Scarlet Night (23 page)

She turned to O’Grady and translated something of her own choice: “You left them alone last night, Johnny.”

“They’re not children. I had an engagement of my own.”

“With whom?” She smiled coyly, as though she could persuade him now that she was jealous.

“Tell me where you were and I’ll tell you,” he said, having a story ready that he hoped not to tell.

“I danced all night,” she said and didn’t want to know about him at all. “Has Rubinoff ever been here before?”

“Never. It’ll tickle that delicate nose of his coming up the stairs.”

“You used to be such a good sport, Johnny. What’s happened to the pixie in you?”

“He’s become an old dwarf. I’ve aged with this caper, that’s the truth.”

“Poor darling.” She leaped from the couch and came to him. “I should never have given you all that responsibility.” She cradled his face in her scented hands.

He caught one of them and held it to his mouth while he twirled his tongue around its palm.

She let him have the other hand across his face, a resounding whack which put everything into proper perspective.

Rubinoff arrived, breathless from climbing the stairs—or from holding his breath while he climbed them. He kissed Ginni on both cheeks. What a sugarplum of a fellow, O’Grady thought. A ripe olive would be more like it. He shook hands with the boys and O’Grady and they all adjourned to the kitchen where there were a table and four chairs. O’Grady went into the bedroom and swept a pile of dirty clothes from the chair and carried it into the kitchen. Ginni had taken the head of the table, Rubinoff the other end, and the boys one side.

“Get the beer, Tommy,” O’Grady said. Tommy jumped up and went to the refrigerator. Steph brought glasses from the cupboard.

“They’re not your servants, you know,” Ginni said to him.

“Nor I yours, madam.” He sat.

Rubinoff was craning his neck to look the place over. “I think this is the room we had better use. Those window shades will have to be drawn all the way, which means the windows must be closed.”

“We’ll suffocate,” Ginni said.

“Maybe we should go to your mother’s,” O’Grady said.

“Very funny.”

Rubinoff said, “Johnny, why don’t you rent an air conditioner? Perhaps you will want to buy one? You’ll be able to afford it.”

“I will, won’t I?” He chuckled and that seemed to provoke the mirth in all of them. Everyone around the table chortled for a second or two in pleasurable anticipation of their approaching affluence. Ginni reached for his hand and squeezed it and O’Grady felt terrible although he kept on laughing.

Rubinoff explained that neither his office nor his apartment provided sufficient privacy, with the security people at one and the doorman at the other.

“I understand,” O’Grady said. He had never before appreciated the privacy of a West Side tenement.

“I should arrive here sometime between nine and ten on Sunday night. But you must not worry if I’m a little late. There may be social amenities I will have to observe.”

Ginni translated the date and the hour for the boys. That glint returned that he had seen in their eyes when she spoke of the money on the day of their arrival. Not a thought of the treasure they had stolen from a country where the people were even poorer than the Irish. O’Grady’s peace with himself was restored.

“I shall have four suitcases,” Rubinoff went on. “And I can’t be expected to manage getting them up here myself.”

“Will they fit in the Porsche?”

“I’ve rented a station wagon for the weekend. I have to deliver pictures out on the Island tomorrow.”

“You’d better let me have the make and the license number to be watching for it.”

“D-A-S 320, a dark red Buick.”

“D-A-S,” O’Grady repeated. “It’s SAD, spelt backwards.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that. I am superstitious.”

“Things like that run to opposites, Rubin,” O’Grady reassured him. “I’ll make it my job to be on the street watching out for you. I spend hours down there sometimes, hanging around just. I can whistle up for the boys if you have trouble parking.”

“That rings true,” Ginni said. She was great at evaluating things by the sound of them. “Let’s get to the nitty-gritty, the money itself.”

“It will be perfectly safe money. Some of it will be bills which have been in circulation; there will be a few packets of twenties. Otherwise, it’s all fifties and hundreds. I’m not going to insult my client by counting it there.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I believe I’ve found a courier for you.”

“A courier for what?” O’Grady said, taken by surprise.

Ginni said, “Johnny, to bring our money over.” She then set about soothing his pride. “You really shouldn’t have to do that. You’ve done so much already.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“I thought you’d be relieved.”

