Hard Case Crime: Blackmailer (6 page)

She gasped.

“Shut up,” I said. “Shut up and listen.”

Then, with my lips close to her ear, I began to whisper.

“Listen, listen to me,” I said. “I quit. I resign. I’ve had enough. I don’t care if you have a new Anstruther book or if you don’t. If you had an unpublished musical comedy libretto by William Shakespeare it wouldn’t be worth it.

“I saved your life twice in one week. And you probably saved mine just now. So we’re even. We’re all square. This is a good time to quit.

“I don’t want to have anything to do with this. I don’t want people wrecking my apartment. I don’t want to be beaten up. I don’t like lying on the floor while being kicked in the stomach. I don’t want to be called on the telephone by gorillas with nasty voices.

“I don’t want to be slugged twice a week.

“I don’t want to have anything to do with girls who carry guns in their purses and have friends who feed them mickeys. Even if they’re very pretty girls. I’m not interested.

“You can tell your nasty-voiced friend for me that the only thing I want is to be left alone. That goes for you, too, baby. Just leave me alone. Take your big literary bargain to somebody else.”

I kept talking. I wasn’t even really aware of what I was saying. I was letting off steam and pent-up emotion.

“O.K.,” I said. “I’m leaving. If the door is locked, I’ll go out through a window. We’re all through.”

I relaxed my grip on her arm. Then I thought of something else and tightened it again.

“No, I’m not quite through either. Give me my coat. It’s part of my gabardine suit. It’s English gabardine and custom made. It cost one hundred bucks. The way you and your friends play you might spill something on it. Like blood. Where’s my coat?”

She started to speak. I cut her off.

“Never mind,” I said. “Forget it. I make you a present of it. O.K., Jeannie. I may see you again some time. But I hope not. Goodbye.”

I let go of her arm and pulled her close to me. I leaned down and found her mouth. I kissed her very hard.

Then she was kissing me and we were standing very close together in the dark, holding each other.

Then, as suddenly as they had gone out, the lights came back on.

We separated, dazed by the light and emotion.

She looked up at me and smiled.

“This is the damnedest game I ever got mixed up in,” Janis Whitney said.

I looked at Janis Whitney for a minute or two thinking maybe I was losing my mind.

Janis Whitney smiled. “Wrong girl?” she said.

I looked helplessly around.

We were standing in the big, empty entrance hall. I couldn’t understand that either. Unless we had circled through the house in the dark and come back to the hall again.

“What are
you
doing here?” I said to Janis Whitney.

“I was sticking close to you,” she said. “I followed you down the stairs. Everything was fine till this other character comes along. He seemed to be giving you some kind of trouble so I bopped him on the head with a lamp. I wonder where the other dame went.”

I looked around in a bewildered fashion. That’s when I saw where the other dame went.

Jean Dahl was lying by the locked front door.

She was lying there in a crumpled heap.

They’d tried to get her once before.

This time they’d succeeded.

One look was enough. You didn’t have to examine the body. I bent down and slipped my coat off her shoulders. She didn’t need it any more. I noticed her hair was still damp.

Janis Whitney’s face was white. She caught my arm for support.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

I was afraid for a moment that I was going to be sick.

I held Janis’ arm and pulled her into the elevator. I pushed a button at random. I didn’t care particularly where we were going. I just wanted to get away from the sight of Jean Dahl’s body on the floor by the door.

In a moment the elevator began to move. Downward. I could hear voices at the top of the stairs as the hall disappeared.

“They killed her,” I said. “My God, they killed her.”

“The poor kid,” Janis Whitney whispered.

The elevator came to a stop at the basement floor, and the doors opened.

“What are we going to do?” Janis Whitney asked.

“Come on,” I said. I led her out of the elevator. “Look, there’s no reason for us to get involved in this. A thing like this could be bad for you and bad for your studio. What could we do if we stayed? We were together when it happened. We both know we didn’t do it....” I couldn’t bring myself to use the words
kill her.
“Let’s just stay out of it.”

“How?”

