He Won't Need it Now (13 page)

     Gleason's skin went a little yellow, and he opened his eyes very wide. He said, running all his words together, “It was that damned little judy.”
     Duffy pushed his hat to the back of his head. His face glistened in the diffused light. “You damned louse,” he said, “you nearly made me kill you.”
     Gleason lay back in the chair. He looked bad.
     Duffy said, “What's this dame to you?”
     “She's my wife.” Gleason put his hands on his coat lapels to stop them from shaking. “I wish to God I'd never seen her.”
     “So that's it, is it? She killed Cattley and Weidmer and Olga?”
     Gleason shifted. “Who's this Olga you keep bringing up?”
     “Never mind.” Duffy got to his feet. “You ought to watch that dame, she's dangerous.”
     Gleason tried to cross his legs, but couldn't quite make it. He stared down at the carpet. “She's hop screwy,” he said. “I can't shake her. She'd stick a knife into me.”
     “How much jack have you got?”
     Gleason looked up sharply. “You said fifty grand. I got twenty-five here.” He took a long sealed envelope from his inside pocket and laid it on the table.
     Duffy looked at the seal, then he said, “Open it.”
     Gleason tried twice, but his fingers bothered him. Duffy leant over, took the envelope from him, put his gun down on the table, and tore off the end of the envelope. He shook the contents on to the table and looked at it. Then he picked up the thin sheaf of notes and put it in his pocket. He took the note-book out and tossed it into Gleason's lap.
     Gleason looked at him in complete astonishment. Duffy shook his head. “You expected a double-cross, ain't that right? I guess you ain't keeping it long.”
     Gleason thumbed through the book as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Duffy went over and picked up Gleason's gun, took out the clip and then tossed the gun back on the floor. He put his own Colt down his waist-band and adjusted the points of his vest.
     Gleason looked up at him. “This is the first level deal that's happened to me,” he said.
     Duffy's eyes were still hard. “You don't know a thing. You ain't going to keep that list long. Morgan's after it.”
     Gleason stiffened and got to his feet. “Morgan? How the hell did Morgan know?”
     Duffy shrugged. “I guess I talked too much,” he said. “Anyway, that's your funeral.”
     He walked to the door. “I gotta few things to fix, then I'm blowing.”
     Gleason stood in the middle of the room, the note-book in his hands, staring at the floor. Duffy took one look at him, shrugged, and opened the door.
Annabel was standing there pointing a
.38
at his belly.
     Duffy raised his hands just above his waist very quickly. She said, “Reach up, punk, the roof's not high enough.”
     Gleason came across quickly and jerked Duffy's gun out. Then he said in a low voice, “Walk backwards.”
     Duffy obeyed. Annabel came into the light. Her face was very pale, and it had a scraped, bony look. She looked a hundred years old, standing there hating him with her eyes. Gleason put Duffy's gun into his hip pocket and then went across to Duffy and took the sheaf of notes from him. He gave a little grin. “Too bad,” he said.
     Duffy continued to look at Annabel. He said very evenly and through his teeth, “You'd better let that heater off. I'll kill you if I get the chance.”
     She said, “Sit down.”
     Duffy sat down because he wanted to, not because she told him to. She said to Gleason, “Put the radio on.”
     Gleason looked at her, puzzled, then walked over to the radio, that was a little to the right and behind Duffy. When Gleason turned his back, Duffy saw Annabel stiffen. Her eyes seemed to film over, and her lips came off her teeth. Not understanding, he stared at her, then he suddenly guessed and gave a shout. Annabel shot at Gleason twice. The gun barked, then barked again. Gleason swung round, his face twisted, his eyes startled, unbelieving, frightened, then he crashed over, taking the radio with him.
     “Don't move,” Annabel said to Duffy, swinging the gun round to him.
     Duffy sat very still, looking at Gleason. Then he said through stiff lips, “You poor devil.”
     Annabel said, “I've been waiting a chance to get rid of that punk for some time.” She spat each word at him.
     “They'll burn you for this,” Duffy said coldly.
     “Think so?” she laughed. “Can't you see? Watch me pin it on you.”
     She went over to Gleason's gun, lying on the floor, and picked it up, Then she backed away from Duffy. “I'd like a chance of shooting you,” she said. “So start something if you're tired of life.”
     She wiped the .38 carefully on her skirt, then she tossed the gun beside Gleason. “That's your gun,” she said, covering him with Gleason's automatic.
     Duffy grinned. “So what?”