“Oh, I am. And I’m sure you are. You’ll be the sooner done with me entirely.”

“You’re so damned right,” she said, and tossed her head impatiently.

He had misplayed her again, forgetting for the moment that it didn’t matter.

Rubinoff said quietly, “It will cost you twenty percent, Ginni.”

“Jesus Christ!”

O’Grady laughed.

Rubinoff looked at him. “I understood you would want to transfer your funds overseas also.”

“I’ll find my own means of transfer. Here’s one boyo who’s not going into business with the Mafia.”

“Is it the Mafia?” Ginni wanted to know.

“I wouldn’t say that. But it’s not a question one asks directly under the circumstances.”

Without missing a beat she turned to O’Grady. “I don’t know. What do you think, Johnny? Is it all that dangerous for you?”

He threw back his head and laughed at the brazenness of her. She gave him her shy, wistful, little-girl smile which, to use a saying of his mother’s, would melt the heart of a wheelbarrow.

Rubinoff said, “Why don’t you let my man handle half? That will make it worth his while and at the same time reduce the risk for you.”

“How do I know he’ll ever show up?” Ginni said.

“Mr. Schoen and I have used him before,” Rubinoff said mournfully as though his own honor had been questioned. “And I’ll be sending money abroad myself for further investment. Perhaps you and I shall do business again?”

“How lovely,” Ginni said.

He took a sip of beer and made a face. It was not his beverage. He looked at his watch. “Can we go over the details of our arrangements now? Then I can run you down to Sixteenth Street. I’ll wait in the car until you come out. I should like to be perfectly sure.”

O’Grady went downstairs with them a few minutes later and watched them drive off in the red station wagon. He called Julie Hayes from the public phone on the corner and told her they were on their way. He started to give her the gist of their plans. She stopped him and gave him a number at which to call her after nine-thirty. “We’d better have a code name for you in case you call me,” he said. “The boys are getting smarter by the hour. How about ‘Dolly’?”

J
ULIE PUSHED THE BUZZER
and watched from the door, where she caught her first glimpse of Ginni as she came running up the stairs, her auburn hair flying.

“Hello!” Ginni cried and gave Julie her hand. “It’s darling of you to do this. I’m a sentimental slob.”

“I don’t mind,” Julie murmured.

Scarlet Night
was visible the instant you walked through the door where Julie had hung it in the dining alcove.

“There you are!” Ginni said, addressing herself to the painting. She cast a surreptitious glance around the rest of the apartment. Julie knew what was going through her mind:
Scarlet Night
in the tiny half-room. It pushed out like a fat woman in an elevator.

“I’ll show you where I intended to hang it in a minute,” Julie said. “What will you have to drink?”

“Vermouth?”

“I’m not very good at this,” Julie said from the bar in the foyer. “Dry or sweet? Or both?”

“Both. You
are
good to know that. On ice if you don’t mind.” Ginni was running her hand around the frame. Boldly. Lovingly. “Poor Ralph,” she said. “He had such high hopes when we were putting his show together. He really deserved better, don’t you think?”

“I think so.”

“Of course you do. Otherwise…” She met Julie face on as she brought the vermouth and her own Perrier. “Why are you giving it up to Rubinoff, Mrs. Hayes?”

“You’ll see,” Julie said without batting an eye. She led the way into the living room and stood beneath the mantel wall. “This is where I had in mind for it—at first.”

Ginni sipped her vermouth and made a slow turn to survey the entire room. She had style, Julie thought, high style, something she greatly admired while not aspiring to it herself. “It is a perfect room,” Ginni said, “and you have decided rightly on the mirror.” Which still lay on the floor.

“I got carried away by Mr. Abel,” Julie said. “And I do like
Scarlet Night.
And we were considering a painting for this wall, but…”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Ginni said. “My father is a collector, but he thinks true art came to an end with the Impressionists, whom he abominates. I bring home things that I wind up hiding in the closet until I can sell them back—or find someone who wants them…You are coming tomorrow night?”

“Yes, though Jeff’s away…”

“Come anyway. I’ll bet you don’t like mob scenes.”

“I don’t much.”

