The Big Heat

Chapter 11

Max Stone let himself into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind him with savage anger. From the closed doors of the dining room came the noise of laughter and conversation. There was a man in the living room sitting on the sofa. He got to his feet as Stone entered. “You Max Stone?” he said.

Stone eyed him up and down. “Yeah. Who the hell are you?” He was eager for something, anything, to use as a target for his rage.

“My name is Hoffman, Joe Hoffman, from Chicago.” Hoffman was a tall, loosely built man of forty or so, with thin, bony wrists and mild eyes. His hair was yellow and needed cutting. He looked like someone’s country cousin on a first visit to the big city. “Sylvester Ryan said you needed a man,” he said.

“Oh, yeah,” Stone said. He shook hands with Hoffman, some of his anger ebbing away. “Yeah, I need a man. How the hell is Sylvester?”

“Just fine. He told me to give you his best,” Hoffman said.

“Great guy, great guy,” Stone said. He put his overcoat on a chair and lit a cigar, studying Hoffman appraisingly. “This guy is an ex-copper named Bannion,” he said. “There can’t be any slipups. Understand?”

Hoffman nodded. “Sure,” he said.

“Bannion’s a pretty sharp character,” Stone said. “He was a cop, and he knows the score. He’ll have a gun and can use it. You got to be careful.”

“All right, I’ll be careful,” Hoffman said. “What else do I need to know?”

Stone described Bannion to Hoffman, told him what kind of car he drove, and where he was living. “I want this handled by tomorrow night, if possible,” he said.

“Glad you said if possible. I do a job when the time is right and not before. What’s a good hotel in town?”

“You can stay here if you want.”

“No, I like to be alone when I’m working. I can dope everything out better that way.”

“Anything you say.” Stone gave him the name of a hotel. “When you do the job get right back to Chicago. I don’t want any connection with us on this one. I’ll send your dough through Sylvester. That okay?”

“Perfectly okay. Sylvester said you were tops and that’s good enough for me. By the way, he sent you a present,” Hoffman said. He picked up a large, flat, carefully wrapped package from the sofa and handed it to Stone.

“Well, what d’ya know about this?” Stone said, smiling. He removed wrapping paper from a wooden box that was about two inches deep and a foot square. Stone raised the lid of the box and began to chuckle. Inside, surrounded by dry ice, was an unbaked pizza pie, covered with thinly sliced tomatoes and cheese, and crisscrossed with strips of anchovy.

Hoffman grinned at Stone. “It’s from Antonio’s Cellar, ready for the oven. Sylvester said you’d remember the place.”

“Know it?” Stone laughed, staring delightedly at the pizza. “Sure I know it. Sylvester and I eat there every time I can get to Chicago. Hell, Antonio’s got the best pizza in the world. Damn, this was a sweet thing for Sylvester to do. Imagine him remembering.” He looked away from Hoffman, touched oddly by the gesture. “What a sweet guy,” he said. “They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”

“Well, he thought you’d like it,” Hoffman said, picking up his hat and a briefcase from the sofa.

“You tell him I thought it was a damn fine thing for him to do,” Stone said.

“Okay, I will, Max.”

They walked to the door together and Stone patted Hoffman on the back. “You get some rest now. And remember, this job is important to us.”

Hoffman nodded. “You can depend on me, Max.”

When he’d gone Max strode into the dining room where the poker game was in progress. There were four men at the table, Judge McGraw of Quarter Sessions, a magistrate, and two professional gamblers from Jersey. Stone showed them the pizza, feeling warm and happy. This little gift, a silly sentimental thing for Sylvester to have done, had helped to erase his bitterness and anger. He gave the pizza to Alex and told him to put it in the ice box. “Get some Chianti tomorrow morning, and we’ll have a real Ginny lunch,” he added. He sat down at the table, pulling his tie loose and grinning at the players. “Okay, let’s have a little action now. You guys are in for a rough time.”

“We shall see, we shall see,” Judge McGraw said, smiling. He was a tall, handsome man with a theatrical head of white hair. In the courtroom he was famed for his great, echoing voice, and his stem, scholarly lectures on Godliness and morality.

