He Won't Need It Now

CHAPTER IX

DUFFY STEPPED INTO ROSS’S garage and looked round the dim shed. Ross came out of the little office at the far end of the shed. He was big and fat, with a glistening rubbery face. He plodded over the oily concrete, waving a short thick arm.

“Don’t tell me,” he wheezed when he saw Duffy. “Let me guess.”

Duffy drew his lips off his teeth in a mirthless grin. “Ain’t seen you for years,” he said.

“I bet you’re in a jam.”

Duffy shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said. “It ain’t anything like that. I want to spend some dough with you.”

Ross put his broad hand on Duffy’s arm. “Well, well,” he began, leading Duffy to the office. “I’ve got a bottle in there that’ll suit you.”

Duffy sat down in a basket chair and looked round the small box-like room. Ross nearly filled it.

“Gettin’ mighty hot, ain’t it?” Ross said, bringing out a black bottle from his desk cupboard. He wiped the mouth of the bottle on his shirt-sleeve and pushed it over to Duffy. “You be careful of that liquor,” he went on, “that’s Tiger’s sweat okay.”

Duffy took a swig, rolling the liquor round his mouth before swallowing. Then he grunted a little. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s fierce.”

Ross took the bottle from him and raised it to his lips. Duffy watched his Adam’s apple jump in his fat throat. Ross put the bottle on the table, wiped his wet mouth on the back of his hand, and hitched his chair forward a little. “Now, what’s the business?”

Duffy lit a cigarette and rolled another across the table to Ross. “You still got that old Buick around?” he asked.

Ross’s little eyes opened a trifle. “You mean the armoured one?”

“That’s it.”

Ross nodded. “Sure I’ve got it.”

“Does she run?”

Ross grinned’. “Does she run? Listen, all my cans run. That bus’s as good as new.”

Duffy said, “I want to rent her for a bit.”

Ross shrugged. “That’s okay,” he said simply. “Why not have my Packard? Now that’s a swell job.”

Duffy shook his head. He got to his feet. “I want the Buick,” he said. “I might need a little protection from now on, and I’d feel a lot safer in the Buick.”

Ross said, “I knew it, you’re in a jam.”

“Show me the wagon.”

Ross led him out into the shed again. “That’s her.”

The Buick was just an ordinary-looking car, slightly shabby in the body, although she had been freshly washed down. Duffy looked her over thoughtfully. “Sell her to me,” he said at last.

Ross took a quick look over his shoulder, then plodded over. “She looks the berries, don’t she?” he said. He opened the door. “You try that.”

Duffy had to make a strong effort to get the door to shut. “That’s steel,” Ross said. “Good thick stuff, see?” He opened the door again and climbed inside. Duffy leant against the door and put his head forward.

“The guy that threw this bus together knew all about it,” Ross said, settling his hindquarters firmly on the padded seat. “The roof is armour plate. Take a look at the windows.” He rolled one down. “Looks all right from the outside, but see how thick they are.”

The glass was at least three-quarters of an inch in thickness.

“That’ll bounce a .45 slug back at the guy who sent it,” Ross said. He touched a spring in the dashboard and a small panel slid back. He put his hand inside and took out two Colt automatics. “You won’t need these,” he said. “I’ll clear them out for you.”

“Let ’em stay, they can go with the bus,” Duffy said quietly.

Ross looked at him, pursed his fat mouth, then shrugged. He put the guns back. “Under the seat there’s four hundred rounds.”

Duffy said, “For the love of Mike.”

Ross grinned. “I ain’t had time to shift the stuff. It’s been in there some time.”

“It’s a fine job. Anything else?”

Ross climbed out of the car again. “The radiator grill is bullet-proof. The engine is protected with plate. The rear window rises from the bottom, so you can operate a gun if you wanted to. And the tyres are filled with puncture-healing liquid which fills any holes immediately if a slug finds its way there. That cab is certainly a swell job for trouble.”

Duffy pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess it’s right up my street. What you want for her, Ross?”

Ross scratched his bald head. “What you got, buddy?” he asked. “You done things for me in the past…”

Duffy said, “I’ll give you thirty bucks a week for her.”

Ross shook his head. “Too much,” he said. “I’ll take twenty.”

Duffy took forty dollars from his pocket-book and handed them over. “I’ll take her for a couple of weeks,” he said. “Fill her up, will you?”

Ross pushed the money into his trouser pocket. “She’s ready to go.”

Duffy opened the door and got in. “I’ll be seeing you, pal,” he said.

Ross put his fat face through the window frame. “Take it easy with the cannons,” he said anxiously. “They ain’t registered, but take it easy all the same.”

Duffy nodded at him and engaged the clutch. The Buick rolled out into the street. Duffy drove to his bank, cashed a cheque for a thousand dollars, checked his deposit and went back to the car again. With the thousand on him, and three thousand in the bank, he could last a little while, he thought.

Olga was waiting for him at “Stud’s Parlour", a quiet little bar just off East 154th Street. When he drove up, she ran out and he pushed open the off door for her. She got in, and he had to lean over her to slam the door shut. “That’s stiff,” she said.

“It’s steel,” he grinned, pulling away from the kerb. “"This tub’s from Chi. They know how to build ’em there.”

She was silent for half a block, then she said, “You expecting trouble?”

“Trouble’ll blow up sooner or later in a racket like this. I like to be prepared for it.” He pushed the Buick past a big truck, then he said, “You ain’t going to get scared?”

She shook her head. “I don’t scare easily.” She put her neat gloved hand to her throat. She was wearing a high-neck blouse. “Your friends were swell,” she said as an afterthought.

Duffy nodded. “I’m a heel all right,” he said. “I told Alice I was seeing you on the train for your home.”

Olga said, “You couldn’t let them in on this?”

Duffy shook his head. “They’ve got each other. They don’t give a damn for money; why should they? It’s punks like you and me that ain’t got anchors that think money’s the tops.”

She shot a quick glance at him. “You’re not feeling sore?” she ventured.

Duffy shook his head again. “No, not sore. I’ve started this, so I’m finishing it. If I don’t get away with it, it don’t matter. If I do, well, I’ll spend what I get, and think I’m having a swell time.”

She said in a low voice, “And me?”

Duffy put his hand on her knee. “You’re okay, baby, you’ll get what you want.”

He pulled up outside his apartment. “Come on in and see how you like your new home.”

They went upstairs, and she stood waiting for him to open the door. Inside the small apartment they stood and looked at each other, then she turned her head quickly and walked over to the window. “I like this,” she said. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Duffy threw his hat on the chair and brought out a bottle of rum. “You like Bacardi?” he said.

“Yes, but it’s early yet, isn’t it?”

Duffy took two glasses and poured out the rum. He went over to her and put the glass in her hand. “To you and to me and to dough,” he said.

The Bacardi went down smooth, leaving a hot ball of fire burning inside them.

“Take your hat off, honey,” he said, “this is your home now.”

She said, “Is that the bedroom over there?”

“That’s it. Go ahead and have a look.” He was surprised to find his hands were trembling. He watched her walk slowly across the room and into the bedroom. Her long legs and flat hips had a lazy movement, but there was an electric tension that radiated from her.

He followed her and stood just behind her, looking at her in the mirror. She raised her eyes, studied his face, then she turned quickly.

He put his hands on her hips and drew her to him. “You’re swell,” he said. “I’ve known you twenty-four hours, but it seems a lifetime. I bet you’re bad. I bet you’ve loved, but I don’t care.”

She said, “I’ve been all that and more.” She took his hands in hers, held them for a moment, then pushed them away from her. She went over to the bed and sat down.

Duffy shifted away from the mirror and leant over the back of the bed. “We’ve got to get together,” he said. “Tell me about yourself.”

She turned her head and looked at him. “Isn’t it unwise?” she said.

Duffy shook his head. “I want to know,” he said.

“I was born in a small Montana town.” Her voice was flat and expressionless. “Living there was like living in a morgue. Nothing ever happened. The sun shone, the dust collected on the dry roads, carts came and went, nothing ever happened. I used to get fan magazines and read about Hollywood. Millions of other girls have done the same. I thought if I got to Hollywood, I’d get a break. I dreamed Hollywood, lived Hollywood, and I guess I even slept Hollywood. Well, one day I took my chance. I waited until my Pa had gone into the fields, then I took all his money—it wasn’t much—and I blew. I never got to Hollywood. My dough gave out when I hit Oakland. I got a job as a hostess in a dance hall there.”

Duffy came round and sat on the bed close beside her.

“I had to be nice to the men at the bar. Talk to them, kid them along, and get them to buy drinks. They paid me commission on the drinks. It didn’t last long. The boss called on me one night, and then I hadn’t anything to take care of after he had been over me. Well, you know how it is, once on the slide, you can’t stop.”

Duffy said, “How long ago was this?”

“About eight years. I was seventeen then. I ran into a guy named Vernor. How that guy kidded me! He certainly could paint a picture. He showed me how I could make money so fast that I’d get dizzy. Pretty clothes, motor-cars, jewellery, and all the rest of it. Just by selling myself three or four times a night. I fell for it. What did it matter, so long as I could get enough dough to get out of the game in a year or so?

“He got me into a house in Watsonville, one of the northern Californian towns, and once I was there I knew what a sucker I’d been. I just couldn’t get away. They never gave me any money. They kept my clothes from me. They threatened me with the police; in fact, they had me.”

Duffy grunted, “A sweet life you’ve had.”

She was silent for a moment, then she went on. “I didn’t see a white man for three years. Filipinos, Hindus and Chinks, yes, but no white man.”

Duffy moved restlessly. He didn’t like this.

“Just when I was giving up, along came Cattley. Can you imagine that? Cattley came into my room, and I was expecting another of those fierce little brown men. Cattley fell for me, and I gave him everything I had. He thought I could be useful to him, so he got me out of the place and set me up in that little house.”

Duffy said, “How could you be useful to a guy like Cattley?”

Her face hardened a little. “I’m telling you everything, aren’t I?” she said.

Duffy leant back on his elbows. “Sure, and it don’t sound so good.”

She lifted her shoulders wearily. “It isn’t good. In Cattley’s business he had to have a woman around. He got me to play hostess to his suckers. I got him introductions to the upper set. It was through me that he made so much money. Cattley was on the level with me. He gave me plenty.” She sighed, twisting her hands. “Now the poor mug’s dead.”

In the other room the telephone began to ring. Duffy made no move to answer it.

Olga said, “What’s the matter ? Don’t you want to answer it ?”

“Let it ring,” he said, looking at her.

The telephone stopped ringing.

She stood facing him, then she said, “Yes… yes… yes.”

He reached out and pulled her roughly to him. “I’m crazy about you,” he said, his lips hard against her throat.

The telephone began to ring again. It rang for a long time, then it stopped. A fly buzzed busily from room to room, hitting the window with distinct little plops.

On the bed, Duffy lay, his eyes half shut, feeling the muscles of his body running into liquid. Olga went to sleep. Duffy watched her. Time meant nothing to him. He was quite content to look at her. Her body was strong and white Her flesh was firm. He thought she looked good.

He put out his hand gently and touched her hair. She stirred and opened her eyes. She smiled at him.

Duffy said, “You’ve got me. You’ve got me hard.”

“I want to go away with you,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “I want to get away from all this. You won’t let me down, now?” She said “now” very urgently.

Duffy shook his head. “It’ll be all right, you see.”

The telephone began to ring insistently.

Olga sat up. A little shiver ran through her. She said, “No, don’t go. Leave it.”

Duffy hesitated, then got off the bed. He looked at her for a moment, smiled, then went into the other room. He took the receiver off the prong.

“What is it?” he said sharply.

“Gleason talking,” came the harsh purring voice.

Duffy pulled a chair up and sat down. His eyes and mouth were suddenly hard. “Okay,” he said, “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“I’ve been ringing for some time.” There was just a hint of nerves in Gleason’s voice.

“Well, you got me now.”

“I’ll buy that thing from you for fifteen grand,” Gleason said with a rush.

Duffy grinned into the ’phone. “I must be getting deaf,” he said. “It sounded like you said fifteen grand.”

Gleason was silent for a minute, then he said, “I can’t go higher than that. Fifteen grand.”

“What the hell kind of a cheap punk are you? Ain’t you aching to get that list back? The list is worth that much as State evidence.”

“Now listen,” Duffy could almost see Gleason squeezing the telephone with excitement, “I can’t lay my hands on any more dough. I’ll make you a fair offer. Fifteen grand and five per cent cut on the business.”

“Aw, use your head,” Duffy shifted forward in his chair a little. “I ain’t so dumb. What’s five per cent cut to a corpse? I wouldn’t trust you, Gleason, for a second. Once you had that list, you’d bust your guts to iron me out. No, it’s cash or nothing.”

Gleason said, “You goddam sonofabitch…

“Skip it. You don’t know what you’re up against. I’ve got another buyer in the market. You’re going to pay plenty for that list, or the other guy gets it.”

There was a heavy silence at the other end, and Duffy reached over for a cigarette. He had nothing to do, and plenty of time to do it in.

Then Gleason said, “That’s the way you’re going to play it, huh?”

“You got it. Ends against the middle. I ain’t in a hurry, but you’d better start revising your ideas.”

“You’re going to find yourself in a heap of trouble,” Gleason said. His voice was suddenly steady. He seemed no longer excited. “I’d play ball on the level, Duffy, or…”

“Listen, you yellow punk, you can’t throw a scare into me. I know just where I’ve got you. Start the bidding at fifteen grand if you like, but the price is going to the roof.” He dropped the receiver back on the prong and sat back.

Olga came out of the bedroom. She was still nude. “Are you handling this right?” she asked.

Duffy went over to her and put his hands round her back. “This is the way it’s going to go,” he said. “It’ll take a little time, but it’ll yield the most dough.”

She looked up into his face. “Can’t you trust him?”

Duffy shook his head. “It’s going to be tricky getting away with the dough,” he said, “but you watch me, we’ll beat ’em.”

She leant against him. “I didn’t care what happened, but I do now. I don’t want you to get into a jam after this.”

He led her back into the bedroom. “Put on a wrap,” he said, “I can’t think with you like that.”

He watched her undo the small case she had brought with her, and find a wrap, then he helped her put it on.

They went back into the sitting-room again. Olga lit a cigarette, drawing down the smoke and holding it. She said, “You’re hatching something, what is it?”

Duffy took from his inside pocket a little note-book and put it on the table. Then he brought out another book, identical with the first. He laid it beside the other.

Olga looked at them closely, then released a cloud of smoke down her nostrils. “A double-cross,” she said.

“You’ve got it.” Duffy drew up a chair and sat down. “I’m showing you how dough’s made.” He took out a fountain-pen and began to copy the list of names from the first book into the second.

She sat on the edge of the table and watched him.

“Someone’s going to get mighty sore about this,” she said at last.

Duffy didn’t look up. He went on writing, but he said, “We won’t be there to see ’em.”

When he had finished the list, he went back again to the beginning and studied the pages. “You know what these numbers stand for? Look, Max Hughson 5. Johnny Alvis 7. Trudie Irvine 4.”

She leant over his shoulder. “Payments,” she told him. “Hughson used to pay five thousand dollars a month for his dope and protection ”

“That’s plenty. Why protection?”

Olga swung her long legs. “That was Gleason’s way. These birds aren’t real hopheads. They just play at it. Gleason sold them the dope, then warned them that someone was on to them, and it would cost them so much to hush it up. He only had to put the screw on a little, scare them to hell, and show them that he could warn off all comers, to get himself put on their pension list.”

Duffy did sums, then he looked up. “This little book is worth five hundred grand to a cool million, if they all pay.”

Olga nodded. “When I was with Cattley and he was working it, they mostly did pay,” she said.

Duffy grinned. “It’s easy to make money, it you know how,” he said, getting to his feet. “Well, we’ll see what Morgan’s got to say.”