     She said, “Don't you get it? I'm going to shoot you now. The police will find you. I shot you in self-defense after you killed Gleason. Don't you think I'm cute?”
     Duffy got slowly out of his chair. “You're nutty,” he said evenly, and began to walk towards her.
     She waited until he was within two yards of her, then she pulled the trigger. Her lips were off her teeth and little white specks of foam touched her mouth. The automatic went click—click—click. Then Duffy put his hand on the automatic and jerked it out of her hand. “I took the clip out before you showed up,” he said quietly, then he smacked her across her face with his open palm as hard as he could hit her. She bounced against the wall, slid down, and rolled on her side. She began to scream in a thin reedy tone that sent hot wires into Duffy's brain.
     From the organ loft, a tight voice said, “Pipe down, he ain't hurt you. It was just a slap.”
      
      
     

     
     THE LITTLE GUY SAID, “How the hell does one get down from this nest?”
     Duffy looked at him, then he looked at Clive, and then he looked at Joe. Clive and Joe were carelessly holding guns. Duffy said, “You jump.” He went over to the sideboard and began to pour himself a drink.
     Annabel sat up, pressed herself against the wall, and stared up at the three in the loft.
     The little guy swung his short legs over the balcony and let himself drop. He landed on his shoulders with a thud. He sat up carefully and cursed. Then he said, “You come down, Clive; but Joe, you watch these birds and pop 'em if they get tough. You heard that, didn't you, Joe? I said pop 'em if they get tough.”
     Joe leant over the balcony and looked down. He looked a little tired. “Yeah,” he said, “I heard you. I'm watching okay.”
     Clive scrambled over the balcony, making black marks with the toes of his shoes on the wall.
     Duffy drank a little of the Scotch and felt better. He said, “You ain't met these two before, have you?” to the little guy. “The stiff over there was Murray Gleason, and the redhead sitting on the floor showing all she's got is Annabel.”
     The little guy giggled, then said, “My, my, you go places, don't you?”
     Duffy said, “Sure. Well, now you're here, what's next?”
     Clive went over to Gleason, turned him over, and searched him. He found the sheaf of notes and the little pocket-book. He came over with them to the little guy. They both examined the note-book carefully.
     Duffy lost interest in them, he went over to Annabel. He said very quietly, “When you killed Olga you started something. I'm going to pin that on to you, if it takes me a hundred years.”
     She drew back her lips and spat at him. He raised his hand, looked at her, then stepped away. “It's time you were dead,” he said.
     The little guy held the note-book and said to Clive, “Would you like to watch this?”
     Clive said he would.
     “Give him a hoop as well,” Duffy said.
     The little guy looked at him with disapproval. “I told you before not to make fun of him.”
     Clive said, “I'm going to rub this heel out.”
     The little guy scratched his head, then looked up at Joe. “You heard that?”
     Joe grinned. “Why not? It's some time since Clive knocked anyone off.”
     The little guy said, “Yes, that's right. It
is
some time. Yeah, okay, you knock him off.”
     Clive turned slowly on Duffy, who was standing near the wall. Duffy's face was tense, he pushed out his chin a little, the muscles in his neck suddenly going hard.
     Annabel said from the floor, “Give it to him low down.”
     Clive and the little guy both jerked their heads in her direction, and Duffy snapped up the light switch, then he dropped to his knees and shot away to the left. In his mind he could clearly see the wires that fed the two standard lamps. He groped for them, found nothing, groped again, touched them, and then pulled sharply. He felt them come away loose.
     The little guy said in a sharp voice, “Don't start shooting. We don't want the cops here. Clive, stand by the door. I'll put on the lights.”
     Duffy grinned. He stood up, listening for the slightest sound. The darkness made him feel like a blind man.
     Joe said, “I'm coming down.”
     The little guy said, “Wait; I'll tell you.”
     Duffy moved softly towards the little guy. When he got near enough as he could judge, he stopped. Quite close to him, he heard a rattle of matches. He balanced himself, and as the match flared up he hit the little guy right in the middle of his face. The match fell on the carpet and went out. Duffy took three quick steps away from the little guy, who was lying on the ground, collided with a chair. Joe fired just once. It was close enough. Duffy felt the bullet against his sleeve as it passed.
     Moving to the door, he ran up against Clive. Clive gave a high scream, but Duffy's questing hands found his head, and he banged it back against the wall hard. Clive went limp.
     The little guy said in a sudden panic, “Quick, Joe! He's got Clive.”
