The Soft Centre

Chapter Seven

Sam Karsh was waiting when Homer Hare came heavily into his office after a long and excellent lunch.

“Well, I thought you were in jug by now,” Karsh said. “What happened?”

“Sammy, you must learn to trust me. We’re on to a very good thing... like I told you. The little lady has everything to gain and a husband to lose.”

“Yeah... from what I hear, she’s lost him already.”

Hare dismissed this with a wave of his hand.

“She’s in love with him,” he said. “Knowing human nature the way I do, when a woman is stupid enough to fall in love, she is a sucker for me.” He looked at the strap watch on his fat wrist, “I think I can call her now. She’ll have had dine to make up her mind.”

“This idea of yours doesn’t jell with me,” Karsh said uneasily. “We’ve never stuck our necks out this far. Are you sure she won’t bleat to the cops?”

“She won’t. We’ve never stuck our necks out this far because we have never had the chance of picking up half a million bucks,” Hare said. Lifting the telephone receiver, he asked Lucille to connect him with the Spanish Bay hotel.

Val had just got back from her visit to the sanatorium and was about to sit down before the open window when the telephone bell buzzed. She hesitated, then crossing the room, she answered the call.

“Is that Mrs. Burnett?”

She immediately recognised the dreaded, wheezy voice. She controlled the impulse to slam down the receiver. She said, “Yes.”

“We talked this morning.” She could hear the fat man struggling with his breath. “Is it yes or no, madam?”

“It’s yes, but I need time,” Val said, aware her voice was unsteady. “I can pay twenty thousand tomorrow. I need two weeks before I pay the rest.”

“That would be satisfactory. In cash, if you please. Would you be good enough to come to my office tomorrow at eleven and bring the cash? You have my address. We will then be able to discuss how the rest of the money is to be paid.”

“I’ll do that,” Val said and hung up. She stared across the room for some moments, then she abruptly called the Florida Banking Corporation and asked to speak to the manager. She had only to mention her name to be put through immediately.

Henry Thresby, the manager of the bank, was warned by his secretary that the daughter of Charles Travers was on the line.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Burnett,” he said in his bright, alert business voice. “Is there something I may do for you?”

“Yes, please,” Val told him. “I want twenty thousand dollars. I will be in tomorrow morning. I’ll bring my husband’s cheque.”

“Certainly. I’ll have the money ready for you. There’ll be no difficulty about that.”

“I want the money in one hundred dollar bills,” Val went on, hesitated then said, “I would be glad if you would take a note of the numbers of all the bills and let me have the numbers. Would you also please arrange to have the money done up in a parcel and sealed with the bank’s seal?”

Thresby’s long experience in banking affairs allowed his tone to remain normal while his expression became startled.

“Certainly... only too happy, Mrs. Burnett. The parcel will be ready for you when you come. Do you wish to check the amount before the parcel is sealed?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll be at the bank about ten o’clock.”

“Everything will be ready and arranged as you wish, Mrs. Burnett.”

“Thank you,” and Val hung up.

Thresby, a small dapper man with a balding head and shrewd eyes pushed back his chair. He stared into space, frowning. He was a conscientious banker. He had been pleased to have obtained Chris Burnett’s account when the Burnetts had come to stay at the Spanish Bay hotel. He was aware of the importance of these two young people... even more aware of their connection with the great Charles Travers. These instructions, given him by Mrs. Burnett, set an alarm ringing in his mind. Twenty thousand dollars, the numbers to be recorded and the money to be put in a sealed parcel meant to him either ransom or blackmail money.

He lit a cigarette and pondered the problem. He and Chief of Police Terrell had gone to school together. They spent holidays, fishing together. He knew he could rely on Terrell’s discretion. Although he felt uneasy that he was going beyond the strict letter of his duty, he didn’t hesitate for long. He reached for the telephone and asked to be connected with Police Headquarters. Sergeant Thames, the desk sergeant, told him that Terrell was out. He had no idea when he would be back.

“This is important, Sergeant. Will you ask the Chief to call me at my home any time after six o’clock?”

Sergeant Thames said he would do that.

