Shield for Murder

19

Nolan was sitting on the cot with a drink in his hand when Reynolds arrived at seven-thirty that night.

“The shave and clean shirt helped a lot,” Reynolds said, looking at him critically. “Still belting that liquor, eh?”

“I’m all right.”

“Well, that’s up to you, Barny.” Reynolds sat beside him and drew an envelope from his inner breast pocket. “Here’s everything you’ll need. Now listen carefully: You’re Harvey Benson, got that? In this envelope are a driver’s license, some letters and club cards, all in that name. Put them in your wallet and leave your own identification here.”

“All right,” Barny said, taking out his wallet. He flipped it open and stared at his shield. “I’d better leave this, too, I suppose.”

“I guess you’d better,” Reynolds said dryly. “Now, here’s your schedule: Outside is a rented car, a ’47 Dodge, parked four doors down on the opposite side of the street. When you leave here take it and drive out U.S. Route 130 to the Idlewild airport. That’s about twelve miles from here on the right side of the road. You can see it for miles, so you won’t miss it. I’ve made a reservation there in the name of Harvey Benson for an immediate flight to Richmond, Virginia.”

“Richmond? What the hell am I going there for?”

“The police won’t be expecting you there,” Reynolds said. “They’ll watch Chicago and Pittsburgh without a doubt, but not Richmond where the traffic is mostly out instead of in. At Richmond you’ll board Flight 231 to Dallas. I’ve arranged for your tickets to be held for you on the plane. Got that? Don’t go to the waiting room. Get out of the private plane and wait until you hear Flight 231 called. Then go directly to the plane and tell the stewardess who you are. Is that clear?”

Nolan nodded and sipped his drink.

“Okay. When you get to Dallas you’ll find a reservation waiting for you through to Mexico City. When you get to Mexico City the customs officials will give you a tourist card when you show them your identification. After that, Barny my boy, you’re on your own. Enjoy yourself, drink plenty of tequila, and forget you ever heard of me. Okay? Let’s go.”

Nolan stood up and put on his suit coat. He took a last drink from the nearly empty bottle and went upstairs with Reynolds. There was a leather suitcase in the hallway.

“That’s yours,” Reynolds said. “There’s nothing in it but two telephone directories.”

Morris came to the archway of the living room and behind him, peering around his thin body, was the fat woman in the house dress. They both regarded Nolan with active dislike.

“Well, good luck, Barny,” Reynolds said, rubbing his hands together briskly. “Let me have that second five thousand and we’ll be all square.”

Nolan counted out the money and Reynolds took it with a smile. “We’ve done everything we can for you, boy,” he said. “With a little luck you’ll be leading a king’s fife in a few days.”

“Thanks a lot,” Nolan said. He met Morris’s eyes and grinned. “Let’s have the change, friend.”

“Change?”

“Yeah. I gave you a grand for two days. I only stayed one.”

“I don’t have any change,” Morris said and wet his lips. He glanced at Reynolds.

Reynolds smiled. “Supposing he sends it to you, Barny.”

“Supposing he gives me back my grand and I’ll send him the change,” Nolan said. “Come on, come on,” he said, suddenly irritable. “Let’s have the money.”

“It’s a minor item to quibble about,” Reynolds said, shrugging. He drew out his wallet and counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills. “Here you are, Barny. Now you’d better be moving.”

Nolan studied the three of them, feeling cut off and alone. They wanted him out of there and they wouldn’t give a damn if he were shot down on the sidewalk.

He picked up his suitcase, nodded to them and walked out into the night.

There was a cool wind blowing through the tops of the trees, and the street seemed quiet and peaceful. Nolan found the Dodge and drove slowly through the city to Route 130, where he waited for a light and then joined the traffic moving along to the shore. When he came to a cluster of freshly painted hangars he turned off into a lane, and parked beside an office on which there was the sign: Idlewild Flying Field.

They were expecting him all right and, after he signed the name Harvey Benson in the passenger book, he walked out to the plane, a single-wing Navion with a tricycle landing gear.

“We should be in Richmond in about two hours, Mr. Benson,” the pilot said. He was a stocky young man in his early thirties, with a confident bearing. “Ever flown before?”

“No.”

“You’ll probably enjoy this more than you would a bigger ship.”

They taxied down the runway, gaining speed quickly, and when the plane lurched slightly and became airborne Nolan was rather surprised by his calm acceptance of this phenomenon. The pilot banked the ship onto their course, and Nolan looked down and saw the fights of Camden blinking in the darkness. Across the river he could see the greater mass of Philadelphia, and already it seemed far, far away.

He knew, then, that he would get away with it, that he would beat them all, Ramussen, Brewster, Dave Fiest, and that other Linda, the one who had sold him out.