She slid off the table. “What are you doing with the books?” she asked.

“You shall have one and I’ll have the other.” He gave her the copy. “Be careful with that.”

She held the book in her hand for a moment, looking at him very hard, then she smiled and put the book in his hand.

“What’s this?”

She said, “I hoped you would do that. I just wanted to see if you trusted me. It’s screwy to keep this where it could be lifted. Keep it.”

He said, “Well, I’ll be goddamned.” But she looked so pleased that he took the book and put it with the other in his inside pocket.

She said, “You’re not going to Morgan alone. I’m coming with you.”

He thought for a moment, then he nodded. “Oke, but you stay outside in the bus. We’ll plant the lists at my bank on the way down.”

She ran into the bedroom to change. Duffy called to her. “I’ll get Morgan’s address from the Tribune. They’ll be bound to know it.”

While he ’phoned, he vaguely heard her in the bathroom, and when he had got the address from the reporter’s room, he wandered in. She was standing under the cold shower, holding her face up to the tingling pin-points of water. Her eyes were closed, and she held her breasts cupped in her hands.

Duffy leant forward and turned the wheel on hard. The cold water struck her fiercely, and she ducked away, gasping. Duffy grabbed a towel and wrapped her in it.

“Get busy,” he said, “we ain’t got all day.”

She mopped her face, then stepped out of the bath. “Try it,” she said, “it’s nice.”

Duffy shook his head. “Later,” he said. “I’ve got the money itch.”

She took oft the rubber cap that protected her hair and threw it at him. The drops of water splashed his face. Duffy aimed a smack at her, then he jerked her to him and kissed her.

He thought, “We’re behaving like a couple of kids.”

She said, looking up at him, “Will you always be kind to me?”

He gripped her arms suddenly, hurting her. “Let’s go,” he said, “there’s work to be done.” And he left her, standing quite still, holding the towel round her, with a little bewildered look in her eyes.

CHAPTER X

DUFFY LEFT THE BUICK at the kerb and climbed the five flat steps to the front door. Morgan’s house was in a big way. Duffy was quite surprised. He expected something good, but this was a lot better than good.

The front door was a plate-glass affair, plastered with wrought iron. The bell had to be reached for and pulled down, like the plumbing in an old-fashioned toilet.

Duffy called back to Olga, who was sitting in the car, “Some joint.” He self-consciously jerked the bell-pull hard.

Clive opened the door.

Duffy said, “Tell your Queen I want to see him.”

Clive threw up his hands and backed away from the door. He said in a shrill voice, “You get out…” Duffy pushed the door wide open, but he stayed where he was. He said in a level voice, “Get going or I’ll start on you.”

Clive slid his hand inside his coat, and Duffy took a quick step forward and smacked Clive across the face.

The little guy said from the head of the stairs, “Don’t hit him again. He’ll be all right.”

Clive took his hand away from his coat and backed farther away. A high whinnying sound was coming from his mouth. Duffy said, “Why don’t you take this bum away?”

The little guy came down the stairs. He wore his hat pulled low down. Duffy couldn’t imagine him without that hat.

Duffy said, “Where’s Morgan?”

The little guy was very cautious, he did not get too close to Duffy. He said with a thin smile, “You surprised him.”

Duffy said, “I don’t care about that. I came to see Morgan.”

The little guy turned his head to speak to Clive. “You heard him?” he said. “He came to see Morgan.”

Duffy reached forward and grabbed the little guy by the coat-front. His eyes were like granite. “Cut this circus stuff of yours out.”

The little guy pushed an automatic hard into Duffy’s vest. “Don’t get tough, Mister,” he said.

Duffy took his hand away, and stepped back a little. He said, “Put that rod up and use your head.”

The little guy said to Clive, “Tell Morgan.”

Duffy stood there watching the little guy thoughtfully.

The little guy said hopefully, “You ain’t going to start trouble, are you ?”

Duffy shook his head. “Your daffodil went for her gun,” he said. “I wouldn’t stand for a thing like that.”

The little guy giggled. “You’d like Clive once you got to know him,” he said.

Duffy still stood motionless. “Suppose you put that heater away,” he said evenly. “This ain’t the time for pop-guns.”

The little guy shoved the gun into his shoulder-holster. “I get nervous sometimes,” he said, waving his hands apologetically.

A door at the end of the hall opened and Morgan came out. He called, “Come in here.”

Duffy walked the length of the hall slowly. Then he entered the room. Morgan was standing just inside. Across the room, Joe leant against the wall, chasing holes in his teeth with a wooden pick.

Duffy nodded at Morgan.

Joe said, “Why, for the love of Mike, here’s the pip back again.”

Morgan half raised his hand, stopping Joe. He said, “Have you brought the photos after all, Mr. Duffy?”

Duffy said, “Clear your thugs out, I want to talk to you.”

“Shall I pat him around?” Joe asked. “He likes it, and can he take it?”

Morgan said, “Wait outside.”

Joe shrugged, but he went out, passing close to Duffy. As he passed, he pushed his flat face into Duffy’s and grinned. “Nice boy, ain’t you?” he said.

Duffy didn’t move. “Your breath’s bad,” was all he said.

Joe shut the door behind him, then Duffy walked over to a big arm-chair and sat down. He didn’t remove his hat. Morgan leant against the overmantel and waited.

“We’re due for a talk, ain’t we?” Duffy said.

Morgan took out a cigar case, selected a long thin Havana, put it between his small teeth, bit off the end neatly and spat the end into the empty grate. He put the cigar case back in his pocket.

Duffy said, “I’ll smoke too.”

Morgan looked at him. His hooded eyes were very hostile. “Not mine, you won’t. You talk.”

Duffy shrugged and took a cigarette from his case. “If that’s how you feel…”

Morgan hid his face behind thick smoke as he lit the cigar. “You’ve still got five hundred bucks of mine,” he said.

Duffy nodded. “Sure,” he took his wallet out and counted out five one-hundred bills, then tossed them on the table. “I’ve been keeping them for you.”

Morgan’s face was quite blank. He looked hard at the five bills, then he put his hands behind him, and raised himself slightly on his toes. “That came as a surprise,” he said, “I thought you were taking me for a ride.”

Duffy said, “That’s scent money; buy your nance a present.”

Morgan stiffened. “You watch your mouth,” he said in a thick voice.

“Let’s skip this, and get down to things. I’ve been wanting a talk with you for some time. When you sent me out on that phoney photo stunt of yours, I fell right into trouble, and I’ve been that way ever since. I’m getting to like it, and I’m seeing quite a bit of dough hanging to it. You play ball with me now, and you going to get into something that’s going to make your ears flap. Let’s get this straight. You wanted to put the screws on Edwin English, through his daughter, ain’t that the way it goes?”

Morgan stared at him for several minutes, his eyes expressionless, then he said, “Suppose it was?”

“If I’d turned in those photos of Cattley and the girl together, you could have cracked down on English. You could have warned him off your rackets, and he would have had to like it.”

Morgan wandered over to a chair and sat down, but he didn’t say anything.

“You know Murray Gleason?”

A flicker of surprise went over Morgan’s face. “Yeah, I know him.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Where’s this leading?” Morgan was suddenly impatient.

“I’ll tell you. Gleason is running a big dope racket amongst some of the real big shots in the upper circle. He’s got them so short that they’re screaming murder. That guy has a pension from them of nearly a million bucks. Did you know that?”

Morgan shook his head. His thick lips curled a little. “That ain’t true,” he said. “Gleason is only a cheap peddler—was when last I knew him.”

Duffy laughed. “You’re out of date,” he said. “Gleason’s moved into the big-shot class, but he’s smart enough to keep it to himself. He stands no chance of having any political boss smacking his ears down for him.”

Morgan said at last, “I ain’t interested in Gleason.”

Duffy nodded. “Sure you ain’t,” he agreed, “but you’d like his racket, wouldn’t you?”

“When I want his racket, I’ll take it,” Morgan aid, tapping the long ash into the tray.

Duffy leant back and studied the ceiling. “Gleason’s had a list of all his customers and the amounts they pay for protection,” he said.

Morgan looked up sharply. “You said ‘had’?”

Duffy still didn’t take his eyes from the ceiling. “Sure, that’s right. I’ve got it now.”

Morgan sat silent, then he said, “I see.”

Duffy said, “It’s in the market right now.”

Morgan became elaborately casual. Duffy nearly laughed at him. “It might be useful,” he said.

Duffy said, “You ain’t got the idea quite.” He spoke carefully, as if to a child. “This English girl is tied up with Gleason. She’s as wild and crazy as a loon. These two are working this racket between them. And they’re making plenty out of it. With the list, you can smash their little game, put English on the spot, and have three hundred big shots pouring their dough into your lap, just to keep out of it.”

Morgan chewed on his cigar. “The way you’re putting it, it sounds good,” he said.

“It is good. That’s why I’m offering it to you.”

“What have I done?”

“You got the dough.”

“How much?”

“Fifty grand,” Duffy said. “I don’t mean thirty, or forty. It’s worth fifty, and it’s fifty I want.”

Morgan shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I guess you’d never peddle that for that amount of dough,” he said.

Duffy stood up. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll get the money from the other side. Why should I worry?”

“Wait. You’ve overlooked something.” Morgan looked foxy. “You’ve given me some nice information. I don’t doubt that. Think, would you pay that much money? You forget, I’ve got three guys who’re eating their heads off for a job. I ain’t paying fancy prices for a thing like that. Do you know what I’d do if I had a list like that?”

Duffy said, “What would you do?”

Morgan grinned. He looked like a wolf. “What you’ve done. Make a duplicate and sell it to both sides.”

Duffy’s face was quite blank. “It’s an idea,” he said, considering it.

Morgan shook his head. “It was a pip of an idea, but not now. When you’ve sold that list to Gleason, I’ll call on him and take it away from him.”

Duffy said, with a hard smile, “You’re pretty sure of yourself, ain’t you?”

Morgan raised his fat shoulders again. “And I’ll tell you something else,” he went on, flicking his ash into the tray, “I’ll send Joe to collect that fifty grand off you, when Gleason has paid it. That ought to show you.”

Duffy moved to the door. “I guess you and I won’t get on so well in the future,” he said sadly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“You will be,” Morgan said very gently.

Duffy opened the door. Joe was standing just outside. Duffy looked over his shoulder at Morgan. “There ain’t anything more now, is there?”

Morgan shook his head. Then a thought crossed his mind and he said, “Wait.”

Duffy stood still. He didn’t turn his back to Joe, but stood three-quarters, so that he could watch Joe from the corner of his eye. “Yeah?” he said.

Morgan picked up the five bills from the table. “Suppose you take these and give me the list?”

“What for?” Duffy was quite startled.

“You can’t break into the game,” Morgan said. “You’re soft. What’ve you got that’ll stand up against an outfit like mine? Get wise to yourself, you little heel. Where’s the dough coming for your protection? Who’s going to work for an out-of-work button-pusher? You must be nuts to come to me with a proposition like that. Here, give me the list and take the five hundred bucks. That’s what you’re worth, and save yourself a lot of grief.”

Duffy’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes went suddenly frosty. “Soft? Was that it?” he said.

Morgan shrugged. “I’ve wasted enough time with you. Scram, I’ll do the job myself.” He put the five bills into his pocket. Then he looked up quickly. “I want that list tonight,” he said evenly. “You can’t buck the rap. The list tonight, or I’ll turn Joe loose on you.”

Duffy nodded; he stepped past Joe carefully, who grinned at him, then he walked to the front door and down the steps.

Olga looked at him and said, “So it didn’t work.”

Duffy engaged the gear and drove the Buick down the block. He began to swear softly under his breath, without moving his lips. Olga laced her fingers round her knees and stared ahead.

Duffy swung, the Buick into Seventh Avenue and went with the traffic. He cut right at Longacre Square and drove into Central Park. When he reached the lake, he stalled the engine and stopped.

Olga said, “Don’t get mad.”

For a moment he said nothing, then he took off his hat and tossed it at the back of the car. “Those birds certainly got me going,” he said. A grim little smile came to his mouth, and she liked him a lot better.

“Tell me,” she said.

He screwed round in his seat, so that he was facing her, and took her gloved hands in his. “This is going to get tough,” he said. “You’d better skip before the war starts.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Suppose you cut out the hysterics and tell me.”

Duffy said, “Morgan wants the list. I’m to hand it over tonight or else…”

Olga said, “No dough?”

Duffy nodded. “That’s right. No dough.” She was silent for a minute.

“And then….?”

“Morgan’s got big ideas. He thinks he’s the only big shot round here. He told me to lay off the big dough with a few compliments on the side.”

Olga took her hands away and began to pull off her gloves.

“I expected it, didn’t you?” she said. “Does this dough mean anything to you?”

Duffy said, “How do you mean, anything?”

“High-pressure bastards like Morgan can’t imagine you’re serious. You’ve got to have a reputation as a killer to get away with a proposition that you’ve put up.”

Duffy said, “For God’s sake, what can I do?”

She leant forward, touched the spring on the dashboard, and took out the Colt automatic.

“A rat less won’t make any difference. Pop him, before he pops you.”

Duffy looked at the gun with distaste. He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I guess I wouldn’t go that far.”

For a moment she sat very still, then she said, “He’s right. You’re soft and you’re yellow.”

Duffy took the gun from her and put it back into the panel. He sat looking at the knife-edge crease of his trousers. “No dough’s worth murder,” he said. “If you and me are going to get along, we got to think the same way.”

She put her hand on his arm. “I guess I’m a heel,” she said.

“Forget it,” he said. “You’re fine.”

“You go ahead. The next move’s yours.”

“Let’s take Gleason for a ride. If we get some dough out of him, we can scram to the coast. Would you like that? Some nice hot place with plenty of yellow sand. With a sky real blue and just you and me?”

She leant back. “It sounds pretty good.”

“It would be a lot better than having the cops chasing you and getting that nice little bottom of yours burnt. Come on, honey, let’s look Gleason up.”

He started the engine and drove out of Central Park, down Second Avenue.

She said, “Go along the river. It’s nice there.”

He turned left when he could and came out at Bellevue Hospital. They drove with the traffic as far as the Williamsburg Bridge, then Duffy spun the wheel and they headed East.

They got back to his apartment just as the evening sun was dropping behind the roofs, throwing long, starved shadows.

They left the Buick at the kerb and walked up the stairs together. Duffy said, “It seems a mighty long time since I had my last drink.”

“How about putting on the glad rags and taking me out?” she asked.

He put his hand on her back and pushed her a little. “These stairs are hell, ain’t they? Sure, we’ll go places, but I want Gleason first.”

He opened the door of the apartment and they walked in together. Then Duffy said, “Well…”

The room was a complete shambles. The furniture was overturned, drawers had been jerked out and left piled on the floor, the contents strewn over the carpet. The overstuffed furniture had been ripped to pieces and the stuffing dumped in piles. Pictures had been taken down from the walls and were lying with their backs cut. A tornado had certainly hit that room.

Duffy said gently, “Gleason trying to save himself some dough.”

Olga wandered round the room, stepping carefully. “That was a swell idea of yours about the bank.”

Duffy nodded. His face was hard and cold. “I’ll fix that smart bastard,” he said.

She said, “There’s time for that. You’d better move over to my place.”

He looked round the wreckage. “I guess it don’t really matter. We’re due to pull out tomorrow, so what the hell.” He wandered into his bedroom and looked round with a grimace. The room had been searched as thoroughly as the sitting-room. There was a lot more mess, because the mattress and the pillows had been ripped.

Olga peered round the door. “Our love-bed’s been destroyed.”

“To hell with that,” Duffy said. “They’ve stolen my whisky.” He dug about under the bed and dragged out two battered suitcases covered with feathers. “Get going,” he said. “Do some work for a change.”