Joe Beigler walked from the Toy store carrying under his arm a large brown paper parcel containing an enormous Teddy Bear. He felt a vindictive pleasure that the Bear had cost seventy-five dollars. If the Chief was dumb enough to pander to this little horror, he thought, then it was his bad luck if he was to be seventy-five dollars out of pocket.

He arrived back at the motel to find Terrell waiting for him. He was pleased to see his Chief’s face fail when he told him he owed him another twenty-five dollars.

“I’ll give it to you tomorrow,” Terrell said and taking the parcel, he walked over to the Prescott’s cabin.

Beigler went to the cafeteria and devoured a couple of hamburgers, washed down with ice-cold beer. As he was about to order a second beer, he saw Terrell come out of the Prescott’s cabin and look around for him. He paid his check and went out to Terrell.

“It’s paid off,” Terrell said. “I guess I know who these two guys are, but I want you to hear what she’s told me and see if you agree with me.”

Beigler followed him into the cabin where Angel was sitting, looking at the Teddy Bear with wonder and love while Mrs. Prescott, red with embarrassment, stood by the window, watching her daughter.

“Angel, let’s go over it all again,” Terrell said. “Just once more.”

She smiled at him.

“Yes.” She looked at Beigler. “Thank you for getting me my Teddy. You’re cleverer than you look.”

Beigler scowled at her, sat down at the table and opened his notebook.

“Go ahead, Angel,” Terrell said, sitting down. “You woke up at five minutes to one. You put on your torch and looked at your clock. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the child said. “I looked out of the window and I saw...”

“Why did you look out of the window?” Terrell interrupted.

“I wanted to see if there was a moon. I like looking at the moon.”

“And was there a moon?”

“It was dark, but I could see the moon behind a cloud. Then I saw two men walking down the lane between the cabins. They had to pass under those lights in the tree at the far end of the lane. I saw them clearly.”

“You saw them well enough to recognise them again?”

“I would recognise the fat man, but I don’t think I would recognise the nigger. He...”

“Angel! You mustn’t say nigger,” Mrs. Prescott broke in. “You should say he was a coloured man.”

Angel gave her mother an irritable look and then went on, “All niggers look alike to me, but the other man I’d know anywhere.”

“Before you describe him, tell me what these two did.”

“Well, they walked to Mr. Henekey’s cabin and went up on to the porch. My window was open and I heard them whispering. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was too dark there to see what they were doing, but I heard the door creak open and they went inside.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I waited because I wondered what they were doing in Mr. Henekey’s cabin. I got sleepy, and when Mr. Henekey arrived. I thought he would find out for himself, so I went to sleep.”

“You are sure they didn’t leave before Henekey arrived?”

“No, they were in the cabin all the time. They didn’t leave.”

“All right, Angel, now tell me about the fat man.”

“He was very big and very fat. He was the biggest and fattest man I have ever seen.”

“You told me he was about Sergeant Beigler’s age,” Terrell said, “and he wore a blue shirt and dark trousers. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure his companion was coloured?”

“Oh yes. He had on a yellow and white sweat shirt, and blue jeans.”

“And there was something else that struck you about the fat man?” Terrell said. “Wasn’t there?”

Angel hid her face in the fur of the bear. She giggled.

“Oh, yes. He was a pansy. I know all about them because my friend, Doris, told me. She knows all about them because her brother is one of them. I could tell that was what he was by his walk.”

“Angel!” Mrs. Prescott exclaimed, horrified. “You really...”

“Please!” Terrell said sharply. “This is important,” to Angel: “Just how did he walk?”

The child got to her feet and began to mince around the room. Her imitation of the walk of a homosexual was so convincing that even Beigler had to grin.

She stopped and looked at Terrell.

“Like that.”

“I want you to wait here for a little while,” Terrell said. “Then I hope you will help me some more.”

“Now I have my bear, I’ll help you as much as I can,” Angel said gravely. She went over to the bear and hugged it, looking at Terrell, her eyes adoring.

Pleased, Terrell smiled and got up. He nodded to Beigler and the two men went out into the sunshine.

“Well, you name them, Joe,” Terrell said.

“Jacko Smith and Moe Lincoln,” Beigler said without hesitation. “Can’t be anyone else.”

“Hardy’s bodyguard. Looks as if some of the pieces are falling into place. But we have to be sure. The next move is to show Jacko to the child and see if she can recognize him.”

