During the time Moe had been shut up in the darkness he had grieved for Jacko’s loss. His grief had been devastating and genuine. He had adored Jacko. Now life without him was as empty to Moe as a hole in a wall. He just could not imagine what he would do with himself without Jacko. It was as if a shutter had slammed shut, cutting off his future existence.
The five thousand dollars he had taken from Hardy’s penthouse meant nothing to him. What was money without Jacko?
Fris-Fris watched him anxiously. He had never seen Moe like this before: uncertain, his face haggard, his eyes sightless.
“Moe! Baby! What’s the matter?” Fris-Fris asked nervously. “You must think of yourself now. I could get you on a ship. There’s one sailing tonight for Jamaica. You have money, haven’t you?”
Moe sat on one of the chairs. He put the brief-case containing the five thousand dollars on the table. He stared across the room without apparently hearing what Fris-Fris had said.
“Baby! Come on!” Fris-Fris urged. “They could come back. They knew you and me know each other. We must make a plan.”
Moe suddenly snapped out of his mood. He stiffened, and the blank expression in his eyes changed to a murderous burning hate.
“I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to get that slob who killed Jacko!”
Fris-Fris flinched.
“You’re crazy! You must get away! Forget Hardy! You must think of yourself!”
“I’m going to fix that slob. I don’t care what happens to me so long as I fix him.”
Fris-Fris wrung his fat hands.
“We’ll fix him, baby. The boys will take care of him. Every cop in town is hunting for you. You get on this ship. I’ll arrange everything. You don’t have to think of Hardy. The boys will take care of him.”
“No one’s taking care of him but me!” Moe shouted, hammering the table with his fists. “Anyone who touches that slob is in trouble with me!”
Fris-Fris lifted his hands helplessly.
“All right, baby, but you will never get him. The heat right now is terrible. Every cop...”
“Oh, wrap up! Get me a change of clothes — something dark and snap it up!”
Fris-Fris had a sudden idea. He was desperately anxious that Moe should escape. His black face lit up.
“I have a girl’s outfit here, baby. It would fit you. How’s about it? I have a beehive wig too. I’ll get you up so your own mother wouldn’t know you.”
Moe stared, then nodded.
“Now you’re talking,” he said.
Forty-five minutes later, a slim Jamaican girl, her black beehive hair like a helmet, her blue and yellow dress caught tight at her waist, her bare feet in yellow sandals, walked out of Fris-Fris’s bar and along the waterfront. She was carrying a large yellow and blue handbag: in the bag was a.38 automatic.
Gina and Hardy lay on the big double bed. Hardy was a little drunk. They had just made explosive love, and now Hardy wanted to sleep, but Gina was restless and uneasy.
“Let’s talk,” she said, stretching her beautiful naked body the way a cat stretches. “Lee! I’m worried sick. They can’t do anything to you, can they, for killing that fat beast?”
“No,” Hardy said. “It’s routine stuff. Harry will take care of it. Don’t keep on about it. It was self-defence. Now, relax, can’t you? Let’s sleep.”
“But it’s not ten yet,” Gina said. “How can I sleep? Let’s go somewhere. Let’s go to the Coral Club.”
Hardy opened his eyes and peered at her.
“If you imagine I’m going out while that black thug is still loose, you’re nuts,” he said.
Gina’s eyes opened wide.
“You mean he might do something to you?”
“What the hell do you think we have a cop outside the front door for?” Hardy asked impatiently. “What the hell do you think we have two cops planted in the lobby downstairs for? They think he’ll come up here after me. He and Jacko were husband and wife.” He sat up abruptly. “I wish to God I hadn’t shot that fat ape. I don’t know why I did it.”
“But suppose they don’t find him?” Gina asked, also sitting up, her eyes alarmed. “You mean we have to stay here until he is caught?”
“Yeah. I’m not going out until they do get him, and they will. Every cop in town is after him.”
Gina got off the bed and walked across the room to where her wrap lay on the floor. Hardy studied her nakedness as she moved and as she bent to pick up the wrap. He had known more women than he could hope to remember. Not one of them excited him as Gina excited him.
“Get me a drink,” he said, lying back on the pillow.
Gina went into the kitchen, made two whiskies and added ginger ale and ice. She came back gave one glass to Hardy, then curled up in a chair near the bed.
“Let’s get married, Lee,” she said. “I’m sick of drifting around this way. Let’s get married. We could even have kids.”
Hardy stared at her in amazement, then laughed.
“Coming from you that’s a riot. Kids? Who wants kids?”
“I do,” Gina said quietly.
After staring at her, Hardy became thoughtful.
“Well, I don’t know.” He shook his head, but Gina, watching him, saw the suggestion had made an impression.
“We needn’t rush it,” she said. “The kids I mean, but let’s get married.”
“Why can’t you be happy as you are?” Hardy asked, suddenly on the defensive. “Why should we get married?”
“I’ve already told one lie for you that could get me into trouble,” Gina said. “Now I have to tell another... that Jacko was going to kill me so you killed him first. That could also get me into trouble. I don’t like trouble, Lee. Why should I stick my neck out for you?” She paused, then went on. “I’d cut my heart out for my husband.”
Hardy frowned up at the ceiling. Why not get married? Why not even have a couple of kids?
He suddenly relaxed and grinned.
“Well, okay. Pekie, if that’s what you want,” he said. “I could do worse. It might be an idea at that. Okay, as soon as this mess has been cleared up, we’ll do it.”
“Don’t sound so damned enthusiastic,” Gina said and giggled. This was the moment she had been plotting for now for the past three weeks.
“What do you expect me to do?” Hardy asked grinning. “Set fire to the joint?”
Gina gave an excited squeal and springing up, she threw herself on him, knocking his glass flying.
At this moment, a slim Jamaican girl walked down the alley at the back of Hardy’s apartment block. She moved quickly and silently, and no one saw her as she gently opened the door that led to the janitor’s office. She stepped into the corridor, shut the door and paused to listen. The janitor’s office was in darkness. A door at the far end of the corridor stood ajar, and a light came through into the corridor. Moving like a black ghost, she edged towards the stairs as a man in the room cleared his throat noisily. She kept on and reached the first floor. Here she paused as she could see the doorman reading a sporting sheet from behind the desk. She edged to the flight of stairs and again succeeded in moving out of sight without being seen.
On the second floor landing, she pressed the elevator button and when the elevator arrived, she entered and pressed the eighth floor button... one floor below Hardy’s penthouse. As the elevator took her swiftly upwards, she opened her bag and took from it a flick knife. She touched the button and a long, glittering blade sprang from the handle. The elevator came to rest and the doors swished open. Holding the knife out of sight by her side, she stepped out of the elevator and paused to listen. Hearing nothing, she again started up the stairs. As she reached the head of the stairs, a short, thickset man with cop written all over him, started down the corridor towards her.