     Joe said, “What the hell do you think I can do? I can't see.”
     Holding Clive by the shirt-front, Duffy jerked the door open, and stepped into the hall, dragging Clive with him. The hall was in darkness. Duffy threw Clive on the floor, sprang back to the door, found the key on the outside, and turned it. Then he struck a match and flicked on the electric light switch.
     Clive was lying in a heap, dazed. He stared up at Duffy with unseeing eyes. Duffy searched his pockets, found the notes and the little book and transferred them to his pocket, then he stood up.
     “I guess I owe you something,” he said softly, and put his heel on Clive's upturned face, pressed down hard, turning the heel slowly. Clive clawed at his foot, and began to scream. Duffy said, “Here it is, Nance, it's been coming to you for a long time.” He put his entire weight on his right leg and twisted his heel sharply. There was a cracking sound, and under his heel it felt soft. Clive stopped screaming. Duffy stepped away, dragged his heel once, then twice on the soft carpet, leaving two long smears of red. He opened the front door and stepped into the passage, and ran downstairs, not waiting for the elevator. Faintly, he could hear the thudding of Joe's shoulder against the locked door.
     He reached the street. It was raining again. The air was heavy and very warm. He ran on to the Buick, pulled open the door and got in. Then he drove away very quickly.
     The streets were less congested. He took half the time in getting back to the Bronx. Leaving the car in the garage, he walked down the steps of the basement and rapped on the door.
     Gilroy opened it. The negro showed his big white teeth. “You okay?” he asked.
     Duffy nodded. He said, “Come and have a drink.”
     Gilroy followed him down the passage into the little room. Duffy sat on the bed and pushed his hat to the back of his head. Gilroy fixed the drinks, came over and gave Duffy a glass. He stood waiting. His thin face sleepy, but interested.
     Duffy looked him over thoughtfully from the bed, scratched the side of his face, making a little rasping noise. Then he, said, “Perhaps you might like to come in on this.”
     Gilroy lifted his shoulders. “Maybe,” he said, “it's nothing to me now.”
     “Gleason was knocked off tonight,” Duffy said, swirling the whisky in the glass. “I was there, so was Morgan's gang and Gleason's wife. She popped him and tried to pin it on me.”
     Gilroy rolled up his eyes. “They're slapping it on you all right,” he said at last.
     Duffy nodded. “Sure, they got a reason. I'm holding up a million-dollar racket.” He took the note-book out of his pocket and tossed it on the table. Gilroy picked it up curiously and examined it Duffy could see it meant nothing to him.
     He explained.
     Gilroy sat listening, his black eyes half closed. He pursed his lips together. He said, at last, “You've gotta be careful.”
     Duffy said, “I know that.” He got to his feet and wandered round the small room. “If Olga were here, I'd pull out, but where the hell can I go now?”
     Gilroy thumbed the book over. “You wouldn't get far,” he said.
     Duffy shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “I might.”
     “You thinking of playing this further?”
     Duffy stopped walking and stood very still. He looked hard at Gilroy. “That depends a lot on you.”
     Gilroy said, “Where do I come in?”
     “A while back, you offered me your outfit; I guess I can use it.”
     Gilroy smoothed down his crinkly hair with his hand. “How?” he said. He was being very cautious.
     Duffy leant forward and tapped the top of the table with his index finger. “I'd like to run Morgan out of town.”
     Gilroy drew his breath in with a little hiss. “You're nuts,” he said. “You gotta have dough for a job like that.”
     Duffy took from his pocket the thin sheaf of notes and put it on the table. Then from his side coat pocket he took the ten grand he had lifted off Gus, and laid it on top of the other money. Gilroy watched him fascinated.
     “Thirty-five grand enough?” Duffy asked.
     Gilroy eased his collar with a thin black finger. “It helps,” he said slowly. “Where the hell did that come from?”
     Duffy scooped up the money and put it back in his pocket. “It fell in my lap,” he said. “What say? You on?”
     Gilroy sat down, poured out more drinks and lit a cigarette. “Let's talk about it. What's your idea?”
     Duffy came over and sat down too. “I don't know,” he said. “I just want to run this Morgan louse out, and his gang with him.”
     Gilroy screwed up his eyes, then said, “Why?”
     Duffy's mouth set. “He thinks I can't do it. He's told me so. Well, I'm going to show the palooka he's bucking the wrong horse.”
     Gilroy nodded. “That's the way it goes, is it?”
     Duffy said, “Yeah, that's it.”
