Build My Gallows High (5 page)

Lloyd Eels was a tall man who hadn’t come off the assembly line. Somebody had found some spare parts lying around and had put them together carelessly, not bothering to get the bolts tight so that they seemed almost ready to come apart. He had black, sad eyes and a black mustache like an untrimmed hedge. No amount of combing would help his shock of hair. Red ordinarily didn’t like attorneys. The ones he had known were either pompous and crooked or ratty and crooked. But he liked Eels.

The man was a bachelor and lived on Central Park South in an old apartment building that didn’t belong among the newer and bigger structures. There was no doorman. Red punched the bell, announced himself and heard the click in the street door lock. Across the hall from the superintendent’s apartment was a small, automatic elevator that took him up to the fourth floor. They were remodeling one of the apartments on the floor and the hall was a mess of ladders, rolls of paper and buckets.

Eels opened the door for him and led him into the living room that opened on a balcony. Eels, by the looks of things, had plenty of money. He also had a decided yen for Meta Carson, who was sitting on the balcony with a Martini in her hand. Red wondered if he ever did anything about the yen. If so he was due for a surprise one of these days when he found out the lady had peculiar connections.

At first Eels was quiet, almost rude. Apparently he figured Red was doing a bit of trespassing. But when he was told that Red came from California, that he was a distant relative of Meta’s who didn’t plan to stick around, Eels warmed up.

‘I couldn’t let Red leave town without meeting you.’ Meta’s voice dripped sweetness. ‘Lloyd’s my favorite boss,’ she added, batting her eyes at Red. Eels almost purred.

‘Meta seems to spend all her time thinking about you,’ Red said.’I’m beginning to understand her deep interest.’

Eels moved closer to Meta and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ’You picked the wrong time to come to New York, Mr. Bailey. But at that, most any time is the wrong one. I never can understand why Californians come east.’

‘Then you know California?’

‘Very well. Particularly San Francisco.’ He smiled at Red. ‘There’s a little restaurant on Pine Street I like tremendously.’ ‘Pierre’s?’

‘That’s it.’

‘I live in Bridgeport, near Reno,’ Red said pointedly. ’Ever been to Reno?’

Meta shot a warning glance across at him.

‘Once. It impressed me as tawdry. Cheap.’

‘Wonderful country around it though,’ Red evaded Meta’s glance. ‘Some fine ranches. A friend of mine has a beautiful place. Fellow named Parker.’

Eels’ glance had only polite interest in it. Meta’s voice didn’t. ’He isn’t interested in your friends, Red.’

‘If he knew Parker, he’d be interested in him,’ Red insisted. ‘Quite a guy, Parker.’

Meta drained her glass and stood up. ‘Red has people to see. We must be going.’

‘No,’ Eels protested. ‘He just got here.’

‘I’m in no hurry.’ Red smiled at Meta.

‘Stick around. We’ll have dinner.’ Eels trailed Meta through the terrace door.

‘Can’t,’ Meta told him. ’Come on, Red.’

Eels threw a suspicious glance back at Red who moved after them into the living room. Meta saw it. She took both Eels’ hands and smiled up at him. ‘Red’s leaving tomorrow night. Then you’ll have me all to yourself.’

Seeing the gratitude in Eels’ eyes, Red became irritated. He wanted to hurl the girl over the balcony, stand there and watch her go spinning down.
The bitch,
he thought, the
dirty little bitch!
He wanted to start talking. He wanted to say, ’My lad, you’re being screwed and I’m being screwed, and I’ve got a hunch you don’t deserve it.’ But would Eels listen? Probably not. When a man had it bad, there was no hope for him.

They might as well have stayed for another drink. Meta insisted on showing Red what a good amateur photographer Eels was, what fine books he had and what a beautiful apartment this was. Eels shambled around after them, watching Meta as though she was something lovely and precious and fine. That made Red feel pretty horrible, made him wish more than ever he knew what was going on.

‘Sorry you have to go,’ Eels said when they were finally at the door. ‘Come again, won’t you?’

‘Thanks,’ Red shook his outstretched hand.

Red stood aside to let Meta precede him through the door. Then because Eels obviously wanted a moment alone with the girl, he went into the hall and across to the elevator. He punched the button, heard the whir of machinery as the lift creaked into motion, heard Eels’ low voice behind him.

‘Tomorrow night, darling?’

‘No, Lloyd.’

The cage climbed wearily up, stopped and the door slid open. Behind Red there was silence and he thought, hell, let the guy have his kiss or two while he still wants them because when he finds out about Meta Carson he won’t want them anymore. Then Eels spoke again.

‘Goodnight, Meta.’

‘Goodnight.’

‘Monday morning?’

‘Right.’

‘The file’s in order?’

’Yes.’

More silence. Meta crossed the hall and got into the elevator. She smiled past Red at the man waiting in the doorway.

‘Goodbye,’ Eels told them both.

‘So long,’ Red said and closed the door.

