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

  “No point in answering,” she said. “It’s probably not for either of us.”

  “Probably not.”

  “And even if it was, they can call back later.”

  “Much later,” I said.

  “On the other hand,” she said as it rang a third time, “if we found out it was anything important, we’d feel awfully silly, wouldn’t we?”

  She picked up the phone as it started to ring again. I heard a man’s voice. She made a disgusted face and handed the phone to me.

  “Irving?” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said, “and I’ve got to make it fast. I have Moran’s address. Somebody made him from his picture and called it in.” He gave me an address on Riverside Drive. “That’s at Ninety-Sixth. Ben, you’re still on?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I’m going to need some relief. Life is beginning to lose its meaning. Maybe we can make a shift right now, because I seem to have my boy treed.”

  “Dick?”

  “That’s right. He drives a pretty loud convertible, and it’s been a simple tail, which is lucky for all of us because I’m not up to anything very brainy. I went to sleep twice on the way in, and you don’t want to lose me, do you? I can see his car from here, but I’d better get back. You do the phoning. Elmer lives near here—maybe you can get him. I’ll be across the street on the Central Park side, and hurry it up, please. It’s Central Park West, south of Seventy-Second.”

  I laughed.

  “Ha-ha,” Davidson said. “And what’s so funny, old man?”

  “Central Park West, south of Seventy Second. That’s where I am.”

  “Big coincidence,” Davidson said. “Then I can go home?”

  I made a quick calculation. “Not yet. If he bolts as soon as he sees me, you’ll have to stay with him. I’ll try to hang onto him. Call Elmer. Phone me when it’s set.”

  The buzzer sounded.

  “There he is now.”

  Chapter 9

  I hung up.

  “That’s Dick,” I said. “Does he have a key?”

  She scrambled to her feet. “Yes, but I can put on the chain.”

  I shook my head. I wanted to know what he was after. We had some picking-up to do before we let anybody in. Shelley gathered various discarded articles of clothing and threw them into the bedroom, closing the door. She renewed her lipstick, peering at her reflection in a small mirror, while I was doing what I could to rub off some of the lipstick she had lost. It seemed to me that this was how I had spent a good part of the day.

  She put away her tools and threw me a questioning look. I nodded.

  The buzzer gave another impatient summons.

  “Control yourself, control yourself,” Shelley said, and opened the door.

  Dick pushed it out of her hand. “It’s about time, goddam it. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  He stopped as he saw me. Somebody had sewn a mourning band to his right sleeve, and it didn’t go with his manner. With his head lowered and his eyebrows close together, he looked like a bull faced with an enemy in fancy dress, waving a cape. He did everything but paw the ground. Then he turned on Shelley. I was in a position to know exactly what she was wearing, and in spite of the fresh lipstick, it wasn’t enough. The blouse was made of some flimsy miracle fabric, and it wasn’t sufficiently confining.

  “Gates!” Dick said, looking back at me. “How far do I have to travel to get away from you?”

  He came down the steps. For an instant I thought he was going to hit me, but he remembered in time that he didn’t have any friends with him. “Do you know what I’d like to do to you? I’d like to—” He broke off with a disgusted wave of the hand.

  Shelley had followed him. “State your business,” she said. “I’d offer you a drink, only I know your analyst wouldn’t approve.”

  “You have a funny idea about analysis,” he said. He brushed the back of his hand up and down across her breast. “I thought so. No bra. No slip. You needed a friend at court, and what easier way? But you don’t know private detectives. A thing like this makes absolutely no difference. It’s an episode. Am I right, Gates?”

  “Maybe you’d better make him a drink,” I said. “I could use one myself. I kicked mine over.”

  “Listen, Gates,” Dick said. “Am I wrong in thinking you’re open to any reasonable offer? How much do you want to run down and get a pack of cigarettes?”

  “If Shelley wants to talk to you, I’ll do it for nothing.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him,” she said. “I’d appreciate it if you’d throw him out.”