     “You won't get far with the cops after you.”
     “I've got that on the line. First thing tomorrow I'm getting protection.”
     “Protection? Where do you get that from?”
     “English.” Duffy leant back in the chair and took a long pull at his glass. “I'm blowing the whole works to that guy, and then watch him cover me up.”
     Gilroy said, “You've got something there.”
     Duffy said, “Sure, I have. Once I get protection, I'm a big shot. I can handle Morgan with protection and an outfit like yours.”
     Gilroy said, “There's me, there's Shep, and there's Schultz.”
     “Okay. Suppose we all get together, after I've seen English.”
     Gilroy nodded and stood up. “The boys get in around about one o'clock. If you can make it, we'll be here then.”
     He wandered to the door. “It ain't going to be easy,” he said.
     Duffy was watching him cross the room. “You ain't gone into it,” he said. “It's a cinch.”
     Gilroy nodded and went out, pulling the door behind him.
     Duffy got up and took off his coat. A knock came on the door and the thin man put his head round. “There's a jane asking for you,” he said.
     Duffy said, “Sure, and I suppose you told her I was right inside?”
     The thin man said, “I told her I'd never heard of you, but it won't shift her. She says, 'Tell him it's Alice', like that. So I come back, and here I am.”
     “Well, for God's sake!” Duffy put on his coat. “Shoot her in quick.”
     The thin man shrugged and went away. He came back with Alice at his heels. Duffy went over to her and took her hands. He said, “Why, honey...” then he stopped.
     “Sam told me,” she said breathlessly. “I had to see you. What is all this, Bill? The papers say you killed that woman. It's all in headlines.”
     Duffy patted her arm. “Swell of you to come,” he said, leading her over to the bed. “Sit down, baby Take the weight off your feet.”
     “What are you going to do?” she said. “Sam won't tell me anything.”
     Duffy grinned. “He's told you too much as it is,” he said. “Listen, I didn't kill Olga. It was a frame-up. Look baby, I've got dough.” He took the money from his pocket and tossed it in her lap.
     She gave a little shiver and put her hands behind her. She just sat and stared at the money. “Take it away,” she said quickly.
     Duffy stared at her. “Look,” he urged, “there's thirty-five grand there. Did you ever see so much dough all at once?”
     She said again in a tone that was just off-pitch, “Take it away.”
     He picked up the money, a sulky look in his eyes. “If that's the way you feel,” he said.
     She put her hand on his arm. “Oh, Bill, you're heading for trouble. Can't you see? For your own sake, please, stop it.”
     Duffy put the money carefully in his side pocket. “Now listen....” he began.
     She interrupted him. “Money isn't everything. You know it isn't. Please, Bill, give yourself up. I know it'll be all right. We'll get someone to help you... get back to your job. Don't go on with this business.”
     Duffy raised his hand. She took one look at the hard glint in his eyes, and she sat away from him and began to cry. Duffy said, “I'm going through with this. I've been a little shot for years. I've been 'Come here, you bastard', 'Do this, you heel', 'Get that, you punk' all my goddam life. I'm through with it now. I'm bucking an outfit that's supposed to be tough. Okay, I'm bucking 'em. I'm going to get an outfit twice as tough. Do you get that? Twice as tough! When I've got it, I'm going after Morgan and clear him off the street. I'm going to be the big shot around here from now on. How do you like that?”
     Alice got to her feet. She said in an unsteady voice, “For God's sake, keep Sam out of this.”
     Duffy said, “I'm sorry, honey.” He felt a sudden tenderness for her. “I'm just shooting off my mouth. I'm just wild. A no-good out of work. Forget it, will you?”
     She looked at him for several seconds. “You're going through with this, I know,” she said. “You're going to hurt people and you're going to get hurt. Just to satisfy a little pride, a little ego in you. I can't stop you. When you're tired of this, come and see us. But stay away until you've got it out of your system. I've loved you a lot in the past; don't make me hate you ever, will you?”
     She patted his hand that rested on the table, then she walked out of the room. Duffy stood looking at the closed door. Then once more he took off his coat, went over and shot the bolt on the door, kicked off his shoes, and lay down on the bed. He reached up and turned off the light.
     In the dark, he lay for a long time thinking. Then he said in a low voice, “Some nice hot place with plenty of yellow sand. With sky a real blue and just you and me.” He put out his hand to the empty pillow at his side and let his fingers lightly touch the cool linen.
     The room felt suddenly cold and empty.