He grinned slightly, thinking triumphantly that he had never made out that 590 for Ramussen. That was fine. Now they’d never know why he had killed Dave Fiest. That information was locked in Nolan’s head, and that’s where it would stay. Why the hell had he killed the gambler? He wasn’t sure, but he felt it made no difference one way or the other.

They landed at the Richmond airport two hours and twenty minutes later. Nolan paid off the pilot at the rate of twenty dollars an hour, and climbed down from the plane. The pilot waved to him and he waved back; and then the little plane taxied off to a hard-standing to await take-off permission.

Nolan put his grip down. He was comfortably hidden in the darkness about a hundred yards from the brightly lighted waiting rooms. There were three big planes at various gates along the edge of the field. Redcaps were trundling baggage along the ramps and overalled mechanics were checking and gassing the planes. There was a row of parked cars along the left of the control tower.

He stood in the darkness, occasionally glancing at his watch, until a loud voice broke the stillness.

“Flight 231 is now loading at gate number three. Flight 231, through flight to Dallas, is now loading at gate number three.”

Nolan picked up his grip and walked slowly through the darkness toward the four-engined ship at gate number three. He watched the passengers streaming out of the waiting room to board the plane. They waved to friends and hurried onto the field, walking with the brisk sense of their own importance.

Nolan waited until the last person had gone up the mobile ladder and into the plane. There was another call for the flight, and finally, two minutes later, a third and final call. Only then did Nolan stride swiftly toward his flight...

In a parked car near the control tower three men were watching Flight 231. Slicker Robinson was at the wheel, a cigarette hanging loosely in his mouth, and beside him sat a paunchy little man who seemed constantly on the verge of smiling. In the rear seat, the bandage about his head gleaming whitely, was Hymie Solstein.

“Now this must be a very definite thing,” Slicker Robinson said. He was obviously speaking to the man at his side but he didn’t take his eyes from the plane. “The boss is really burned up about Nolan. You might say it’s a matter of principle with him, Tommy.”

The man called Tommy nodded thoughtfully. “I understand, Robinson. I know Mr. Espizito wants no mistakes or slip-ups. There won’t be, I can assure you.”

“Mike doesn’t care where it happens, understand? Nolan is booked right through to Mexico City, so you stick with him and take care of the job whenever you think it’s right.”

“Of course.”

“Also, Nolan has quite a piece of Mike’s money on him, and naturally we want that back.”

“Naturally. As a matter of principle.” The little man came close to smiling but didn’t. “I have a good reputation, Robinson, although I am not so well known in the East. I do a good job.”

Hymie Solstein leaned forward and tapped Robinson’s shoulder. “Well, where is he? Reynolds said he’d make this flight for sure.”

“We can rely on Reynolds, I think,” Robinson said.

They were silent, watching the plane. And then Hymie said softly, “There he is, there’s the bastard,” and his voice broke into laughter.

The three men watched Nolan’s big figure emerge from the darkness behind the plane. They saw him glance around and walk swiftly toward the mobile stairway.

“He’s all yours,” Robinson said.

“Good night, gentlemen,” Tommy said, stepping from the car. He carried a brief case under his arm. “You’ll probably hear from me in a week or so.”

With precise mincing steps he walked toward the plane.

Nolan turned at the entrance of the ship, swept his eyes over the waiting rooms and the field. There was nothing to cause him alarm. A late passenger was hurrying to make the flight, he saw, a plump little man who wore glasses.

The stewardess, a pretty brunette, smiled at him. “Are you Mr. Benson?”

“That’s right.”

“Fine. I have your tickets. Would you take a seat, please? We’re ready to take off.”

The little man came hurrying up the steps, glanced at Nolan impersonally, and smiled at the stewardess. “I’m nearly late, aren’t I?” he said, apologetically.

She smiled and took his ticket. “There’s no harm done, as long as you made it.”

The little man smiled gratefully at her and went inside. Nolan stood for a last few seconds, staring at the brightly lighted waiting rooms, and breathing slowly and deeply of the night air. Everything seemed suddenly calm and peaceful, and the pressures of the last few days were gone. He was Barny Nolan, who had taken what he wanted; and that was a sustaining thought.

Unexpectedly, he saw a vision of Linda again, happy and smiling, coming to meet him somewhere, sometime, in Mexico.

“You’ll have to take your seat now,” the stewardess said.

“All right.”

Nolan ducked his head and entered the plane. There was a seat halfway down the aisle and he sank into it, a small smile on his lips. The smile widened as the engines sputtered and thundered to life.

The paunchy little man named Tommy was in the seat behind him, the brief case resting on his knees. He looked at his watch as the plane taxied down the runway. Time for forty winks before they reached Dallas. Settling himself comfortably, he glanced once at the back of Barny Nolan’s head, and then closed his eyes.

The plane climbed into the night.