  “He can try,” Dick said. “He may find it’s not so easy.” He threw his arms wide. “What do you want out of me, Gates? I’m serious. That was a lousy deal for you last night, and what I can do to straighten it out, I’ll do. The way I understand it, somebody tampered with the coffee, right? And the troopers won’t believe it? Well, I was in the kitchen—”

  “Dick, don’t be a horse’s ass,” Shelley said.

  “Why shouldn’t I be in the kitchen?” he said. “I wanted a hot cup of coffee because I had a feeling I was getting too tanked. A guy was filling a little coffee pot. One of the caterer’s people—white tie and so on. And he got kind of flustered when I tried to take the pot, he said he had an order for it. I’m willing to sign my name to a goddam affidavit.”

  “And in return for this,” I said, “you’d like me to put on my gun and say good night?”

  “That’s the deal, boy.”

  Shelley was frowning at me and shaking her head. Dick said, “Let him make up his own mind, will you, for Christ’s sake?”

  “Is it true?” I said.

  He looked surprised. “I thought we were being practical. You can’t have a clear picture of that wedding if you think I know whether or not I went down to the kitchen for coffee.”

  “If you really want to help—” I said, but Dick interrupted.

  “Did I say I wanted to help? I just want a few private words with this bitch. Excuse me. That’s no way to talk about our charming hostess. Shell.”

  She had picked up the glass and was starting for the kitchen. She turned. “What do you want?”

  “I don’t like to do it in front of an audience,” he said, “but if that’s the way it has to be, O.K. I made the biggest mistake in my life when I called off our engagement, and I hope it’s not too late. Let’s turn back the calendar. I’ve had all day to think about it, and I’m damn near going crazy. Give me a chance, will you?”

  “Crud,” she said.

  “Look at me, I’m down on my knees,” he said dramatically, though he remained standing.

  “Double crud,” she said more emphatically, and went up the stairs.

  Dick ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. He dropped onto a low backless sofa, plunging both hands in his pockets.

  “Watch your step with this girl, Gates,” he said. “And I do know what I’m talking about, believe me.”

  “How drunk were you last night?” I said, sitting down across from him, within reach of the phone. “Do you remember the shots?”

  Shelley came back with the bottle and glasses filled with ice. She put the glasses on a low table and filled them with bourbon.

  “For you, Junior, nothing,” she said to Dick, handing me a glass.

  “You didn’t hear the man’s question,” Dick said. “Mr. Gates just asked if I heard the shots. You’ll be interested to know that I was in the land of dreams. They had to wake me up to tell me the news. They had one hell of a time doing it, too.”

  “According to you,” she said.

  “And do you know what I was dreaming about? I didn’t want the troopers to hear about it, but you won’t mind if I tell Gates. I was dreaming about that time we took the redhead to Newport. I’m sure it was the redhead because I was dreaming in color. What was her name—Gloria. I give you full credit for that. It was your idea. Quite a weekend.”

  She said to me, “Now he’s trying
to embarrass you so you’ll leave.”

  “A little piece of Americana like that wouldn’t embarrass Gates,” Dick said.

  The phone rang. I took it.

  Davidson’s voice said, “Elmer’s in position, Ben, so I’m saying good night.”

  “What number are you calling?”

  “I told him to report to Mrs. Rooney up to midnight, so let her know if you go anywhere.”

  “Just a moment.” I covered the mouthpiece and asked Shelley, “When does your landlord get back?”

  “September.”

  I passed this on to Davidson. He said, “And don’t disturb me before nine in the morning.”

  I put the phone back. Dick was speaking to Shelley in an urgent undertone. She smiled and I heard her say, “You’re crazy. Sweet but crazy.”

  “Whatever it is, let’s change the subject,” I said. “Dick, what did your mother keep in her safe besides jewelry?”

  He stopped breathing, which was all I could expect. “How should I know? I’m only twenty-three.”

  “Did you ever have occasion to use it?”

  “That would be quite an occasion, Gates. You can’t use a combination safe unless you know the combination, and now that Mother is dead nobody knows it but my old man. Not only that, he keeps changing the damn thing.”

