Kill Now, Pay Later (Hard Case Crime (Mass Market Paperback)) Read online

  “Another time,” I said. “I’m working.”

  He made an elaborate signal for secrecy, and took me into the inner lobby. “I don’t blame you, Ben. You’re new to the field. I flatter myself I’m a realist, and here’s what I’m going to do. If you make out, I’ll cut it down the middle. Fifty-fifty. I have the experience, you have the flash. Is that generous, or is it generous?”

  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Chad, but how would I explain it to my friends?”

  “Let’s not get too dichty with me, man. I’ve been talking to people, and what people are saying is that you’ve lost some of those easy retainers. I’m not gloating, mind.” He held up both hands. “I sympathize, because I’ve been through it myself. But a little realism, Ben. Use a little realism and you’ll come out of this with flags flying.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind.”

  “Do that.” He thrust his face toward me, screwing his eyes into a ferocious squint. “But for some strange reason I don’t think you mean it, so I’d better lay the whole deck on the table. I have connections with a certain amount of muscle. Disappoint me on this and we’ll be watching for you.”

  “Always a pleasure to see you, Chad. Of course you realize I don’t mean that either.”

  I walked away. He called after me, “Be realistic, Ben! Be human!”

  I took the elevator to the seventh floor, found the Moran apartment and rang. Almost before I took my thumb off the button the door was opened by a girl in a shapeless wrapper. Her dark hair was pinned against her skull with plastic curlers.

  “How many times do I have to—”

  “I’m on the second shift,” I said. “My name is Gates. Chad was probably up here shaking a tin cup, but all I want is information.”

  “Ben Gates?” She looked at me closely. “You don’t look like your picture.”

  “That goes for a lot of people,” I said. “Where did you see my picture?”

  “The Journal-American, and you looked pretty frowzy. Now that I’ve met you, it’s been nice, goodbye.”

  She started to close the door, but I pushed against it and walked past. “Go on with what you were doing. I won’t take up much time.”

  “Well, goddam me,” she said. “Make yourself at home. I’m not going to talk to you. Why do I have to?”

  “You don’t have to,” I said. “But you have to listen while I give you the spiel. Of course you can call the cops, but I don’t think you want to go to the trouble.”

  “You’re oh so right,” she said. “I’ve had about all the fuzz I can take for one day. They picked me up at work and took me out to identify Leo. Go on with what I was doing. Sure. I was about to get in the tub.”

  “Well?”

  She gave a short laugh through her nose. With the light on her face I saw that she was probably not much past twenty. In the curlers she looked like a juvenile edition of the Statue of Liberty, with everything from the neck down concealed in a heavy fog. But from the little I knew about Leo Moran, I didn’t think he would be sharing an apartment with anyone whose proportions were less than adequate.

  “Oh, hell,” she said. “Sit down. You know that was the first stiff I ever saw? I threw up afterward, and they were all delighted. Lieutenant Minturn. There’s a cat. You probably ran into him.”

  “He ran into me. What are you, the next of kin?”

  “Well,” she said, “I’m sort of his daughter. I’m not actually his daughter, but don’t wear yourself out thinking about it, O.K.? My first name’s Lorraine.”

  “How do you do?”

  “I can do without the sarcasm, thanks.” She picked up a watch from a table. “Sweet Jesus!” she exclaimed. “I’ve just got time for a fast rinse. There’s gin in the kitchen if you want a drink, but watch the mess you make. I don’t have time to clean up.”

  She disappeared into the bathroom with a rustle of the long skirt. I looked around the living room, which was very neat. Several overlapping copies of Fortune lay on a low table in front of the sofa. Even with curlers in her hair, Lorraine didn’t look like the kind of girl who habitually reads Fortune, but it is easy to be wrong about such things. I went into the bedroom. This was a one-bedroom apartment, the kind that is advertised by New York rental agents as having four and a half rooms. On one of the twin beds a black dinner dress was waiting. It didn’t look like much without a girl inside it. I checked the bureau drawers, working fast and trying to make as little noise as possible. I could hear the roaring of the shower in the bathroom. The cops had only wanted an identification, and they wouldn’t have bothered to search the apartment. Apparently Lorraine hadn’t let Chad in, so I was first on the ground. I wanted something that would connect Moran with someone on my list. I was beginning to get an impression of the man, and it didn’t seem to me that he was the type who would keep his secrets in a safe-deposit box. He would put them under his clean shirts in a bureau drawer.

