faint nudge of a gun barrel in a hand with a paper around it and that was all there was to it.
I looked around and Stan Etching was smiling at me, the scar on his chin pulling his mouth out of shape. He said, “They told me you were a tough guy, Ryan.” He stepped around in front of me, lifted out the gun and dropped it in his raincoat pocket.
His smile was nervous and I knew what he was thinking. It was almost too easy. I said, “Now what?”
“You’ll see. My brother Stash saw me grab you, feller. He’ll be here with the car in a minute. Maybe you’d like it better to run or something.”
I grinned and his eyes got nervous along with his mouth. “I’ll wait,” I said.
The car was a three-year-old Caddie sedan with Jersey plates. It pulled up noiselessly and Stan opened the back door. I got in and he sat on my right, his gun pointed at my belly.
When we pulled away from the curb Stash turned the radio up and said, “How’d he take it?”
“Like pie. How else?” He poked me with the gun and grinned. “You’re a chump, Ryan. You shoulda hid out. Me, I knew you’d come back though. Six of us had your dump staked out, but I even knew which way you’d come.”
“This is the old Chicago touch you’re giving it,” I said. “One way ride and all that crap.”
He laughed. “Sure. Glad you don’t feel bad about it. Hey Stash, this guy’s all right.” The gun bumped me again. “You know, Ryan, I’m gonna burn you out quick. No fooling around. You give me no trouble. I give you no trouble.”
I told him thanks and leaned back in the seat and watched Stash approach the Lincoln Tunnel. Traffic was heavy.
Stan looked across at me and grinned again, turning a little to point the rod square at me. I took a deep breath of disgust, leaned back further into the cushions and completely relaxed.
Then I moved my hand before he could pull the trigger, slammed back the slide on the automatic so it couldn’t fire, twisted it so his finger broke and while he was still screaming with surprise and pain, shoved the muzzle against his gut and pulled the trigger.
Up front Stash let out a crazy startled yell and tried to look back, but there wasn’t a thing he could do, not a damn, stinking thing. I got my .45 back from Stan, cocked it and let Stan feel the big “O” of the mouth of it against his neck. His head jerked like a spastic’s and he kept making funny little noises.
I said, “When we get out, I’ll tell you where to go. Don’t do anything silly.”
He didn’t. He stayed calmly hysterical and when we reached the scrap iron works in Secaucus, we stopped and I let him get in the back. The shock was wearing off and Stan’s face was white with pain and fear. He kept asking for a doctor, but I shook my head.
Stash said, “What’cha gonna do?”
“It depends on you. I want to know about the word. Who put it out?”
Stash looked hopelessly at his brother. Stan said, “...doctor.”
“Not yet. Maybe when you talk a little.”
It began to dawn on Stan gradually. I wasn’t kidding. He shook his head feebly. “I told ya. Nothin’. You know... how them things are.”
I raised the gun again and watched his eyes. He couldn’t even speak, but he was telling it straight. I said, “Who else is around my place and where?”
“Golden... and Holmes. They’re on the south end. Lou Steckler, he’s... across in... in the gimp’s house.”
My hand got tight on the gun. “What’d they do to Razztazz?”
“Geeze... I dunno... I...”
“Who else? Dammit, talk fast!”
“Mario... he’s in your dump.”
“No fuzz?”
“Nobody. They... they got pulled off. Hymie the Goose, he’s covering trains and all with his bunch. Babcock and... the Greek... they... Jersey. They...”
He fainted then. I gave him five minutes and let him come around. He started to retch and vomited all down his chest. Stash was still hysterical and shook all over.
I said, “What else, Stan?”
He shook his head.
There wasn’t any more and I knew it. I told Stash to get out of the car and walk around the side. I had him pull his brother out and they stood there like animals watching me. I said, “Whenever and wherever I see you again, you catch one between the antlers, buddies. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about it because somebody else will get to you first like with them Elizabeth hoods. Now beat it.”
Stan’s eyes went wide. “Jeez... ain’t you even gonna call a doc? Ain’t you...”
“They were right when they said I was a tough guy.”
“Ryan... Ryan...”
I started the car up. “Drop dead,” I told him.
I took the car back through the tunnel and parked it on a cross street. When I wiped the wheel, door handles and sills off I climbed out and left it there. I found a phone, dialed the number I wanted and said, “Big Man?”
“Ryan...”
“Okay, Big Man, just listen for once. Where can we meet?”
“It’s no good.”
“Brother, I’m going to blow the whistle if you don’t square off.”
He paused. He didn’t muffle the phone to talk to anyone or anything. He just sat there a minute, then: “We’ll see you.”
“Just you, friend.”
“Where?”
“The Naples Cafe. It’s on...”
“I know.”