The Soft Centre

Chapter Eight

Gina Lang sat on the bed, occupied in painting her toenails while she listened to a Sinatra L.P. playing in the lounge.

The time was a little after ten-thirty. Lee Hardy had said he would be back by eleven, and then they would go to the Coral Club for a drink before taking in a midnight movie.

Her task completed, Gina stood up. She was wearing a bra and black lace pants. She surveyed herself in the full-length mirror with shrewd, searching eyes. She was twenty-three. She had had her first affair at the age of fourteen with a man she had long forgotten. Since then, she had spent the past nine years drifting from one man’s bed to another’s. During this sexual pilgrimage she had acquired two mink coats, a diamond necklace, various other pieces of jewellery of lesser value and fifteen thousand dollars in the bank Looking at herself now in the mirror, she searched for any sign of her past life, and was pleased to see that nothing so far had left a scar on her attractiveness. Her body was firm and beautifully made. Her face amused her, and she knew fascinated men, but she wasn’t too sure about her eyes. She tried to soften their expression, but failed. Well, she thought, shrugging, at least they’ll warn Lee not to fool around with any other woman now, and he needs the warning!

She had been living with Lee Hardy now for three months. Their meeting had been casual. When she discovered he had money, a Cadillac and a penthouse, she was happy to leave the party with him at which they had met. They went back to his luxury home.

Then something happened that she least expected. She found he was not only an extremely accomplished lover, but his handsomeness and his gaiety turned the routine romp in bed into a fierce possessive love. This had never happened to her before, and it threw her off balance. She suggested she should move into the penthouse, and after only a moment’s hesitation, Hardy had agreed. He was getting bored with continually chasing women, breaking down their resistance, buying them presents, quarrelling with them, and finally trying to get rid of them. He found Gina intriguing, sexually exciting and a good cook.

This state of affairs lasted some two months, then Hardy, from force of habit, began to look around for fresh diversions, but he quickly discovered this could be dangerous. He was shocked by Gina’s vicious temper. The row they had had when he had smiled at a girl in a nightclub was heard by everyone in the block. There was nothing he could do with her. She was like a demented wild cat. It was only when he rashly promised never to look at another woman again that she calmed down. Later, he tried to prepare himself to tell her to get out of his penthouse, but he hesitated, knowing he would never find a girl as intriguing as she was, and also the memory of her fury still scared him.

Satisfied that she now had hooked him, Gina was considering the best way to get him to marry her. She was sick of forever hunting for a new and substantial meal ticket, and having satisfied herself that Hardy was smart enough to keep with the big money, there seemed no reason why they shouldn’t get married. So this evening, she planned to force his hand.

For the next twenty minutes, she made herself as attractive as she could, and the result was impressive for Gina was an artist in making the best of herself. As she was struggling to pull the zipper up on the gold lame dress that fitted her like a second skin, she heard the front door bell ring.

She looked at the dock on her bedside table. It was nearly eleven. She thought: Lee’s forgotten his key again! Well, at least, for a change, he’s punctual.

She ran to the front door and opened it. It came as a considerable shock when she saw Jacko Smith standing in the corridor, his great fat face dripping with sweat and the smell of sweat oozing from him.

She knew Jacko Smith was Hardy’s strong-arm man. She had seen him from time to time on the racetracks, but she had never spoken to him. She had loathed the sight of him as soon as she had seen him. The fact he was a homosexual turned her loathing into revulsion. If there was a breed of perverts Gina hated most it was the homosexual.

“Where is Hardy?” Jacko demanded, eyeing Gina with as much contempt as she was eyeing him. He regarded all women as unworthy of his consideration.

“He’s out!” Gina snapped and began to close the door. To her dismay, Jacko moved forward with the power and force of an Army tank. He rode her back into the lobby and shut the front door.

“Get out of here!” Gina cried shrilly. “How dare you force your way in here!”

“Shut up!” Jacko snarled. “This is business!”