Just then the telephone bell began to ring, and he went over to answer it, leaving her sorting his shirts and things from the wreckage.

It was Sam at the other end.

“Why, Sam,” Duffy was pleased. “I’m glad you phoned.”

“Listen, you bum,” Sam sounded excited. “Don’t tell me you let that hot mamma go home to her people.”

Duffy said softly into the phone, “She’s in the other room.”

Sam groaned. “That dame’ll get you into trouble. Look, Bill, for God’s sake chuck this thing, will you? I’ve heard the Post will give you a job, right up your street, and a swell equipment on the side.”

Duffy said, “Thanks, pal, but I’m on to something big. Not peanut money, but the right stuff. I’m getting out tomorrow and I’m hitting the coast. When I’ve spent it all, I’ll be back. Olga and me are getting on fine.”

Sam said, “Alice’ll kill me if I don’t bring you back tonight. She told me to drag you by the short hairs.”

“It’s time you left Alice, if that’s the way she’s talking.” Duffy grinned. “No, I’m going ahead. When we’re in the money, we’ll invite you over.”

“It’s on the level?” Sam sounded worried.

“Is any big dough on the level?” Duffy asked. “Don’t you sweat about me, I’m okay.”

Sam said, “I’m going to have a sweet time with Alice tonight.”

“Tell her about Olga. She’ll understand. Tell her Olga’s swell. She won’t expect me then.”

“Is she?” Sam sounded curious.

“Is she what?”

“Swell.”

“O boy! Listen, that honey’s—” Duffy broke off as Olga walked into the room. “Well, Sam, I’ll be seeing you. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t like me to know about.” He dropped the receiver on to the prong.

Olga smiled at him. “I heard. I’m glad.”

“You packed my things?”

“Just finished. There’s so much junk.”

“Leave it.. We ain’t coming back.”

He put his arms round her. “I like you a lot,” he said.

She pulled his face down to hers hungrily. “Was I really good for you?” she whispered.

He said, “Huh-uh.”

She put her mouth against his neck. “Best of all?” she asked, taking a little of his skin between her teeth.

He pressed her to him and said, “Sure, best of all.”

They stood there for a long time, just holding each other. Duffy liked the feel of her hair against his face. Then he pushed her away gently, holding her at arm’s length. “I wonder if we’ve been crazy, going for a gang like Morgan’s,” he said. “I could get a job right now, and we could settle down.”

“Play Gleason and we’ll skip,” she said.

Duffy shrugged. He walked over to his bags and closed them, pulling the straps down hard. “Yeah,” he said, “you ain’t Alice, are you?”

She looked puzzled. “Alice?” she said. “Who’s Alice?”

Duffy grinned at her, but his mind was not with her.

“Oh, nothing—she’s a sucker. Dough don’t mean a thing to her. It’s love in a poorhouse with her.”

Olga shrugged. “That type’s nearly dead,” she said a little scornfully, “but you find ’em sometimes.”

Duffy stood looking round the room, holding the bags in either hand. He stood there so long that Olga touched his arm.

“Let’s go, hophead,” she said.

Duffy said, “Sure.” He walked to the door and then stopped again. “I ain’t ever going to see this joint again,” he said.

Olga pushed past him into the corridor. “Who cares?” she asked, walking down the stairs.

Duffy looked after her, put one of the bags on the floor, shut the door, picked the bag up again, and followed her down.

CHAPTER XI

BACK AT OLGA’S villa, Duffy immediately put through a call to Annabel. While he was waiting for the connection, Olga began packing. Duffy could hear her moving about in the bedroom, overhead, singing in a husky monotone, but with plenty of swing with it.

The line connected with a little plop, and he said, “Hullo.”

Annabel’s breathless voice floated to his ear. “Who is it?” she asked.

Duffy said, “Your boy friend there? This is Duffy.”

“You’re going to make a bad move soon,” she said fiercely, “and I’m going to get a big laugh when you fall down.”

Duffy said, “I ain’t got time to talk to you just now, hot pants. Get Gleason.”

She said very evenly, “They put smart guys like you in a gasoline bath and drop in a match.”

Gleason must have taken the ’phone from her. Duffy heard him say, “Pipe down, for Gawd’s sake.”

“Gleason?” Duffy asked.

“Yeah. You ready to play ball?”

“Sure, I’m ready to trade. Competition wasn’t so hot. They offered forty grand, no more, no less. It’s yours for fifty.”

Gleason raved, “How the hell can I get fifty grand together?”

Duffy’s mouth shaped into a smile, but his eyes were mirthless. “I’m moving out tomorrow first thing,” he said. “I don’t care who has the list, but I want somebody’s cash tonight. Fifty grand ain’t all that big, for an outfit like yours.”

Gleason said, “You’re going to pay for this, you sonofabitch.”

Duffy said, “Not until I get the dough and you get the book. After that, we’ll all have to watch out.”

Gleason was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I can’t bring cash; I’ll make it a certified cheque.”

“Cash,” Duffy’s voice was hard. “I’m feeding at the ‘Red Ribbon’ tonight around eight-thirty. If you ain’t there by the time I’m through, the deal’s off. And it’s gotta be cash.” He dropped the receiver back and went upstairs.

Olga was kneeling before a large cabin trunk. The floor was strewn with her clothes.

Duffy said, “For God’s sake…”

She turned her head and smiled at him. “Come and help,” she said.

He looked at the small clock on the mantelshelf. From where he stood he could just make out the tiny hands. It was six-thirty. He put his hands under her elbows and brought her to her feet.

“Listen, baby,” he said patiently, “this is going to be a quick journey. Leave all this junk. Just pack a bag. I’ll buy you the world when we’re out of this.”

She made a little face. “They’re so lovely.” She turned and looked at the things lying about.

“Come on,” he urged, “time’s moving.”

Together, they packed two large grips. Then Duffy went downstairs. He went into the kitchen and found a full bottle of Scotch. Taking two glasses, he went upstairs again. Putting the bottle on the small table by the bed he said, “Let’s have a drink.”

Olga came over and tore off the tissue wrapping round the bottle and flipped up the patent stopper. She splashed three inches of whisky into each glass.

Duffy said, “To us,” and they drank.

“We’re feeding at the ‘Red Ribbon’ tonight.”

She added some ginger ale to the whisky.

“And then…?”

“Gleason might bring the dough. I think he will. If he does, we get in the Buick and get out of town quick.”

“And the lists?”

He nodded. “Sure, I ain’t forgotten them. I’m going to collect right now. I’ll be gone about half an hour. You change. Put on something you can travel in.”

She came over to him and put her arms tightly round his neck.

“What’s this?” he asked.

She raised herself on her toes and whispered urgently in his ear.

He looked at the clock, then he shook his head. “Not now,” he said gently.

Her cool arms tightened, pulling his head down. “Please…” she said, very low. “Now.”

He put his lips gently on hers and pressed her to him, but his mind was elsewhere. He was thinking of Gleason, of Morgan, of the money, of how he was going to slip out of town. He was surprised at her. He thought this was a hell of a time to start a thing like this.

Then he put up his hands and took her arms from his neck, and pushed her away, still holding her arms.

“Tonight,” he said firmly. “Look at the time. I’ve gotta get to the bank.”

A faint colour came to her face, and she didn’t look at him. She turned away. “The bank will be shut, won’t it?” she said, still keeping her back to him. He noticed how toneless her voice was.

“Yeah, but I fixed that. There’s an audit that’s keeping ’em late. The teller there’s a pal of mine. I warned him I might want the list late.”

He wandered over to her. “You ain’t sore with me?” he said gently, putting his arms round her.

She turned her head. She was still flushed. “No. I’m not sore.” Then she said fiercely, “If only it were all over. If only we were out of this with the money, and safe.”

Duffy said, “Now don’t go into a spin. It’s going to work out okay, you see.”

“But you don’t know,” she said, her breasts suddenly rising and falling. “Bill, you don’t know. I’ve been through so much… and—and now I’ve found you. I’m frightened it won’t be all right.”

Duffy said, “Hey! You don’t want to get worked up. I tell you, we’ll get away with it. We’re going to have a fine time. We’re going to be in the dough. You and me. We’re going to have dough to burn… you see.”

She said quite quietly, “I feel something horrible’s going to happen.”

Duffy said, “Skip it, honey. The Scotch’s got hold of you.” He kissed her and he had to push her gently from him. Then he walked to the door. “I shan’t be long,” he said over his shoulder, and shut the door behind him.

She stood motionless where he had left her, then she suddenly said in a low voice, “Come back, I’m scared. Bill, come back….”

Out in the street, Duffy paused to light a cigarette. He threw the match from him and climbed into the Buick. As he started the engine he saw in his driving-mirror a big Packard turn into the street and drive slowly towards him. He glanced at it and then engaged his gear. His mind was still brooding on his future plans.

Pushing the pedal down, he drove the Buick fast. The Packard vanished from his mirror, and he thought no more about it.

At the bank there was a slight delay. Duffy had trouble in convincing the watchman that he had arranged to speak to the teller. The watchman was a stolid Irishman, with a big, beefy face, and not much brain.

Duffy took him through the explanation slowly again.

“Sure,” the watchman nodded his head, “but this joint’s closed see?” He said the last word with obvious triumph.

Duffy said bleakly, “Listen, punk, get going and tell Anscombe I’m here, or I’ll get you fired.”

The watchman blinked at him, then thinking it wouldn’t hurt him to inquire, he grumblingly left Duffy to cool his heels in the street. He came back again, after a delay that infuriated Duffy, and opened the iron-studded door.

“Come in,” he said shortly. “This is mighty irregular.”

Duffy stepped in and stood waiting. A flustered clerk came over to him and Duffy nodded at him. “I want that note-book I deposited,” he said shortly.

“Sure,” the clerk said. “Mr. Anscombe’s getting it for you.”

Anscombe came out of his office at the end of the hall and waved. He walked towards Duffy with a springy step. In his hand was the note-book.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he said. “I got it out as soon as the janitor brought me your name. Take it and give me a receipt. I’m doing you a favour. We oughtn’t to do business as late as this.”

Duffy took the note-book, glanced at it, put it in his pocket and scribbled his name on the slip of paper Anscombe held out to him.

“Much obliged,” he said. “I want this in a hurry, and it’s worth something.”

Anscombe came with him to the door. He seemed in a hurry to get rid of him. Duffy stepped into the street. The air was very close. He cocked his eye at the sky. “Looks like a storm,” he said.

Anscombe said it did; then he said good night, and shut the door. Duffy grinned a little, found that he was sweating, and blotted his face with his handkerchief. Then he walked over to the Buick and climbed in. He pressed the spring in the panel that held the guns, took one of the automatics out, glanced at the clip and shoved it down the waist of his trousers. He took out the note-book and put it in the panel. Then he pressed the spring and snapped it shut. It would be safe there, he thought.

The clock on the dashboard stood at seven twenty-five when he pulled up again at Olga’s villa. He got out of the car and noticed that the light was still burning in her bedroom.

He said, “I bet she’s fretting over those dresses still.” He walked up the path, feeling the gravel through his thin soles. Then he opened the door with the key she had given him and entered the hall, shutting the door behind him.

He said, raising his voice, “You dressed yet?” He didn’t wait for her reply, but went into the sitting-room to get some cigarettes. He stopped at the doorway, feeling suddenly cold. Then he said, “For God’s sake…”

The room had been torn to pieces in the same way as his apartment had been. He just took one quick glance, then he blundered up the stairs, his legs curiously weak. At the top of the stairs he hesitated, then he called, “Honey!” The sound of his voice quite startled him. It was hoarse and quavering.

“If those lugs have touched her,” he thought. He took a step forward, then stopped again. “Honey,” he shouted. “You there?”

The silence in the house mocked him. He put his hand or the gun butt and pulled the gun out. Then he began to slide forward silently, his feet making no sound on the carpet. He reached the bedroom door and put his hand on the knob. Then he gently turned the handle, holding the gun waist-high. He walked in.

Olga was lying on the floor, with a knife in her left breast. The knife had been driven in so hard that it had sealed the wound. She hadn’t bled at all. The wrap she had put on just before Duffy had left had been torn from her, and was lying at the other end of the room, where it had been thrown. Her large eyes were open and her lips were parted, showing a little of her small white teeth. She didn’t look scared, just surprised.

Duffy stood looking at her for a long time. The only sound in the room was the sharp busy ticking of the clock. Duffy didn’t have to touch her to know she was dead.

For moment the only thing that Duffy could think of was that she had offered herself to him not an hour ago, and he had refused.

A little trickle of sweat ran from under his hat, down his nose to his chin. He still stood looking at Olga. The telephone began to ring downstairs insistently. Duffy raised his head and listened. Then he turned and went down into the sitting-room. He pulled the telephone to him and said, “Yes?”

The dry, brittle voice of the little guy said, “We’re waiting for that list. Zero hour’s eleven o’clock. Then we come and get it.”

Duffy said through his teeth, “Go and —— yourself,” and hung up.

He climbed the stairs once more and went into the bedroom. He picked up the wrap from the floor and covered Olga with it. His hands shook when he touched her flesh. He said, “I’m sorry about this, honey,” just as if she could hear him, and he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Then he touched her hair very gently with his finger-tips, letting them move slowly down her face. “You’ve had all the bad breaks, ain’t you?” He stooped and kissed her full lips, feeling them growing cold against his. Then he stood up, examined his clothes for bloodstains, satisfied himself that there weren’t any, and walked to the door.

“Take it easy, buddy,” a hard voice said.

Duffy raised his eyes. He felt no shock. Standing in the door was a cop, holding a gun in his hand. Just behind him, Duffy could see another flat cap.

Duffy said. “I’m glad you’ve come. They’ve killed my girl friend.”

The first cop said, “Keep your hands still.” The other cop came round and walked slowly towards Duffy, watching him carefully.

Duffy said, “What’s this?”

The first cop said, “Frisk him. He’ll have a rod.”

Duffy said, “You’re dead wrong.” He had left his gun on the settee, when he had carried Olga to the bed. It was lying there, half hidden by a cushion.

The second cop stepped round him cautiously, just as if he were a wild animal that might snap any time. When he got behind him, he ran his hands down Duffy’s clothing, patting firmly. Then he stood back and shook his head. “He ain’t carryin’ one,” he said.

Duffy said, “Listen, you’re wasting time.”

“Just a minute,” the first cop said, “you’re Duffy, ain’t that right?”

Duffy said, “Sure.”

They both looked at him as if surprised that he admitted it. Then the second cop wandered over to the bed and had a look at Olga. He pulled off the wrapper and gaped at her.

Duffy said savagely, “Cover her up, you heel.”

The second cop jerked round. “Keep your trap shut, punk,” he snarled. “Another crack like that and I’ll smack you down.”

The first cop said, glancing at the bed, “She dead?”

“Yeah, this guy used a knife.”

Duffy said, “I came back and found her like that.”

“You hear that? He came back and found her like that!” The first cop grinned. “You’re coming with us… come on.”

“You ain’t charging me with killing her?” Duffy was incredulous.

“Get wise to yourself.” The first cop liked the sound of his voice. “We’ve been tipped off.”

Duffy felt a restricting hand across his chest. “I don’t get that,” he said slowly.

“That dame had a hidden roll salted away in this joint, and you knew it. You made up to her and tried to get the roll away, but it didn’t work. So you rubbed her out, and took the joint to pieces. The roll is on you, now, ain’t that right, Gus?”

The second cop nodded. He walked over to Duffy and put his hand in Duffy’s inside pocket. He pulled out a flat packet of currency.

Duffy said, very evenly, “A frame-up, huh?”

Gus looked at him and grinned. “Between you and me, you’re right. You’re bucking the wrong outfit, mug,” he said.

Duffy said, “You ain’t making this stick.”

The first copper shrugged. “You don’t know the half of it. You’re going for a little ride right now.”

