“I just remembered it.”
He thought about that. “Can you call her?”
“Sure.”
“All right. Let me listen to the call and then I’ll give you the hundred dollars.”
She led the way to a pay phone in an alcove off the lounge, and looked up a number in the book, careful not to let him see it. Then she dialed the number.
“Hello, honey? You don’t know me, but this is Marge, one of the waitresses at the Sunnyside Lounge. Look, honey, I’ve got something important to tell you about. I know you were Tony Ancona’s girl before he got killed. I saw him pick you up in here one night last spring. He told me he was seeing you— What? No, no, I don’t want no money. I just want to see you down here. You can’t?” She covered the mouthpiece and turned to Walt. “She can’t come today. Her husband’s due home.”
“Then give me her address.”
“No.” She turned back to the phone. “Honey, could you come here tomorrow? During the day? Fine. That will be fine. Three o’clock.” She hung up.
“She’s coming?”
“Tomorrow at three. Where’s my money?”
Walt Neary took out the envelope and counted five twenty-dollar bills. “Here. I hope you’re telling the truth.”
Marge Morgan took the money and smiled. “You just be here at three tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Neary.”
Walt Neary was just parking his car in his driveway when the dark-haired young man appeared at his side window. He’d obviously been waiting nearby, watching for his return home.
“What now?” Neary asked, wondering if he could reach the pistol in the glove compartment if he had to. “Another envelope for me?”
The man leaned on the car door, his face very close to Walt’s. “You been asking questions. You went to see Tony’s brother today. What for?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“We paid you for killing Tony. It concerns us.”
“Look, I didn’t ask to be paid! I don’t even want your damned blood money! I didn’t kill Ancona for you!”
The young man leaned closer. “Why did you go see Tony’s brother?” he asked again.
“I was trying to find out if he had any family, anyone close that I could help. I feel some responsibility, after all!”
The man nodded. “All right. Just keep your nose clean, Mr. Neary.”
He faded back into the shadows, and for some minutes Neary sat gripping the steering wheel. Did he really fear the dark-haired young man that much? Why hadn’t he flung the money back in his face and been done with it? What was he doing now, arranging to meet some woman he didn’t even know and bestow upon her a gift of two thousand dollars? Nineteen hundred, he corrected mentally, subtracting the hundred he’d already paid to Marge Morgan.
Presently he went into the house and found Ellen waiting for him. She seemed hardly less nervous than he did.
“What is it, Walt?” she asked. “You’re so white!”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. How was your day?”
“Fine.” Her hands were twisting a handkerchief. “Walt, I think we both need to get away. After what happened the other night, I think it would do us both good.”
“You’re right, I suppose,” he said.
“Could we, Walt? Could we go away tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Well, that’s a bit soon for me. I’d have to clear it with my boss and all.”
“Walt, I’ve never asked you anything, have I? I’ve never complained about all those nights you were on the road, away from home.”
“No,” he admitted.
“Then please, can’t we go away tomorrow?”
He sighed and patted the envelope in his pocket. “Let me talk to the boss in the morning. I’ve got an afternoon appointment but maybe we can get away tomorrow night.” Later, while she was getting ready for bed, he counted out the remaining money into two bundles. A thousand dollars would be enough for Tony Ancona’s mysterious girl friend. The other nine hundred could take him and Ellen away for two weeks’ needed vacation. After all, he’d earned that much.
Shortly before noon the next day Detective Bryant phoned Neary at his office. He was getting his desk in order for the vacation trip the sales manager had approved.
“How are you today, Mr. Neary?” he asked.
“Oh, fine. Is anything wrong?”
“No, not a thing. But I just thought you’d be interested in knowing we’ve arrested Ancona’s brother, a florist here in town.”
“What... what for?”
“Seems he was tied in with this whole narcotics ring. We think he might have even put up some money for his own brother’s killing. But he’s behind bars now.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Walt Neary found that he was sweating, though he didn’t know why. “Look, the wife and I are going away for a week or two. The excitement’s been a bit too much for us both.”
“Good idea,” Bryant told him. “Wish I could do the same.”
Neary finished straightening his desk and left the office at noon. He knew he should go home to Ellen and forget his three o’clock appointment at the Sunnyside Lounge, but it was a loose end he couldn’t leave dangling. Certainly the girl Marge Morgan had spoken to on the phone was not responsible for anything that had happened. She deserved a little of the blood money that had come from Tony Ancona’s killing.
He killed a couple of hours time until it was getting near three o’clock. Then he drove downtown and parked next to the Sunnyside Lounge. Marge was inside, serving drinks to the scattering of customers.
“Hi, there,” she greeted him. “Back again?”
“To meet this girl. You’re sure she’ll show at three?”
“She’ll show, because she’s scared what I’ll do if she doesn’t.”
“How’d you find out who she was?”
Marge looked away, wiping the wet from a table. “I saw her picture somewhere, and it gave her name. I said to myself, now that’s the girl Tony picked up in here.”
“But how’d you know she was still seeing him?” Neary asked, but Marge had already moved off to serve another customer. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was five minutes to three.
The street door opened and Walt Neary tensed himself. But it was not a girl. It was the dark-haired man who’d given him the envelope. Neary turned his head and hoped he wouldn’t be seen, but it was no good. The man had followed him here, of course, or else recognized his car.
“Neary” he said, coming closer. “What in hell did you do?”
“I... I don’t know what you mean.”
“You turned in Mike to the cops, didn’t you?”
“No. I didn’t know anything about it. I thought he was just a florist. I thought—”
“You’re done thinking,” the young man said. His hand came out of his jacket, holding a gun.
“Look, take back your money! I never wanted it. Take it back!”
“It’s too late for that, Neary!”
The gun was coming up fast when Marge hurled her tray of drinks at the young man. It spoiled his aim, and he had only an instant for a quick shot at her before Neary was on top of him, beating him to the floor. He hit him once, twice, three times, before someone was pulling him off, before a policeman was handcuffing the dark-haired man.
They helped Neary to his feet and he looked around, and the first person he saw was Ellen, standing in the doorway. “My God, Ellen, what are you doing here?”
Her face was as white as the tablecloths, and she clung to the door frame for support. She was in near collapse. After a few moments of hesitation, she managed to say, “I... I was shopping and thought I’d stop in for a drink. What happened here?”
“Never mind that. Never mind anything. Let’s get out of here.” But then he remembered Marge Morgan and walked over to where she sat bleeding on the floor. Another waitress was trying to bandage her arm. “Are you all right?”