They didn’t speak until they reached the street. It was cooler than it had been but not exactly pleasant. They walked down Sixth Avenue and turned south.

‘You’re a cute guy,’ Meta said. ‘But what did it get you?’

‘I found out one thing. He doesn’t know Parker.’

‘Who said he did?’

‘Parker said he had a friend Eels was pushing around. I didn’t believe him.’

‘So he has a friend.”

‘Suppose I went back and spilled the little I know.’

‘I wouldn’t.’

‘The guy’s in love with you.’

‘My dear boy,’ Meta said.’Of course he is. He’s been making fumbles at me for six months.’ She saw a cab down the block and went to it. Red opened the door and got in beside her.

‘Graybar Building,’ Meta told the driver. His name was Abe Cross and he was even meaner looking than the picture on his registration card.

‘Gonna rain,’ the driver said.

‘That’s right,’ Red said.

The driver swung the cab around in the middle of the block.

Meta sat in the corner, smoking a Kool. Tonight she wore a white dress, simply cut. A white turban was wrapped around her well-shaped head. She watched Red speculatively, a smile on her full lips. ’Can you find your way around the place?’ she asked presently.

‘Blindfolded. When do I play porch climber?’

‘There’s no hurry.’

‘Fumbles,’ Red said. ‘That’s an insulting way to speak ot .1 guy. At least give him credit for a pass.’

‘I’ll be sorry when you leave. You could be good fun. Red.’

‘I’m a card,’ Red said. ‘How long have you worked for him?’

‘Six months.’

‘What have they got on you?’

She tried to look surprised. ‘Got on me?’

‘Parker.’

‘What could he have on me?’

‘Plenty. Or you wouldn’t be double-crossing such a nice guy’

‘Maybe I’m not double-crossing him. Maybe he’s been pushing friends of mine around. You know how he makes his money?’ Her tone had hardened.

‘How?’

‘He works for a guy, then digs up—-’ She thought better of it. shrugged.

‘Digs up what?’

‘Skip it. Has Parker got something on you?’

‘A trifling little matter. Where are we going?’

‘I’m getting out.’ She spoke to the driver. ‘Stop at the next intersection.’

‘Okay lady,’ the driver said.

‘What about me?’ Red asked.

‘You’ll find something to do.’ The cab pulled up at the curb, she smiled at him and got out. Up the street a little way was the entrance to the Graybar Building.

‘Now where?’ the driver asked.

‘St. Regis,’ Red said. But the cab had gone only a half-block before he changed his mind. ’I’ll get off here,’ he told the driver, paid him, waited until the cab pulled away then headed back down the street. Meta was nowhere in sight.

In front of the Graybar Building he stopped and looked into the dimly lighted lobby. It was deserted. A thought occurred to him and he went inside and read the names on the directory. With no surprise he saw that Lloyd Eels occupied an office on the twelfth floor. Turning, he hurried out but stopped in a dark entryway nearby and waited.

The air was oppressive, heavy with the threat of rain and in the west thunder rumbled. A sailor and a thin, dark-haired girl sauntered by. When the sailor said something in a low voice the girl giggled and pressed against him. Out in the street the traffic flowed thinly. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Whatever Meta Carson was up to took time—unless she hadn’t gone into the building. Still he waited, standing in the shadowy entry, listening and watching. Then she came out walking briskly. In her right hand was a brief case. She crossed to the curb and stood there looking up and down the street. One hand went up as a cruising cab came slowly along. The cab swung around and stopped in front of her.

‘Hudson River Club,’ Meta said as she opened the door.

Watching the cab’s tail-light disappear, Red considered visiting the Hudson River Club. He wanted very much to know what was in that brief case. But following her would be a waste of time, he decided, so he went instead to the St. Regis bar.

He had been sitting on a stool for two hours before he figured things out. Then it was too late. When he crawled along the balcony and peered into Eels’ living room he realized that.

Lloyd Eels was sprawled on the floor and he was dead.

A wind had come up. It pushed the drapes aside and ran through the room, ruffling the dark hair of the man lying on the floor. Thunder rumbled somewhere but it was far away.

The body was the first thing Red saw when he made his way along the balcony from the vacant apartment next door. Getting into the building had been simple enough. He had shoved two or three buttons and someone had released the catch for him. The door into the apartment being redecorated was conveniently open. He had gone through it, out to the balcony and thence to Eels’ place. He stood outside a moment, looking into the room. He went in and bent over the murdered man. Eels had been shot through the head.

Anger flared within him. The sons of bitches! Pulling something like this. Well, they weren’t going to get away with it. He straightened, looked around him. On the wall at the left of the bookshelves a picture was pushed aside and a wall safe gaped open. Papers were scattered on the floor below it, the wind tumbling them about. He didn’t pick them up or look through them. Hurriedly he moved around the room, trying to remember the things he had touched, wiping them clean with his handkerchief, knowing all the time that it was futile. Stupid. Jesus, he had been stupid! Falling for a setup like this one. Well, he’d make it tough for them. And if they got him he wouldn’t go alone. He’d take Parker, the Carson woman and anyone else who got in his way. But he mustn’t lose his head. He had figured some of it out but only some of it. He needed time. And time was what he was going to have. Not much but maybe enough.