“Then I’ll be especially flattered. And there’s bound to be somebody there you’ll like. I must go. I hope I haven’t interfered with your evening? I’d have come earlier, but Mother doesn’t want to let me out of her sight when I come to New York.”

“I don’t blame her,” Julie said.

Ginni smiled like a Botticelli madonna. Demure. Beatific. “Bless you.” She floated out of the room. She set her glass on the table beneath
Scarlet Night.
“I helped Ralph frame the show,” she said. “The framing ought to have been lighter, but I think he had in mind those solid Midwestern farmhouses with oak furniture and roast beef every Sunday and Saturday-night blues.” She picked up the glass again and toasted:
“Arrivederci!”

Julie sat for a while after Ginni left before getting the cold chicken out of the refrigerator. She held her hand up in front of her: not a tremor. Romano had said that it would not be wise under the developing circumstances for Alberto to accompany her to the party at Maude Sloan’s. She didn’t want to go alone, but she didn’t want to drop out either, not at this point. Then she had an idea. She called the Alexanders.

“Hello.” It was Tony, growling.

“This is Julie Hayes, Tony. I got the interview with Sweets Romano.”

“I’ll be damned. Did he open up?”

“I’ve been with him every day for the past week.”

“His life story, is that it? Once these underworld characters get the right audience—when they trust you…I can get you a book contract on it, Julie. You can make some real money.”

“Tony, the reason I called tonight: Jeff’s in West Virginia and there’s a party I want to go to. I wondered if you and Fran are free for an hour or so tomorrow night, would you go with me?” She explained who Maude Sloan was and that the party was for her daughter by an Italian count.

“Has it anything to do with the Romano story?”

“I wouldn’t tell you if it did right now, Tony. But you really mustn’t mention his name, I mean at Maude Sloan’s.”

“I shall be delighted to escort you, darling, after which you and I will go on the town and give Gotham something new to talk about. Fran is visiting our daughter this weekend.”

Finally Julie ate a few bites of food and then called Jeff before returning to Romano’s. It felt very good to tell him what Tony had said. “Even if nothing comes of it,” she added.

“Something is bound to come of it,” Jeff said emphatically.

J
ULIE ARRIVED AT ROMANO’S
in time to take the call from Sean O’Grady. It went on the tape and Romano played it instantly. He sat chortling at the part about the Mafia courier, and O’Grady’s comment to Julie: “Amn’t I glad you got me out of the clutches of that!”

Romano said: “We must arrange to have all his calls come here now so that we’ll have the record. And we can use a bit of comic relief.”

“In a way he’s pathetic.”

“I hope so. Obviously you’ve not spoken of me in generic terms.”

“He doesn’t know your name even. Only that you’ve got lots of clout and money, and that you are not the F.B.I. or any police affiliate.”

“Did you mention the C.I.A.?”

She didn’t think an answer was required.

“Now for the maps. I’m sorry you didn’t have dinner with us. There was a touch of garlic in the veal. I hope you won’t find it offensive. I’ve decided we must keep our main forces in the rear to follow as close upon Rubinoff as can be done discreetly. On the chance there may be someone between him and Campbell or another place of rendezvous. I cannot believe it would be on the water, not with four suitcases of money. Too much has been made of that situation in the films. We have maps of the city and the parkways. Michael will refine them in terms of roadway and other hazards. He has driven under stressful circumstances. He will be our principal driver. And here is a walking map of the Palisades Park system. So far as I can judge, it is beautiful in its detail of Maiden’s End. I have several copies. By Sunday morning we must have a master copy that is perfect. There will be a list of information we must have—turnabouts, dead ends—of which there seem to be a number—and so forth. We must have information about police surveillance in the area. I suspect it is impressive. We also need to know Campbell’s security system. It must connect directly with police headquarters in the area. We shall also want to know conditions of light. If Rubinoff proposes to be back in New York as early as nine o’clock it means the whole tarantella will be taking place in twilight. Which can be both an advantage and a disadvantage. There is also the matter of Sunday traffic returning to the city.

“I can think of no better assignment for your O-Johnny-O than with the police themselves. I have in mind his going to the township headquarters in the morning and getting their advice. He can say that he’s about to apply for a job as guard on the Campbell estate. Do you think he can carry that off?”