“What do we do?” Beigler rubbed his jaw. “Bring him in... have a line-up and let the kid finger him?”

Terrell shook his head. He looked at his watch. The time was twenty minutes past five.

“We’ll drive her to the Coral bar. Jacko usually shows there around half-past six. We’ll park within sight, and she can spot him when he goes into the bar. If she recognises him, we’ll bring him in and have a line-up.”

They went back to the cabin.

“I want your daughter to come along with us,” Terrell said to Mrs. Prescott. “It is essential that she identifies this man. You’ll come too, of course.”

“Oh no, she won’t,” Angel said firmly. “If she comes, then I won’t help you. Just me and Teddy.”

“Now, Baby-girl,” Mrs. Prescott said helplessly, “you mustn’t be naughty. You can’t go alone with these gentlemen.”

“Then I’m not going at all,” Angel said in a decided voice and putting her arms around her bear, she dragged it off the settee and began to move to the door.

“She’ll be all right with me,” Terrell said. “I’ll bring her right back, Mrs. Prescott. This is important police business.”

Mrs. Prescott started to say something when Angel said, “I’ll see you later, Mummy,” and walked briskly from the cabin to where the police cars were parked.

“If she was my daughter, I’d...” Beigler began, his face red with indignation.

Mrs. Prescott drew herself up.

“I’m glad she isn’t!” she said. “I don’t care for anyone criticising my child and I’ll thank you not to pass such remarks!”

Beigler looked helplessly at Terrell, closed his notebook and followed his Chief out and across to where Angel waited for them impatiently.

Moe Lincoln lay back in the barber’s chair, feeling the keen edge of the razor pass over his black cheek. His eyes were closed, his vicious face in repose as he relaxed to the soft hands of Toey Marsh who had been trying for months to persuade Moe to leave Jacko and come to live with him.

Toey was half Chinese, half Pole: a fat little man, nudging fifty with henna dyed hair, almond shaped eyes and a round fat face. He was considered one of the best barbers in the district and Moe always had an evening shave from him before going out to set the town alight with Jacko.

“What’s the time, baby?” Moe asked, keeping his eyes shut.

“Nearly half-past six,” Toey told him after consulting his watch. “What are you doing tonight? Would you like to come back to my place. I’m throwing a party. Chinese food, and there’s a boy...”

“I’ve got a date with Jacko,” Moe said who liked to torture Toey. “Why should I want to go to your crummy joint?”

Toey sighed. He applied a hot towel to Moe’s face and leaving him for a moment, he wandered to the shop window to look out on to the street.

“That’s funny,” he said. “What are they doing, I wonder?”

“Who, dopey?” Moe asked, pressing the hot towel to his face and breathing in the menthol fumes coming from the towel.

“The cops... out there in a car with a little girl,” Toey said, coming over to change the towel.

Moe stiffened. He snatched off the towel, slid out of the chair and went to the window. He stared at the police car. It was in a parking bay fifty yards or so from the entrance to the Coral bar.

“What’s the matter?” Toey asked.

“Shut your flap!” Moe snarled. “Gimme a towel.” Without taking his eyes off the police car, he reached out his lean black hand and snatched the towel Toey gave him. He hurriedly wiped his face and the back of his neck and then threw the towel from him.

He watched: then he saw Jacko Smith come waddling down the street.

Jacko always parked his pink and blue Cadillac at the far end of the street. He believed the short walk from the parking lot to the Coral bar helped to keep down his weight. He came along, a handkerchief in his fat hand, wearing the light blue shirt, and black baggy trousers he had worn the previous night. From time to time, he dabbed at his white unhealthy looking face with the handkerchief.

Terrell said sharply, “Angel, look down the road.”

Angel, who had been playing with her bear, looked up and saw Jacko as he came towards them.

“That’s him!” she whispered excitedly and pointed her small finger towards Jacko who had paused for a brief moment outside the Coral bar.

“Are you sure?” Terrell asked.

“Yes! That’s him!”

Moe, watching, saw her point at Jacko and his black face creased into a vicious snarl. He realised at once that this child was identifying Jacko to the cops and this could only mean one thing! This child had seen them enter Henekey’s cabin!