  I found the shirts. There was nothing beneath them. The shower was turned off as I started on the closet. At first I thought there was nothing inside but women’s clothes. I found the men’s suits inside a bulky and opaque garment bag. There were four suits and two sports jackets, all with the label of a well-known Broadway store, whose customers have one thing in common—they, too, are not Fortune readers. I was about to pull the zipper and back out when I saw several overloaded manila envelopes in the bottom of the bag.

  “Gates!” the girl called.

  I zipped the bag and covered the distance to the bedroom door in three strides.

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you see my drink?” she said through the crack in the bathroom door. “A martini.”

  “Sure, do you want it?”

  I went back to the bedroom window, which led to the fire escape. It was locked, with the lower sash attached to the frame by two anti-burglar worm-screws. I loosened the screws and freed the catch, then looked for her drink.

  I found it in the kitchen, beside a bottle of gin and a pitcher of melting ice. I poured off the water, added gin, swished it around and filled the glass.

  I took it to the bathroom. “I beefed it up a little.”

  Her arm came out and groped in the air. I put the glass in her hand.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to need a little boost to get through tonight.” She made a sputtering sound. “That’s practically pure gin. Well, hell. They can’t shoot me for trying. How would you like to make yourself a little bread?”

  When I didn’t answer she yelled, “Can you hear me?”

  “I hear you, all right. Doing what?”

  “That’s the point. I’d have to map it all out for you, and do I have time? That Burns ghoul put me way behind. Bring your drink over to the door.”

  I took out a cigar and lit it. I could hear her moving around on the other side of the door, and there were several mysterious clinks.

  “Do I feel like going out tonight?” Lorraine said. “I don’t, to tell you the truth. But how do I get out of it? I’m not supposed to call the boyfriend at the office. I could leave a message at the Yale Club, but what if I said I had a headache or the curse or something? I’d have to get it signed by a notary public before he believed me. He’s about ninety-nine years old, and the poor dear is afraid he has a rival.”

  Suddenly she threw open the door. “Are you smoking a cigar?”

  She had a tiny blackened brush in one hand, but so far mascara was all she had on. I had been right about Moran’s taste in girls. It had been very good. Undressed, Lorraine would never remind anybody of the famous statue on Bedloe’s Island. Her breasts were still trembling from the violent way she had opened the door. She had removed the curlers, and her black hair fell almost to her shoulders.

  “You are,” she said accusingly. “No, no, no. Kill it this minute. It’s important.”

  She realized, possibly from my expression, that she was somewhat underdressed. “Excuse me.”

  She stepped back, putting the door between us again.


  “I don’t object,” I said.

  “Never mind. The cigar. It’s little things like that you have to think about. You’d be surprised how long cigar smoke stays in a room. If he smells a cigar in here, there goes your old ball game.”

  I stubbed out the cigar in an ashtray. Her next words were slightly distorted, as though she was putting on lipstick as she talked. “You’re no tourist, Gates. You must be beginning to get the idea.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “You’re getting dressed to go hunting for badger.”

  “Sure. And the trouble is”—her face and a slice of naked shoulder appeared in the doorway—“tonight was supposed to be the night!”

  “What a time for Moran to get himself shot.”

  “Stealing somebody’s goddam jewels!” she said indignantly, gesturing with an eye-dropper. “Does it make sense? But it’s like Leo, in a way. Always looking for something new.”

  “You didn’t know about it?”

  “If I’d known about it I would have locked him in the closet.” She went back to the mirror. “But don’t ask me any questions yet. First let me tell you what I want.”

