Cast a Yellow Shadow

Seventeen

Hardman was wearing a double-breasted camel’s hair coat and alligator shoes. When he took off the coat you could admire his dark green cashmere jacket, his fawn-colored slacks, and the yellow ascot that he wore at the throat of a pale green velour shirt. He was everything the well-dressed numbers man should be and I asked him how Trueblue Sue had done in the fourth at Shenandoah.

“Out of the money, baby, I’m sorry to say.”

I introduced Hardman and Betty to Sylvia Underhill. I took Betty’s mink and hung it up carefully, the way five thousand dollars should be hung up. Padillo mixed them a drink and they sat in two easy chairs. Betty was wearing some kind of black-and-white-striped bellbottomed lounging pajamas that either were going to be the rage that year, or the year after.

“What you got going?” Hardman said.

“We think we’ve got a plan to find Fredl,” I said, “but we’re going to need some help.”

“Keep talkin.”

I let Padillo tell it. He told it quickly and concisely. Hardman didn’t interrupt or say anything until Padillo stopped talking.

“Four could probably do it,” Hardman said. “Me and three others. We pick ’em up out on Mass Avenue and then trade off on the tail job. We can use phones to stay in touch. But you ain’t got no idea where she’s gonna go?”

“None.”

“Need a moving van then.”

“Why?” I said.

“You get four colored boys pulling up before some house in a white neighborhood and getting out of two cars and moving up to that house and you got law. Especially if you have to rush out of there with two white girls. But with a moving van, us dressed in white coveralls, and maybe a pick-up truck for the wheel man — one of those fancy jobs that don’t carry much and are built like a sedan almost, it could work okay.”

“Can you get the three you need?” Padillo said.

Hardman looked down at the toe of his right shoe and polished it against the back of his left leg. “This ain’t gonna be no cheapie.”

“We’ll take care of the money,” I said.

“Might run you high — ten, fifteen thousand. That includes any — well, any accidents that might happen.”

“Make it fifteen thousand and if it costs any more we’ll take care of it,” Padillo said.

“Hardman looked at Betty. “What you think, honey?”

“You use Mush, Tulip and Nineball, it cost you that.”

“I was thinking of them.”

“We need Mush for something else,” Padillo said.

“We get Johnny Jay then,” Hardman said.

“We want to stay in touch with you from the time you pick Sylvia up until the time you’re done,” Padillo said. “Will phones work?”

“We set up a conference call and keep it goin till we’re done.”

“Operators listen in?” I asked.

“Ain’t the operators you have to worry about. Those mobile phones are seventy-five-man party lines. You get an hour’s worth of calls a month for six dollars. After that it’s about thirty cents for ten minutes and after that ten cents a minute.”

“Can you make a conference call?” Padillo said.

“Sure.”

“And keep it going for as long as you want?”

“You payin for it; you can talk for hours.”

“Then what we say can’t make any sense.”

“That shouldn’t be hard.”

“What about getting the phones installed?”

Hardman sighed. “I already got one in mine, so you can use my car. Mush got one in his. That takes care of two. We gonna have to get two more — one in the truck and one in the pickup. That’ll cost us a little. Have to get a man to juggle some orders at the telephone company, but I know the man to get hold of.” He paused and looked at his shoes again. “Have to get the trucks and get them painted, think up a name for the moving company, call it Acme or something like that. How about Four-Square?”

“Fine,” I said.

“How many you think’s gonna be in this place we gotta get Fredl and Missy here out of?” Hardman said.

“Two, maybe three,” Padillo said.

“They gonna put up a fuss?”

“You can count on it.”

“After we find out where it’s at, how soon we go in?”

“As soon as whoever brings her there leaves,” Padillo said.

“Where you want us to take em, once we get ’em out?”

“My place, Hard,” Betty said. “I get Doctor Lambert down to look at his wife.”

“You wanta meet these boys who gonna work with me?”

“What do you think?” Padillo asked.

“They might be wanting a little advance.”

“All right. Let’s meet tomorrow afternoon on Seventh Street. That okay?”

“Two o’clock Sunday?” Hardman said.

“Fine.”

“One thing,” I said to Hardman, “no hot cars.”

“You ain’t making it no easier.”

“No cops,” I said.

“I couldn’t see too good, but looks like a couple of them are camped outside right now,” Hardman said. “They for you or somebody else?”

“They just want to make sure Padillo gets home all right.”

“They don’t look like metros.”

“They aren’t; they’re FBI,” I said.

“They ain’t in on this, is they?”

“No. They’ll be out of the picture by Monday.”

“I sure don’t want no Federals,” Hardman said. “They nothin but bad times.”

“They’ll be out,” I said.

He turned to Sylvia. “Missy, you bein awful quiet over there.”

She smiled. “It’s going so fast. I suppose I’m really not used to it.”

“You be all right,” he said. “The Hard-man’ll take care of you.”