“Okay, deal somebody,” Stone said, cheerfully.

Half an hour later his mood had turned black once more. The cards ran against him, illogically, perversely. It was five card draw, no limit, open on anything. He couldn’t buy a pot; he played close, he played recklessly, but nothing worked. He hardly glanced up when Debby came in, and sang out a hello to everybody. She drifted around behind him and put her hands lightly on his shoulders.

“Winning?” she said.

“No, and shut up,” he told her.

“Well, you’re in a sunny mood.”

“Okay, okay, talk then,” he said. He held an ace kicker to a pair of tens. McGraw threw away one card; two pair Stone thought gloomily. He picked up his cards and found another ten. Three tens. He bet recklessly, angrily, into McGraw’s probable two pairs and got raised twice, heavily, for his trouble. “All right, all right,” he said, calling. “What the hell are you so proud of.”

Judge McGraw, chuckling, put down a flush.

Stone tore up his cards and threw them into the air. “Get a new deck, damn it.” He glared at McGraw, feeling mean and unfriendly. “Filled a four-card flush, eh? You could come out of a latrine with violets in your hair. How do you do it?”

“It’s just the smile of Lady Luck,” Judge McGraw said. “Your turn will come, Max, my boy.” He coughed and put a hand to his mouth, glancing quickly, casually at his watch. He hoped some excuse to break up the game would come along soon.

“Where the hell have you been?” Stone said to Debby, as Alex put a tray of coffee at his elbow.

“A fine time to be asking,” Debby said. “You left me stranded, I noticed. Why should you care where I’ve been?”

Stone lit a cigar, his hands trembling. He felt a quick bitter stab of anger. He didn’t like remembering that she had seen him hightail out of that bar like a scalded cat. Bannion would pay for that, by God. “I had to leave you there,” he said, ignoring the questioning glances of the other players. “That guy is nuts. Come on, come on, somebody deal.”

“He’s not nuts,” Debby said, enjoying his irritation. “And, in case this is news, he’s pretty sore at you.”

“Yeah? Who’s been talking to you?” Stone didn’t pick up his cards. He stared at his big, limp hands. “Who’s been talking to you, I said.”

“Why, Bannion, himself,” Debby said, airily.

Stone stood so quickly that his chair over-turned with a crash. “You been talking with him?” he said.

“Sure, I’ve been talking to him,” she said.

“Where did you see him?”

“I... I just bumped into him,” Debby said. She knew she’d been foolish to needle him. “You’re right, he’s a nut, all right.”

Stone was shaking with anger. He caught hold of her wrist and twisted it sharply, forcing her half-way to her knees. “Where’d you bump into him?” he yelled.

Debby cried out in pain. “Max, stop it!”

“Where’d you see him?”

“Let me go! Max, please!”

“You talk first.”

“I just met him on the street,” Debby said, her voice high and tight with pain. “Damn you, Max!” she said, starting to sob. “You walked out on me, didn’t you?”

“Where did you go with him?”

“Max, you’ll break my arm,” Debby said, pushing futilely at him with her free hand.

Judge McGraw cleared his throat, his lean handsome face pale and anxious. “I suggest we all relax a bit,” he said.

“I suggest you shut your mouth,” Stone snapped.

“You’re real tough with women,” Debby said, crying. “But you weren’t so tough with Bannion.”

“Where’d you go with him?”

“I went to his hotel room, that’s where.”

Stone dropped her arm. He opened and closed his big hands, feeling the hate pumping sluggishly through his veins. “Damn you, damn you,” he said, in a low, hoarse voice. She’d probably crawled into his bed, too, laughed with him about how old and weak Stone was becoming, and how he’d run out of the bar at the look in Bannion’s face. “You bitch,” he said, shouting the words into her pale, frightened face.

“Max, you act like you’re out of your head,” Debby said, still weeping. “You’re the one who’s nuts, not him.”

“You bitch,” Stone shouted again. He glared around wildly, and saw the steaming coffee pot on the table. Without thinking, without willing the action, his hand moved; he scooped it up and hurled the scalding coffee into her face.

