‘It’d be better if you walked from here to the hotel,’ he said. ‘Taxis can get lost in the traffic. We don’t want to lose sight of you, but at the same time, we don’t want this guy to know we’re following you. It’s got to be a trap, Sladen, if it is going to work at all. You’ll be on your own. Peters is a dead shot, but he’ll have to keep out of sight. This could be tricky; you might get hurt.’
I suddenly realized I was sticking my neck out recklessly, and perhaps Bernie wasn’t such a dope as I thought he was. But it was too late now to pull back.
‘Just so long as Peters wings him before he starts anything, I’m not grumbling,’ I said.
‘Peters won’t be the only one,’ Creed said grimly. ‘I’ve got forty men on the job. They’ll be covering every twenty yards of the route. You won’t know them. Some of them will be in cars; some got up as loafers, some will be hidden. If this punk starts something, he’ll wonder what’s hit him.’
‘Fine,’ I said, immensely relieved. ‘In about a couple of hours, it should be dark enough.’
‘I’ll go and fix the details. You take it easy,’ Creed said.
I spent the next two hours playing gin rummy with Bernie.
Bernie said it was customary to play cards with a condemned man, and although cards bored him, he felt it his duty to try to take my mind off the immediate future.
He wasn’t much of a card player, and I pretty soon won three dollars off him.
‘This dough might not be of any use to you, Chet,’ he said when I asked him to pay up. ‘I’ll give you an I.O.U. if you like.’
‘I’ll take cash,’ I said, holding out my hand. ‘My estate might not be able to collect from you, Bernie.’
He handed over the money.
‘Talking about your estate, Chet,’ he said, ‘have you made a will?’
Peters came in.
‘You all set?’ he asked. ‘We’re ready when you are.’
I got to my feet.
‘So long, Bernie,’ I said. ‘I’ve left everything to you if I don’t come back.’
‘Honest?’ Bernie asked, his face brightening. ‘Your television set too?’
‘Yes, even my television set, you vulture!’
‘Let’s go,’ Peters said, grinning.
We went down the corridor to where Creed was waiting.
‘I’ve got it all fixed,’ he said. ‘You won’t be out of sight of my men for the whole walk. Keep in the middle of the sidewalk and keep to your schedule, then you should be all right.’
‘I hope so,’ I said, looking beyond him through the open door into the street. ‘Well, so long.’
Peters said, ‘I’ll give you sixty seconds, then I’ll come after you.’
I nodded and walked through the entrance, down the steps on to the dark, lonely street. I put my hand on the gun butt in my pocket and felt a little more courageous.
‘Don’t shoot me in the excitement,’ I said as Peters came to the door.
He laughed.
‘You worry too much. I’ll take care of you.’
He sounded a trifle too confident. I wished now I had thought up a safer idea to catch this gunman.
‘Watch it,’ I said and, feeling naked and pretty scared, I started to walk along the badly lit street, keeping a tight grip on the gun butt.
About thirty yards down the street I saw a big guy, leaning against the wall, smoking. He gave me a casual glance and as I passed him, he murmured, ‘I bet your knees are knocking.’
I didn’t look at him, but kept on.
The walk to the hotel seemed endless. Every time a car passed me, my hair stood up on ends. Whenever a man appeared, my heart skipped a beat. Even a black cat running across the road made me jump. When I crossed the road and climbed the steps to the hotel lobby, I was sweating: I paused for a moment to wipe my face, then walked in.
Larson was thumbing through his magazine. He glanced up and nodded. A thickset man sat in one of the basket chairs, reading a newspaper. As I passed him, he said, ‘Scaife’s in your room. Don’t shoot him as you go in.’
I nodded, climbed into the ancient elevator and was dragged up to the first floor. Before getting out, I peered cautiously up and down the passage. I couldn’t see anyone lurking there, so I crossed the passage, rapped on my door, pushed it open and stepped cautiously to one side.
‘This is Sladen coming in,’ I said into the darkness.
The light snapped on.
‘Come on in,’ Scaife said. He was sitting in my arm-chair. I saw he had found my bottle of Scotch. Half of it had gone down his throat from the look of the bottle.
I entered and shut the door.
‘Quiet as the grave,’ he said. ‘Maybe the guy was bluffing.’
‘If you had seen him you wouldn’t be drinking my whisky so nonchalantly. He wasn’t bluffing.’
Scaife grinned.
‘A two cent gunman doesn’t scare me off whisky.’
I went over and poured myself a large drink.
‘You’ll have a pretty good story to write, won’t you?’ Scaife went on. ‘What are you going to call it — my death grapple with a hophead?’ And he laughed.
I drank half the whisky at a swallow and felt a little better.
‘You guys can afford to laugh: you’re not out on a limb,’ I said as I began to strip off my suit.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Scaife returned. ‘It’s all in a day’s work. I hope we get this punk.’
‘So do I,’ I said, putting on a dark suit. ‘That’s better. I don’t show up so well now.’ I finished my drink. ‘Well, I guess I’d better buy myself a dinner. Can’t say I’m hungry.’
‘We’ve got two of our boys in the bar and one’s stuffing his guts in the restaurant,’ Scaife said. ‘You buy yourself a good blow out. Nothing will happen to you there.’
‘I’m not there yet,’ I said, making for the door. ‘Well, so long.’
‘I’ll be right behind you with Peters. Don’t walk too fast.’
‘I won’t.’
I went down the stairs, nodded to Larson and walked to the hotel door. I looked into the street. There was a car parked opposite. I could see two men sitting in it.
‘Those two are okay,’ said the man who was sitting in the basket chair. ‘They’re our boys.’
I nodded, walked down the steps and moved off towards the Bell Tavern that was on the corner, some hundred yards from the hotel.
I had to force one leg in front of the other as I walked down the deserted, dark street. My eyes were everywhere. A car swung into the street and I nearly dropped in my tracks, but as it pulled up outside a tobacconist store and the driver got out, I kept on with an effort. I had my gun half out of my pocket as I passed the car, and I was ready to duck, but nothing happened.
Breathing heavily, I pushed open the restaurant door and stepped into the brightly lit bar.
There were some twenty people drinking and talking in there, none of them even looked my way. I shed my coat, transferring my gun to my jacket pocket, then I went over to the bar and ordered myself a double Scotch. While I was waiting, I glanced around. Two beefy men with glasses of beer in front of them sat by the restaurant door. They looked at me and one of them winked. My eyelid felt stiff as I returned his wink.
Apart from these two, the rest of the drinkers looked harmless enough. I finished my whisky and went into the restaurant. I got a table with my back to the wall facing the entrance, and sat down.
I spotted the third cop at a table across the room. He was munching contentedly and he gave me a cheerful grin. He seemed to be appreciating his assignment. I hoped he had his gun handy.
I ordered a steak and trimmings. As I waited for it, I wondered if I were going to get it down. I felt damp behind the ears, and my stomach was fluttering like a flag in a breeze.
But when the steak arrived it was so tender and good, I worked through it without trouble and felt a lot better for it. All the time I ate I kept looking at the restaurant entrance, half expecting to see the gunman appear, and knowing I was alarming myself for nothing. He wouldn’t get past the two guys out in the bar, I told myself, and wished I believed it.