  “Then he keeps something in it?”

  “I suppose so, sure, when he brings papers home he doesn’t want to leave lying around. Everybody in the drug business has secrets.” He looked upward at me through his heavy eyebrows. “I’m beginning to get it. He hired you because something’s supposed to be missing? Gates, I’m going to tell you about my father. He’s fast and he’s tricky. That’s his reputation, and he does his best to live up to it. He’s been known to tell the truth when it didn’t cost him money, but in this case the odds are against it.”

  “Then why do you think he hired me?”

  “Aah,” Dick said in disgust. “He just wants you to dig up something to pin on his only son.”

  I tasted the drink Shelley had given me, and found it the same good bourbon. “How did you hear about this guy Pattberg and his movies?”

  He stared at me, and lost some of his high gloss. Turning to Shelley, he said in low deadly tones, “You utter, unmitigated— You’d better watch yourself, or by God I’ll—”

  He stopped, his hands shaking. Shelley knew him better than I did, and she seemed to be impressed.

  He stood up slowly. “Gates, I’m going to ask you once more. I can’t explain, but won’t you please give me a couple of minutes alone with this—this— No, that sounds all wrong. I give you my word of honor—”

  “As a gentleman,” Shelley put in.

  “I give you my word I won’t lay a finger on her.”

  “It’s not your finger I’m thinking about,” she said.

  “Shut up!” he said savagely. “Don’t pay attention to her, Gates. You’ve got yourself to look out for. If I know my old man, and goddam it, I do, he offered you a big fee, but only if you accomplished something. This won’t damage you, in fact it may help. But don’t ask me how.”

  “I have to ask you how,” I said. “How?”

  He looked around in desperation. His eyes fell on my gun harness, hanging from the back of a chair. There was a visible change in his inner chemistry. I watched the change without offering him any advice. The gun was on safety, and I didn’t carry a live round in the chamber when I went to a girl’s apartment for spaghetti. I would have plenty of time to take it away from him.

  He reached that conclusion by himself.

  “All I have to say is,” he said, “the world certainly seems to be full of sons of bitches. Don’t worry about me, Shell. I’ll make out.”

  She pulled back as he reached for her, then stood still and let him touch her cheek.

  “Do something special for Gates,” he said. “Maybe you can get him to stay all night. Want a suggestion?”

  “Maybe I could show him some dirty movies?”

  He caressed her cheek lightly, then pulled back his hand as if to slap her. “You’ll hear from me.”

  He went out.

  Shelley rubbed her cheek where he had touched her. “That’s a disturbed boy, and I hope he comes to no harm. Let’s eat.”

  “Sure. But then I’ve got to go.”

  I went to the window and looked down. I saw Dick explode from the building, walking fast with his head down. The doorman came after him, but Dick waved him away. He had double-parked his Mercury with the lights on and the motor running. The doorman wanted to be paid something for watching it. Dick slammed the door, made an illegal turn and roared north, much too fast. I didn’t see Elmer, but I assumed that he was somewhere in the following traffic.

  Shelley had come over beside me. “He wasn’t fooling,” she said quietly. “He’ll be back. I wish you’d stay.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  I shook my head. “I’ll take you to a hotel and charge it to my client, under miscellaneous. What’s Dick so anxious to talk to you about?”

  “I wish I knew,” she said helplessly.

  Chapter 10

  We had another drink while we waited for the water to boil. By the time we thought about food the water had almost boiled away. Shelley added more water, put in the spaghetti and broke out a fresh bottle of bourbon. The spaghetti, when we finally got around to it, was somewhat overcooked. Occasionally an eager youth just out of school will ask my advice about becoming a private detective. I always point out the hazards of the profession, among the most annoying of which are the irregular meals.

  Shelley brought her coffee over to my side of the table. She was wearing the kimono I had heard about earlier. It was an attractive and practical garment, easy to put on and easy to take off, without any snaps or zippers to get out of order. She sat on my lap, which brought her within reach. I had already discovered that it was pleasant to reach for Shelley, but it was also time-consuming, and I kept a firm hold on my coffee cup. “Just saying goodbye,” she said.