“There’s a bottle of Scotch somewhere,” Duffy said, looking round the room. “Mind if I cut the phlegm?”

Gus passed the end of a thick finger round the inside of his collar. “We’ll cut it, too.”

Duffy walked across the room, conscious of the hard unwavering watchfulness of the cop with the gun. His brain was ice-cold. If they were ready to frame him by such a clumsy method of palming money and planting it on him, they might even knock him off resisting arrest.

He picked up the whisky and filled the two glasses that Olga arid he had used, half full.

As he turned, he intercepted a quick glance between the two cops. He felt himself go very cold. It told him what he suspected. He gave Gus one of the glasses and then wandered over to the other. “I guess I can use the bottle,” he said carelessly.

The gun looked as big as a cannon trained on his vest, but he showed no sign of jumping nerves as he held out the glass. He was just about five feet away from the cop. Then he moved with incredible rapidity. He stepped quickly aside. At the same time he tossed the whisky into the cop’s face.

The cop gave a howl, clapped one of his hands to his eyes, stepped back, and blindly pulled the trigger. The gun crashed. Duffy jumped in, threw himself on the cop’s gun arm, and jerked the gun out of his hand.

The next sound he was conscious of was the breaking of glass; The cop was behaving like a madman, trying to get the whisky out of his eyes. Duffy had no time. He hit the cop, holding the gun by the barrel, between the eyes. Then he whirled round, expecting to run into a blast from the other cop.

Gus was standing with his hands on his belly, staring at his highly polished boots. Duffy saw blood oozing between his fingers. Gus fell on his knees, hesitated, his body swaying. Then he straightened out on his face.

Duffy said, “I hope you liked it.” He went quickly to the luggage that was piled on the floor, selected a long strap from one of the grips, and bound the first cop’s arms tightly. Then he went over to Olga, picked up the wrap, and covered her with it.

He moved silently and swiftly. All the time at the back of his brain he could see the jam he was in. He went back to the cop who was coming round. Duffy hauled him on to the settee, retrieved his gun from under the cushion, and stuck it down his waist-band. Then he slapped the cop across the face twice with his open hand.

The cop opened his eyes, gave a grunt, and then tried to sit up. Duffy said, “Who’s behind this frame-up?”

The cop glared, but didn’t say anything.

Duffy drew his gun and put it close to the cop’s face. “I’m in a hurry,” he said, his eyes like chips of ice. “Spill it quick, or I’ll hook your eyes out with this gun-sight.”

The cop suddenly went limp and began to sweat. He mumbled, “Miss English tipped us off. She gave us a nice slice to knock you, resisting arrest. We’ve worked for her before.”

Duffy said, “Her father in this racket?”

The cop shook his head. “He don’t know nothing.”

Duffy went over to Gus, turned him over with his foot, searched in his pockets, and found the roll of notes. He counted them carefully. Then he looked up. “There’s ten grand here,” he said. “Was that your cut?”

The cop shook his head. “That was evidence against you,” he said. “That dame sure wants you out of the way.”

In the street, Duffy heard a car draw up. He ran to the window in time to see four uniformed police officers tumbling out. Two quick steps took him to the door. Then he slid down the flight of stairs, darted into the kitchen as the front door burst open. Quietly, he let himself out the back door. He could hear the cop upstairs yelling his head off. He told himself that he’d got to make the Buick. He ran round the small garden, paused when he reached the front, and peered carefully round the corner of the house. He could see the police car, and a little way further on was the Buick. He ran hard, not caring how much noise he made. As he reached the Buick and pulled open the heavy door he heard a shout, but he didn’t stop. He scrambled into the car, swearing softly and continuously. The cold sweat ran down his face, and he expected to feel the jagged pain of a hot slug smash into him. As he slammed the door to, a gun roared from the bedroom window.

He started the engine, revved hard, engaged his gear, and shot the Buick down the road. He heard three distinct thuds on the back of the car before he jerked round the corner.

He said, “It’s going to be a grand finish.” And his face stiffened into a hard mask as he swung the quivering car to the bends.

CHAPTER XII

ROSS WAS HAVING a snack when Duffy drove in. He waddled out of the office, his little mouth tight with food. He nodded at Duffy, gulped, then said, “Anything wrong?”

Ross always expected trouble. Duffy got out of the car and said, “The wagon’s hot. Gimme new plates.”

For his size, Ross moved amazingly quickly. He went back to the office, and returned with a new set of plates. Duffy helped him change them. Ross said, “You jammed?”

“Listen, pal, ask nothing and hear nothing. I’m buying this box. Maybe, you won’t see me any more.”

Ross raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his enormous buttocks. “Okay,” he said, “keep her you’ve looked after me before now.”

Duffy took out the roll of notes and peeled some off. He stuck them in Ross’s belt. “Buy yourself a yacht with that,” he said. Then he climbed back in the car. Ross put his head through the window. “If you want a good hide-out,” he said, “go to the Bronx on Maddiston and tell Gilroy I sent you.”

Duffy repeated, “Bronx on Maddiston.”

Ross took his head from the window, glanced out into the street. “It’s clear, “he said. “I’m sorry about this.”

Duffy showed his teeth. “Me too,” he said. “Others are going to share our grief.”

He raised his hand in a salute, then rolled the Buick into the street again. He drove carefully up Lafayette Street, cut across Broadway to Washington Square and headed for Greenwich Village. He parked outside a drug store and went in.

Several men were eating at the quick-lunch bar, and Duffy sat on an empty stool. He had a chicken sandwich. He washed it down with three quick drags from the pint flask he had taken from the car. The whisky was rough, but there was plenty of life in it. When he had finished the sandwich, he crossed over to the telephone booths and shut himself in. He dialled the Tribune number and asked for Sam. When Sam came to the ’phone, Duffy said, “Sam? Got any news?”

Sam said in a low voice, “I gotta see you.”

Duffy said, “Can you come out to Dinty’s? I’ll go straight there.”

Sam said, “Yeah,” and hung up.

Duffy walked out of the drug store, looked up and down the street before he crossed the pavement, then climbed into the Buick. He let in his clutch and drove over to Dinty’s. He parked the car in the underground garage, took the lift to the top floor, asked for a private room.

The waiter who served him said, “A lady is coming?”

Duffy shook his head. “Get the room ready, have some rum, absinthe and dressing up there, and some Club sandwiches. I’m waiting downstairs for a friend.”

Sam came in the hall a little while after. They went up together in the lift. Neither of them said anything, but Sam kept wiping off his hands and face with a large handkerchief. They went into the room and Duffy shut the door.

Sam said, “You gone crazy?”

Duffy went over to the table and began to fix the drinks. “Has it broken yet?” he asked.

“They’re printing it now. I was down at the station when the report came in.” Sam was trying to be casual, but he was as jittery as a hophead.

Duffy poured the drinks from the shaker, and silently pushed one of the glasses over.

Sam said, “You’re in a hell of a spot.”

“Annabel’s playing this,” Duffy said savagely. “She’s pulling strings behind the scene.”

“What happened, for God’s sake?”

Duffy drained his glass, and immediately filled up again. “We were set to pull out. I went down to the bank to get the book out. When I got back, I found the joint in pieces and Olga dead. Some rat had stuck a knife in her. I must have been crazy. Instead of grabbing the ’phone and reporting it right away, I ran round in circles. Then a couple of cops moved in. They had the story pat. I’d killed Olga for her roll. They even found the dough on me. One of ’em palmed it, put his hand in my pocket and seemed surprised to find it clinging to his hand.”

Sam stared. “Why the frame? They had you sewed up tight enough without that.”

Duffy shrugged. “You telling me? The sweet part of the set-up was they intended to iron me out. I could see them getting set for it. Resisting arrest, closing the case, and slapping the murder rap on a corpse. Save the State plenty. It was nice planning, but they were slow on it. One cop shot the other, and I ducked out as the patrol wagon arrived.”

Sam fidgeted with his glass. “You’re it,” he said.

“Annabel knocked her off.” Duffy sat on the edge of the cable, he held his glass a little on one side, so that the liquor slopped slightly on the carpet. “They thought they’d get the list without paying. Well, they won’t. It’s going to be just too bad for them.”

“You better skip while the going’s good. You can’t stand up against this outfit. It’s too big for you.”

Duffy said evenly, “I’m finishing this. They’ve had all the fun up to now. Olga said I’d never get anywhere with those rats till I took a gun, and by God, she’s right.”

Sam said, “You liked that Jane, didn’t you?”

Duffy’s mouth set in a thin line. He kept his eyes on the floor. “I was getting used to her,” he said at last. “She had all the bad breaks.”

“I still say skip. You can’t buck the cops, as well as Morgan. They’re too big for you.”

Duffy said, “You keep out of this, Sam. I’m going out to the Bronx on Maddiston. Ross’s got a hide-out there. If things begin to break wrong, you can find me there. I’ll wait until the heat cools off, then I’ll start something.”

Sam said, “I got to go. I’m on my way to the Villa. All the boys are down there.”

Duffy went over to him. “Tell Alice to keep her pants on. I guess this’s bound to happen sometime. I wasn’t cut out for a soft life.”

Sam moved to the door. “If you want some jack, I can stake you.”

Duffy grinned. “You’d be surprised just how much dough’s coming my way.”

They didn’t shake hands, they just looked at each other. Sam gave a worried smile, it hadn’t much heart in it, but he smiled. Duffy nodded. “You’ll hear from me,” he said.

He waited until Sam had gone downstairs, poured himself another drink, lit a cigarette, then went out and down to the Buick.

Rain was beginning to fall in heavy drops. Duffy leant over and rolled up the off-side window, then he drove the Buick on to the street. As he threaded his way through the traffic, the rain drummed hard on the car roof. It was splashing knee-high off the pavement.

Duffy drove carefully. It took him quite a time to get to the Bronx, which was a basement club, with a convenient garage over the way. Duffy left the Buick at the garage and walked down the steps into the club.

“Gilroy around?” he asked.

The thin man who opened the door looked at him suspiciously, said, “Who wants him?”

“Tell him a friend of Ross.”

The thin man pulled the door open. “Come in,” he said. When Duffy stepped into the dimly-lit passage, the thin man ran his hands down Duffy’s suit. He stepped back. “You can’t bring a rod in here,” he said.

“Tell Gilroy,” Duffy snapped, “and shut up.”

The thin man looked at him, hesitated, then walked down the passage. He disappeared through a dirty green baize door, and Duffy leant against the wall, waiting. After a short delay the door opened again and a very light-coloured negro came out. He was tall and slender, with a heavy wave in his oily hair. He gave Duffy a hard look. “You want me?”

Duffy said, “Ross sent me here I want to keep under cover for a few days.”

Gilroy passed a long thin hand over his hair. “Okay,” he said. “A hundred bucks a day.”

Duffy sidled close. “Forget it,” he said. “You don’t make profit out of me.”

Gilroy looked at him, then his large lips smiled. “No,” he said, “that was bad. Ross’s a good friend of mine. Make it twenty-five.”

Duffy took out his roll, peeled ten saw bucks and handed them over. “That’ll hold you for a few days,” he said.

Gilroy moved near the light, counted the bills, put them in his pocket, and grinned some more.

He said, “How low do you want to stay, mister?”

“When you read the papers, you’ll see,” Duffy told him. “I want a meal, plenty to drink and a telephone.”

Gilroy led him through the baize door, down three stairs, past a bead-curtained door and through another door at the end of a dimly-lit passage. The room was small. It contained a bed, table, two arm-chairs, and a small radio.

“I’ll get you some chuck right away.”

Duffy said, “How safe’s this joint?”

Gilroy rolled his eyes. “It’s okay. I’m paying plenty for protection. The bulls won’t worry you here.”

He left Duffy and shut the door behind him. In the corner of the room, standing on a small table, was a telephone Duffy looked at it, his mouth pursed thoughtfully. Then he walked over and dialled.

He recognized Gleason’s voice. “Too bad you didn’t get the list when you knocked my girl-friend off,” he said, biting off each word.

There was a startled gasp as Gleason caught his breath. “Why, you double-crossing rat,” he jerked out. “What’s the big idea? I’m just back from the ‘Red Ribbon’. I had the dough and you never showed up.”

Duffy said, “Cut the comedy. You killed Olga and you pinned it on me. Okay, wise guy, you ain’t getting away with it….”

Gleason broke in. “What the hell is this? Who’s Olga?”

Duffy stared at the wall for a full minute, then he said, “I’m coming over. You got that dough still?”

Gleason said, “Sure.”

And Duffy hung up.

Gilroy walked in with a bottle of whisky, three bottles of ginger ale and a glass. “Your chuck’s coming right now.”

Duffy took the whisky from him and poured out a long shot. He shook his head at the ginger ale, and drank quickly. Just then a knock came on the door, and the thin man came in carrying a tray. He put it on the table, and glanced at Duffy before going out.

Duffy sat down and began to cat. Gilroy hung around, fidgeting by the radio. He said at last, “I knew that dame.”

Duffy looked up, a fork full of food suspended before his mouth. “Huh?”

Gilroy said, “I guess you’d better get moving.”

Duffy laid the fork down. “What the hell’s this?”

“Olga Shann, I knew her.”

Duffy picked up the fork again. “She was a swell kid,” he said. “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what’s biting you.”

Gilroy stirred restlessly, beads of sweat hung on his top lip. “It looks that way,” his voice was exceedingly hostile.

Duffy went on eating. “A little judy called Annabel English shoved that knife into her,” he said. “This is a frame-up. I’m it.”

Gilroy took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped his mouth. He stood still, looking at his bright yellow shoes.

Duffy finished the meal in silence. Then he drank some more whisky and sat back. He lit a cigarette, and forced two thin jets of smoke down his nostrils. “If you like that dame as much as I did,” he said, “I know how you feel.”

Gilroy relaxed a little and came over to the table. “Ross’s never sent me a bum yet,” he said. “I guess I was wrong.”

Duffy nodded. “Sure, that’s okay.”

“I’d like to make this a personal matter.” Gilroy studied his pinkish nails. “If you want any help, I’ve a nice little outfit.”

Duffy grinned. “I’ve gotta see this through myself.”

“Sure, sure,” Gilroy nodded his head. “Still, you can’t always beat the rap.”

Getting to his feet, Duffy said, “I’ll file that offer away. I might have to use it.”

He moved to the door, then looked over his shoulder. “It’s on the street now?”

Gilroy nodded. “Yeah, the heat’s on good.”

A hard little smile came to Duffy’s lips. “I ain’t starting anything just yet,” he said. “I’ll be back some time.”

He went over to the garage, got into the Buick and drove over to Annabel’s apartment. He parked up a side street and walked back. At the entrance to the organ loft, he paused At the corner he could see a flat cap, standing under a street light. He turned quickly and walked once more back to the Buick. He got in and sat there, watching the cop. The rain had ceased, but the pavements were still wet and shiny in the street lights. The cop moved on after a bit, and Duffy went back to the entrance. He opened the door with the key he still had with him, and silently went up the stairs.

When he got into the loft, he saw Gleason sitting in the room below, nursing an automatic. Sinking on his knee, so that his head did not appear over the balcony, he watched Gleason for several minutes. Then he said in a hard voice: “Put your rod on the floor, or you’ll get it.”

Gleason started, hastily put the gun at his feet, and looked up.

Duffy stood up and leant over the rail. He kept the Colt steady. “Where’s Annabel?” he asked.

Gleason said in a dry, strangled voice, “She ain’t in.”

Duffy swung his legs over the balcony and sat there. “I’m coming down,” he said. “Don’t start anything. I’m itching to blast you.”

He pushed himself off, breaking his fall with one hand. Gleason’s face was a little drawn. He kept both hands folded in his lap.

Duffy walked over and sat on the edge of the table. He held the Colt down by his side. He reached out a foot and kicked Gleason’s gun under a chair, away from Gleason. He said, “I gotta lot to talk to you about.”

