Black Friday (3 page)

"Oh," Mattone said, and then he was unconscious. Hart grabbed him under the armpits as he started to go down. Then Hart lowered him slowly and when he was on the floor Hart bent over him and reached for the shoulder holster.

"No," Charley said. "Don't do that."

Charley was in the doorway and he had his revolver with him.

"I wish I could get a decent break," Hart said. He straightened up with his arms hanging loosely at his sides.

"You got no kick coming," Charley said. "You're getting all the breaks. If you'd made it with his gun you'd be on your way out the back door and I'd be shooting at you from the living room. You're drawing all good cards tonight."

"Sure. I'm so happy I feel like singing. Did you see any of it?"

"I came in when he was ready to give you the uppercut. I had an idea you were going to give him your head under the chin. I was going to warn him about that, but you were handling it pretty and I wanted to see if you'd get away with it."

Hart put a hand to his jaw. His jaw wasn't swollen, but it hurt.

"What started it?" Charley asked.

"I wanted to know if he used rouge."

Charley went over, picked up the overturned chair. He brought up a knee, rested a foot on the chair, leaned his arms on his leg, keeping the revolver aimed at Hart. He said, "You continue this sort of thing and I'm going to tie you up."

"Suppose I don't continue this sort of thing?"

Charley appreciated that. He nodded. He said, "That was all right. That was a peach. You got me there."

"Sure, I got you. Like a monkey in the cage has the keeper outside." And then he said, "What time is it?"

Charley glanced at a wristwatch. "Eight-twenty."

"I had breakfast at seven this morning. Nothing since then."

"What stopped you?"

"Broke."

"All right," Charley said. "We'll fix you up. What's your name?"

"Al."

"All right, Al. I'll have Frieda arrange a meal for you. All you need to do now is start something with Frieda."

Rizzio walked into the kitchen and looked at Mattone and said, "What happened to him?"

"He saw a mouse," Hart said.

Charley looked at Rizzio and said, "Go get Frieda."

Rizzio started out of the kitchen and Charley said, "Hold it. How is Paul?"

Rizzio said, "He's causing a lot of commotion up there, but he's all right."

"Give me a cigarette," Charley said.

Rizzio took the pack out of his pocket and looked at Hart and said, "That's all I do around here. I run up and down steps and I drive the car and I supply everybody with cigarettes."

Rizzio held a match to Charley's cigarette and said, "I'll get Frieda." He left the kitchen.

Charley went over to the sink and loaded a glass with cold water. He went over to Mattone and threw the water on Mattone's face.

Mattone sat up and looked at Charley. Then he looked at Hart. Then he stood up and rubbed wetness from his face. He took a large white handkerchief from the top pocket of his worsted suit and pressed the handkerchief against his face. Then he walked past Charley and went out of the kitchen.

"A fine boy," Hart said.

"At one time he was a smart light heavy," Charley said. "Then one night he came up against a body puncher and he went to the hospital with kidney trouble. When he came out of the hospital he started to gain weight. He became a heavy and one night a colored boy hit him high up on the jaw and gave him a concussion. When he came out of the hospital he got connected with a mob in South Philly and started to pick up numbers. One night he was in a poolroom and he saw a guy he didn't like making a call in the phone booth. He picked up a billiard ball and slung it clear across the room and it went into the phone booth. The guy came out of the phone booth with a fractured skull. Mattone did a year for that. He was on his way to gasoline station and grocery store jobs and I met him one night and told him he could do better. He told me to leave him alone. One night he was robbing a gasoline station and the attendant hit him in the kidney with a monkeywrench. He got away but he was in the hospital for the better part of a month. When he came out he looked me up. He's been with me ever since."

"How long ago was that?" Hart asked.

"Two years ago."

Frieda came into the kitchen.

Charley said, "Fix him a meal. I'm going into the living room." He looked at Hart. "Frieda could go to Iowa and be a champion hog caller. I'll have the revolver in my lap. Put it together."

"It's together," Hart said.

Charley left the kitchen.

3

Frieda was a big woman. She was one-sixty if she was an ounce, more solid than soft, packed into five feet five inches and molded majestically. He guessed she didn't wear a girdle and when she turned her back to him and leaned over slightly he was certain of it. She was wearing another dress now, a purple creation that was more than just tight. It looked as if it had grown up with her. He remembered before she had been wearing a plain house dress and he wondered if the purple dress was for his benefit. She bent over even further. Her calves were the same as the rest of her, solid round fat coming down rhythmically to slim ankles giving way to high-heeled shoes that she hadn't been wearing before.

She turned around and looked at him. She said, "You like eggs?"

"Scrambled."

"You like scrapple?"

"Like poison."

"I'll make you something nice. You like coffee?"

"I live on it."

