Blue City

chapter 12

The street was empty now, and I went back to the sidewalk and along it to the house that Sault had entered. There was light in the front room where Mrs. Weather had entertained me, but the tightly drawn curtains cut it off almost completely. The side windows of the room were equally well curtained, so that there was not a chink to see through. I thought of trying the front door, but decided against it. Even if it was unlocked, which was unlikely, I could hardly get in without being heard or seen from the front room. I went around to the back.

The service entrance at the side was locked, and so was the back door which led to the kitchen. I tried the kitchen windows; they were all firmly shut. But nothing had been changed at the back of the house. I sat down on the bottom step of the kitchen stoop and took off my boots and socks. I stuffed the socks into the toes of the boots, which I hung around my neck by their strings. Then I went around to the laundry cistern at the back of the stoop. The grass was chilly and ticklish on the naked soles of my feet.

I took hold of the drainpipe that emptied into the cistern, and pulled hard. It seemed steady, but I doubted whether it would hold my weight. It had when I was twelve, more than once, but I had weighed half as much then. Still, I had had a good deal of practice in house-to-house fighting since then. If the drainpipe wasn’t rotten with rust I should be able to make it.

I went up hand over hand, bracing my back against the kitchen stoop, which formed a right angle with the rear wall of the house. The thin pipe groaned in my fingers, but I was high enough now to support some of my weight with my foot on a windowsill. An ornamental row of bricks, which projected slightly above the window, gave me my next foothold. I couldn’t see what I was doing, but I was surprised to find that I didn’t need to. I had done it before in the dark, and muscles have a long memory.

Sweat was wetting my undershirt and the muscles in my arms were starting to go dead when I finally got hold of the railing that ran around the second-story porch. For a moment I hung suspended, one hand on the drainpipe and the other on the railing, with the concrete lid of the cistern fifteen feet below me in the dark. I didn’t trust the railing to bear my weight, but I had to or quit. I swung my other hand onto the railing and started to pull myself over. It creaked and gave, but held me. I drew myself up and stepped over onto the porch.

The outside screen door was locked, as it always had been, with a simple hook. I slit the screen with Sault’s spring knife and let myself into the house. The inner door had never had a key.

There was a dim night light burning in the newel post at the head of the front stairs, enough to give me my bearings. I unslung my boots, left them on the top step, and went down the back stairs to the kitchen. Nineteen steps, with a ninety-nine degree turn at the tenth step and a closed door at the bottom, which my fingers anticipated. I caught myself wondering if the refrigerator was still in the same corner of the kitchen.

The swinging door between the kitchen and the dining-room was standing open. I found it with my hands and went through on tiptoe. The only noise I made came from my heart, which pounded in my ears like rapid surf.

The sliding doors which separated the front room from the dining-room were imperfectly closed. A wafer of light came through between them and made a bright band across the dining-room table. I could hear low voices in the next room.

I took the automatic out of my pocket and pushed off the safety, holding it between thumb and forefinger so that it wouldn’t click. Walking heel and toe I crossed the carpet to the doors and peered through. All I could see was an empty section of floor, part of an armchair with nobody in it, a shadowy curtain. But I could hear what the voices were saying. They must be in the chesterfield to the right of the door, I thought.

“I can’t see why you’re so scared of this boy Weather,” Sault said. “He tried some rough stuff on me, but it didn’t take me long to get rid of him. He slunk away like a yellow dog with his tail between his legs.”

“You’re a man,” Mrs. Weather said softly. “You know how to handle people like that–”

“O.K., so what you want me to do for you? Run him out of town? I can do that.”

She continued her own train of thought: “It isn’t that I’m so much afraid of anything he’ll do to me directly. He threatened me last night–”

“He did, did he? Why the hell didn’t you call me up? I wouldn’t’ve let him get away so easy.”

“I did call you. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all night. I told you that.”

“Yeah. You know the boy to come to when you want something done, eh, Floraine?”

“You’re sweet, Joey. I feel ever so much better, now that you’re here.”

For a while there was nothing but silence, broken finally by the slow ending of a kiss.

“You’re hot stuff, baby,” Sault said throatily. “It’s about time you decided to give me another break.”