Gleason looked at him, twitched his mouth a little, but said nothing.

Duffy said, “You’ve double-crossed me once. You’ve pulled a fast one at my joint, and another at the Villa. You tried to slap a murder rap on me. Well, you’ve had fun. Now I’m going to have some.”

Gleason said in a thin voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His race was so blank that Duffy stopped talking and stared at him. “Okay, you don’t know anything about it,” he said. “What do you know?”

“I’m dealing it off the top deck,” Gleason said. “I want the book, you got it, and I’m paying for it. I went to the ‘Red Ribbon’ with the dough as arranged, but you didn’t show up. I came back here and you ’phoned. That’s all.”

Duffy rubbed the short hairs on his nape with the flat of his hand. Then he said, “Who killed Weidmer?”

Gleason shifted his eyes. “That doesn’t get you anywhere.”

“You’re wrong. Who killed him? Come on! If you know you’ll let yourself out of this.” Gleason said, “But, I don’t know.”

Duffy raised the Colt. “This is my first killing.” He spoke very harshly. His face had gone oyster colour. Two thin lines ran down the sides of his mouth. “I hope I do it right.”

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.”

CHAPTER XIII

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.

CHAPTER XIV

EDWIN ENGLISH WAS a tall, thick-set guy, with a round fleshy face, blue-white hair, and cold, fishy eyes. He sat at a big flat-top desk, a cigar burning slowly in his short white fingers, staring with blank eyes at Duffy.

He sat there for maybe twenty minutes listening to Duffy talk. He examined with no sign of interest the note-book Duffy threw on to the desk. Then he put the cigar back in his mouth and half-closed his eyes. He sat there for some time looking through Duffy at something hanging on the wall behind Duffy’s head.

Duffy was satisfied that he had told him everything, concisely and clearly. He thought he had made a swell job of it.

English took the cigar out of his mouth and tapped the top of the desk with a well-manicured finger-nail. “I could turn you up for a murder rap, it seems,” he said.

Duffy grinned mirthlessly. “Ain’t you working from the wrong angle?” he said. “You ain’t got to worry about me. It’s your daughter that you gotta concentrate on.”

English said, “I’m always concentrating on my daughter.”

Duffy nodded. “Sure, but not half as hard as you gotta work now. Look, suppose you let me handle this?”

English said, “You’ll be picked up by the police No, I don’t think you would be any good.”

Duffy got to his feet. He still carried the thin smile on his mouth. “Well, well,” he said, “I guessed you’d feel like that. If you think I’m taking the rap for her, you got it all wrong. I’m going right down to headquarters and I’m going to squawk so loud you’ll hear it right up here.”

English said, “You haven’t got any proof.”

Duffy shrugged. “That’s what you think,” he said. “I’ve got enough evidence to get that jane fried three times over.

English raised his hand. “Wait,” he said. “Perhaps we can think up something.”

Duffy came back to the desk. He leant over and stared hard into English’s eyes. “You’re playing it wrong. Can’t you see how they’d Fall over themselves to get Annabel indicted for a first-degree murder rap? They’re snapping round your heels already, English, and you know it. One false move from you, and you’re out. Your policy ain’t popular. I don’t like it myself. Let me tell you, it’s a goddam awful policy with a daughter like yours around.”

English pushed his chair back and stood up. Just for a second Duffy saw the fishy eyes look uneasy, then they went bland again. Duffy grinned to himself. He knew he had slipped in a hot one.

“What do you propose?” English said.

“Cool the cops off me, for a start. You can do it. Once I’ve got protection, I can go after Morgan and run him out. I can pick up Annabel and get her into a nut-house… that’s the place for her.”

English brooded. “You’ve got to have more than protection. You want money and you want help.”.

Duffy said, “Gilroy’s mob’s backing me.”

“Gilroy? Yes, I know him. He’s all right, but he’s not big enough.”

Duffy sat on the edge of the desk. “With me around, he’ll be big enough.”

“And money?”

“Suppose you put up some dough? It’s worth a lot to fix this mess, ain’t it?”

English walked to the door. “We’ll see about that,” he said. “Suppose you come down to headquarters and we’ll talk things over with the right man.”

Duffy looked at him hard. He shook his head. “You gotta fix that,” he said. “This is too important to me to risk a double-cross. I’d look a grand mug walking into headquarters, if you were losing your grip.”

English shrugged. “You have a strange way of expressing yourself,” he said. “But have it your own way. I’ll ring you.”

Duffy looked at the clock on the desk. It was just after eleven o’clock. “I’ll do the ringing. I’ll come through after one o’clock, I’ll expect to get moving right away by then.”

English nodded, then, as if a thought had struck him, he said, “Where’s Annabel now?”

Duffy shrugged. “The last time I saw her, she was telling a little nance to shoot me in the guts. You’ve got a grand daughter, ain’t you?”

Leaving English, Duffy picked up the Buick and drove slowly back to the Bronx. He left the car at the garage and then went to his room.

He sent the thin man out to get the newspapers. While he was waiting for them he mixed himself a strong Scotch and lit a cigarette. He let his mind wander as he sat there, but he kept coming back to Olga. He could see her lying naked with the dagger in her breast. He tried to think of other things, but his mind kept switching back to that picture.

He was glad when the thin man came in and dumped several tabloids on the table. Duffy gave him some small change. Then he went through the papers carefully. When he had finished them, he sat back and lit another cigarette. There was nothing in any of the papers about Gleason’s murder.

He got up, went to the telephone and dialled Annabel’s number. He sat for a minute or so listening to the buzz, and then hung up. Well, anyway, she had skipped all right.

Then he wandered about the room, thinking. He wondered if Morgan’s gang had wiped her out and got rid of both bodies. He thought that was an idea, but he couldn’t do anything about that for the moment.

Just before one o’clock, Gilroy came in with two other men. Gilroy said, “This is Shep,” to Duffy. Duffy looked at Shep and nodded. He thought Shep was an extraordinary-looking man. He had a very small head perched on a long neck, and the rest of his body was grossly fat. His head just didn’t fit his body. Duffy thought it looked like the maker of Shep had run out of the right size, and had just slapped on the first head that came to hand. Schultz was a tall, wiry bird, with a thick mop of black hair, that stood up like a wire brush.

Duffy said, “Sit down, boys, and have a drink.”

They sat down self-consciously, looked at the empty table and then at Duffy. The thin man put his head round the door and Duffy said, “Let’s have some Scotch.”

Gilroy stood by the window. He said, “I’ve put the general idea up. They’ll go for it okay.”

Shep said in a gritty voice, “Ain’t you the guy the cops are looking for?”

Duffy glanced at Gilroy, who nodded. Then he said, “That’s right, but not for long.” He got up and went over to the telephone and dialled. While he was waiting for the line to connect, the thin man came in with the drinks. Schultz reached out a bony hand and began to fix them.

Duffy said into the ’phone, “English?” then he said, “You fixed it yet?”

English said, “It wasn’t, easy, but you’re in the clear now. You gotta pin this rap on someone, but it’s not to be you know who.”.

Duffy grinned. “That’s okay. I only want a stiff or two, and that’s who’s done it.”

English grunted. “You’ve got to have your stiffs first,” he said.

“If you could see this outfit sitting right here, you wouldn’t worry about that. I want some dough, don’t I?”

English said, “If you run Morgan out and Annabel where I don’t have to see her again, you’re going to get plenty.”

“It’s got to be better than that. I want some on the nail.”

English was silent for a moment. “I’ll open an account for you at the National. You can draw up to five thousand dollars.”

Duffy said, “You do that,” and hung up.

Gilroy came over from the window and took a glass from Schultz. He said, “Let’s go.”

Duffy sat down. “English is covering me. He’s lifted the heat for the moment. He’ll back me for dough if we give him action. I guess we might start right away.”

Schultz said, “What’s my split?”

“Five grand each,” Duffy said, doing sums in his head.

Shep nodded. “I could use that,” he said.

“Your first job is to find Annabel English,” Duffy said, folding his arms and resting his elbows on the table. “That jane is dangerous, and she’s got to be put where she won’t be.”

Gilroy said, “Knock her off?” He said it with distaste.

Duffy shook his head. “I don’t want any killings I can fix her. She’s as crazy as a coon.”

Shep said, “We’ll find her, but the nut angle is not up our street.”

Duffy said, “You find her. I’ll do the rest.”

“Where do we start?”

“The last time I saw her, she was with Morgan’s mob. They will know what happened to her.”

Shep clambered to his feet. “That’s easy,” he said. “I know that gang. Leave it to me.”

Duffy waited until he had lumbered out, then he looked at Gilroy. “Give me the lowdown on Morgan?”

Gilroy said, “He’s running three clubs. He’s got offices on Transverse Avenue by the river. That’s where he does his business.”

“What business?”

“All his rackets. Calls the place the Morgan Navigation Trust Co. It’s his headquarters for vice, smuggling, getting girls over from Cuba, you know the whole works.”

Duffy went over to the book and turned up Morgan Navigation Co. He dialled and waited. Then he said, “Mr. Morgan there?”

A pert voice said, “What’s it about?”

Duffy said curtly, “I’ll ask him to tell you, if he wants you to know.”

She connected him. Before she plugged, he heard her say, “Some day these sharp punks will cut themselves with their own wit.”

Duffy grinned. Morgan’s voice came over. “Yes?”

Duffy said, “Listen, Morgan. Your mob let you down.”

Morgan said very evenly, “You had the breaks that time, Duffy, but watch out.”

“Gleason’s out of the bidding,” Duffy said, looking with blank eyes at the wall in front of him. “That little book’s going to cost you fifty grand.”

He heard Morgan draw his breath in, then he said, “My boys are collecting that free of charge. I’ve warned you. They’re coming gunning for you.”

Duffy said, “On second thoughts, I’ll turn the book over to the State.”

“I shouldn’t do that.” Morgan said it just a little too quickly. There was no punch in the threat.

“I’m turning it over, just the same. Then we’ll see what happens. I got twenty-five grand out of Gleason, so I should worry.”

“Wait.” Morgan raised his voice. “I’ll give you five grand.”

Duffy said, “Make it twenty-five, and it’s yours.”

“Okay,” Morgan’s voice was very soft. “You bring the book over, and I’ll have the money here.”

“I’m not that screwy,” Duffy said. “Turn it over in the open. I’ll be in the lobby of the Belmont Plaza at six o’clock tonight. We’ll make the exchange.”

There was a short pause, then Morgan said, “Okay,” and hung up.

Gilroy had been listening, his eyes on Duffy’s back. He said, “You’re going to have a sweet time bringing that dough home.”

Duffy picked up his hat. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go.”

They followed him over to the garage. Duffy said to Schultz, “Can you handle this bus?”

Schultz nodded. “You bet,” he said, faintly surprised.

“Well, drive it then. Gilroy and me want to talk.”

Gilroy and Duffy got in at the back and Schultz climbed in under the wheel. “Where to?” Schultz asked, jerking the starter.

Duffy gave him the address of his bank, and Schultz nosed the car carefully down the narrow alley into the main street.

Duffy said to Gilroy, “We’ll double-cross this louse right away. I’m turning the list over to English and he can get busy on it. It’s too big for us to handle Next, we give the copy to Morgan and get his dough. Then we fix Annabel, and after that we’ll call round on Morgan’s office and collect any evidence to run him out. If we don’t turn any up, we’ll have to run him out on our own.”

Gilroy leant back against the cushions and closed his eyes. He said sleepily, “You got quite a programme, ain’t you?”

Duffy said, “I want to get shot of this, then you boys can spend what you’ve earned.”

Schultz ran the car to the kerb and Duffy went into the bank. The other two stayed in the car, waiting. When Duffy came out he glanced up and down the street, then stepped hastily into the car. Schultz pulled away at once.

Duffy gave English’s address. He said, “Make it fast.” Schultz glanced at him in the driving-mirror, nodded, and swung to the side streets.

Gilroy said, “Seems a shame to turn that list over to the cops.”

Duffy shrugged. “You ain’t thinking of handling a thing that big?” he asked.

Gilroy shook his head. “I don’t handle dope,” he said. “I just don’t like to give those punks a break.”

Duffy grinned. “It’ll wash up Morgan, so what the hell?”

English was surprised to see him. He took the book from Duffy, glanced at it, then said, “So this is the first step, eh?”

Duffy nodded. “You turn that over to the Narcotic Squad. It ain’t evidence, but it might stampede some of those hopheads Anyway, it’ll stop Morgan running the same game.”

English nodded. “Have you found Annabel yet?”

“It won’t be long.” Duffy went to the door. “I’ll get in touch pretty soon.”

Out in the street once more, he went over to the Buick. Gilroy said, “Ain’t it time to eat?”

Duffy climbed in. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ve got time on my hands till six.”

Schultz swung the car in a half-circle, reversed her back again, then, spinning the wheel hard round, he turned her completely, heading rapidly east.

CHAPTER XV

SHEP CAME IN JUST after five o’clock. Duffy was cleaning his Colt. Gilroy and Schultz sat in chairs, watching him.

Duffy looked up sharply and said, “Found her?”

Shep waddled in, sat down and blotted his face with his handkerchief. “Yeah,” he said. “Guess where?”

Duffy put his gun on the table. His mouth became a thin line. “Where?” he said.

Shep smiled happily; he said, “It’s rich. She’s gone hot pants for Morgan’s nance.”

Duffy’s eyebrows rose. “Clive?”

Shep nodded. “She’s over at the little rat’s apartment right now. He’s in bed, screaming hell, because someone trod on his pan.”

Duffy got to his feet. “We’ll go right over and pick her up,” he said, slipping the gun down his waist-band.

Gilroy said, “All of us?”

Duffy shook his head. “Suppose Shep and me go,” he said.

Shep said, “Sure.” He mumbled something to Gilroy and gave a loud tinny laugh.

Duffy said, “I’ll go on to the Belmont Plaza after. Suppose you two boys get down there and watch the lobby. We ain’t going to take any chances with Morgan.”

Gilroy nodded. “Okay,” he said.

Duffy and Shep went out and climbed in the Buick. Duffy took the wheel. As he pushed the Buick down the street, he said, “If that jane gets tough, knock her off.”

Shep nodded. “She’s a grand looker, ain’t she?” Then he said sadly, “It’s tough being fat.”

Duffy shot him a side-glance. “You don’t know when you’re getting the breaks,” he said shortly. “That jane’s poison.”

Shep gave him some directions, then said wistfully, “I guess it’d be good, going places with a honey like that.”

Duffy said nothing. “He drove fast. After a ten-minute run, he said, “This the street?”

Shep stuck his little head out of the window and peered.

“That’s right.”

Duffy drew into the kerb. They both got out. “What number did you say?”

Shep hunted in his pockets, found a scrap of paper, screwed up his eyes, then said, “1469.”

Duffy checked the house near him. “It’s on the other side farther down.”

Together they crossed the street and began walking casually down. Duffy said, “They’re both dangerous; you got to watch ’em, Shep.”

Shep grinned. “Me… I’m scared to hell… like hell,” he said.

1469 was a tall, gaunt apartment house. Duffy ran up the steps and checked the list of names. “Clive Wessen,” he said. He rang the next bell, waited until the latch gave, pushed open the door and walked in. Shep shuffled behind him. “Third floor,” Duffy said, keeping his voice down.

They climbed the stairs slowly. The place was clean and bright. Duffy said, “These punks live well, don’t they?”

Shep said nothing, he was saving his breath. On the third floor, Duffy took the Colt out; he held it loosely in his hand, hanging down by his side.

He nodded to a door at the far end of the passage. “There it is,” he said. “Can you open it?”

Shep said, “I can open any door. Watch me.” Moving very quietly, he went to the door, examined the lock, then turned his head and beamed. “It’s a cinch,” he said.

