“Go on,” I said, turning my back on Show Business, who kicked me in the calf and stamped out of the place. I held back a groan and listened to Seidman.
“Well, a few months ago, the New York D.A. got his triggerman Reles in a corner and he was ready to turn states and pin the Greenie murder on Siegel. Then.…”
“Reles took a dive,” I said, remembering the story.
“Right,” said Seidman, “Shortly after seven in the morning on the 12th of last month, Reles, who had been guarded around the clock by eighteen cops in the Half Moon Hotel at Coney Island, was found dead on a roof extension six floors below his room. The window of the room was open, and from it dangled a makeshift escape line made from knotted sheets and wire long enough to reach the room on the floor below.”
“But.…”
“But,” Seidman continued, “the body was so far from the makeshift line that it had clearly been thrown and had not fallen. Reles had no reason to run. He was supposedly in the safest place in the world for him.”
“You mean the cops killed him?” I said.
“I didn’t say that,” Seidman added quickly. “Someone killed him. They’ve got another guy in the hole who says he worked with Siegel on the Greenie killing, name’s Allie Tannenbaum. Case comes up in a few months, but Tannenbaum won’t be enough to convict Siegel. That’s all I can give you without an hour or two of reading, and I have a disgruntled taxpayer behind me who needs my attention. Take care, Peters. Siegel isn’t a good guy to play games with.”
I said I’d take care and hung up. Outside, the strip wasn’t really crowded yet. It was still too early for that.
The Hollywood Lounge had both an awning and a doorman, which was what you needed to be a recognized joint on the strip. The doorman looked at me lazily and polished a button on his grey uniform. Inside the door was darkness and music from a juke box. Harry James was blowing “You Made Me Love You.” I listened for a few seconds while my eyes adjusted to the interior browns. I started to make out shapes and tables. There was a small platform for a floor show, a bar with a bartender and a dozen or so tables. A man and a woman were drinking and smoking at the bar. Four men were sitting at one of the tables, talking in low tones. At a table near the stage a woman sat alone. It was Miss Show Business with the sharp shoes. She saw me across the empty room and it was hostility at second sight. I put my hands up in a sign of peace and moved to the bar. The barkeep, a wheelbarrow of a man with enormous bags under his eyes, moved to take my order.
“Mr. Siegel’s expecting me,” I said softly. “Name’s Peters.”
The barkeep grunted and waddled to the end of the bar where he picked up a phone, said something into it and nodded at the response. Miss Show Business looked darts at me. I smiled back. Her darts softened and in another few seconds they might have turned to smiles, but I didn’t get the few seconds.
The barkeep nodded at a door a few feet away from me. I said thanks, wondering what his voice was like, and went through the door. I found myself in a small hallway facing a narrow flight of stairs. As I started up, I became aware of someone standing at the top and it was a big someone. I was constantly running into big someones.
This big someone waited till I got to the top step and then made a sign with his hands that it would be nice if I raised my arms. I raised my arms and he searched me. Our eyes met and I didn’t like what I saw in his. He nodded me through a door and closed it behind me.
The room was a large office with the desk off in the corner as if space had been cleared in the middle for something. Next to the desk stood an ape of a man in a light grey suit with big lapels. Behind the desk sat a guy with even white teeth and a false smile.
The smiler, I decided, was Bugsy Siegel. He was a well-built man with a prominent nose which had taken a break and veered to the left. His dark hair was parted evenly on the left and was receding slightly. His suit was dark and his tie blue. He had a neat handkerchief in his pocket. I suddenly recognized his face.
“You Peters?” said Siegel, getting up and letting the smile drop slightly. The touch of Brooklyn was still in his voice.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I know you from somewhere,” he said suspiciously.
“The YMCA,” I said.
He snapped his fingers and looked at the ape next to him. The ape was sweating and didn’t respond.
“Right,” Siegel said easing up, “you work out there too. We never really met.”
“Right,” I said with a smile at my fellow Y member. I had seen him working out occasionally at the Y for the last few years. We never talked and I hadn’t known who he was-the two guys who watched him while he worked out didn’t promote friendliness. The guy I recognized as Siegel did a lot of running and swimming, and I had seen him boxing a few times.
“You’re not here to challenge me to four or five rounds, are you?” he said amiably, looking at the ape to appeciate his joke. The ape did so with a small smile. I appreciated his joke too.
“No challenge of any kind,” I said. “I need some help. I told you on the phone I’m working for Howard Hughes. On the night of the party you went to at his house in Mirador, someone tried to steal Hughes’ plans for some important military weapons.”
Siegel got up quickly from behind his desk. Ape didn’t move. Siegel’s smile was gone.
“Wait,” I said quickly. “I came here for your help. I’m not accusing you of anything.”
Siegel nodded cautiously for me to continue.
“At first I wasn’t sure if someone had actually tried to steal anything that night,” I said, looking at him and trying not to blink and look nervous. “But last night a guy named Frye tried to kill me to stop the investigation and got himself strangled. And this afternoon Major Barton, who was at the party, caught two bullets in his heart before he could tell me anything.”
“I didn’t like Barton,” said Siegel. “You know why I didn’t like him?” I said I didn’t know and Siegel went on, “Because he knew who I was and said something that didn’t please me. He had a few too many belts, of booze in him and said things people shouldn’t say.”
“That won’t do you any good if the cops start putting things together and find out you knew him,” I said, to keep Siegel talking. “They’ve got reasons for trying to nail you, and you’ve got one indictment on your head now.”
“You know a lot about my business,” Siegel said suspiciously, coming around the desk and stepping toward me. The ape didn’t move a muscle, just stood there, sweating.
“Not enough to get me in trouble,” I said quickly. “My only interest is in finding out who tried to get those plans and, maybe, who put away two people in the last eighteen hours. They’re probably the same person and they’re probably up to something that won’t be good for this country.”
I hoped patriotism would move Siegel or at least back him away from suspicion toward me. It did.
This country has given me some rough times,” he said. “But it’s given me a lot too.”
You mean you’ve taken a lot, I thought to myself, resisting the almost overwhelming urge to say it aloud. I was proud of my restraint.
“You know what that Hitler bastard is doing to Jews?” he said.
I said I had some idea, and he said I didn’t.
“If there’s a war,” he said earnestly, “I’m going to do what I can to help beat Hitler. I was going to tell Hughes that, but his party broke up early and I never got the chance. You can tell him for me.”
“I will,” I said. “Now about Major Barton.…”
“If the cops try to hang that on me, they’ll be wasting their time. I didn’t do it. In my business, we only kill each other.”
Siegel calmed himself by taking a deep breath and looking at his well-scrubbed hands. Then he answered the phone that was ringing on his desk. He listened for a few seconds. “Carbo? All right,” he turned to me. “I’ve got to go downstairs for a few minutes. Talk to Jerry and make yourself a drink if you want.” Siegel went out the same door I had come through. I looked at the ape named Jerry and he looked at me. I moved to a chair in the corner and sat down.