  “I know what you want. You want me to come in after he takes off his pants, and tell him how much it’s going to cost him. Chad Burns is your man.”

  She made a negative sound. “I know something about human nature. Give Chad a handle, and the first thing I know he’ll be using it on me. And would he be believable? These things you have to consider.”

  “He’s older than I am,” I said.

  “Well, for you,” she said, “I was thinking you might be my brother. I just got out of parochial school. To show how much they trust me, my family let me have my own apartment. But I’m very, very square. Nobody ever told me where babies came from. Leo made me a birth certificate that says I’m sixteen. The boyfriend is married, and he won’t want anybody to know he’s been caught in the sack with a sixteen-year-old. Seventeen or eighteen, he could claim I solicited him. That’s what Leo said, and he ought to know.”

  “How old are you really?”

  “Older,” she said briefly. “You make gruesome martinis, did anybody ever tell you?”

  When her face was finished, she came out of the bathroom clutching the wrapper. For the short trip to the bedroom, she didn’t bother to put it on.

  “I’m meeting him for drinks,” she said. “I’ll have a glass or two of dry sherry, and because I’m not accustomed to alcohol it’ll make me sleepy. So instead of going out for dinner, I’ll invite him up for spaghetti.”

  “For what?” I said.

  “Spaghetti. It’s the one thing I know how to cook. I really doubt if he’ll say no. He’s been asking to see my little apartment so he can buy me a house-warming present. One more glass of sherry up here and I’m helpless. He’ll have to put me to bed. After the light goes out, give me a half hour. Aren’t you even a little bit interested?”

  As a matter of fact, I thought I was looking at her with considerable interest.

  She said impatiently, “In the deal, in the deal!” She started for the bedroom, and the half-turn brought her into profile. The wrapper concealed her from only one angle. She gave me a swift look through the blackened eyelashes.

  “Of course we might work out something later,” she said. “I mean, it stands to reason. Not that I think you’re likely to fall apart just because you see a girl without any clothes on.”

  “I still have control of myself,” I said. “Barely.”

  “Then I’d better get dressed, because I’m saving it for Mr. Right. Come in the bedroom with me so I don’t have to shout.”

  On the way to the bedroom I glanced at the door to the hall. It had a double-lock, with the kind of bolt that can only be cut with a torch. I stopped in the bedroom doorway. She had dropped the wrapper. She lifted her hands above her head and stretched. I believe this is known as the hard sell.

  “That’s right,” she said as I smiled at her kindly. “My motives are obvious. I want you to think of the future. Your mouth is now supposed to be watering. Is it?”

  “I’m drowning, Lorraine,” I said.

  She lowered her arms. “Fine. Now how does twenty-five percent sound? Leo did the masterminding, and I’ll be doing all the hard work. I won’t give you an overall figure, but his Dun and Bradstreet rating is double-A. Leo thought it might be milked for fifty thou. And no risk, that I can positively guarantee.”

  I didn’t say anything, and she said quickly, “Don’t say yes or no right now. Leave it open. I’ll give you the keys and you can think about it.”

  I looked more receptive at the mention of keys. I wanted to look in those manila envelopes in Moran’s garment bag, without having to chop through the wall.

  “If that’s how you want to do it,” I said reluctantly. “But I can tell you now that the answer’s going to be no.”

  “I’ll take a chance. If this is a moral position you’re taking, I’ll really have to introduce you to my admirer. He’s the creepiest.” She stepped into a small fragile garment, smoothing it over her hips. “He’s leaving all his dead-presidents to Yale when he dies, which is any day now, in my opinion. I mean, you aren’t robbing anybody. Yale’s so rich they won’t miss it.”

  Stockings were next. After they were securely anchored she put on her shoes. “So think about it, will you?”

  She gave me one final look across the bed, took a deep breath in case my attention had been wandering, and picked up the black dress.

  “To put me in the right mood,” I said, “did you ever know a guy named Pattberg?”