“If you think you can push your filthy way.”

“Shut up!” Jacko repeated. “Hardy is in trouble. I’m in trouble. Where is he?”

Gina looked closely at the fat man. The restless movement of his little eyes, the sweat that soaked his shirt and the way his mouth tightened and loosened began to frighten her.

“What’s happened?” she demanded.

He waddled past her into the lounge and seeing the cocktail cabinet, he crossed to it and poured himself three fingers of Scotch, added a little charge water and greedily gulped down the drink.

She stood in the doorway, glaring at him.

“What is it? The police?”

“Yes,” Jacko said and poured himself another drink. “Where is he?”

“He said he would be back by eleven. It’s eleven now. What’s happened?”

“He’ll tell you if he wants you to know,” Jacko said. “I’ll wait.”

“Not here... you won’t. Get out!”

Jacko looked at her, his little eyes gleaming viciously.

“Screw you,” he said. “You want me to push that flat nose of yours through the back of your head?”

Gina turned abruptly and went into her bedroom, shutting and locking the door.

Trouble! Police! She clenched her fists, her eyes glittering. What had Lee done?

She sat on the bed and waited for his return.

Toey Marsh was enjoying himself. He liked nothing better than to throw a party with Chinese food prepared by himself for a few boyfriends, and after the eating, to put on discs on the gramophone and have a social evening lasting to three o’clock in the morning. His party was obviously a big success. He stood by the open window watching the boys dancing together, chattering and laughing and looking admiringly at him. His one regret was that Moe Lincoln hadn’t come. Moe fascinated him, and he kept assuring himself that sooner or later Moe would leave Jacko and come to him.

Freda, a young blond Negro, minced across the room.

“Someone wants you on the phone, dear,” he said. “Just wouldn’t say who he is.”

Toey went into the hall and picked up the receiver. His face brightened with excitement as he recognised Moe’s voice.

“Toey,” Moe said, “I’m across the way in the Drug Store. I want you over here for five minutes.”

“Come on up, baby,” Toey said. “Join the party. Come on, baby. You’ll have lots of fun.”

“I want to talk to you alone,” Moe said. “Is Freda there?”

“Yes, but...”

“Then you come down here. I don’t want him around while I’m talking to you. I’ve got something to say to you alone.”

“You have? What, baby?”

“Jacko and me have had a row. Come on, Toey, for Judas’ sake!”

“You mean you two have quarrelled?”

“Not a word to anyone. Come on, Toey. I want to talk to you. Hurry it up!”

“I’m coming,” Toey said and replaced the receiver. He thought: At last! After all this wait!

“I’ll give him the big front room! I’ll have it done over and it’ll need a better bed, but...”

Freda, standing in the doorway, interrupted Toey’s thoughts by asking, “Who was that?”

Toey frowned at him. He was bored with Freda now.

“No one you know,” he said. “Go back to the party. I don’t like being spied on.”

Freda gave him a hurt look and returned to the apartment, but as soon as he heard Toey start down the stairs, he silently peered over the banister rail.

He saw Toey reach the dimly lit lobby and make for the front entrance, then he heard Toey give a quick gasp and saw him stumble forward on his hands and knees. Out of the darkness, knife in hand, Moe appeared for a few fleeting, horrible seconds as he thrust the knife twice more into Toey’s fat back. Then Moe, like a black ghost, was gone and Freda heard a car start up and drive away. He ran screaming back into the crowded apartment.

The news of Toey Marsh’s murder reached police headquarters as Terrell entered the operations room. Two plain clothes officers had Freda with them. Sobbing and moaning, he blurted out to Terrell what he had seen.

“Take him away and lock him up,” Terrell said. “Send the wagon out and collect the rest of them. Get Hess with the boys over there. Send out a State alarm for Lincoln.”

While this was being dealt with, he drew Beigler aside.