“Get going,” Duffy murmured.

Shep felt in his pocket, took out a little tool, fitted it in the lock and turned. Duffy heard the lock slip with a faint click. He said in Shep’s ear, “Give me two minutes, then come on in.”

Shep nodded and stood aside. Duffy gently turned the handle, pushed open the door, and walked in. He found himself in a small hall, about twelve feet by sixteen. Facing him were two doors. He trod quietly over and listened. He thought he heard someone talking behind the right-hand door. Holding his gun waist-high, he pushed open the door, stepped in quickly. Then he said in a cold voice, “You seduced him yet?”

Annabel spun round. She was standing by a divan, on which Clive was lying. Clive’s face was beautifully bandaged with plaster. Someone had made a very neat job of it. All Duffy could see of Clive’s face was two eyes that hated him.

Duffy said very sharply, “Don’t start anything. Keep still.”

Clive said in a curiously adenoidal voice, “Get out of here.”

Annabel ran her fingers through her hair. She smiled at Duffy. “I think you’re cute,” she said.

Duffy said, “Sit down.”

Shep wandered in. He looked first at Clive, then at Annabel. He puffed out his cheeks, then took off his hat.

She had sat down on the foot of the divan. She said in her breathless voice, “Who’s your gentleman friend?”

Shep beamed and fingered his necktie. He glanced at Duffy. “What a honeypot!” he said.

Duffy had his eyes on Clive. Although Clive was dressed, he had a rug over him, hiding his hands. Duffy said, “Put your hands where I can see them.”

“Suppose we be friends…?” Annabel broke in.

Duffy turned his head a little. “You’re coming with me,” he told her. “We’ve got a home for you to go to.”

She said, “Now?”

Duffy said, “That’s k. Right now.”

She stood up. “Home?” she said suddenly. “What do you mean… home?”

Duffy said, “You’ll know. Say good-bye to your boyfriend, you ain’t seeing him any more.”

She looked at Clive, then she shrugged a little. “I don’t mind,” she said. “He’s not quite in one piece. He’s a waste of time.”

Shep grinned. “A jane like you ain’t got no right running with a nance,” he said seriously.

Clive said in a low voice, “Get to hell out of here, all of you.”

Annabel said, “May I get my things?”

Duffy shook his head. “You can come as you are,” he said. “I want to talk to you… come on.”

She giggled. “I love you when you get like that,” she said. “Let’s talk; I’ve got lots to tell you.” She waved her hand at Clive. “About him and Morgan. You’ll eat it up.

Clive drew his lips off his teeth, then he shot her. Duffy just caught the slight movement under the rug as the gun roared. The rug began to smoulder.

Duffy fired at Clive, but the big Colt kicked up and the bullet smacked against the wall two feet above Clive’s head. Moving with incredible rapidity, Shep flung himself on Clive.

Duffy walked cautiously over to Annabel, looked at her, then shoved his gun in his hip pocket and knelt down beside her. She lay on her back, one hand clenched tightly to her right side. She opened her eyes and looked at him, then she began to cry.

Duffy said, “Take it easy. You’ll be all right.”

He picked her up. Shep said, “Bring her here.” He had tossed Clive on to the floor. Clive lay flat. Shep had smacked him hard on the chin.

Duffy put her on the divan. He said urgently, “Get some water and dressing. She’s bleeding like hell.”

Shep went out of the room. Duffy could hear him pulling drawers open and hunting about in the next room. He took his pocket-knife and ripped away her clothes round the wound. “Hurry, damn you,” he shouted to Shep when he saw where she was shot.

Shep came back in a lumbering run. He had a handful of small towels and a jug of water. Duffy took them from him. “’Phone English, and tell him,” he said. “Get going, this is urgent.”

While he was fixing the wound, she opened her eyes again. She looked at him. She saw the sweat glistening on his face and she said, “Am I going to die?”

He couldn’t do anything to stop the bleeding. He said rather helplessly, “It’s the best way for you, I think.”

She said, “I think so, too,” and she began to cry again.

He tied a pad over the wound, but he knew it was useless. She said, “Give me a drink.”

He had to hold her head to give her the Scotch. She said, “I’m sorry about everything.”

Duffy’s face was very hard. “You little girls are always sorry when it’s too late.”

She said, “It was your fault that I killed your woman.”

Duffy said, “It’s best you should go like this.” He couldn’t bring himself to say anything else.

“No other man’s ever turned me down,” she said. “Remember I offered myself?”

“Yeah, I remember. I guessed you’d want to settle that score.”

“If you wrote down everything, I could sign it,” she said. “I’d like that.”

Duffy took a quick step to the writing-desk, found a pad and came back. She said, in a low voice, “You’ll be quick?”

Duffy said, “Sure. You killed Cattley, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Cattley was double-crossing Gleason, who was my husband. No one knew about that. Gleason was bad, but he was making money. I had to have that. I learnt that Cattley was taking half, so I pushed him down the lift shaft. He was a little man, it was quite easy. You came along and covered me on that. Then Max. You see, they all bothered me. I tried once just to see, but none of them were any good. So after that I didn’t want them again. Max was always pressing me. Then he got the photos, and asked me up to his flat to trade them in the usual way, so I went and I killed him too.”

Duffy wrote quickly. He gave her another drink. Shep came in and stood behind him. He said, “English is coming.” Duffy raised his hand for silence.

Annabel went on, “I hated you. When I went out to the Shann woman’s villa to find the book, I thought you’d both be out. I saw you drive the car away, and I thought she was with you. Then I went inside and she started getting excited, so I killed her too.”

Duffy said, “It got you nowhere, did it?”

She said, so faintly that Duffy had to lean forward, “I was so tired of… Murray… when you came… I… thought I could… put it… on you.”

Duffy scribbled quickly, put the pen in her hand. “Can you do it?” he said anxiously.

She said, “I… can’t… see.”

Duffy held her hand and put the nib on the paper. “Sign,” he said loudly and roughly. The pen slipped out of her fingers and her hand dropped out of his. He turned and looked at Shep. “Can you beat that?” he said savagely. “This confession lets me out, and I’m damned if she doesn’t die on me before she signs.”

Shep said, “That’s tough.”

Duffy stood up. “Look at her, Shep,” he said. “You ain’t likely to find a worse woman in the country.”

Shep shrugged. “What’s it matter, as long as she looks right?”

Duffy said impatiently, “Clive okay?”

Shep nodded. “He’ll be out for another hour.”

Duffy glanced at the clock. He saw it was quarter to six. He said, “Come on, we got a date. Let English fix this.”

Shep followed him out of the apartment and down the stairs. Duffy said when they got into the street, “Morgan’ll just hate me for this.”

Shep grinned as he climbed into the car. “Yeah,” he said. “Will they burn the nance?”

Duffy shrugged. “Maybe English’ll hush it all up. But you bet they’ll pin something on that nance to keep him busy.”

It was just after six when Duffy swung the Buick to the kerb outside the Belmont Plaza. “Come with me,” he said.

They walked into the busy lobby. Across the lounge he saw Schultz reading a newspaper. Schultz made no sign that he had seen him, but by the way he folded the paper and laid it down Duffy knew he had.

The little guy and Joe came in. Joe was looking mad, he scowled at Duffy. The little guy said, “You’re going to get into trouble one of these days.”

Duffy said, “Skip the talk. Let’s get down to business.” He walked into the bar. The little guy Followed him, leaving Joe in the lobby. Shep beamed at Joe, but said nothing.

The little guy said, when they got to the bar, “What you doing with Gilroy’s mob?”

Duffy stared at him coldly. “You’ll know before long,” he said. “Come on, let’s get this over, you stink.”

The little guy giggled. He put his hand inside his coat and took out an envelope. He opened it and drew out a sheaf of notes. Duffy watched him count them. Twenty-five grand. Then Duffy took the note-book out and they exchanged. The little guy said, “And the duplicate?” Duffy smiled. His eyes were like ice. “The State’s got that.”

The little guy shook his head sadly. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “Morgan’s going to get mad when I tell him that.”

Duffy said deliberately, “Morgan can —— himself.”

The little guy giggled again. “I’ll tell him that too.” He put the note-book in his pocket. “Those notes are phoneys,” he said, as an afterthought.

Duffy took the envelope out of his pocket, examined one of the notes carefully. It looked all right to him. “You don’t say,” he said.

The little guy nodded cheerfully. “Sure, Morgan wouldn’t pay a punk like you in real dough.”

Duffy put the notes away. He had an idea.

The little guy said, “Well, for God’s sake, you’re taking it quietly, ain’t you?”

Duffy said, “Take my tip, scram.”

The little guy looked at him, then nodded. “You’ll see me again, of course,” he said apologetically.

Duffy said, “Before you think.”

He watched the little guy walk out, followed by Joe, then he beckoned to Shep and called for two ryes. Shep came over. “You got it?” he said.

Duffy slipped one of the notes out and gave it to him.

Shep glanced at it, beamed and said, “As easy as that, huh?”

Duffy pushed the glass over to him, drained his quickly and nodded at the barman. “One more,” he said.

Shep said, “You drink too quickly.”

“So long as I don’t drink too much, why should I worry?”

Shep frowned, then said, “It amounts to the same, don’t it?”

He gave Duffy back the note reluctantly. Duffy put it with the others. He said, “Let’s go.”

Gilroy and Schultz were sitting in the Buick waiting for them. When the Buick was rolling, Gilroy said, “No fuss?”

Duffy handed the notes over to him. “There they are,” he said.

Gilroy counted them and whistled. “This don’t seem natural,” he said.

Duffy stared out of the window. “Maybe, it ain’t.”

Gilroy examined the notes carefully, then he said, “Phoneys.”

Duffy nodded. “Yeah, he told me as much before he left.”

“So what?”

Duffy turned his face, so that he looked at Gilroy.

“I guess we’re going to frame Morgan with those. It’ll be worth twenty-five grand to clap him away. English’ll pay as much as that for the job.”

“How… frame?”

“We’ll go out to his place and plant that stuff tonight. There’s a nice little rap for making notes as big as these. Once we get those planted, then we tip English, and he does the rest.”

Gilroy said, “The dough would’ve been better.”

Duffy shrugged. “You can’t have everything,” he said.

Shep had been listening to the conversation. He turned his head. “Say, those notes sure made a sap of me. Why not put ’em on the street? We’d pass ’em okay.”

Duffy said, “No, that’s not the way to play it. You’ll get the dough all right, but it’ll take a little longer. When you get it, it’ll be safe.”

When they got back to the Bronx, Duffy ’phoned English. English said, “We’ve got Wessen.”

“How about Annabel?”

“Never mind about her. I’ve paid another five thousand dollars into your account. That should hold you for a bit.”

Duffy grinned to himself. “Listen, English,” he said. “Are you holding Clive Wessen on a murder rap?”

“Murder?” English seemed surprised. “No, he’s in for cocaine smuggling.”

Duffy grinned and winked over his shoulder at Gilroy.

“I bet that guy had his pockets full of the white stuff,” he said.

“The police found enough incriminating evidence to justify an arrest,” English said smoothly.

“I bet they did,” Duffy said. “And Annabel?”

There was a pause, then English said in a faintly hostile voice, “You know about that. My unfortunate daughter was killed by a hit-and-run motorist.”

“That’s too bad,” Duffy said. “I’ll be having some more work for you in a little while.” He hung up. “That bird’s cagey,” he said to Gilroy. “They framed Wessen, smothered Annabel’s murder. It’s a hit-and-run case.”

Gilroy shook his bullet head. “You gotta watch him.”

Duffy shrugged. “We’re playing on his side.” He went over and helped himself to a drink. “It’s nice to have a guy like that behind you.”

Gilroy nodded and left him. When he had gone, Duffy sat down and did some thinking. Then he got up and went over to the small bureau, unlocked the top drawer, took out the bundle of money he had left there, and looked at it. Then he went to the door and turned the key. He sat down at the table and counted the money carefully. He’d got thirty-four grand and some small notes. He counted on the table three piles of five thousand dollars. That left him nineteen thousand dollars. He split the nineteen grand into four parts. One went into his hip pocket, another in his side pocket, and the third in his trouser pocket. The fourth, three thousand dollars, he folded carefully and put in his shoe. He had to take his shoe off and put it on twice before it was comfortable.

He went over and unlocked the door, picked up the money on the table, and wandered into the bar.

Gilroy was talking to Schultz and Shep. They were drinking beer. They all looked up, a faintly expectant expression on their faces.

Duffy leant on the bar. “Here’s your split,” he said gently. He gave each man the money rolled in a tight ball. “Five grand,” he said. “Don’t count it now.”

Shep picked up his glass and poured the beer on the floor at his feet. “Gimme champagne,” he said to the barman. “I’m goin’ to launch myself.”

Schultz fingered his cut, then shoved it in his trouser pocket. He looked vacantly at Duffy, nodded, and went out.

Gilroy turned his head, watching him walk across the floor. “That guy’s mighty careful with his dough,” he said. “I wouldn’t say he’s tight. He’s careful.”

Duffy glanced at the clock. “I’m going to snatch myself a little sleep,” he said. “We’ll get going about eleven.”

Gilroy said, “Any dough hanging to this job?”

Duffy nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I want you boys to make money while you can.”

Shep took his short fat nose out of his glass. “That’s a hell of a way to talk,” he said.

Duffy grinned. “You expect to earn this dough, don’t you?” he said.

“Sure, but we won’t work that hard.”

Back in his room, Duffy rang Sam. He said, “Do you feel like doing me a favour?”

Sam said, “Aw, forget it, will you? Alice’s only a little dumb; she don’t know what it is to want things.”

Duffy’s mouth twisted. “You lay off Alice. She’s right. See? Alice is goddam right. If I’d got the sense of a louse, I’d be doing a job of work instead of trying to be a big shot. Well, I ain’t got the sense, and what’s more, I’m getting a kick out of this. What I want you to do is to keep your ear open down at headquarters. I want you to keep an eye on English. That bird’s been pulling too many fast ones to make me sleep easy. Will you do that, Sam?”

Sam seemed puzzled. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll do any little thing like that.”

Duffy said, “You’ll keep me in touch. If anything starts popping, gimme a buzz?”

Sam said, “Sure,” then he said, “You know what you’re doing?” He sounded worried.

Duffy said, “I’m bucking something that thinks it’s too big for me, but ain’t.” He added, “’Bye, soldier,” and dropped the receiver on its prong.

Outside, he could hear the rain beating down. He went over to the bed and lay flat, one leg hanging over the side. He scratched the side of his face gently with his nail. “I wonder…” he said to himself, then he heard someone walk past his door. He heard Gilroy say, “She don’t wear ’em. It saves time.” Shep said something in his tinny voice, but Duffy couldn’t hear.

In time, the sound of the rain lulled him.

CHAPTER XVI

SOMEWHERE A BIG clock chimed half past twelve as the Buick slid to the kerb. The rain drummed on the roof hard.

Shep said, “Heck! What a night!”

“You should worry, no one about,” Duffy said, rolling down the window and putting his head out. The rain touched him, cold and sharp. He looked up and down the deserted street, then he rolled up the window again, opened the door, and stepped out. Gilroy followed him.

“Fat, you stay in the car,” Gilroy said.

Shep nodded his tiny head. “Suits me,” he said. He pulled a Luger from his overcoat pocket and laid it across his knees.

Then Schultz got out. The three hurried across the pavement to a block of offices.

“Round the back,” Duffy said.

They walked on, turned a narrow alley, and then stopped. Just above their heads was the fire-escape. Gilroy put his back against the wall, folded his hands in front of him, and nodded at Schultz. Schultz put his foot in Gilroy’s cupped hands, and Gilroy hoisted him up. Schultz just touched the fire-escape with his fingers. He said, “Higher.”