She smiled. She wanted him to examine her and he examined her. The platinum blonde hair fluffed all over her head and rolled on her forehead and came down behind her ears to a big fluff at the back. Her eyes were brown, clear and healthy. Very little mascara. And underneath her smoothly shaped nose her large mouth was deep red with some purple in the red paint. The rouge on her pink round face was deeper pink with a trace of purple in it.

There wasn't a line on her face.

Hart frowned with interest and said, "You keep yourself in good condition."

"I manage." Her voice was full and solid.

"I'm trying to guess your age," Hart said.

"Thirty-four. I've been married four times."

"You married now?"

"I guess so. I don't know what he's doing. I don't know where he is. The last time I heard it was Cincinnati. That was a year ago. Really interesting boy, and generous, too, but he played too rough."

"What did you do to him?"

"I broke his collarbone with a silver hand-mirror he gave me for my birthday."

"Did that do it?"

"No. He wanted more. When he got out of the hospital he traced me to Florida. I had to spit in his face a few times and the last time it was in front of a lot of people. And that was what did it. He hauled off on me but I was with a professional wrestler that night. He really tried with that wrestler. He lasted almost five minutes, then he went flying over a few tables and they had to carry him out. I didn't see him after that until he looked me up in Cincinnati. He wanted money. That tickled me. I got sucha kick out of it that I actually gave him money."

Hart shaped a laugh and let her hear it. She laughed with him.

Then she waited on him. She was a good cook, and she knew the finer details, all on the modern side. She sat there watching him enjoying it.

He was slow with the second cup of coffee. He had his eyes on the blackness in the cup, knowing she had her eyes on him. He knew he had started a wedge but he didn't want to widen it too quickly because then it might break.

He said, "Did you hear about Renner?"

"Yes," she said. "Paul told me."

"How is Paul?"

"I gave him a couple pills. I guess he's sleeping now. He'll be all right. If you're still around when he's up on his feet you're in for a terrible lacing."

"I don't think I'll be around. Is that real platinum blonde?"

"No, and you know it isn't. You don't think you'll get away, do you?"

"Yes, Frieda," he said solemnly. "I can't help it, but that's what I think."

"Suppose you get away," she said, as if she didn't hear his last remark. "What would you do then?"

"I'd stay away."

"Would you open your mouth?"

"If I was a fool."

"That sounds like something. Build on it."

He said, "I'm wanted in New Orleans."

"For what?"

"Murder."

She leaned her head to one side and smiled dimly. "Now look," she said, "you're not trying to show me a good time, are you?"

"You wanted me to build. So I'm building."

"All right, build some more. Who was it?"

"My older brother."

"What name you using?"

"Al."

"Look, Al, you mean to sit there and tell me you killed your own brother?"

"Sure."

Frieda stood up. "Charley!"

Footsteps came banging toward the kitchen. Charley appeared in the doorway with the revolver all ready. Charley said, "What's he doing?"

Frieda said, "Charley, I want you to hear something." She looked at Hart. "Go ahead, tell it to Charley."

Hart drained the cup and said, "I'm telling him because you're asking me to. I told you because you asked me. Just remember that." He turned his head toward Charley. "I told her I'm wanted in New Orleans for killing my brother."

Charley rested the revolver flat in one palm and smoothed the other palm over it. Then Charley said, "Why did you skip?"

"I had no alibi," Hart said.

Frieda said, "Why did you pick Philadelphia?"

"I couldn't get a boat across the Gulf," Hart said. "I couldn't go north at first because I couldn't get the right connections. I had to go east. I went to Birmingham and from there I went north. This is as far as I got."

"When did you come in? How?" Charley's voice was quiet.

"The afternoon train from Baltimore," Hart said. "Some men in plain clothes stepped on the train when we pulled in at Thirtieth Street Station. I didn't know what they wanted and I wasn't going to stay there to find out. I got out of my seat and took a walk into the next car. Some more men in plain clothes were watching the doors. I kept walking through the cars. I was about two cars from the end and I had to turn around and look. So I turned around and I saw two of them coming after me. The next door was unguarded and I took that door before any of them could come down there from the outside. I had to leave all my belongings on the train, and that included about seven hundred dollars tucked away in a Gladstone."

"I think you got a weakness there," Charley said. "What's wrong with a wallet?"

"When you're running away you do funny things."

"It's still weak," Charley said.

"All right, it's weak," Hart said. "Tonight I walked into a store on Broad Street and stole the overcoat you see there on the chair."

Charley looked at the overcoat. "Broad and where?"

"Above Callohill."

"All right," Charley said. "What store?"

"I think it said Sam and Harry."

Frieda was looking at the bright green overcoat. She said, "It looks brand new."

Charley turned to Frieda. Charley said, "Get the telephone book and look up Sam and Harry in the classified section under men's clothing. Come in and tell me if there's a Sam and Harry clothing store on Broad Street above Callohill. And bring Mattone in with you."