“Don’t, Joey. You take my breath away. I’ve got to talk to you.”

“Don’t look so gorgeous then. How can I sit here and not do anything with you looking so gorgeous?”

“Listen to me, Joey.” Her voice was quick and cool again. “John Weather threatened my life, but it’s not him I’m afraid of. I don’t think he’s got the guts to do anything. He’s a wild talker, though, and I’m afraid he can make trouble. His father had some good friends in this town, and he’ll go to them and talk about me.”

“So what? Talking won’t hurt you. Nobody’s got anything on you.”

“Maybe not,” she said uncertainly. After a pause: “Joey, you said you wanted me to give you another break?”

“You know I go for you. It wasn’t any fun for me when you cut me off.”

“I had to, darling. Don’t you see? Everybody in town was watching me after the old man died. I couldn’t afford to take any chances.”

“But now you can afford to take chances? I don’t get it.”

Her voice had risen a full octave when she spoke again: “I’ve got to take a chance. A big chance. I can’t go on like this any longer.”

“Looks to me as if you’re sitting pretty.”

“Sitting pretty?” She laughed shallowly. “I’m sitting pretty on the rim of a volcano. I’ve never told anybody, Joey. Not even you.”

“This Weather guy,” Sault said slowly. “He got something on you?”

“Not yet. I’m afraid he will.”

“What’s he going to get on you, baby? Tell your Uncle Joey.”

“He won’t get anything if you’ll help me. If you’ll help me, we’ll both be sitting pretty for the rest of our lives.”

“You know I’ll help you, baby. Help you do what?”

“You’ve got a gun, haven’t you?”

“Sure. Not with me, but I can get one.” A little whine threaded the masculine assurance of his voice. “I don’t like working with guns, Floraine. I can get away with most things in this town, but not murder.”

“You can get away with murder, too. I’m asking you to take a chance, Joey, but I’m offering you the big break of your life. We’ll both be in it together, and we’ll work together from now on. Everything I’ve got, I’ll split with you fifty-fifty.”

“For wiping out this John Weather? I’ll do it.”

“Not John Weather, Joey. If you do what I want you to do, he can never touch me. I want you to kill Kerch.”

“Kerch?” Surprise and terror plucked simultaneously at his vocal cords, and turned the harsh syllable into a squawk.

“You’ve got to kill Roger Kerch,” she said evenly.

“But I thought you and Kerch was like that? My God, Floraine!”

“Are you afraid?”

“Me? Afraid?” His voice cracked. “You know I’m not afraid. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I always heard that you and Kerch were – you know, pretty good friends.” The way he said it, “friends” was as obscene as any four-letter word.

“Somebody’s been kidding you. I can’t stand him.”

“He’s got something on you, eh?”

“That’s right, Joey. For the last two years, ever since he came here, I haven’t had a moment’s peace. Will you help me?” The range and complexity of her voice fascinated me. It had purred like a cat in passion, cut like whips in scorn, teetered on the edge of hysteria, sunk low in maternal solicitude. Now she was a little girl again, appealing to his masculine strength. “Will you help me, Joey?” she repeated.

He answered her with difficulty: “I can’t kill him, Floraine. He keeps Garland and Rusty with him all the time. If I did, I got no protection for that kind of a rap. He’s in solid with the cops.”

“He won’t be when he’s dead, Joey. He’ll be nothing but cold meat when you step into his shoes. You take over the Cathay Club and the machines, and the cops’ll know which side their bread is buttered on. They follow the graft, and you’ll be the man that’s handing it out.”

“You want me to take over the club and the machines?” His voice was incredulous. “Jesus!”

“You’re the only man I’d trust,” she said earnestly. “If you’ll work with me, we can go places. You’re too big a man to spend your life in the small time. I can see that, even if you can’t.”

“Yeah, I know,” he admitted. “I been marking time, waiting for a break.”

“This is the break you’ve been waiting for. You can be top man in this town. Will you do it?”

“I’ll do it,” he said in a shy voice. “By Jesus Christ, I’ll do it!”

“I knew I could depend on you.”

There was another pause, ending in a long female sigh. “I love you, Joey.”

“You know how I feel about you, baby.”

“Can you get a gun today?”