Toey standing behind him, and watching what was going on said, “What is it, honey? She fingering Jacko?”

Moe turned savagely on him.

“Shut it! Wipe it out of your mind! You want to stay alive, Toey?”

As the sight of the murderous gleam in the vicious black eyes, Toey quailed.

“I never saw a thing!” he stammered. “Honest, I never...”

“Shut it!” Moe snarled.

He watched Beigler start the car engine and then drive away towards headquarters.

Moe paused only long enough to glare at Toey.

“Remember... if you’ve seen anything, Toey, I’ll slit you,” he said, and then moving fast, he ran across the street into the Coral bar.

Jacko was about to order a shot of whisky and a beer chaser when Moe came in.

Moe said, “Let’s get out of here, Jacko, and fast!”

The expression in Moe’s gleaming eyes was enough for Jacko. He waddled after Moe, moving his enormous legs as fast as he could and panting.

The barman watched them go, grimaced, and then returned to his task of washing glasses.

It wasn’t until eight-ten o’clock that Terrell drove into his garage. He was feeling hot and tired. Having driven Angel Prescott back to the Park Motel, he was now looking forward to a shower and a good dinner.

His wife opened the front door as he came up the drive. They kissed, then Terrell asked the age-old question husbands always ask, “What’s for dinner?”

“Chicken,” Caroline said. “It’ll be ready in half-an-hour, but you have to call Henry first.”

Terrell walked into the lounge and began to shed his jacket and tie.

“Henry?” He looked at Caroline in surprise. “What’s he want?”

“He said it was important. You call him while I get you a drink.”

Terrell hesitated, then seeing the stern expression in his wife’s eyes, he grinned and went over to the telephone. He dialled Henry Thresby’s home number, and while he waited for the connection, he reached out a grateful hand for the whisky and soda, clinking with ice, that Caroline offered him.

Thresby came on the line.

“Frank? I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have something that’s bothering me. I thought I would get your advice and hear what you have to say.”

At the sound of Thresby’s anxious tone, Terrell became alert.

“Go ahead, Henry. What is it?”

Briefly, Thresby told him about the telephone call he had had from Val Burnett.

“I could be sticking my neck out, but to me, it sounds as if Mrs. Burnett could be in trouble,” Thresby concluded. “Now look, Frank, we have to be mighty careful about this. If it means nothing, Travers could descend on me, and I could lose my job.”

“I think you have every reason to be worried,” Terrell said. “I’m glad you called me. Now look, Henry, you leave this to me. Just forget it, will you? The less you know about it, the better. I’ll take care of it.”

“For goodness sake, be careful!”

“You know me,” Terrell said quietly. “I’ll handle it. Did you keep a copy of the numbers of the bills?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Let me have the list. Send it here. That way it won’t get into the wrong hands. Okay, Henry, relax. I’ll fix it,” and he hung up.

Seeing the furrow between his brows, Caroline knew better than to ask questions. She went into the kitchen to serve up the meal.

Terrell called headquarters. When Beigler came on the line, Terrell asked, “Got Jacko Smith yet?”

“Not yet. I have men shaking down the clubs. They should pick him up any time now.”

“Have you someone staked out outside Smith’s apartment?” Terrell knew he was wasting his breath as Beigler was as efficient as himself but he had to ask.

“Walker and Lucas are covering the joint.”

“I want that fat slob fast.”

“We’ll have him before midnight. He’s playing cards in some hole. It’s just a matter of finding where he’s playing.”

“Joe... there’s something else,” Terrell said. “Tell Jacobs to come out here. He’s on duty, isn’t he?”

“Why, sure.”

“Tell him to hustle over. If he comes fast enough, he can have a chicken dinner with me.”

Beigler snorted.

“If there’s one way to get Max to move fast, it’s the offer of a free meal.”

As Terrell was sitting down at the table, reaching for the carving knife and fork, the front door bell rang. He grinned at his wife.

“That’s Max. Put a plate for him. He must have bust every speed record in the State.”

Max Jacobs, a lean, tall, first-year cop, came into the lounge and looked with round eyes at the perfectly cooked chicken. Terrell pointed with the carving knife to a chair.

“We’ll eat first,” he said, “then talk. I have a job for you.”