“There’s one other thing, Hardman,” Padillo said.

“What’s that?”

“Sylvia is going to drive out to the trade mission on Massachusetts, get out of her car, and go in. If they don’t bring her out in thirty minutes, I want you to go in and get her.”

“Uh-huh,” Hardman said. “Now that’s where the power is?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s where all those African ofays are?”

“Yes.”

“Price have to go up on that.” He held up a big hand. “Not me now. I go in after her and all. But the other three might get a little dicey unless there’s a bonus.”

“There’ll be one, if you have to go in.”

“They got a back way out of that place — alley entrance maybe?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “You’d better check it out.”

“I’ll do that tomorrow,” he said.

“Like another drink?” I asked.

He looked at his watch. “It’s two-thirty now. I gotta start roundin up these folks. We best be goin.” They rose and I got up and brought them their coats.

“Nice meetin you, Missy,” Hardman said to Sylvia.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t you worry about nothin.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Hardman and Betty were at the door when the big man turned. “What you gonna use Mush for, baby?” he asked Padillo.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“He wants to learn that sidestep thing you did on him real bad.”

“I’ll teach it to him.”

“How those three friends of yours workin out?”

“About like I expected.”

“Mush gonna be round them?”

“Probably.”

“He be a good man for that.”

“That’s what I thought,” Padillo said.

Hardman turned to me. “We’ll get Fredl out okay, Mac.”

“I believe it.”

“See you Sunday about two. Hell, it’s already Sunday.” They left quickly.

I walked over to the bar and poured a drink for myself. “Care for a nightcap?”

“If that’s a hint, I’ll take it,” Padillo said. I poured him one.

“Sylvia?”

“No thank you.”

I handed Padillo his drink and said: “You cut it a little thin, didn’t you?”

“On the half-hour thing?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so. They’ll move fast, once Sylvia gets in. They should have her out within fifteen minutes. If it’s more than a half-hour, then they’ll be thinking of doing something else.”

“I was just thinking about your two friends waiting patiently in that car downstairs,” I said. “If Hardman had been sent by your mythical Portuguese, he could have taken the elevator up, done you in leisurely, had a couple of drinks, and then gone home to bed. If they’re protection, they don’t add up to much.”

“Did you get a good look at them?” he asked.

“No.”

“They won’t be the same ones who were at the bar earlier. We lost them in Georgetown.”

“We went out a back door,” Sylvia said.

“Who are they?”

“I’d like to make sure.” He finished his drink and stood up. “You care to join me?”

“Not really, but I will.”

“We’ll be back shortly,” he told Sylvia as I opened the door.

We walked down the hall to the elevator and I punched the button.

“They’re not FBIs?” I said.

He shook his head. “I lost them at the fourth bar we hit. We weren’t followed here. I doubt that they’d sit outside waiting for me. They’d have made sure I was in your place. They’re supposed to be protecting me, not just pulling a surveillance job. I’d say the FBI pair, or their relief, is waiting for me in the lobby of the Mayflower.”

“Who’s out front?”

The elevator came and we got in. Padillo took his revolver out of his topcoat pocket and tucked it into the waistband of his trousers.

“Let’s find out.”

The elevator stopped at the lobby and we got out and walked to the thick glass entrance doors. I could see the car across the street, about thirty feet to the left. The two men were still in it, their faces turned towards us, but obscured by their hats. They saw us coming through the apartment doors and the one nearest the street and nearest to us rolled down his window.

“When we get to the end of the sidewalk,” Padillo said, “shake hands with me, turn around, and go back to the lobby. I’ll go the left. Walk to the lobby and turn around.”

We got to the end of the sidewalk and we shook hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Padillo said, more loudly than he normally would, and started walking slowly to his left. I moved quickly to the doors of the lobby and turned. I could see Padillo as he drew parallel with the car across the street. The car’s engine started. Padillo dived for the lawn to his left and while he was in the air somebody shot at him. He rolled as he hit the ground and came up with the revolver in his hand. The man in the righthand seat of the car fired again, but the car was moving. The shot echoed as the sound waves bounced between the apartment buildings. The car was a grey Ford Galaxie and its tires squealed for what seemed to be seconds as they spun away from the curb. I watched its taillights blink when the driver hit the brakes to make the corner. The car skidded as it turned and then it was gone. Some lights came on in an apartment across the street. Padillo ran back to the lobby doors and we moved quickly to the elevator. It was still at the ground level and we got inside and I punched the button for my floor. Padillo was holding his left side and biting his lower lip.

“Hurt?” I asked.

“Like hell,” he said.

“You moved real pretty. What tipped you off?”

“You get a good look at them?”

“No.”

“I did when I was right across the street from them.”

“Recognize anyone?”

“Not the one at the wheel. Just the passenger.” The elevator stopped at my floor and we got out and walked quickly down the hall. I put the key in the lock and turned it.

“Who was it?”

“Our British cousin,” he said. “Philip Price.”