  The kimono parted as she leaned forward, and after a time I realized that I was no longer holding the coffee cup.

  “Is this what you call saying goodbye?” I said. “I call it more like saying hello.”

  “No, I know I can’t make you stay,” she said. “But I want you to know you have my good wishes, and if you can spare any time later I’ll be happy to see you. I’ll get dressed.” She added, “If you let go.”

  “It’s a question of balance,” I said. “These stools. I have to hold onto something or I’ll fall over backward.”

  She laughed and got up off my lap. During the brief interval, my coffee had gotten cold. That is another trouble with being a private detective—things are constantly coming up so you have to drink cold coffee. I went to the bathroom to wash off the lipstick, feeling that I was on something of a treadmill. Then I reheated the coffee and drank it, made another cup and drank that, checked my .38, looked at the prints on the walls, and finally Shelley came out of her bedroom carrying her suitcase. She had put on fresh lipstick, and didn’t offer to transfer any of it to me.

  Downstairs, the doorman gave me a big salute, inclining forward at an angle of thirty degrees. “Yes, sir. That was—yes, the Buick.”

  I told him it was, feeling ashamed of owning a car that hadn’t crossed water. He told me where I could find it and I paid him two dollars for the keys. After I drove off he maneuvered the cars on both sides of the gap so no stranger could get in. I took Shelley to the St. Albans. “Will you call me, Ben?” she said anxiously after she said goodbye.

  “I’ll see how things go.”

  “Give me enough for a double room. In case.”

  I gave her fifteen dollars. She whispered something to me. I didn’t get all of it. I watched her walk into the hotel with her small suitcase, then I drove west to one of the one-way avenues, turned uptown and left the Buick in a garage in the 90’s. I used the garage phone to call M
rs. Rooney, but Elmer hadn’t reported in. Then I looked for the Riverside Drive address Davidson had given me.

  It was a rent-controlled apartment house with two doctors’ offices on the ground floor. I found Moran in the ladder of names in the vestibule, beside the number 7-E. The inner door was locked, but it was an elementary spring lock of the kind that is meant to reassure tenants rather than discourage thieves. I was working a strip of celluloid into the crack above the latch when I heard an elevator whir inside the building. I pulled the celluloid out and put it away.

  I was rocking on my heels and studying the directory, hands in my hip pockets, when the door opened from inside and a man came out. I glanced at him casually. He gave me the classic double-take. We knew each other. His name was Chad Burns. He had a walk-up office off Times Square, and the legend on his unwashed front window read: C. BURNS, PRIVATE INVESTIGATION, WE INVESTIGATE HUSBANDS, WIVES, LOVERS; CHECKS CASHED. He was no relation to the more celebrated Burns Agency, and in fact Burns was probably not the name he had inherited from his parents. He was a large, sloppy man in his forties, who had investigated so many wives, husbands and lovers that he had lost his illusions, but he didn’t investigate enough of them to make it possible for him to buy a new suit every year.

  “Ben,” he said softly, in a spurious Southern accent which he had adopted for some reason of his own. “Ambulance-chasing, I see. This is not like you, friend.”

  “What ambulance are we talking about, Chad?” I said, holding the door.

  “I study the papers,” he said. “I have a good supply of reading time in the middle of the day, and I keep up with what the frat-brothers are doing. And what I learned today is that from now on you’re going to be pecking for crumbs.”

  “I won’t give you much competition, Chad,” I said. “I don’t have the right location for cashing checks.”

  He clawed at his face, as though he had walked into a cobweb. After he had finished overdoing his reaction he said, “I happen to be serious, believe it or not. If you got a first on something, would I walk in and cut your throat for a few measly dollars? No. I’d use the brains the good Lord gave me. I’d know that if I made a pest of myself I could mess it up for the both of us. I’ve been walking around a few more seasons than you, Ben, and I know. This time I got here first, so stay out of my hair, please, what there is of it. Buy you a brew?”