The Big Kill

Cookie had a good spot. His room took up the southwest corner facing the rear court where there was a reasonable amount of quiet and enough of a breeze that wasn't contaminated by the dust and exhaust gases on the street side.

I knocked twice, heard the bedsprings creak inside, then Cookie yelled, "Yeah?"

"Mike, Cookie. Get out of the sack."

"Okay, just a minute."

The key rattled in the lock and Cookie stood there in the top half of his pajamas rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "This is a hell of an hour to get up," I said.

"I was up late."

I looked at the second pillow on his bed that still had the fresh imprint of a head, then at the closed door that led off the room.

"Yeah, I'll bet. Can she hear anything in there?"

He came awake in a hurry. "Nah. Whatcha got, Mike?"

"What would you like to have?"

"Plenty. Did you see the papers?" I said no. "I'm not so dumb, Mike. The D.A.'s giving out a song and dance about that triple kill in Islip. Me, I know what happened. The rags gotta clam up because no names are mentioned, but you let me spill it and I'll clean up."

I sat down and pulled out a butt. "I'll swap," I said.

"Now wait a sec, Mike..."

"There aren't any rough boys this time. Do something for me and you'll get the story. Right from the beginning."

"You got a deal."

So I told him straight without leaving anything out and he was on the phone before I was finished talking. Dollar bills were drooling out of his eyes and the thing was big enough to get a direct line to Harry Bailen himself. I told him not to play the cops down and when he passed it down with the hint that more was yet to come if it was played right, the big shot agreed and his voice crackled excitedly until he hung up.

Cookie came back rubbing his hands and grinning at me. "Just ask me, Mike. I'll see that you get it."

I dragged in on the smoke. "Go back a ways, Cookie. Remember when Charlie Fallon died?"

"Sure. He kicked off in a movie house on Broadway, didn't he? Had a heart attack."

"That's right."

"He practically lived in them movies. Couldn't tell if he was in the classiest playhouse or the lousiest theater if you wanted to go looking for him."

I nodded that I knew about it and went on, "At the time he was either married or living with a woman. Which was it?"

"Umm..." he tugged at one ear and perched on the edge of the bed. "Nope, he wasn't married. Guess he was shacking with somebody."

"Who?"

"Hell, how'd I know? That was years ago. The guy was woman-happy."

"This one must have been special if he was living with her." His eyes grew shrewd. "You want her?"

"Yep."

"When?"

"As soon as you can."

"I dunno, Mike. Maybe she ain't around no more."

"She'll be around. That kind never leaves the city."

Cookie made a face like a weasel and started to grin a little bit. "I'll give it a spin. Supposing I gotta lay out cash?"

"Go ahead. I'll back it up. Spend what you have to." I stood up and scrawled a number on the back of a match-book cover. "I'll be waiting for you to call. You can reach me here anytime and if anybody starts buzzing you about that story your boss is going to print, tell them you picked it up as a rumor and as far as I'm concerned, you haven't seen me in a month of Sundays."

"I got it, Mike. You'll hear from me."

He was reaching for his shorts when I closed the door and I knew that if she was still there he'd find her. All I had to do was wait.

I went back to Marsha's apartment, went in and made myself a drink. She was still asleep. I knew how she felt.

It wasn't so bad this time because somebody else was doing the work. At least something was in motion. I picked up the phone, tried to get Pat and missed him by a few minutes. I didn't bother looking for him. The liquor was warm in my stomach and light in my head; the radio was humming softly and I lay there stretched out watching the smoke curl up to the ceiling.

At a quarter to eight I opened the door to the bedroom and switched on the light. She had thrown back the covers and lay there with her head pillowed on her arm, a dream in copper-colored nylon who smiled in her sleep and wrinkled her nose at an imaginary somebody.

She didn't wake up until I kissed her, and when she saw me I knew who it was she had been dreaming of. "Don't ever talk about me, girl, you just slept the clock around too."

"Oh... I couldn't have, Mike!"

"You did. It's almost eight P.M."

"I was supposed to have gone to the theater this afternoon. What will they think?"

"I guess we're two of a kind, kid."

"You think so?" Her hands met behind my head and she pulled my face down to hers, searching for my mouth with lips that were soft and full and just a little bit demanding. I could feel my fingers biting into her shoulders and she groaned softly asking and wanting me to hold her closer.

Then I held her away and looked at her closely, wondering if she would be afraid like Ellen too. She wrinkled her nose at me this time as if she knew what I had been thinking and I knew that she wouldn't be afraid of anything. Not anything at all.

I said, "Get up," and she squirmed until her feet were on the floor. I backed out of the room and made us something to eat while she showered, and after we ate there was an hour of sitting comfortably watching the sun go back down again, completing its daily cycle.

At five minutes to ten it started to rain again.

I sat in the dark watching it slant against the lights of the city. Something in my chest hammered out that this, too, was the end of a cycle. It had started in the rain and was going to end in the rain. It was a deadly cycle that could start from nothing, and nothing could stop it until it completed its full revolution.

The Big Kill. That's what Decker had wanted to make.

He made it. Then he became part of it himself.

The rain tapped on the window affectionately, a kitten scratching playfully to be let in. A jagged streak of lightning cut across the west, a sign that soon that playful kitten would become a howling, screaming demon.

At seven minutes after ten Cookie called.

There was a tenseness in my body, an overabundance of energy that had been stored away waiting for this moment before coming forward. I felt it flow through me, making the skin tighten around my jaws before it seeped into my shoulders, bunching the muscles in hard knots.

I picked up the phone and said hello.

"This is Cookie, Mike." He must have had his face pressed into the mouthpiece. His voice had a hoarse uncertain quality. "Go ahead."

"I found her. Her name is Georgia Lucas and right now she's going under the name of Dolly Smith."

"Yeah. What else?"

"Mike... somebody else is after her too. All day I've been crossing tracks with somebody. I don't like it. She's hot, Mike."

The excitement came back, all of it, a hot flush of pleasure because the chase was still on and I was part of it. I asked him, "Who, Cookie? Who is it?"

"I dunno, but somebody's there. I've seen signs like these before. I'm telling you she's hot and if you want her you better do something quick."

"Where is she?"

"Not twenty-five feet away from where I'm standing. She's got on a red and white dress and hair to match. Right now she's doing a crummy job of singing a torch song."

"Where, dammit!"

"It's a place in the Village, a little night club. Harvey's."

"I know where it is."

"Okay. The floor show goes off in about ten minutes and won't come on for an hour again. In between times she's doubling as a cigarette girl. I don't like some of the characters around this place, Mike. If I can I'll get to her in the dressing room. And look, you can't get in the back room where she is if you're stag, so I better call up Tolly and have her meet us."

"Forget Tolly. I'll bring my own company. You stick close to her." I slapped the phone back, holding it in place for a minute. I was thinking of what her face would be like. She was the woman in the compound with me, the other one watching the play. She was the woman Lou Grindle found worth cursing in the same breath with Fallon and Link and me. She was the woman somebody was after and the woman who could supply the answers.