Later, when Caroline was washing up, Terrell, his pipe drawing well, told Jacobs about Val Burnett.

“Looks like a blackmail set up,” he concluded. “We can’t move in unless she calls us, but we can be ready. I want you to be outside the bank at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. When Mrs. Burnett leaves, make sure she has the money with her and then follow her. Now look, Max, it is vitally important she gets no idea you are following her, so watch your step. Find out where she takes the money. If she goes back to her hotel, see Dulac and tell him you’re from me. Ask him to let you know if anyone goes up to her suite. If anyone does, follow whoever it is. Don’t consult the hotel detective, I don’t trust him. Got all that?”

Jacobs nodded.

“Okay, Chief, I’ll handle it,” and he got to his feet. “I’ll be on the job at nine tomorrow.”

When he had gone, Terrell called police headquarters. He asked Beigler if there was any news yet of Jacko Smith.

“Nothing so far, Chief,” Beigler said. “I’m getting reports continually, but he isn’t in his usual haunts.”

“Send out a State alarm,” Terrell said. “I want him fast. Turn the heat on, Joe. I’m coming down.”

“Okay,” Beigler said, “but you don’t have to come down. I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” Terrell said, “but I’m coming.”

Spike Calder was a tall, emaciated Negro with flat, snake’s eyes and a perpetual grin that revealed big, gleaming white teeth. He ran the Bo-Bo Club on the waterfront that was frequented by queers and gamblers from the dock quarter of Miami.

The big advantage of the club was that it had a secret room for meetings below the main bar and restaurant, so cunningly hidden that the police hadn’t so far discovered it.

It was in this room that Jacko Smith and Moe Lincoln were now sitting, whisky and beer chasers on the table before them.

Moe had told Jacko what he had seen and Jacko was now considering what to do.

“We mustn’t take any risks,” he said finally. “We’ve got to find out if this kid did see anything. Looks like she’s at the motel, but we got to find out for sure.”

Moe nodded. This made sense to him.

“You stick right here, baby,” he said. “I’ll get Hoppy to go out to the motel and sniff around.”

“Watch yourself,” Jacko said, patting Moe’s arm.

“Don’t worry about me, baby,” and Moe went up the stairs, peered through the peephole to make sure there was no one around, then let himself out of the secret room.

Hoppy Lincoln, Moe’s younger brother was losing money in a crap game when Moe finally found him. Seeing his brother, he left the game and joined him.

Moe told him what he wanted him to do.

“Take my car,” Moe said, “and snap it up. I want you back here pronto.”

Hoppy began to whine, but at the sight of the two five dollar bills Moe thrust at him, he suddenly grinned.

“Okay, sweetie,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

The two brothers left the gambling room and Hoppy went quickly across the street to where Moe had parked his car. He got in and drove away.

Moe moved through the back alleys, avoiding the main streets until he was within sight of the Bo-Bo Club. He paused in the shadows.

Walking towards the club were two police officers. Moe recognised them immediately. He remained motionless like a black shadow and saw them enter the club.

The police officers, Marshall and Lepski, pushed their way through to the crowded bar where Spike Calder was mixing drinks.

At the sight of them, the men and women in the room suddenly became silent. Three or four of them edged towards the exit. The rest stared sullenly at the two officers, their eyes glittering, their hatred showing in their tense faces.

Spike put down the cocktail mixer and eyed the two men cautiously. So far he had never been in trouble with the police, and if he could avoid it, he was determined to steer clear of police trouble.

“Evening, gents,” he said with an expansive smile. “What’ll you have?”

“Seen Jacko Smith?” Marshall asked. He was a short, heavily built man with muscles of a boxer and a hard, battered face.

“Not yet,” Spike lied. “Maybe he’ll be in a little while, but he hasn’t shown yet.”

Lepski, thin, wiry and tough, leaned against the bar counter.

“Listen, Smokey, think twice before you open that drain in your face,” he said softly. “We’re looking for Jacko... could be a murder charge. If you know where he is, now’s the time to flex your tonsils and sing. If we find he’s here or he’s been here, you’re going inside. I’d like to work you over. The best sound in this stinking town to me is the moans of a black boy.”

Spike’s smile slipped a little.