  She looked as though a new smell had entered the room. “Slightly.” She shook out the dress and pulled it over her arms. “He dropped in one night, and when he saw me he wanted to know if I’d ever thought of going into pictures. Leo laughed like hell and they went out for a drink.”

  She lifted the dress carefully, taking pains not to damage her makeup.

  “That was the only time you saw him?” I said when her head emerged.

  “That’s all. He got killed the next day. I think Leo used to do business with him, before my time. What’s the connection?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Leo didn’t have anything to do with supplying the movies Pattberg showed that night?”

  “I doubt it. I could be wrong. Before today I would have sworn Leo had too high an I.Q. to go robbing in the country. I need help with this zipper.”

  “How about a girl named Anna DeLong?”

  “Who’s she?”

  “Or Dick Pope—Richardson Pope, Jr. Did Leo know him?”

  “The zipper, Ben.”

  I found the tag of the zipper somewhere along the lower reaches of her spine. I ran it up, not without difficulty. With anything on underneath, the teeth wouldn’t have meshed.

  “There,” I said. “Don’t take any more deep breaths.”

  She ran a brush through her hair in front of the mirror. “How do I look?”

  “Not much like a girl who just graduated from parochial school.”

  “Oh, I don’t have to pretend with you.” She looked at me hard in the mirror. “I’ve been doing this wrong. You don’t care about that twenty-five percent, do you? You don’t care about—” She gestured at herself with the hairbrush. “You want people to love you so they’ll let you watch their wedding presents again. You’re a goddamned tourist after all. All right, you cooperate with me, I’ll cooperate with you. I can tell you lots of interesting things about Leo Moran. But not now. Afterward.”

  She threw down the hairbrush. “We’re going to need a picture for insurance, in case he gives us any trouble.” From a shelf in the closet she took a small Japanese camera with a flashbulb attachment. “Leo worked out the stops for just the right amount of light, so leave everything alone. It’s loaded with infrared. You know how to work these?”

  “They’re not too complicated. I have one like it.”

  “Come in quietly, exactly half an hour after t
he light goes out. I’ll see that he’s busy. Say ‘Lorraine?’ and shoot from the doorway. I’ll have him lined up. Then turn on the light and we’ll ad lib it from there. Don’t blow your stack or anything, because we don’t want to give him a heart attack. You’re shocked. You can’t understand it. Stammer. I’ll get him out fast and we can squeeze him later. Leo never even mentioned money till the second interview. Here’s the keys. If you decide not to do it, put them in the mailbox.”

  “Maybe I’ll come and see you some night when I’m not busy,” I said. “How long have you and Moran been working together?”

  “It couldn’t have been long, could it, Coach, considering that I’m just sixteen?”

  She put the camera carefully on a chair next to the door. She looked around. “How did that window get unlocked?”

  She clicked back to the window, locked it and tightened the side screws. Returning to the living room, she picked my cigar out of the ashtray and gave it to me to put in my pocket. She rinsed out her martini glass and put away the gin. Then she turned on the exhaust in the window air-conditioner to air out the room. She left one lamp on.

  “That’s the one I’ll turn off,” she said looking around nervously for the last time. “It’s the third from the left seven floors up. God, I wish Leo hadn’t been so stupid. You go out first, Ben, and think.”

  Chapter 11

  I didn’t have to do much thinking. After taking the elevator to the lobby I walked up to the second floor and watched the lights. The elevator went back to seven and brought Lorraine down. I rang, rode the elevator upstairs, and used the keys she had given me.

  Turning on the ceiling light in the bedroom, I took the bulky envelopes out of the garment bag and laid them on the floor. Moran had run a systematic business. There were half a dozen folders, each containing the relevant material for a single case—letters, canceled checks, IOU’s, newspaper clippings, photostats, a tearsheet from one of the defunct scandal magazines, occasionally a photograph. I turned the pages rapidly, looking for a name or a face I would recognize. In the fourth folder, I found it.