Debby screamed and staggered backwards, clawing at her face with both hands. She collided with a chair and fell to the floor, her body jack-knifing spasmodically, and her gold-sandalled feet churning and kicking wildly. She stopped screaming almost immediately; the only sound that came from her was a ghastly choking noise, like that of a child who has sobbed itself to a point beyond exhaustion.

Judge McGraw was on his feet, rubbing his well-kept hands together in a gesture of entreaty. He glanced around, as if looking for some place to hide, and then said, “The girl is hurt, Stone. We — we must do something for her.”

Stone rubbed his face. “I shouldn’t have done it,” he said, in a low, confused voice. He seemed unable to move or think; he stared down at Debby’s slim, twitching body and rubbed his face with a hand that had begun to shake.

One of the gamblers from Jersey, a big man with black hair, said, “Well, let’s don’t just stand here,” and knelt beside her and shook her shoulder. He tried to pull her hands away from her face but she began to whimper like an animal in a trap. She lay doubled up on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chin, her gold-sandalled feet still at last. The coffee had soaked her dress and darkened her blonde hair in dirty, ugly patches.

Judge McGraw glanced at his wrist watch, and the magistrate, a small soft man with cautious eyes, started to get into his coat. They all watched Stone, except the man who was on the floor beside Debby.

Stone shook his shoulders, and the numb, glazed look cleared from his face. “Yeah, we got to take care of her,” he said. He glanced at the magistrate. “Ben, you and Joeie get her to a doctor. Right now, fast.”

“Hey, Max, this ain’t my baby,” the magistrate said. Joeie, the gambler still at the table, swallowed hard, and said, “I got to beat it, Stone. Damn, I got—”

“Shut up,” Stone said. “Get your coats on and get her to a doctor. He can fix her up.”

“Where can I find a doctor now?” the magistrate said, rubbing his hands together nervously.

“You’d better find one,” Stone said. “Maybe you can find the one who kept your son out of the army. Fast, I said. Goddamnit, move. I want her fixed up, understand.”

The man moved quickly, guiltily, under the prod of his voice. They lifted Debby between them and carried her into the living room. Stone went ahead of them and picked up her mink from the chair she’d dropped it in. He wrapped it around her shoulders, and said, “Go on, go on! Get moving.” Debby’s hands were still locked over her face. Stone swallowed the fear in his throat, and said, “Let me know what the doc says. Stick right with her till you find out. Got that?”

“Sure, Max.” They went out, both gamblers and the magistrate.

When the door closed behind them Stone walked heavily back to the dining room. Judge McGraw was getting into his overcoat.

“Where you going?” he said, pouring himself a drink.

“Well, the game seems to be over,” Judge McGraw said smiling.

“I thought I’d—”

“Sit down, sit down,” Stone said. He shuddered slightly after finishing the drink. He didn’t want to be alone. The room seemed to be echoing with Debby’s screams. Why had he done that to her? “I said, sit down,” he said. He poured himself another drink, a stronger one, and sat down with his big forearms on the table. “Come on, we can bump heads, judge. A little action is what we need.”

“You know my weaknesses too well,” the judge said, removing his overcoat.

“You know I didn’t mean to do that,” Stone said. “You know that, don’t you? I’m not that kind of a bum. It’s just that damn temper of mine.”

“Sure, sure, Max,” the judge said. He wet his lips. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” He couldn’t afford a break with Stone. Not now. There was his boy in the Carmelites, and his three daughters, almost grown women now, looking up to him, comparing their friends to him, thinking of him as an ideal of honor and integrity. They had all enjoyed good schools, interesting vacations abroad, and the prospects of a secure future through his relationship with Stone. He couldn’t risk breaking it off now. Not yet. Sometime, when they were all settled down, when they wouldn’t be so badly hurt, then he’d break it off and risk the consequences. Sometime — the judge knew in his weak, worried, lonely heart that such a time would never come.

“Shall we make it stud?” he said pleasantly.

“Yeah, deal for God’s sake,” Stone said.