“What the hell’s happening in this town?” he said. “Three murders in two days. You know something? I’m scared about that little girl, Angel Prescott. She’s the one witness who can pin Henekey’s murder on those two. I must be slipping. I should have given her a police guard.”

“I’ll alert the nearest patrol to go to the Motel,” Beigler said, reaching for the microphone. “Think it would be an idea to pick her up with her mother and bring them here?”

Terrell hesitated, then shook his head.

“Tell them to take them to my home. Carrie will look after them for a couple of days until we find these two hoods. Detail one of the boys to guard the house. Still no news of Jacko?”

“No. Looks as if he’s skipped town,” Beigler said and started to call the patrol cars. A minute later, he turned to Terrell, “A car will be there in five minutes. They’ll take the Prescotts right to your house, Chief.”

When Moe reached the Park Motel, he found Hoppy waiting for him.

“A couple of cops took the kid and the woman away about twenty minutes ago,” Hoppy reported.

“They were in that cabin,” and he pointed.

Moe knew then for certain the child had seen Jacko. He cursed, then telling Hoppy to get lost, he drove fast to the nearest drug store and called Lee Hardy’s penthouse.

As the telephone bell began to ring, Hardy unlocked his front door and entered the penthouse. As he walked into the big lounge, he was startled to see Jacko Smith lolling in one of his chairs, the telephone receiver clamped to his fat ear.

Jacko was saying, “Come back here, Moe. Watch it. Dump the car and come in the bus. They know my car,” and he hung up.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Hardy said furiously.

Jacko eyed him.

“We’re in trouble,” he said softly. “You, me and Moe. The cops are looking for us.”

Gina came to the doorway.

“Tell that fat louse to get out of here!” she screamed. “He forced his filthy...”

“Shut up!” Jacko snarled. He looked at Hardy. “It’s Henekey.”

Hardy lost colour. He turned to Gina. “Look, Pekie, will you wait in the bedroom? I’ll handle him.”

“I’m going out!” Gina said. “If you imagine I’m going to breathe the same air as this fat slug, you’re mistaken! You handle him... I’m going to a movie!”

“Stay here!” Jacko said viciously as she began to move to the door.

Gina paused and was about to release a stream of abuse when she saw the.38 automatic in his hand, pointing at her. She had been in many difficult situations in her young life, but no one had ever pointed a gun at her before with such glaring, killing eyes behind it. She stared at the gun, not moving.

Hardy said, “Put that gun away!” But there was no real snap in his voice and he looked a little sick.

“She stays here!” Jacko said.

Hardy hesitated, then to Gina, “Better go to your room, Pekie.”

“What’s the matter with you?” Gina shrilled. “You’re not letting this fat slob dictate to you, are you?”

“Get out!” Jacko said and heaved himself out of his chair.

As Hardy made no move to protect her, she turned and ran into her bedroom, slamming the door. Hardy walked over to the cocktail cabinet and poured himself a large Scotch.

“Have you gone nuts, Jacko?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. “Put that goddamn gun away!”

Jacko lowered his bulk into the chair. He laid the gun on the broad arm of the chair as he watched Hardy take a drink.

“The cops know we knocked off Henekey,” he said. “They’ve got a witness.”

“Damn you!” Hardy exclaimed, his face flushing with rage. “Why weren’t you more careful? Who’s the witness?”

“A kid. Moe went out to the Motel to take care of her, but the cops beat him to it. Toey Marsh saw her fingering me, so Moe slit him. Now we are right in the crap to our necks.”

Hardy wiped the cold sweat off his face. He struggled to fight down a rising panic. He said, “Now look, Jacko, you get out of here. From now on, you and Moe are on your own. You’re not dragging me into this. You get out!”

Jacko fanned himself with his dirty handkerchief.

“They catch us... they catch you. Moe’s coming here. We’ll sit and wait for him.”

Hardy remembered the gun he had in his desk drawer. If he could kill this fat queer, he could tell the police it was in self-defence. He was sure Gina would back him up and the cops could never hang anything on him with Jacko... and Moe, of course, out of the way.