Gilroy gave a little grunt, shifted his feet and raised Schultz a few inches. Schultz’s fingers curled on the iron rung, and then he put his weight on it. The fire-escape creaked and slowly came down.

Duffy went up first, then Gilroy, then Schultz. On the first landing, Duffy stood aside, whilst Schultz opened a window. He did it very easily. They all climbed into a dark corridor.

Duffy said, “It’s on the first floor.”

They walked quietly forward, Duffy a little ahead, the other two on either side of him, a few steps in the rear. Duffy held a powerful flash directed on the floor. He kept the beam down, but the reflection lit up the frosted panelled doors. At the end of the corridor Duffy read, “Morgan Navigation Trust Co.”

“Here,” he said.

Schultz examined the lock, bent over it, then stepped back. He said in a low voice, “Go ahead.”

Duffy pulled the Colt from his waist-band and gently opened the door. Then he walked in.

The office was big. Steel files lined the walls. There were three large flat-topped desks. Three typists’ desks, holding typewriters. The centre desk had a number of telephones.

Duffy said, “Morgan’s room is over there, I guess.”

He wandered over to a door at the far end of the office and went through. The room was smaller than the outer office, but it was more luxurious.

Duffy went round the desk and sat down. He tried the drawers, but they were all locked. He looked over at Gilroy. “I guess we won’t disturb anything. Morgan might tumble. I’ll just plant the notes and we’ll blow.”

Schultz said, “Maybe there’s a heap of dough in this joint.” He said it wistfully.

Duffy took the roll of counterfeit money from his pocket, spread them flat. He leant forward, picked up a framed calendar and took off the back. Then he put the notes in the calendar and replaced the back.

“You like that?” he said.

Gilroy nodded. “That’ll be difficult to find.”

“You’ll be surprised.” Duffy pulled the telephone towards him and dialled a number.

While the line buzzed, the three stayed motionless. Only Gilroy showed he was anxious. His big eyes rolled continuously.

The line connected. English said, “Who’s that?” He sounded sharp.

Duffy drawled into, the ’phone, “I’ve got Morgan sewed up,” he said. “If your boys make a call at his office early tomorrow, they can safely slap a charge on him.”

“Where are you?”

“It don’t matter. Look, this is a tip off. Morgan’s got twenty-five grand in phoney notes hidden in his desk calendar. Could you make that stick?”

English was silent for a moment, then he said, “You certainly get action, don’t you? We’ll make it stick all right.”

Duffy said, “Morgan Navigation Trust Co.”

“I know.” English hung up gently.

Duffy pushed the telephone away from him and stood up. “Let’s go,” he said.

They walked out of the office, carefully relocking the door, down the fire-escape, into the pouring rain.

Shep was still sitting there, fondling his gun. They climbed into the Buick, and Schultz started the engine.

Shep said, “All right?”

“Easy,” Duffy returned, lighting a cigarette. “Morgan’s going to get a mighty big shock tomorrow.”

Gilroy said out of the dark, “English has got to be pretty leery to pin anything on that bird.”

Duffy forced a thin stream of smoke down his nostrils. “English can handle him all right,” he said. “You see.”

Schultz said, “We go back, don’t we?”

Duffy nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “the hay wants hitting.”

As Schultz headed East, Shep said in a confidential whisper to Duffy, “I thought I’d have a woman tonight. You know, just to celebrate the five grand.”

Duffy nodded sleepily. He began to think about Olga.

“It’s a hell of a night to look for a woman, ain’t it?” Shep went on gloomily.

Duffy grunted. He wished Shep would shut up.

Schultz had been listening. He said, “For God’s sake, Fat, what you want with a woman?”

Shep giggled self-consciously, and Gilroy joined in.

“He’s got the dough, why shouldn’t he enjoy himself? Lay off him,” he said.

They drove two blocks in silence, then Shep said to Duffy, “Ain’t you got a woman?”

Duffy turned his head slightly. He could just see Shep’s pace, stuck like a turnip on his shoulders, as the street lights flashed past, lighting Shep at regular intervals.

“Think about your own troubles,”’ his voice was cold. “I’ll think about mine.”

“You bet,” Shep said hastily. “I didn’t mean a thing.”

Gilroy broke in, “Did English say anything about dough, “when he talked to you?”

Duffy shook his head, then remembering that Gilroy couldn’t see him, he said, “No.”

The Buick ran along the kerb, slowed, and came to a stop outside the Bronx.

Schultz said, “Hop out. I’ll take her over to the garage.”

They climbed out and hurried down the basement steps, the rain beating down on them.

Gilroy unlocked the door and they entered quickly. The passage was dark. Gilroy swore softly. “Where the hell’s Jock got to”?” he said, speaking of the thin man. “He ought to be still up.”

“Maybe he’s got himself drunk,” Shep said. “I gave him ten bucks out of my split.”

Gilroy groped around and switched on the light. “You come and have a drink?” he said to Duffy.

Duffy said, “Sure, my feet are wet. I could do with a shot of Scotch.”

Gilroy led the way down the passage, and walked into the bar. The first thing that caught his eye was the thin man. He was lying on his back, his hands and legs sprawling, and his face a mask of blood.

The little guy said sharply, “Reach.”

Gilroy and Duffy raised their hands. Shep dropped on his knee, drew his Luger and fired at the little guy all in one movement.

Joe, stepping behind the door, tapped Shep with the butt of his gun as he fired. Shep gave a little cough and fell on his hands and knees. He looked like a stricken elephant.

Duffy said between his teeth, “Don’t touch him again.”

Joe looked at him in wonder, then he grinned. “My, ain’t you a pip?” he said admiringly.

The little guy said apologetically, “Take it easy. Don’t move. I’d hate to pop this heater, but I gotta do it if you crowd me.”

Gilroy said, hardly moving his rubbery lips: “What you want?”

“We want the pip,” Joe said. “Ain’t he hung a rap on Clive? Well, sure we want the pip. I wanta bounce him a little, don’t I?” He looked triumphantly at the little guy. Then he walked over to Duffy, grinning from ear to ear. He feinted with his left, and hit Duffy on his ear, with a tremendous swinging punch that started from his ankles.

Duffy saw it coming a split second too late. A bomb burst inside his head. A bright light blotted the room out.

“Spill his guts,” the little guy said with a snigger. “Go on, Joe, burst him open.”

Joe walked over to Duffy quickly with long, sliding steps. He put his hand down on Duffy’s body, seized Duffy low and swung him off the floor. He lifted him quite easily and smashed him down on the boards, as if he were dumping coal.

The little guy said, “Let’s get him out of here.”

Joe said, “Sure.” He dragged Duffy to his feet and began pulling him to the door.

Gilroy stood like a waxwork, only his great eyes rolling in terror. The little guy looked at him, curling up his tight mouth.

“Here it is, nigger,” he said, and squeezed the trigger. The gun crashed. Gilroy stood with his hands folded over his belly, gradually sinking at the knees. His curiously coffee-coloured skin glistened with sweat. He went down very slowly. First on his knees, then a little on one side. His hip-bone struck the floor hard, and his face followed, cutting the flesh on the boards.

The little guy stood over him, looking at Joe. “Shall I finish him?” he asked.

Joe paused in the doorway, holding Duffy by his shirt-front. “Let the punk bleed,” he said, with a snarl. “It takes longer that way, don’t it?”

The little guy giggled and pushed his gun back in his holster. “You get ideas,” he said.

Joe admired himself.

“Don’t I?” he said, walking down the passage, pulling Duffy with him.

He said over his shoulder, “I’m going to give myself a grand time with this bum.”

The little guy followed him closely. He opened the front door, and together they stepped out into the driving rain. The sudden cold driving shower of water brought Duffy to, his senses. He placed his legs firmly against the step and arched his body. Joe was brought up short. He swore at Duffy, who swung a punch blindly into the darkness. He hit Joe on the nose. He so startled Joe that the big tough let him go and reeled back, took a false step and almost went over.

Duffy scrambled away hastily, just as Schultz began blazing away from across the road. Schultz’s .45 roared three times. Duffy felt a slug thud into the wall above his head.

The little guy fired twice at Schultz, his gun cracking like dry wood snapping, only much louder. Duffy fumbled at his waist, and pulled out his Colt. He crouched in the shadow, trying to see where Joe was. The rain blinded him, and the solitary street light, about fifty feet away, threw only black shadows.

Holding the gun, Duffy began to back further into the dark. He wanted to cross the road and get over to Schultz. Further down the road, the blackness was intense. He thought, if he could get there, he could cross in safety. He felt his heart beating hard against his ribs, but he wasn’t scared. He felt a strong sense of exhilaration flooding through him.

Schultz began firing again. Three sharp sounds. Duffy could see the flash from the gun. He crossed the road, running bent double.

Faintly, somewhere at the far end of the street, came the faint blast of a whistle, then a low drumming of a nightstick being beaten on the pavement.

Schultz called to him, “The cops.”

Duffy ran forward again, keeping to the wall, hugging the dark shadows. Schultz from a doorway pulled him into the shelter.

He said, “I’ve got to get out of here quick. The bulls know me.”

Duffy said, “Gilroy’s dead.” He spoke as if he had been running a long way. “The cops can’t touch you. I’ve got protection.”

Schultz snarled in the darkness. “My rod’s hot,” he said.

Duffy held out his hand. “Change,” he said. “They won’t look at mine.”

Schultz passed his over, and took Duffy’s. They heard the wail of a siren, and a fast, closed car came swinging round the corner. Duffy stepped out into the street and waved. The car skidded to a standstill.

Four beefy faces looked at him from the car, suspiciously. He felt the hidden menace of guns, unseen in the dark, threatening him. He stood quite still.

Then one of them said, “It’s okay. I know this guy.”

Duffy stepped up to the car. “Morgan’s gang’ve just knocked Gilroy off,” he said slowly, putting his foot on the step. “I was there. You’ve come along at the right time.”

Hesitatingly, three of the cops got out of the car and stood undecided in the rain, then they turned and walked over to the Bronx.

Duffy jerked his hand, signaling to Schultz, and followed them. Schultz, walking with elaborate caution, crossed the road and caught up with Duffy.

Inside, the three cops stood and looked at Gilroy, then walked over and stirred Shep with a foot.

One said, “He’ll be okay. Just a rap.”

The Sergeant caught sight of Schultz, and his face clouded. Duffy could see the sullen hostile expression blotting out indifference. The Sergeant said, “Where were you?”

Duffy broke in, “He’s okay. He was putting my car away.”

The Sergeant looked at Duffy, scowled, then said, “You’re in the clear now, but watch your step.” There was an ominous threat in his voice. It puzzled Duffy.

Shep began to move. Straightening his great limbs, and grunting. He raised his head painfully. Duffy thought he looked like a stranded turtle, lying there.

He said, “It’s all right.”

Shep looked at him blankly, sat up and rubbed the back of his head. He began to swear softly and vilely. When he saw Gilroy, he stopped. He turned his head and looked at Duffy. Then he got to his feet.

The Sergeant had given instructions for an ambulance; he was wandering round the room, sniffing suspiciously at everything.

Duffy said to Shep, “They beat it in the rain.”

Shep put his hand across his eyes and squeezed his temples, as if trying to force his eyes back to normal. He said in his tinny voice, very low and hoarse, “I’ll square those rats, you see.”

Schultz was watching the cops uneasily. He said out of the corner of his mouth, “These birds ain’t acting friendly.”

Duffy went across the room and fixed drinks. He said, “You boys want something while you’re waiting?”

The two cops looked up, their stupid faces brightening. The Sergeant said, “Skip that. You know better.”

Duffy held the glass in his hand, astonished, but he said nothing. The ambulance came up then. They could hear the siren, and two white-coated attendants scooped Gilroy up and took him away.

The Sergeant came over to Schultz. “You got a rod?” he said.

Schultz pulled Duffy’s Colt from his holster and handed it over. The Sergeant examined it, his eyes narrowed, and his lips thin red. “We’ll look this over,” he said. “It might have a record.”

Duffy moved forward and took the gun out of the Sergeant’s hand. He said in a hard voice, “Tell English I took it from you,” he said. “I want this cannon for a while.”

Thick red veins knotted at the Sergeant’s neck. His watery blue eyes bulged. He didn’t say anything, but walked out, jerking his head at the other two.

When they had gone, Schultz said uneasily, “Those guys seem to hate us.”

Duffy stood frowning at the floor. Then he said, “I don’t like this. Maybe English’s loosing his grip.”

He went to his room and dialled. When English answered, Duffy said, “We’ve had a shooting here.” His voice was tense and sharp. “Morgan’s mob knocked off Gilroy and tried to iron me out. They got away.”

English said, “You got to be careful.”

Duffy grinned mirthlessly at the mouthpiece. “You telling me,” he said. “What I want you to know is the cops seemed kind of unfriendly. You’re giving me protection. I don’t like to have it come back on me. These birds were only keeping their hands off me with an effort.”

English said softly, “You’re wanted for a murder rap. You can’t expect too much.”

Duffy stared at the opposite wall. “How long’s your protection going to last, once Morgan’s out of the way?”

English said immediately, “You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m getting the papers to run the whole case tomorrow, clearing you. You see, you’ll be in the clear tomorrow.”

Duffy said, “We’ve fixed Morgan. You’ll pay twenty-five grand into my bank, tomorrow?”

English said, “Sure, tomorrow. When they got Morgan I’ll do that.”

Duffy said, “’Bye,” and hung up. He walked across to the window and looked out, lifting the blue blind away from the window and peering round the side. The rain ran down the window. He could only see faintly the street light. He dropped the blind and went once more to the telephone. It began to ring. Its sudden violence startled him. He sat on edge of the bed and pulled the receiver towards him.

Alice’s voice said, “Oh, Bill.”

He said, “Why, for God’s sake! It’s nearly two o’clock. What makes you call at this time?”

She said, her voice uneven, “Sam just heard. They say there’s been shooting at the Bronx. I was so frightened. I thought something had happened to you.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“They called him up. He’s gone down to headquarters. You are all right?”

“Sure, I’m all right. There’s nothing to worry about.” He paused and then went on, “Listen, honey, you’re right. This is getting me nowhere. I’m quitting. I got nineteen grand salted away, and another little packet tomorrow, then I’m through. English is taking the heat off, and it’s going to turn out swell.”

She said, “I’m… I’m glad. It is all right, isn’t it, Bill?” He thought she was crying.

“You see,” he said, “tomorrow we’ll have a party. You and Sam and me. It’s going to be fine. And listen, I’m coming round in the afternoon, and you and me will go shopping. You can buy yourself the world. Doll yourself up and surprise Sam. How do you like that?”

She said, her voice still anxious, “I shan’t rest until you’re with us.”

“Good night,” he said. “You’re worrying about nothing.”

When he hung up, he sat on the edge of the bed thinking. A little shiver ran through him suddenly, and he got up impatiently. “Hell,” he said. “I guess my feet are damp.”

CHAPTER XVII

DUFFY WOKE WITH A start. Across the room, the sun leaked round the side of the blind, throwing ragged lines of light on the walls.

The telephone was ringing, grinding shrilly.

He said, “Goddam it,” and turned over in the bed. Pulling the blanket over his ears, he tried to ignore the jarring noise, but the bell went on ringing, insistently.

He turned over again and climbed stiffly out of the bed. Scooping up the telephone, he shouted, “What the hell is it?”

Sam was yelling at the other end. He was so excited that Duffy couldn’t understand a word. He said, “I can’t hear you. What is it?”

Sam choked, then came over quieter. “For God’s sake, Bill,” he said. “Hell’s broken loose this end. English’s double-crossing you. He’s slapped every rap he can lay hold of on you.”

Duffy stiffened. “Tell me,” he said.

“They arrested Morgan on some counterfeit charge. Then English got on to headquarters and withdrew his protection. I was there when he did it. He’s thrown you to the wolves. They’re indicting you for Olga’s, Gleason’s and Annabel’s murder.”

