I told him I would. I went back outside and got my car back. The doorman was puzzled but he decided to humor me. Then I drove over to Baron’s house.
I parked in front, got out of the car and nodded at the sad old elm tree. I rang Baron’s bell and the beady-eyed servant opened the door. He led me to the living room. Johnny was sitting on the couch and Baron was in his chair. I sat in the chair I’d used before and Baron offered me a cigar from the cedarwood box. I passed it up. He unwrapped one for himself and used his little gold knife on it. Then he lit it and smoked.
“Everything okay, Nat?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“I called five-thirty, maybe six. You were out.”
“I was with a girl.”
Baron laughed. “That’s good enough. How’s everything at Round Seven, Nat? Somebody drop a package there?”
“There’s one in the safe now.”
“That’s good. A guy’ll be by Thursday or Friday to pick it up. Meanwhile it sits. You know what’s in the package?”
I shook my head.
“You want to know?” he asked.
“It’s none of my business.”
He laughed again. “You got a good attitude, Nat. Straight and simple. How’s that watch work?”
I looked at my watch. “It works fine.”
“Keep good time?”
I nodded. “I like it,” I said. “Thanks.”
“What the hell,” he said. “You did a good job. Smooth and proper. I like your style, Nat.”
He liked my style — and Tony Quince liked my style. I didn’t even know I had one. I watched Baron set the cigar in the ashtray and open the gold knife again. He ignored me for the moment and concentrated on cleaning and trimming his fingernails. He still had that tremendous aura of power. It wasn’t the sort of thing you got used to. It grew, the more you knew him.
He was going to die and Tony was going to take his place. I wasn’t sure I believed that.
“Ever been to Philly, Nat?”
“I’ve been there.”
“You know the town?”
“A little.”
That satisfied him. He nodded thoughtfully and went on trimming his nails. Then he folded the knife and put it away again. He picked up the cigar. It had gone out and he scratched another match to relight it.
“There’s this plane,” Baron said. “Leaves two, two-thirty in the morning, gets into Philly around three-thirty, quarter to four. Johnny’s holding a ticket for you. It’s a round-trip ticket. The return is open — you make your own reservations. Depending on how much time you need.”
He said that much and stopped. It was my turn to ask a question. I decided to wait him out.
“Guy meets you at the airport,” Baron went on. “He knows what you look like, a general description. You wear a black bow tie and make things a little easier for him. He’ll pick you up, finger the contract for you. How you do it is up to you.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
He looked surprised or pretended to. It was hard to tell which. “There’s this other guy,” he said. “You hit him. Johnny’s got a nice clean gun, can’t be traced, you can pitch it down a sewer when you’re done. You look funny — something the matter?”
“I don’t want it, Lou.”
“You want a drink? You nervous?”
“I don’t want the job.”
“Porky,” he called. “Make Nat a drink, huh? He likes rye and soda, not too much soda.” We sat there not saying anything and Porky mixed me a drink and brought it silently to me. His dark face was absolutely expressionless. I sipped the drink.
“Drink okay, Nat?” Baron asked.
“It’s fine.”
“Not too much soda?”
“Fine.”
“You want the job,” he went on, in the same tone of voice. “It’s a pretty deal. Philadelphia called up, said there’s a job to do and please send a man. I owe Philly a favor. And it’s nice, it’s pretty. Not an important hit, just a punk with large ideas, a wise punk who’s getting in the way. The price is five grand. That’s a very good price for such an easy hit.”
“I still don’t want it.”
“You still don’t want it. You hot in Philly or something?”
“No.”
“You’re too rich to have a use for five grand?”
“That’s not it. I’m not a killer. And I don’t want it.”
His eyes narrowed and we looked at each other. He smoked his cigar and I drank my drink. There was tension in the air, static electricity hovering in the room. We went on looking at each other.
“You’re not a killer, Nat?”
“No.”
“You never killed anybody? I don’t mean in a war, that doesn’t count, it’s not the same. I mean killing that’s not legal.”
I didn’t say anything. I thought about Ellen and had trouble looking into his lazy eyes. They weren’t so lazy anymore.
“I can see it,” he said. “The way you move, the way you talk, the way you act. You killed people, Nat. You sure you didn’t?”
No answer.
“I told you I’d throw good things at you,” Baron said. “This is a good thing. You aren’t going to turn it down and throw it back in my face, are you?”
I had taken the soft touch at Round Seven, the watch with its inscription, the car at a price. I had taken the good clothes and the good apartment and the good money. This was part of the package.
I said, “Who’s the contract?”
“Nobody,” he said. “A nobody named Fell, Dante Fell. A collector who started holding out. Who did this too often. Who never learned.”
I stood up. “Where’s the ticket and the gun?”
Now he was smiling. “Johnny,” he said, “give Nat the ticket and the gun. The gun is an automatic, Nat. You familiar with an automatic?”
I nodded. Johnny gave me a gun and a round-trip airline ticket to Philadelphia. I put the ticket in my wallet and the gun in my pocket.
“The reservation’s in the name of Albert Miller. You’ll be back here in plenty of time for opening up at the saloon tomorrow night. There won’t be any follow-up from Philly. If there is, you were with a dozen guys who were with you every minute of the time. So there’s no trouble.”
I nodded. I picked up my glass, finished the drink. I put it down on a table and Porky took it away to the kitchen.
“You aren’t angry, Nat. Are you?”
“Why should I be angry?”
“About the job. You still don’t want it?”
I managed to shrug. “It’s a job,” I said. “And the price is nice.”
I could have gone back to the Stennett. I could have stopped at a bar and had another drink to take some of the high-wire tension out of my system. I could have picked up a convenient whore for the same purpose.
I did something else.
I drove to the nearest drugstore and shut myself up in the phone booth. Then I put in a call to Tony Quince.
10
He answered on the second ring. I heard his hello, then music and a girl giggling in the background. I said, “No names. Is your phone okay?”
“I don’t think so,” Tony Quince said. The girl giggled again and he told her to shut up. Then he said, “How about yours?”
“I’m in a booth.”
“Give me the number,” he said. “I’ll call you back.”
I gave him the number and he rang off. I lit a cigarette and sat in the booth waiting for something to happen. The phone rang again before I had finished the cigarette.
“Fine,” he said. “Now we’re both in phone booths. I hated to leave that broad there. She’ll turn my place upside down. You sound nervous.”
“I am.”
“Let’s have it.”
I dropped my cigarette and stepped on it. “I just saw Baron,” I said. “He’s sending me to Philly on a two-thirty plane.”