“Well, if you feel that way about it,” he said and wandered casually towards his desk.

“We’ll wait for Moe.” He began to open a drawer in his desk when Jacko said, “You want to die, baby? What’s it to me to kill a second time? Get away from that desk!”

Hardy looked at the.38 pointing at him, then shrugged and moved away from the desk and sat down.

Moe got off the bus at the Miami terminal. He was now worried. If he couldn’t find this kid and knock her off, Jacko and he would be for the gas box. But how to find her? Where had the cops taken her?

He moved quickly through the crowd milling around the terminal and approached the taxi rank. The driver of the first cab was a Jamaican. He nodded to Moe as he opened the cab door. Moe told him to drop him at the beginning of Bay Shore Drive. As the cab moved away, Moe lit a cigarette and tried to relax. He had a ten minute drive ahead of him and he concentrated his thoughts on what his next move should be.

The driver switched on the radio to dance music. As he was approaching Bay Shore Drive, the music faded and the announcer said, “We interrupt this programme for a police message. The police are anxious to question Moe Lincoln, a Jamaican, who they believe can help them with their inquiries concerning the murder of Toey Marsh who was stabbed to death half an hour ago after answering a mysterious telephone call. Lincoln, twenty-three, is tall and thin with a scar from his right ear to his chin. When last seen, he was wearing white and blue sweat shirt and dark blue jeans. Anyone see this man should contact Police Headquarters. Lincoln is known to be dangerous. In no circumstances should anyone attempt to apprehend him. We now return to Pete Jackson and his Music, playing for you from the Florida Club.”

The driver snapped off his radio.

“Cops!” he sneered. “They live to make trouble.”

Moe slid his knife from its sheath. His heart was hammering. How had the police got on to him so fast? Had someone seen him? He stared intently at the back of the driver’s head. He had seen the man stiffen. He was sure he had recognized him from the radio description. So what would he do now?

The driver said scornfully, “Toey Marsh... well out of the way! He got me into trouble last month. The guy who slit him did a public service.”

Moe relaxed a little.

“Yeah,” he said. “I knew him too.”

“You want to change your mind about where you want to go?” the driver asked without looking around. “I could run you out of town... to Key West. You might fancy getting on a boat. Key West is good for boats.”

Moe put his knife away.

“No... drop me off here, pal,” he said. “This will do fine.”

The driver swung to the kerb and Moe paused to look up and dawn the long road before getting out. He shoved a ten dollar bill at the driver who still didn’t look at him, then he walked fast to the nearest alley and disappeared into the darkness.

The driver wiped sweat from his face, then engaging gear, he sent the cab shooting down the road. It took him three minutes to find a patrol officer. Pulling up, he reported where he had dropped Moe.

“You sure it was Lincoln?” the cop demanded.

“I know Lincoln,” the driver said, his eyes glittering. “He cut my father once. Man I thought he was going to cut me but I played it smart.”

The cop climbed into the cab.

“Get me to a telephone.”

Five minutes later, two patrol cars pulled up near the alley down which Moe had disappeared. Police spilled out, guns in hand, but they were too late. Although they searched the district, they found no trace of Moe.

The gentle scratching on Lee Hardy’s front door alerted Jacko that Moe had arrived. He nodded to Hardy.

“Let him in,” he said, lifting the gun so it pointed at Hardy who got to his feet and went into the lobby. As soon as Hardy was out of sight, Jacko went over to the desk and took Hardy’s gun from the drawer. He shoved the gun into his hip pocket and then returned to the chair as Moe came into the room, followed by Hardy.

“This caper’s turned sour,” Moe said and crossing to the cocktail bar, he poured himself a stiff whisky and soda. “It’s on the radio. They even know I knocked off Toey.”

Hardy said huskily, “You two better get out of here. This is the first place they’ll think of to check.”