“I’d tell you if he was here. Look around, mister, and see for yourself. I haven’t seen him since yesterday night.”

The two police officers looked around the big room and then at each other.

“If he comes in, call headquarters. That way you’ll keep out of trouble.”

Lepski stared at Spike for a long cruel moment, then jerking his head at Marshall, he left the bar.

Moe, hidden in the shadows, watched the two police officers walk down the street and enter yet another gambling cellar.

Like a black ghost, he slid across the street and down the back entrance to the Bo-Bo Club. He paused long enough to listen and make sure there was no one about, then he fumbled for the hidden catch that opened the door into the secret room, slipped into darkness, shut the door, then switched on the light. As he came down the stairs leading into the room where Jacko Smith was lolling, Spike Calder came in from the other hidden entrance.

Moe looked at Spike, his eyes alert. Spike ignored Moe and walked over to Jacko.

“On your way,” Spike said softly. “Up with the fat and dust.”

Jacko stared at him.

“You don’t talk that way to me, black boy.” he said furiously. “When I want to go, I’ll go, but not before.”

“You’ll leave right now,” Spike said. “The cops have been here. They’re looking for you. I don’t cover anyone as hot as you, Jacko. On your way.”

Moe said, “He stays right here.” He had his broad bladed knife in his hand. “You want me to carve you a little, nigger?”

Spike smiled.

“You’ll have to grow a lot bigger and a lot tougher to carve me,” he said. “Try it and see,” and a long stabbing knife jumped into his hand.

Moe snarled at him and began to move forward.

“Stop it!” Jacko said sharply.

Moe slid the knife back into its sheath. He moved further away from Spike to give himself the chance to get the knife out again should Spike show signs of attacking him.

“What’s biting you, Spike?” Jacko asked with deceptive mildness. “What did the cops say?”

“Plenty,” Spike said. “They are looking for you. They’re talking about a murder charge. That’s too hot for me. On your way, Jacko, and keep clear of me.”

Jacko and Moe exchanged glances. Jacko began to sweat. There was a long pause, then Moe said, “Okay, Spike, we’ll go, but they’re nuts. Jacko hasn’t killed anyone.”

Jacko heaved himself to his feet. Spike was watching Moe which was stupid as Jacko was much closer to him. With a movement, terrifyingly swift for a man of his size, Jacko grabbed the whisky bottle and slammed it across Spike’s face with bone crushing violence. Spike reeled back, dropping his knife. Moe sprang like a black cat at him as he collapsed on the floor. His black hand, holding the gleaming knife, flashed up and down twice, then he got to his feet. He bent over Spike’s lifeless body and wiped the blade of the knife dean on Spike’s shirt, then he looked at Jacko.

“He was chickening out,” he said. “Better this way. What do we do now?”

Jacko lowered his great body on to the chair. He took out a carton of chocolates and began to stuff chocolates into his mouth.

“We’re getting into the real crap now, boysie,” he said, his mouth full. “We’d better get out... but where do we go?”

“It must be Henekey,” Moe said, sitting on the table, swinging his legs. “The kid must have seen us. We’ve got to fix her, baby. Without her, without Spike, we should be in the clear. I’ll go down to the motel and knock her off.”

Jacko nodded.

“But where do I go?”

Moe frowned as he swung his legs, then he suddenly grinned.

“Go to Hardy. He got us into this mess. Go to him, baby. He’ll have to cover you for the night. By tomorrow you’ll be in the clear. Without the kid, they haven’t a thing on us.”

“Is there anyone else?” Jacko asked. “Anyone who could fix us?”

Moe thought of Toey. Toey had seen the kid finger Jacko. He hesitated. It was a pity to get rid of Toey as he was a good barber, but Moe didn’t hesitate for long.

He told Jacko about Toey.

Jacko looked sad. Toey also cut Jacko’s hair, but he realised that once Toey knew the cops were looking for him on a murder charge, he would turn soft.

“Fix him too,” he said and got to his feet. “You take me to Hardy in my car, and then fix Toey. Then you go to the motel and fix the kid.”

“Yes, sweetie,” Moe said. “You leave it all to me.”

The two of them, one gross, the other hard and slim, moved silently out of the secret room and into the darkness of the night.