Helene, but decided against it. He had told her he had urgent business in New York concerning Solly Lucas's death and for her not to worry if she didn't hear from him for a few days. He was a little uneasy at Helene's look of worry when he left. He knew she was no fool, and it irritated him to realize that she probably didn't believe his story. It would be dangerous to call her, he decided. She might easily have his call traced, and then she would know he wasn't in New York.
He had an excellent dinner served in his room and he spent the evening on the balcony, smoking and drinking whisky and listening to the crowd milling around on the terrace below.
He remained in his room during the following morning.
A little after eleven o'clock, Moe telephoned. He sounded short of breath and there was a quaver in his voice that Kramer didn't like.
“We have the package,” Moe said, “but there are complications.”
“Where are you?” Kramer demanded, an edge to his voice.
“At Lone Pine. I'm calling from a booth.”
In the hotel lobby there were a number of telephone booths that Kramer knew didn't go through the hotel switchboard.
“Stay right where you are. Give me your number. I'll call you back,” he said.
This he knew to be dangerous. One of the switchboard operators might be listening in, but he had to know what the complications were.
Moe gave him the number and hung up.
Kramer took the elevator down to the crowded lobby of the hotel. He was lucky to find a telephone booth unoccupied. Shutting himself in, he called the number Moe had given him. Moe answered immediately.
“What is it?” Kramer demanded. “What's gone wrong?”
Moe told him about the speed cop.
“If the job turns sour,” Moe said uneasily, “the cop will have a description of Chita. He got a good look at her. It was bad luck, but this girl drove like a lunatic.”
Kramer thought quickly.
“It won't turn sour,” he said. “That's the trick of this thing. The cops won't come into it. Relax. How's the Van Wylie girl behaving?”
“Chita is handling her . . . no trouble there. The acid scared the hell out of her. I thought you should know about the cop.”
“Yeah. Okay, Moe, you get off. You'll be at Wastelands in another hour. I'll call you there at twelve-thirty. Crane was told to put the line out of order. Get it going again as soon as you arrive. When I know you've got there, I'll talk to Van Wylie.”
Moe said he understood and he hung up.
Kramer returned to his suite and went out on to the balcony. One never knew for certain with any job, he thought uneasily. The speed cop disturbed him. If he was one of those who stuck his nose in other people's business, he might just possibly report to headquarters that the Van Wylie girl was travelling with a girl out of her class. The chances were he wouldn't, but he might.
Slightly less sure of himself, Kramer tried to relax in the sunshine. He found he was continually looking at his watch. Finally, a few minutes to half past twelve, he went down to the lobby and put a call through to Wastelands.
There was some delay, then the operator said, “I'm sorry, but the line is out of order. Our engineer is on his way out there now. If you will make your call again in about an hour, I should be able to connect you.”
His face suddenly like granite, Kramer thanked her and hung up.
Now things weren't going his way. It was possible the hairdresser might call Van Wylie to tell him his daughter hadn't kept her appointment. Van Wylie might wait until lunchtime and then inquire at the Country Club, knowing his daughter always lunched there after her hairdressing appointment. When they reported not seeing her, the chances were he would call the police and then the fat would be in the fire.
Our engineer is on his way out there.
Would Moe be able to handle the situation? What would the engineer think when he found the telephone lines cut? Would he report back? Would his report go to the police?
He had an excellent dinner served in his room and he spent the evening on the balcony, smoking and drinking whisky and listening to the crowd milling around on the terrace below.
He remained in his room during the following morning.
A little after eleven o'clock, Moe telephoned. He sounded short of breath and there was a quaver in his voice that Kramer didn't like.
“We have the package,” Moe said, “but there are complications.”
“Where are you?” Kramer demanded, an edge to his voice.
“At Lone Pine. I'm calling from a booth.”
In the hotel lobby there were a number of telephone booths that Kramer knew didn't go through the hotel switchboard.
“Stay right where you are. Give me your number. I'll call you back,” he said.
This he knew to be dangerous. One of the switchboard operators might be listening in, but he had to know what the complications were.
Moe gave him the number and hung up.
Kramer took the elevator down to the crowded lobby of the hotel. He was lucky to find a telephone booth unoccupied. Shutting himself in, he called the number Moe had given him. Moe answered immediately.
“What is it?” Kramer demanded. “What's gone wrong?”
Moe told him about the speed cop.
“If the job turns sour,” Moe said uneasily, “the cop will have a description of Chita. He got a good look at her. It was bad luck, but this girl drove like a lunatic.”
Kramer thought quickly.
“It won't turn sour,” he said. “That's the trick of this thing. The cops won't come into it. Relax. How's the Van Wylie girl behaving?”
“Chita is handling her . . . no trouble there. The acid scared the hell out of her. I thought you should know about the cop.”
“Yeah. Okay, Moe, you get off. You'll be at Wastelands in another hour. I'll call you there at twelve-thirty. Crane was told to put the line out of order. Get it going again as soon as you arrive. When I know you've got there, I'll talk to Van Wylie.”
Moe said he understood and he hung up.
Kramer returned to his suite and went out on to the balcony. One never knew for certain with any job, he thought uneasily. The speed cop disturbed him. If he was one of those who stuck his nose in other people's business, he might just possibly report to headquarters that the Van Wylie girl was travelling with a girl out of her class. The chances were he wouldn't, but he might.
Slightly less sure of himself, Kramer tried to relax in the sunshine. He found he was continually looking at his watch. Finally, a few minutes to half past twelve, he went down to the lobby and put a call through to Wastelands.
There was some delay, then the operator said, “I'm sorry, but the line is out of order. Our engineer is on his way out there now. If you will make your call again in about an hour, I should be able to connect you.”
His face suddenly like granite, Kramer thanked her and hung up.
Now things weren't going his way. It was possible the hairdresser might call Van Wylie to tell him his daughter hadn't kept her appointment. Van Wylie might wait until lunchtime and then inquire at the Country Club, knowing his daughter always lunched there after her hairdressing appointment. When they reported not seeing her, the chances were he would call the police and then the fat would be in the fire.
Our engineer is on his way out there.
Would Moe be able to handle the situation? What would the engineer think when he found the telephone lines cut? Would he report back? Would his report go to the police?
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