“From under the picture, near the bathroom,” persisted Johnny.
“But it’s gone, I’m telling you.”
Johnny went on: “Take the subway to Harlem. Stand on the corner of Lenox and One Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street until a man comes up and asks you for the record. Got that?”
“But I can’t bring the record, Johnny,” Sam wailed. “I told you it’s gone—”
“And you’re not to bring anyone with you and don’t tell anyone where you’re going. Catch on?”
Joe reached down and put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Hang up!”
Johnny put the receiver back on the hook. It was up to Sam, now. Although what Sam could do, he didn’t know. The ransom instructions were simple enough, but the fulfilling of them was foolproof. Sam didn’t have the record and if he couldn’t deliver it to Georgie...
Joe said: “It’ll take him about a half hour to get to Lenox and One Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street. Better get down there now, Georgie, so you can spot anyone that might be loafing there and you won’t confuse them with any newcomers.”
Georgie slapped his right fist into the palm of his left hand. “And there better not be any monkey business!”
Johnny returned to the couch and Joe went back to his table. But as Georgie left the room, Joe took out his little .32 and put it on the table within easy reach.
“We could play a little gin while waiting,” Johnny suggested.
“And you make a grab for the gun?” Joe smiled. “That’s how Billy the Kid got out of jail. I read about it in a book. He killed the jailer, with his own gun.”
“That’s the trouble with people these days. They read too much.”
“So you sit there on the couch, nice and quiet. And if you make a sudden move — well, you still get a hunk of lead in your kneecap.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Johnny said. “I’ll match Sam against Georgie. Two falls out of three and we’ll let Georgie have the first fall.”
“Oh, your friend’s tough, is he? Georgie fights for keeps.”
“So does Sam, and I’ll make it even more interesting. You can tie Sam’s right arm down to his body.”
“You’re crazy, Fletcher. What’d be the point in letting them fight?”
“A little side bet.”
“What would you use for money?”
“Sam carries our bankroll. He’s got a thousand dollars in his pocket right now.”
Joe looked sharply at Johnny. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”
“It interests you?”
“It’s what we’re getting for this job.”
“Then you’re a piker. I was offered five thousand for that phonograph record last night.”
Joe exclaimed angrily, “Who offered you five grand?”
“A fellow named Orville Seebright: There were some fellows with him, fellows named Dorcas, Doniger, Armstrong and Farnham...”
“Never heard of them,” said Joe. But there was a slight pause before he said it.
“A thousand dollars,” said Johnny. “And all you’ve got to do is to tell me the name of the man who hired you for this caper.”
“It’s too late.”
“We can get to the corner before Georgie meets Sam.”
Joe slammed his fist on the table so hard that his cards bounced up and scattered over the floor. “I’ve never double-crossed a client in my life.”
“Ethics?”
“Damn right. It’s your reputation in this racket that brings you the business. You double-cross a customer and it gets around. We said we’d do this for a G and keep our mouths shut.”
“All right,” said Johnny. “You can have the record and I’ll still give you the thousand dollars—”
“Without the record?”
“Yes. You’ve made four hundred already, you can get your thousand from the customer... and another thousand from me. A total of twenty-four hundred dollars.” He paused for emphasis. “A nice day’s work.”
Joe stared at Johnny, his mouth slightly open.
“Fourteen hundred,” said Johnny, “or twenty-four hundred.”
“No, goddamit!” cried Joe. And to brush away the temptation, he began gathering up the cards. His mind still preoccupied, he stooped to pick up those that had fallen to the floor.
That was when Johnny started moving.
From near the floor, Joe saw Johnny diving for him. He cried out hoarsely, started to jerk up to reach his gun that was lying on the table.
Johnny hit the table and sent it crashing over Joe and spilling the gun. Then Johnny was swarming over the table. Joe was muscular and tough, but he wasn’t Georgie. And he hadn’t taken the beating Johnny had taken. He was only trying to protect his financial interest and resist a medium-sized beating.
Johnny was fighting — for everything.
He used his fists, elbows, teeth, knees and even his feet. He clawed Joe, smashed him with his fists, kneed and kicked him. And when Joe tried to gouge out his eyes, he used his teeth on Joe’s hands.
He dragged him across the room, away from the vicinity of the gun, banged his head on the floor, pounded and battered him with his fists. And within thirty seconds of the launching of the attack, Joe lay on the floor, a quivering hulk of flesh.
Johnny got to his feet, searched for Joe’s .32 and, finding it, stuck it in his pocket. He started for the door, but detoured to stoop over Joe. He got all the money out of Joe’s pocket, then picked up his head and banged it back on the floor... to make sure that Joe would get a nice long sleep.
Then he left the apartment and staggered down the stairs.
Chapter Seventeen
Sam hung up the receiver, after talking to Johnny Fletcher on the phone. His jaw slack, he stared wildly about the room. Johnny was on a spot, he had gathered that much. And it was up to Sam to get him out of it. But how...?
He was to meet a man on a street corner. That was good enough. Sam thought he could hold onto whatever man showed up and convince him that it was wise to lead him to where Johnny was being held. And there Sam’s two fists could get to work.
But Johnny’s instructions had been explicit. He was to bring the phonograph record with him. Without it, the man he was to meet probably wouldn’t come up to Sam and identify himself.
The phonograph record.
A phonograph record. They all looked alike from a distance, didn’t they?
Sam slammed out of the room, rode down to the lobby in the elevator and saw Eddie Miller standing beside his little stand at the far end of the lobby. He hurried over to him.
“Where’s the nearest place that they sell phonograph records, Eddie?” he asked.
“Why, there’s a place over on Seventh Avenue, right around the corner...”
Sam winced. That was the place he and Johnny had visited the day before. He didn’t think he would be welcomed at the particular store.
“I don’t want to go to that place,” he said. “Isn’t there another shop handy?”
“I can’t think of any offhand. You see them everywhere when you aren’t looking for them, but when you want one...”
Sam groaned and whirled away from Eddie, leaving the bell captain staring after him. He burst out of the hotel and half ran, half walked over to Seventh Avenue.
He entered the phonograph shop and, of course, out of a half dozen clerks, the one he didn’t want came up. He recognized Sam. “A package of needles?” he asked sarcastically. “Or do you want to examine the twelve hundred dollar model again...?”
“I want a record,” said Sam, “that’s all — and I want it in a hurry.”
“A record?” the salesman smirked. “What good is a record without a phonograph to play it?”
Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. “Gimme a record and give it to me quick.”
The salesman shrugged. “What record?”
“Any record, I don’t care what it is.”