I looked around. “There must be a service entrance for deliveries down here. We just leave, that’s all. It’s as simple as that. Nobody in that madhouse upstairs can
tell who was there and who wasn’t. Come on, let’s go. If anybody should happen to ask us, we left together the minute the lights went out. Let someone try to prove different. Come on. I think the service door is over this way.”

It was so easy.

The service door opened onto the side street, around the corner from Fifth Avenue. We walked east to Madison and then to Park and over to Lexington. And we walked four or five blocks down Lexington before we hailed a cab.

We walked rapidly all that time. We spoke very little.

In the cab, I reached over and took her hand. It was icy cold.

I gave the driver my address. It was force of habit. I wasn’t thinking very clearly.

Beside me Janis shivered.

I put my arm around her. We huddled together in the back of the cab.

When the cab came to a stop, I said mechanically, “Here we are.”

We got out and I paid the driver. I guided Janis into the building.

I had not been back home since the night of my visitors.

It was a shock to see the place when I unlocked the door. In addition to the damage the two men had done, the police had smudged the walls with their fingerprint powder.

Janis looked blankly around the room.

“I should have warned you,” I said. “I had a robbery a couple of days ago. The place is a little bit messed up.”

“My God,” Janis said.

I pulled two of the foam rubber cushions down to the floor and then I poured a couple of inches of whisky into two glasses and handed one to her. We sat on the rubber cushions in the middle of the debris and sipped it.

“I was pretty sure we’d meet sometime again,” Janis said. “I didn’t think it was going to be anything like this.”

“I’ve seen you in pictures a few times,” I said. “I didn’t go to many of them. I couldn’t take it.”

We were quiet for a while. We finished the whisky and I refilled the glasses.

“That poor girl,” Janis said.

“I don’t know what it’s all about,” I said. “She showed up in my office about a week ago. With a book she said she had and wanted to sell. Since I met her I’ve been beaten up once and slugged once. And now she’s been killed. What was it? What kind of mess was she mixed up in?”

“It happens,” Janis said. “A person can get in over her head.”

“Janis?”

“Yes?”

“You know something?”

“What, Dick?”

“I still love you.”

“That’s not possible, darling.”

“I didn’t think it was either.”

“Ten years.”

“Nine and a half. Ten in March.”

“Things change. People change.”

“Not so much. I love you, darling.”

I reached over and, very gently, ran my hand up the back of her neck and through her hair. She reached out and took my other hand and squeezed it. Then I kissed her.

“Things don’t change,” I said. “They get worse sometimes. Or better. But they don’t change.”

Janis put her hands on my shoulders and boosted herself to her feet.

“Have you got an old shirt and some dungarees?”

“I guess so.”

“Let’s fix this place up.”

“What?”

“I haven’t done anything like housework in years. Come on. I need the exercise.”

I found her a T-shirt and a pair of army pants. When she came back out of the bedroom she had them on, with the pants rolled to the knees. She was barefoot, and her lovely hair was tied up in a scarf.

“You better put something on your feet. There’s a lot of broken glass.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“No, really. You’ll lose a toe.”

I found her a pair of loafers. They were too big, of course, but she put on two pairs of heavy wool socks and that filled them out a little.

It was a brilliant idea. The hard work was a release.

For two hours we labored. It was real physical labor. Shoving furniture around. Sweeping, hauling, dumping.

“No, wait a minute. Don’t fool with that couch. You’ll kill yourself.”

“Are you kidding? I’m a dancer now. I’m rugged. Feel my muscle.”

Her arm was slim, but hard as a rock.

“Hey,” I said. “You should play pro football.”

We made four trips down to the street with boxes and cartons of broken junk.

By the time we were through I was puffing and sweating. Her T-shirt was plastered to her back.

We looked around.

The place looked pretty good. The upholstery would all have to be redone. And I needed new lamps. But everything was back in place, at least.

“Now I’m ready for the showers,” Janis said. “A shower and then a drink.”

“Help yourself. Right in there.”

“You want to go first?”

“Ladies first.”

She went into the bathroom. She did not bother to close the door.