“Yeah. But I was thinking. What about Rusty and Garland? When one of them isn’t with him, the other one is.”

“Leave Rusty to me,” she said. “I’ve seen the way he looks at me. I’ll give you a clear field. There’s one other thing you’ve got to do.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“You’ve seen the safe in Kerch’s office at the club?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s an envelope in it with my name on it. He showed it to me once. You’ve got to get it.”

“Christ, I can’t do that. I’ve never cracked a safe.”

“But you don’t have to crack it. I own the club. When Kerch is dead, I’ve got a right to open that safe. We can get a locksmith to drill it open. But you’ve got to get that envelope before anybody else gets it.”

“I’ll get it,” he said. “What’s he got on you, Floraine?”

“I can’t tell you now.”

“You don’t trust me, eh? I thought we were working together now. Tell me what he’s got on you, Floraine.”

“I’ll tell you when he’s dead.”

“It might take a while. I got to make plans, especially when I’m working in the dark like this.”

“It’s got to be today. You said today.”

“The hell I did. It could take a week for me to get a chance at him. I’ve got to think about a getaway, too.”

“I said I’d take care of Rusty and give you a clear field. If I do that, there’s nothing to stop you.”

“Christ, Floraine, you got to give me time–” The unfinished sentence was punctuated by a sharply indrawn breath.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered.

I thought he had heard my breathing, and I raised my gun and waited. But it wasn’t me that had taken the wind out of his words. None of the three of us had heard the front door open or anyone come in. But the door had opened and someone had come in. It was Kerch’s voice I heard next, speaking from the direction of the hallway:

“I sent Garland to bring you in, Sault. What a charming excuse you have for not having come. You might as well frisk him, Garland, though I suspect he hasn’t the courage to carry a gun. Please don’t feel that it’s necessary to cover your breasts, my dear Floraine. Garland isn’t interested, Rusty won’t molest you so long as I’m here, and the sight of them continues to give me a certain aesthetic pleasure.”

She said one word: “Toad!”

“You women,” Kerch said pleasantly. “You women are always eager to be deluded by such nonessentials as personal beauty. Joe’s here, for example. He’s quite a nice-looking youngster, but he’s got the heart of a little slinking rat. Isn’t that right, Joey?”

Joey said: “Floraine – Mrs. Weather here – just called me up down at Malteoni’s, and I came over here to see what was bothering her. We just kind of got playing around, you know how it is–”

“Toads are hard to kill,” Kerch said sententiously. “He’s not carrying anything, is he, Garland?”

“No. John Weather took his knife off him before he left town.”

“See what a frail reed you’ve been leading on, Floraine? I really can’t commend your choice of partners.”

“He doesn’t look like a toad,” she said.

“As I do, of course? But then you didn’t choose me as a partner. I chose you. At any rate, there are uglier things than toads. I predict that when we’ve finished with Joey, he won’t be able to compete even with me in loveliness.”

“I wasn’t going to do it,” Joey said in a hushed voice. “I was just pumping her so I could give you the word. Christ, I wouldn’t try anything on you, Mr. Kerch, we always got along great!”

“That seems to be finished, doesn’t it, Joey? Quite as finished as you will shortly be. Help him to stand up, Rusty, think we’ll go out to the Wildwood.”

“Take your hands off me,” Joey yelled. “You do anything to me and I’ll tear your setup wide open.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Joey.”

“You know what I mean. I know enough to pin murder on you, Kerch. If they can’t get you for murder, they can get you for accessory.”

“I always knew you killed Jerry Weather,” Floraine said. “Now I’ve got something on you, Kerch.”

“Nobody’s got anything on me at all,” Kerch said. “Bring him along, Rusty. We want to get out to the Wildwood before it’s light.”

“If you do anything to me, I’ll sing,” Sault said.

I saw him led, struggling feebly, across the narrow section of the room that was visible through the crack. Rusty had his arm and Garland walked behind him in a death march.

“You won’t sing,” Kerch said, “if what we do to you shuts you up for good. Come along, Floraine. You’ll need a coat.”

“You can’t do without me,” she said. “You’re crazy if you think you can.”

“Perfectly true, my dear. I can’t do without you. But I can certainly do without Joey Sault. Come along.”