Duffy sat limply on the bed, still holding the telephone. “The lousy rat,” he said.

Sam said urgently, “You’ve got to go carefully. They can’t hope to make all those raps stick.”

Duffy’s mouth twisted. “They’ll carry me to the station, that it?”

Sam said, “English is pulling wires. They’re waiting for you to run, then they’ll come after you with gunpowder.”

“That’ll let English right out of this, won’t it? Me stiff, he can pin all his lousy scandal to my tombstone.”

“What the hell are you going to do?”

Duffy said, “Skip. I guess I might make it in the Buick.”

Sam said, “They’ll be watching your joint by now. The news came over ten minutes ago. They started right away.”

Duffy said, “Do they know you’re in this?”

“No. They don’t even know I know you.”

“If I can’t make it, can I hide up at your place?”

“Sure,” Sam spoke without hesitation. “Why not come on over and lay up, until the heat’s cooled?”

“’I’ll try a getaway first.” Duffy said gently, “Thanks, soldier, you’ve been a swell help. My love to Alice. Don’t tell her more than you need.” He hung up and looked quickly at the clock. It was just after ten o’clock.

He dressed with cold unhurried haste. He made sure that he had his money safely distributed in his pockets, then picking up his hat he walked to the door, shot the bolt and stepped quietly into the passage.

As he walked into the deserted bar, he heard the faint wail of a siren, approaching rapidly. He smiled, without being amused, turned back and ran to the front door. He stepped into the street and walked across the road fast, but without any panic. He walked like a man about to start a day’s work, who knows he’s a little behind the clock.

He could see a long closed car swinging round the bend at the far end of the road. The siren was silent. He stepped hastily into the shadow of the garage and walked over to the Buick.

Schultz said, “Wait!” His voice had an edge to it.

Duffy peered and saw him standing in the dim light, half hidden by a big Packard.

“The cops are moving in,” Duffy said in a low voice. “I’m skipping. Want to come?”

Schultz shook his head. He was standing very still. Duffy looked again, then stiffened. Schultz was holding a shotgun in his hands; he was pointing it directly at Duffy.

Duffy said with stiff lips, “What’s the idea?”

“Put that dough on the floor,” Schultz said, “then you can skip.”

Duffy said, “The cops are just across the road. You can’t start anything.”

Schultz’s face was white, beads of sweat stood out on the backs of his hands. He said, “Don’t talk. Put the dough down quick.”

Duffy slowly put his hand inside his coat. The Colt-butt felt cold under his touch. Something was forcing him to pull that gun. A hidden instinct to keep what was his. His fingers closed over the butt and he braced himself. Then he jerked at the butt, at the same time he threw himself to one side.

There was a sharp choked roar from the shotgun, and something bit into Duffy’s side, sending him over on the oily concrete. White-hot wires of pain shot to his brain, making him feel sick and dizzy. He couldn’t think of anything, just the jagged pain eating at his chest.

Faintly he heard someone cursing him, and then hands roughly jerked him this way and that. When the blinding light went away from his eyes, he saw Schultz run out of the garage, holding a gun tightly in his hand.

Duffy pulled himself to his feet by holding on to the wing of the Packard. He heard Schultz fire once, then twice. The noise of Schultz’s gun was followed by a sharper report, as the cop in the car began shooting. The other cops were still in the Bronx.

Walking unsteadily over to the Buick, Duffy got in and started the engine. He tasted blood on his tongue, and he began to cough. Hard, tearing cough, that made his brain rattle in his skull. He could feel the blood running down his side, down his leg, into his shoe. Holding hard on to the wheel, he started the engine, slammed in the gear and shot out into the road. Schultz was still firing carefully at the cop from behind a stationary car. As Duffy swept past, both the cop and Schultz fired at him. The bullets made a cobweb on the window, but that was all. In his driving-mirror, he saw Schultz suddenly throw up his hands, and go over, like the felling of a tree. He had no time to see anything else, as the main road was ahead of him.

He drove fast, holding the wheel in both hands very hard, and sitting forward, his back clear of the seat. Hammers beat inside his head, and his chest seemed as if someone were stripping the flesh off his bones. He bit on to his underlip, and drove. His one fixed thought was to get to Sam’s place. It wasn’t far and it was safe. He thought if he held on a little longer, he’d make it.

Twisting and doubling, he felt that he had shaken off pursuit for the moment. The cop in the car hadn’t much chance, with Schultz blazing away at him, to spot the Buick’s plates. Anyway, that was what Duffy hoped. He came to McGuire’s apartment round the back, pulling up in the narrow alley that skirted the fire-escapes from the block.

He felt strangely hot and weak, sitting there, and he wondered how the hell he was going to get up to the apartment. His wound seemed to have stopped bleeding now, and he looked down at his blood-caked suit with a little grimace. Then he reached over the back of the car and pulled his light dust-coat off the back seat. The effort made the sweat start out all over him, and he had to shut his eyes, as the building reeled drunkenly before him. He sat like that for several moments, then he began to cough again. Deep, tearing coughs that hurt.

It took him a long time to open the heavy door. He was surprised to find how weak he was. Then he stepped to the ground and immediately fell on his knees. He pulled himself up by the door, swearing softly. Obscene words, lodged deep in his subconscious, came tumbling from his lips. He steadied himself and put on the coat, hiding his bloodstained suit. Then he began to walk with uneven, hurried steps round the front.

He had to stop three times before he made it, but he got into the automatic elevator, shut the gates, pressed the button, and folded up on the floor.

The cage groaned and creaked on its upward journey. Duffy just sat there on the floor, breathing with little short gasps, frightened of the pain when he breathed normally. The elevator came to rest after an interminable time. He pulled himself to his feet by hooking his fingers in the grille. He stayed there, hanging on, like a man uncertain of his strength, breasting a gale. Then he balanced himself on the balls of his feet and took away his hands. Pulling open the grille, he lurched into the corridor.

Across the way was MacGuire’s apartment. He shuffled over and rapped on the door. Almost immediately Alice came. Her face lit up when she saw who it was, but almost at once her expression changed to alarm. “Bill, what is it?”

Before he could speak, the cough caught him again, and he folded up, his shoulder against the door.

She said, “O God,” very softly, and put her arm round him, pulling him inside. She thrust the door to with her foot, and supported him through the sitting-room, into the bedroom.

He said thickly, “The flowers look good.”

She lowered him to the bed, putting a pillow under his head. “What is it?” she asked.

“Get me a drink, honey,” he mumbled, his mouth suddenly very dry.

Unsteadily, she ran into the other room, and returned with a bottle and glass. She poured him a stiff whisky, and held his head while he drank. The spirit knitted his will, and he managed to grin.

“Get my things off, baby,” he said. “I ran into a handful of slugs.”

Undressing him took time. She had to let him rest every now and then, but she finally got down to his shirt, and the caked blood nearly made her faint.

Duffy said, “Don’t get scared.” He felt a lot stronger. “I don’t think it’s bad. It just hurts a lot.”

She ran into the bathroom and came back with dressing, water and towels. She had to cut away his shirt. He had six pellet-holes down his right side. They had ceased to bleed. She stood looking at them, her eyes big and scared.

He said, “Listen, baby. You gotta get them out.”

“I can’t,” she said. “I don’t know how.”

“Got some tweezers? You fix your eyebrows, don’t you?” His mouth twisted into a little grin. “Try with those.”

She looked at him, and shook her head.

He said, “It’s important, baby.”

When he said that, she drew a sharp breath and went over to the dressing-table. He reached for the bottle and gave himself a long pull.

She came back, holding the tweezers.

He said, “Burn a match round ’em.”

While she was doing that, he drank some more whisky. By the time she started on him, he was pretty high.

Wires of pain clutched him, and sweat ran down his face. But he lay quite still, with his eyes shut, giving no sign that she hurt him.

He heard her say at last, “I’ve got them all.” She sounded so far away that he turned his head slowly and looked at her. She was white, her large eyes sunk far in her head. Holding on to the edge of the small table, she seemed to sway before his eyes.

He said, “Get a grip on yourself.” He tried to speak sharply, but just couldn’t make it. “Have a quick drink, you’re going to faint or something.”

She sat down on the floor. “I’ll… be… all right,” she said, forcing her head down. “Don’t worry. Just… give me a minute.”

With a shaking hand he slopped some whisky into the glass and thrust it at her. “Go on, drink it,” he said. The effort made his head swim.

He heard the glass rattle against her teeth as she drank. Then she got up unsteadily and put the glass on the table. “I’m all right now,” she said.

Duffy said, “Put some dressing on this, and let me lie easy.”

She sat down on the bed. “Would it be safe to get a doctor?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m on the run now, baby.”

She began cutting a pad, biting her lips to stop her tears. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, slightly dazed by the alcohol.

She said, “I’ll fix it with tape.”

Duffy said, “You’re swell.”

With inexperienced hands, she strapped him, making a fair job of it. He lay watching her, and when she was done, he said, “Get me one of Sam’s suits.”

Her eyes opened. “What do you mean?”

“I’m getting out of here.”

“Oh no, you’re not,” she said; “you’re staying.”

He shook his head impatiently. “I ain’t getting you mixed up in this. There’s a rap for you, if they find me here.”

She said, with determination, “Don’t get tough. You’re staying.”

He shut his eyes. “Okay,” he said weakly. “Just for a little while.”

She bent over and kissed his hot forehead. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

He lifted his lids with an effort. “I started this… I guess it had to finish like this.” Then, remembering, he said urgently, “Look in my coat. There ought to be some dough there.”

She went over and gingerly examined the coat’. “Nothing here,” she said.

His mouth twisted. “Schultz got it,” he said. The effort to worry was too much for him, and he closed his eyes.

She said, “Try and sleep.”

“My right shoe. There’s three grand hidden in it. It’s for you.”

She said, “Never mind that.”

He raised his head, his eyes feverishly on her face.

“Take my shoe off and get the dough,” he said urgently. “It’s all I got out of this mess… it’s for you.”

She undid his shoes and took them off. She found the crumpled notes wedged in one of them. Holding the little ball of money in her hand, she stood there, tears running down her face.

He dropped his head back on the pillow again. “You’re right, baby,” he said slowly. “Money don’t mean a thing.”

She said, keeping her voice steady, “I’ll leave you now. You must sleep. If you want me, call. I’ll be right outside.”

He said drowsily, “Sure, don’t get Sam. I’m going to be okay. I’m feeling fine, only tired.”

She pulled a light blanket over him, and he reached out and took her cool hand. “I’ve been a mug,” he said.

Alice clenched her teeth hard to stop the sob that rose in her throat. She looked down at his white, drawn face, and forced her trembling lips into a smile. “You… you’re okay now,” she said. “Forget about it. You see, it’s going to be all right.”

She left him lying there on the bed. The heat of the street filtering through the window made him feel heavy and lifeless. The throb in his side was not bad. He just wanted to sleep.

How long he slept, he never knew. It might have been a few minutes, or a few hours, but he woke suddenly, his brain clear and full of strange urgent alarms. He raised his head and looked round the room, then over to the window. When his eyes reached the square of glass, he knew why he had awakened.

Joe and the little guy were standing on the fire escape, watching him. Even as he saw them, Joe pushed up the window, and stepped into the room. He said in a low voice, “We saw the bus, so we just dropped in.”

The little guy sat on the sill. He nodded at Duffy. “We’ve been looking for you,” he said.

Duffy turned his eyes to the door. “You wouldn’t hurt her?”

Joe showed his teeth. “Not if she stays out,” he said, keeping his voice down, “but if she comes in, she’ll get a surprise.”

Duffy dropped his head back on the pillow. He said, “Lock the door.”

The little guy said, “Leave it, Joe. He won’t squawk if she can get in easily.” He smiled at Duffy, a tight little smile.

Joe wandered over to the bed and jerked off the blanket. His brutish face lit up when he saw the strapping. “You hurt?” he said. “Ain’t that too bad.”

Duffy said nothing; he just fixed joe with hot, burning eyes. Whatever Joe did to him, he mustn’t let Alice hear.

Joe reached out a hand. Duffy stiffened, then realizing how futile it was, just kept his eyes on Joe’s face. Joe took the pad in his fist, and ripped it and the strapping away.

The little guy giggled.

Duffy sank his teeth into his lower lip. He was very pale. The six little wounds began to ooze blood, running down Duffy’s ribs on to the sheet.

Joe sat down on the bed beside him. “Listen, pip,” he said. “First you got Clive, then you fixed Morgan. You got a lot coming to you, ain’t that right?”

Duffy said through his clenched teeth, “Go ahead… only quickly.”

The little guy said, “Yes, Joe—get going.”

Joe said, “I wanta take this guy apart an’ see what makes him tick.”

“That jane’ll be in,” the little guy said.

Joe grimaced. “I’ll spill her insides all over this punk,” he said.

Duffy lay flat on his back, looking up at the ceiling. His face and chest glistened with sweat. He was afraid, not for himself, but for Alice.

Joe put his big hand on Duffy’s throat and squeezed. The little guy got off the window-sill and came over to watch. His mouth hung open a little. He stood on the far side of the bed, his eyes screwed up, watching.

Joe said, “Have a little air, lug,” and eased the pressure, then he tightened his grip again.

The little guy suddenly cocked his ear. He said, “Listen.”

Joe sat very still. His hand slightly relaxed. The only sound was the soft thrashing of Duffy’s legs on the bed. A muscular reaction he had no control over. From the other side of the door they could hear Alice moving about, and they could hear the faint sound of crockery being moved.

“She’s getting him a meal,” the little guy said.

Joe grinned. “He’s losing his appetite, ain’t you, bright boy?” The effort of keeping his grip tight was making his face a little red. Then, drawing his lips back in a snarl, he threw his weight on his arms, savagely squeezing.

The little guy moved restlessly from one foot to the other. The room was absolutely silent now, except for Joe’s heavy breathing. Then Joe got off the bed, flexing his thick fingers. The little guy stepped to the window, then he jumped back quickly. “Joe….”

Forms darkened the window, as three policemen, guns in hands, raced up the fire escape. They slipped into the room with paralysing speed.

Joe stood there, his mouth open, and the whites of his eyes suddenly yellow with terror. “Don’t you shoot,” he said with a jerk, putting up his hands.

The Sergeant pushed forward. His small eyes startled. “Quite a party,” he said.

The little guy giggled. He stood close against the wall, his hands high. “You ain’t got nothing on us,” he said through white lips.

The Sergeant walked over to the bed, and stood looking, The other two officers remained motionless, their guru menacingly still.

The Sergeant said, “Well, for God’s sake.”

He walked over to the little guy and hit him in the middle of his face with his gun butt. The little guy’s head thudded against the wall, and his legs spread, sliding him to the floor. He put his hands over his face, but he couldn’t make a sound; he seemed to go into a fit.

Joe buckled at the knees. “Okay, boss,” he quavered. “We didn’t mean anything by it.”

The Sergeant hunched his shoulders. “Sure, you didn’t, you dirty rat,” he said. “I’ve been waiting to nail you for a long time. Well, you’ve got it coming to you.” He jerked his head to the other two. “Get the bums outa here.”

Just then the door jerked open, and Alice stood there. The Sergeant stepped in front of her, and crowded her into the kitchen. She retreated, her eyes growing big.

She said, “You can’t take him away… he’s too ill…. Please.

The Sergeant said, “That guy on the bed—Duffy?”

Alice nodded dumbly. “He’s been shot… he’s bad… please leave him there. Look, I’m getting him some soup. It’s ready… you’ll let him have that?”

The Sergeant pushed his cap to the back of his head, and blew out his cheeks. Her terrified face embarrassed him. “It don’t matter about the soup,” he said. He fumbled with his gun, pushing it into his hip pocket. Then he added, “He won’t need it now.”

THE END