“I’ve got to scrape this shirt off,” Janis said. “I really lathered it up.”

In a moment or two I heard the water running. She was in the shower for quite a while. I heard her squeal when she turned on the cold. Then, the water stopped.

“Hey, do I have to bring my own towel?”

I went into the bedroom and got a towel out of the closet. I stood in the bathroom door. She was peering out of the shower holding the curtain in front of her.

I handed her the towel. “You still look like a drowned puppy.”

This time she laughed.

The first time I’d told her that she’d gotten mad. But that had been a long time ago.

I started to leave but I didn’t. Instead I reached in, put my arms around her and kissed her.

“Dick, please!”

It seemed perfectly natural. The ten years disappeared.

“Darling, I love you. Nothing’s changed.”

“Oh, darling.”

I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

I put the towel over her head and rubbed her hair dry. Then I reached up and turned out the light.

I touched her gently, running my hand over her body. She caught my hand at the wrist and sat up.

“Darling.”

“Yes?”

“We can’t...”

“I love you, darling.”

“Dick. There’s somebody else.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so awfully sorry.”

I got up and found cigarettes. I lit one. Then I handed her one and lit it for her.

“I’m going to marry him, darling, when his divorce is final. He’s a wonderful guy.”

“O.K.,” I said tonelessly. “Congratulations.”

“I’m sorry, Dick.”

“I know.”

I went out to the living room and mixed a drink.

When she came out of the bedroom she was dressed again.

“You’ve still got a drink coming.”

“No, thanks, Dick. I don’t feel like one.”

“I do,” I said. “Come on, I’ll get you a cab.”

“That’s all right.”

“No, I’ll get a cab for you. It’s late.”

“I’d rather walk a little while.”

“All right. Who is it, darling?”

“He’s in love with me. And I love him. He’s done everything for me.”

“Who is he?”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know the damnedest people.”

“My agent. A man named Max Shriber. I’m sorry, Dick.”

“Forget it. Thanks for the house cleaning.”

“Goodbye, Dick.”

“So long, darling.”

After she was gone I thought of taking a shower but I didn’t. Instead I lay down on the couch with the whisky bottle on the floor beside me.

The lights were still on and I didn’t bother to take off my shoes.

I kept pulling at the bottle until I didn’t remember anything any more.

It felt late.

I was sick and shaky. I was thirsty and needed a shave. My head ached. My hands were dirty. My mouth felt furry. I lit a cigarette and coughed so hard that I threw it away after the first puff.

My watch said it was a quarter of ten.

The room was dust-laden and airless. I pulled up the blind and opened the window and stood in front of it breathing the fresh cold air.

I couldn’t decide whether to have coffee or another drink. To study the situation more thoroughly, I went to the kitchenette. We’d put everything back in place. So coffee was easy enough. Just a matter of filling a pan with water, putting pan of water on stove, finding match, lighting gas, finding cup, finding powdered coffee, finding spoon, getting lid off powdered coffee, getting spoonful of powdered coffee into cup, pouring hot water over coffee, stirring, and drinking. Nothing to it.

So I went back to the couch, found the bottle of bourbon on the floor. It was about one-third full. I unscrewed the cap, tilted it and drank. I did this several times.

Then I shaved. Brushed my teeth. Showered. Tilted
the bourbon bottle. Got dressed. Then I was ready to make coffee. By that time the coffee tasted wonderful and I had stopped shaking.

So far I had been moving in a kind of daze. I was standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom combing my hair when the comb hit the lump above my temple.

It hurt so much that it brought tears to my eyes. Then the haze began to clear. I went over to my pants. There was a gun in one back pocket. The towel Janis had used was lying on the bed. It was still damp and there were lipstick stains on it. The hell with you, Janis Whitney. The hell with you.

I had two more drinks. I was feeling considerably better. I was actually jaunty. I finished dressing.

I put the gun into my jacket pocket. It made a bulge. But I was getting used to that by now. I read somewhere that detectives, gangsters and other gun-toting types have their suits tailored so that the gun in the shoulder holster won’t show.