of everybody going up and down. That’s how they know she was in there last night. And about the brief case. The cops are very familiar with our pusses and we don’t want to get our names in the paper—do we?’
‘No.’ Lou turned his smoldering, angry gaze on Joe but he spoke gently. ’I wish to hell you had waited to kill her.’ Joe shrugged. ‘So I didn’t.’
‘So we’re screwed,’ said Lou mildly, reaching for the phone, he told the girl to put in a call for Guy Parker, put the instrument back on its cradle and began cleaning his nails with the broken blade of the paper knife. The thin guy yawned, glanced at the sky.
’Sun will be up pretty soon,’ the thin guy said. ‘Maybe we ought to go out to Jones Beach for a swim.’
‘Maybe we ought,’ agreed Lou. ‘But we aren’t going to. There are a few minor items to attend to.’ Through narrowed lids he smiled at Joe. ’Like finding Eels’ body and getting Red before he decides to be patriotic.’
He rose, stood beside the thin guy and stared moodily down at the river. His silence was more menacing than his speech had been. The sun was thinking about coming up, tinting the sky while it dawdled beyond the rim of sea.
The phone bell recalled Lou. Across a continent a tall, gray man sat at his desk, the receiver cradled against his shoulder so he could play with a deck of cards. He listened without comment, as Lou Baylord told him what was up. The gray man’s pleasant expression didn’t change throughout the onesided conversation. When Lou was done, Guy Parker said, ‘Tell Joe to come on home. I’m going to need him.’
‘You can have him,’ Lou said. He put the phone down, yawned and stretched. The two men watched him with hard, blank faces.
The sun looked in on them for a moment then slid away.
‘You better go too, Slats,’ said Lou. ‘Joe needs a nursemaid.’
‘The name is Christopher,’ the thin guy said.
Thirteen
The hulking Negro doorman watched the Model A Ford roadster rattling along the graveled drive. When it stopped he made no move to open the door. The sole occupant was a wizened youth in jeans and a blue shirt who sat behind the wheel staring up at the white facade of the El Arbol Rancho as though trying to make up his mind about something. Daylight still clung to the hills and, save for the doorman, the place seemed deserted.
Slowly the doorman moved down the steps but his ugly scowl had no effect on the driver of the battered car. ‘What you want?’ the doorman asked.
The Kid turned his attention from the pillared porch and gave it slowly and blankly to the doorman.
‘Get that junk heap out of here,’ the doorman ordered. Understanding came into the Kid’s pale blue eyes as he watched the doorman’s thick lips move. He took a folded paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to the Negro, who squinted down at it, then lost his threatening look. He slid in beside the Kid and pointed up ahead to the empty parking lot under the poplar trees. The smile he gave the Kid was gently sympathetic.
The Kid smiled back, put the car in gear and drove on around the bend. He parked it against a tree. Both men got out. The Negro led the way around to the back, through a door into a long dark hallway and along the hall to a narrow stairway. He motioned to the Kid to wait at the foot of the stairs, went up and along another hall to a door and rapped gently. Guy Parker’s voice told him to come in and he obeyed. Now humble as he closed the door behind him he went slowly across the big, comfortably furnished sitting room to the windowed alcove where Parker was eating what was to him breakfast.
‘Mister Parker, sir, they’s a dummy wants to see you,’ the doorman said.
‘A what?’ Parker was reading a magazine as he ate and he didn’t look up.
‘A dummy’
Parker filled his mouth with ham, then slowly gave his frowning attention to the doorman. He said, ’Make sense, you black bastard.’
‘A deef and dumb boy,’
‘No.’ Lou turned his smoldering, angry gaze on Joe but he spoke gently. ’I wish to hell you had waited to kill her.’ Joe shrugged. ‘So I didn’t.’
‘So we’re screwed,’ said Lou mildly, reaching for the phone, he told the girl to put in a call for Guy Parker, put the instrument back on its cradle and began cleaning his nails with the broken blade of the paper knife. The thin guy yawned, glanced at the sky.
’Sun will be up pretty soon,’ the thin guy said. ‘Maybe we ought to go out to Jones Beach for a swim.’
‘Maybe we ought,’ agreed Lou. ‘But we aren’t going to. There are a few minor items to attend to.’ Through narrowed lids he smiled at Joe. ’Like finding Eels’ body and getting Red before he decides to be patriotic.’
He rose, stood beside the thin guy and stared moodily down at the river. His silence was more menacing than his speech had been. The sun was thinking about coming up, tinting the sky while it dawdled beyond the rim of sea.
The phone bell recalled Lou. Across a continent a tall, gray man sat at his desk, the receiver cradled against his shoulder so he could play with a deck of cards. He listened without comment, as Lou Baylord told him what was up. The gray man’s pleasant expression didn’t change throughout the onesided conversation. When Lou was done, Guy Parker said, ‘Tell Joe to come on home. I’m going to need him.’
‘You can have him,’ Lou said. He put the phone down, yawned and stretched. The two men watched him with hard, blank faces.
The sun looked in on them for a moment then slid away.
‘You better go too, Slats,’ said Lou. ‘Joe needs a nursemaid.’
‘The name is Christopher,’ the thin guy said.
Thirteen
The hulking Negro doorman watched the Model A Ford roadster rattling along the graveled drive. When it stopped he made no move to open the door. The sole occupant was a wizened youth in jeans and a blue shirt who sat behind the wheel staring up at the white facade of the El Arbol Rancho as though trying to make up his mind about something. Daylight still clung to the hills and, save for the doorman, the place seemed deserted.
Slowly the doorman moved down the steps but his ugly scowl had no effect on the driver of the battered car. ‘What you want?’ the doorman asked.
The Kid turned his attention from the pillared porch and gave it slowly and blankly to the doorman.
‘Get that junk heap out of here,’ the doorman ordered. Understanding came into the Kid’s pale blue eyes as he watched the doorman’s thick lips move. He took a folded paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to the Negro, who squinted down at it, then lost his threatening look. He slid in beside the Kid and pointed up ahead to the empty parking lot under the poplar trees. The smile he gave the Kid was gently sympathetic.
The Kid smiled back, put the car in gear and drove on around the bend. He parked it against a tree. Both men got out. The Negro led the way around to the back, through a door into a long dark hallway and along the hall to a narrow stairway. He motioned to the Kid to wait at the foot of the stairs, went up and along another hall to a door and rapped gently. Guy Parker’s voice told him to come in and he obeyed. Now humble as he closed the door behind him he went slowly across the big, comfortably furnished sitting room to the windowed alcove where Parker was eating what was to him breakfast.
‘Mister Parker, sir, they’s a dummy wants to see you,’ the doorman said.
‘A what?’ Parker was reading a magazine as he ate and he didn’t look up.
‘A dummy’
Parker filled his mouth with ham, then slowly gave his frowning attention to the doorman. He said, ’Make sense, you black bastard.’
‘A deef and dumb boy,’
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