Fifteen
It was shortly after two on Monday afternoon that the phone sounded through the oppressive silence of the lodge. Grant lifted the receiver, frowning nervously, but after a few seconds his expression cleared, and he said, “That’s fine, everything’s going right on schedule.” He winked at Duke who was sitting at the fireplace, and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. “Okay now, there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. You just remember what I’ve told you... that’s right. Fine... fine.”
Grant put the receiver back in place and slapped the table with the flat of his hand. He began to laugh then, his voice high and giddy with relief. “Like clockwork, Duke,” he said. “The blind closed right on the dot of twelve.”
“They’ve got the money then,” Duke said.
“Sure they’ve got it; they’re playing ball. We’re going to pull this off, Duke.”
“Great,” Duke said. Since his run-in with Hank in the girl’s room, he had been drinking steadily, sitting and staring into the red eye of the fire. A frown hardened his dark features, and the leaping flames gleamed on the backs of his hands and cast a faint sheen on his thick black hair. “We’re coming to the payoff,” he said.
“That’s right. Tonight Creasy sends a note telling them about the money. The Bradleys get it in the morning. The cash register rings tomorrow night. Creasy picks up the dough, and it’s all over.”
“Except for the loose ends,” Duke said.
“Yeah.” Grant rubbed a hand over his face. “The loose ends.” He glanced at the door to the kitchen; Hank and Belle were in there finishing up the lunch dishes. The nurse was upstairs with the baby. “You got any ideas?” he said.
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
They sat close together, speaking so softly that their voices were covered by the crackle of the fire. Duke took a sip of his drink. They were silent, avoiding each other’s eyes. Finally Grant let out his breath slowly. “What are we going to do?”
Duke smiled faintly. “You’re running things. It’s up to you.”
“Don’t clown around.”
“We’ll do what we got to do, Eddie. There’s no choice. Not the way I see it. Maybe you got another idea.”
“No — but how’s it going to look?”
“We’ll make it look all right.”
“Duke—” Grant hesitated, swallowing something in his throat. “You mean both of them?”
“Hold it,” Duke said.
Belle came into the room, carrying a white porcelain dish filled with clean, damp diapers. “I just rinsed these out,” she said. “Takes a little load off the girl.” Belle’s manner was righteous and complacent, but her eyes were slightly glazed over; she was proving something but she wasn’t quite sure what. “Can you move back a bit, Eddie? I want to hang ’em before the fire.”
“For Christ’s sake, we’re talking.”
“All right, you’re talking. It won’t hurt to move your chair, will it?”
“Hang the diapers in the kitchen.”
“They won’t dry, Eddie. I know.”
Duke said quietly, “Take the diapers and yourself back where you came from, Belle. This isn’t a nursery.”
“Well, that’s a fine—”
“Beat it!” Grant said. “Will you do what I tell you? We’re busy!”
“And that’s more important than the baby being clean and comfortable. Sure.” Belle shook her head and wandered back into the kitchen. They heard her say to Hank: “The brain trust is in session in there.”
Grant stared at the doorway for an instant, and then turned back to Duke. “Both of them? The nurse and the kid?”
“That’s my idea. You got another one?”
“Will it look all right?”
“The cops will have their answer in one package. The nurse and the kid. They won’t look any farther.”
“A note would help,” Grant said. “From the nurse to the family. Saying she’s sorry, maybe. Wouldn’t that help?”
“That’s pretty good. In fact, it’s damn good.” They sat without speaking for another minute and then Duke looked at Grant and said irritably, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll get the note. Don’t worry about it.”
“And I’ll get some wood. We’d freeze if I waited for anybody else to stir his tail.”
As Duke limped toward the front door Grant walked into the kitchen and said to Hank, “I need some paper and a pencil. You got any?”
“I think so.”
“Fine, get ’em.” Then he looked down at Belle who was sitting at the kitchen table. “Go upstairs and tell the nurse I want her. Come on, move.”
“All right,” Belle said, trying to strike a note of disinterested dignity, but she had been drinking steadily that morning and the words slurred together in a liquid murmur. Grant ran himself a glass of water at the sink and said, “You might try some of this stuff for a change. It’s a little-known beverage called water.”
“Dear, dear,” Belle said, patting the back of her head. “Some people around here are just getting lousy with virtue.”
“Beat it,” Grant said sharply. “You aren’t funny, you’re pathetic.”
“All right, I said I was going.” Her defiance wilted under the coldness in his eyes. She knew he was disgusted with her, that he thought her a slatternly nuisance; he made no effort to hide his feelings. It wasn’t fair, she thought, getting unsteadily to her feet. It was cruel... If he was tired of her, well okay. They’d had good times together, they’d meant something to each other. She wouldn’t spoil all that now. She’d bow out. She had some pride after all. It wasn’t fair of Eddie to make her feel so cheap and small. She hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of...
As she left the room, Hank returned with a pencil and a notebook. “These okay?” he said to Grant.
“Yeah, they’re fine. Just put ’em on the table.”
“Everything going all right?” Hank said casually.
“What do you mean?”
“I was just wondering if you’re going to make it. What’s your guess?”
Grant stared at him for a few seconds in silence. Then he said slowly, “I don’t have to guess, Junior.”
“You’d better be nicer to Belle. That’s a friendly tip. If you don’t brush her off gently, she might blow the whistle on you some day. Women are like that.”
“You’d better write an advice to the lovelorn column,” Grant said. “Better than that, you better just shut up. Understand?”
“Sure.”
Grant sipped his water, still staring at him. Then he said, “Why do you care? Don’t tell me you’re pulling for us.”
“Just because you’re underdogs? No, it’s not that,” Hank said.
“We’re not underdogs. We’re on top. That’s how I planned it.”
“You didn’t plan on the nurse,” Hank said. “You didn’t plan on me.”
“That’s right. So we’ll improvise. You watch.” Grant turned as the nurse came into the kitchen, with Belle holding her elbow lightly.
“Sit down,” he said, nodding to a chair in front of the pencil and pad. “You’re going to write a note to the Bradleys. In your own words, you tell ’em the kid is okay, and you’re sorry if they’ve been scared or worried. You got that?”
She sat down slowly at the table, and one of her slim hands moved across the table and touched the pencil. “Is that all?” she said, watching Grant without expression.
“That’s the start. The rest goes this way: tell them you’re sorry you took the baby, but that you needed money. You didn’t know what a terrible thing it was until it was too late to turn back. Ask them—” Grant gestured irritably. “To forgive you, I guess is all right. Put it in your own words without trying for anything fancy. You want me to run through it once more for you?”