“Shut up!” Jacko snarled. He looked uneasily at Moe. “What do we do, baby?”

“If we can get to Key West, we can get a boat,” Moe said, “but we want money.”

“He’s got money,” Jacko said, waving to Hardy. “How much have you got right here?”

“A hundred and fifty,” Hardy said. “You can have that.”

Moe sneered at him.

“We’ll need five grand. We don’t stand a prayer without that kind of money.”

“I haven’t got it.”

“You’ll find it if you don’t want to take the short walk.”

Hardy hesitated, then said, “I could get it from the bank tomorrow morning.”

Jacko and Moe looked at each other.

“We could stay here for the night,” Jacko said.

Moe nodded.

“Yeah, but it’s risky.”

“We’ve got to take the risk,” Jacko said. To Hardy, he went on, “You get the dough tomorrow morning... We’ll take care of your girlfriend until you get back. You try anything smart and Moe’ll slit her.”

Listening, her ear against a door panel, Gina flinched, then she silently turned the key in the lock.

Val lay in bed. The moonlight came through the open window and made a square pattern of silver on the carpet.

For the past three hours she had been wrestling with this problem of her husband. What he had said to her during the afternoon had terrified her. She could not believe he had been responsible for this woman’s death. This was something she refused to believe. On the floor by her bed lay a mass of newspapers carrying the story of Sue Parnell’s murder. She had read everything printed about the murder. On the bedside table lay a writing pad on which she had written the names of the few people connected with the murder and mentioned by the Press.

There was this damning evidence of the blood-stained jacket and the cigarette lighter. There was this dreadful thing Chris had said: One should never pay blackmail. I’ll tell the police I did it, and that will be that. Then he had said: Last night, I dreamed I killed a woman.

Val couldn’t bear the darkness any longer and sitting up, her face pale, her hands cold and clammy, she turned on the bedside light.

She thought: He didn’t do it! I know he didn’t. He must have heard about the murder somehow while he was wandering around. Somehow he must have got it into his head that he killed this woman, but I know he didn’t! Chris could never do such a thing! Even with those injuries to his brain, he wouldn’t do such a thing! It isn’t in his nature to stab a woman the way that woman was stabbed!

Then she again thought of the blood-stained jacket. But was it really blood? Was this awful old man getting money out of her by a clever trick? How did she know the stains were from this woman’s blood? What to do? She didn’t dare go to the police in case... She pulled herself together.

She thought: If you really believe Chris didn’t do it, then you should go to the police. If you really and truly believe he isn’t capable of doing such a terrible thing, then go to Terrell (is that his name?) tell him about this man Hare and let him deal with him.

Then a small, disturbing voice sounded in her mind: But suppose Chris did do it? Just suppose in a moment of mad violence he did kill this woman? Are you going to betray him to the police? Suppose, through you, they were able to prove he did it? Suppose they put him away for life in some awful asylum?

But he didn’t do it! Val said, half aloud, her fists clenched, her breath rapid. I know he didn’t! This is some trick! I have to find out how this trick was worked! I’m sure it is a trick, but how do I find out? What can I do? She beat her fists together in her agony. I must do something!

Throwing aside the bedclothes, she slid out of bed and began to move restlessly about the room.

It wasn’t for nothing that she was the daughter of Charles Travers. She had the same determination, the same fighting spirit as her father. As she moved around the room she became more calm. If she was to help Chris, she must handle this problem herself, she finally decided. Tomorrow, she would pay Hare the money. That would keep him quiet for two weeks. During that time she must somehow try to find out what Chris had been doing while he had lost his memory. If she could find this woman he had met... this woman who had made him think of elephants (why elephants?)... she might be able to prove he was nowhere near this Motel where Sue Parnell had died. If she could do that, then Chris would be safe, but how to find this woman?

She was still pacing the floor, thinking, working herself into a more and more determined frame of mind when the moon faded in the lightening sky and the red rim of the sun began its slow ascent.