In the hall he found the linen closet, took from it a sheet and rolled Eels’ body in the sheet. He opened the door into the hall and made sure no one was about. Then he lifted the sheet-wrapped body and carried it into the vacant apartment. The workmen had finished in the bedroom. That was the place. The bedroom closet. He located it and dumped his bundle on the floor. If luck was on his side they wouldn’t find it for a while.

He straightened the body. Poor bastard, he thought. Poor unlucky bastard! He closed and locked the door, wiped the key clean and pushed it under the door.

Blood stained the rug where Eels had lain. Red rolled it up, shoved it behind the davenport and replaced it with the rug from the hall. Quickly he gathered the scattered papers, shoved them into the safe, closed it, spun the combination and wiped it clean. He put the picture back in place. No evidence of an intruder now. Anyone coming in to look for Eels would find everything in order. That’s the way it must be.

He found the stairway, walked up two flights and pushed the elevator button. He was on his way down when the buzzer told him someone was waiting on the first floor. The stop button halted his descent. He thumbed number two hoping to God the car would obey him. It did and he got out, waited until the old cage climbed skyward again. Then he went down the stairs and out into the street.

Rain was falling. Rain drummed on the pavement and few people were about. He walked rapidly east, turned south at Fifth Avenue, his hat pulled low, the rain bearing down on him, soaking through his light jacket, slopping into his shoes. He didn’t mind. He was cool for the first time in two days.

He wanted a drink badly but knew there was no time. At Fifty-Fifth Street he got into a cab and told the driver to take him to Second Avenue and Forty-Seventh Street. From there he walked east until he was opposite Meta Carson’s apartment building. A passageway led north alongside a church. He moved down the passage. A wall stopped him. He jumped, hooked his fingers on the top and pulled his lean body up. When he saw that her apartment was dark he dropped into the court. He stood close to the wall for a few moments, waiting. A party was in progress upstairs, the guests good and drunk. No one else was stirring.

Crouching he crossed to the double doors. Getting them open was a cinch. A passkey did the trick but he didn’t go in right away. Carefully he wiped his shoes on the mat and wrung most of the water from his clothes. It was raining harder than ever and the thunder was right overhead. Lightning repeatedly slit the cloudbanks and the rain seemed to come down faster, as though it was pouring through the holes made by the ragged blades of light.

Inside he found the light switch and flipped it up. He began searching the place. He worked methodically and efficiently, leaving no evidence that anything had been disturbed. After a while he stopped long enough to pour some Scotch in a water glass. By the time he finished going through the place the glass was empty. The liquor served only to make him angrier than ever. He went back to Meta’s desk for another look at its contents. It didn’t help him much. Carson was a careful woman. He hunched over the desk, leaning on his elbows, his eyes half closed, knowing that in this room somewhere was part of the answer. But where? No letters, no addresses, nothing. He straightened suddenly. Someone was coming down the hall.

There was a door near the desk It opened into a small closet and he had switched off the lights and was inside in one quick movement with the door closed. A key rattled in the lock. Footsteps crossed the room. A band of light grew under the door. He heard the sound of the telephone dial. Meta spoke:

‘Sorry to bother you,’ Meta’s voice said. ‘But I’m worried about Mr. Eels. He’s home, I know. Yet he doesn’t answer his phone.’

Silence followed. Someone at the other end apparently was speaking.

‘I spoke to him not half an hour ago,’ Meta said, ‘I was to call him again. He said he’d wait there.’ Again silence. Then the woman’s low voice.’Please do. Thanks.’

He heard her moving about the room. A cupboard opened. A glass clinked. She was pouring herself a drink. A good thing he put that bottle and glass away, he thought. The couch sighed as she sat on it. Presently the telephone bell shrilled and he heard her hurry to the desk.

‘Yes?’ her voice said. ‘What’s that? But—are you sure he isn’t there?’

The person on the other end of the wire must have been very sure. ‘You went all through the apartment? Well—thank you. I’m sorry I bothered you. But I was worried. Goodnight.’

The closet was small and very hot. Red downed his impulse to open the door. The thing to do was to wait. He pressed his face against the wall, listening. He heard her pacing nervously about, heard the clink of the glass. She must be puzzled, worried. She must be wondering what in hell had gone wrong. Perhaps she would light out for Eels’ apartment presently. That would be fine. That would give him another shot at her apartment.

But she didn’t go out. After a bit she came back to the desk and he heard the click of the telephone dial.

‘Mr. Stefanos, please,’ Meta said.

Red drew a deep breath and felt his nails bite into his palms.

Meta’s fingers drummed impatiently on the desk top. She said something under her breath. Soon she spoke again into the phone.’Thank you. Tell him to call Meta Carson right away’

She was putting the receiver in its cradle when Red opened the door.