Frieda walked out.

Charley put a forefinger through the trigger guard and twirled the revolver. "You don't mind a little checking, do you?"

Hart shook his head. He looked at the floor. Charley leaned against the icebox and kept twirling the revolver. They could hear the flipping of telephone-book pages from the living room. Then Frieda came walking into the kitchen and Mattone was behind her.

Frieda said, "There's a Sam and Harry on Callohill Street above Broad."

Charley acted as if he didn't hear. Charley said to Mattone, "Take a look at that overcoat."

Mattone went over and examined the overcoat. He rubbed the bright green fabric between his fingers.

"Would you say that was quality?" Charley said.

Mattone said, "If I know anything about clothing it's a ninety-dollar article and it doesn't come from Sam and Harry."

Charley looked at Hart, and Hart looked at Mattone and said, "You're some brain, you are. Ten minutes ago you were looking at the Sam and Harry label."

Mattone dropped the coat and went over to Hart and took a swing and connected. Hart walked backward to the stove, came away from the stove and put his arms down to break the fall. Then he was on his knees and after that he was face down on the floor.

Charley said, "Stay with him, Frieda."

"Let me stay with him," Mattone said.

Charley looked at Mattone. "You come with me."

They went into the living room. Charley picked up the telephone book, found the number and made the call. When he got his party he said, "Did someone steal an overcoat from your place tonight?"

At the other end a voice said, "Just a minute--"

Charley hung up. He looked at Mattone. He said, "They want to trace the call. Is that good enough for you?"

"Look, Charley, I don't like that guy."

"And I don't like you," Charley said. "But I put up with you because you know your work. I like the way you work, but there's got to be satisfaction on both sides. Do you like the pay?"

"Look, Charley--"

"Do you like the pay?"

"I like the pay."

"All right, then, do as you're told. And don't do things I don't want you to do."

In the kitchen Hart was sitting up and tapping fingers against his jaw. Frieda was sitting at the table, leaning her face on a cupped hand and watching Hart and then turning as Charley came in. She looked at Charley's eyes.

Hart stood up and said, "Did you make the call?"

"Yes," Charley said. "If you want to go now you can go."

"What would you advise me to do?" Hart asked.

"Go back to New Orleans," Charley said. "You're already traced here, I mean as far as Phily, because of that Gladstone--that is, if you bought the Gladstone down south."

"I bought the Gladstone in Nashville after I threw away the other bag. But I was traced to Nashville."

"That means you're traced here, so your best move is to go back and do your hiding in New Orleans. Don't try little towns. Little towns are bad."

"I'm broke," Hart said.

Charley put a hand in a trousers pocket and took out some bills. He handed Hart a ten-dollar bill.

"Much obliged," Hart said. He pocketed the bill and put on his overcoat. He looked at the kitchen doorway. Then he looked at the back door.

Charley said, "Stay away from Tulpehocken until you get to Germantown Avenue. Then come back to Tulpehocken and get your trolley. If I were you I'd go to Frankford tonight and stay there a few weeks and try to pick up a little change. Then I'd go straight back to New Orleans and put it on a speculation basis for at least a month. Then I'd try the Gulf or I'd try the border from Texas."

Hart opened the back door and walked out. The cold air slammed into him like a sheet of stiff iced canvas. He went down the alley, and every few seconds he would turn around and look and listen carefully. Finally he decided that Charley probably wasn't following him after all. Hart knew what Charley would do instead. Charley was smart. Charley would know where to wait tor Hart--and the eleven thousand. Hart figured Charley would give him another five minutes, at the outside, before he took off to do what he would have to do when Hart didn't show up. It was cold, and Hart was no fool. He'd show, all right.

Some thirty yards down the alley he came to his garden and began digging away at the cold hard soil.

He rolled up the eleven thousand dollars, inserting the bills into an overcoat pocket. Then he walked along the alley and headed back to the house.

The door opened and Charley stood there, showing Hart the revolver.

"All right," Charley said. "Come on in."

Hart entered the kitchen. He saw Frieda sitting at the table and looking up from a movie magazine. He took the rolled bills from the overcoat pocket and extended the money to Charley.

Charley took the bills and counted them.

"All there?" Hart said.

"All there," Charley said.

Frieda frowned. "What goes on here?" Charley smiled mildly. "Al brought back the money."

Frieda pointed to the bills in Charley's hand. "That's the money Renner took."

Charley widened the smile. He said, "Frieda, you're right in there."

Hart said, "You knew there was nothing in the wallet. So all you did was send me out for the money."

Charley nodded slowly.

Hart said, "You were giving me around five minutes to get back here with the money, and if I wasn't back by then you were going to go out and wait at Germantown and Tulpehocken and get me there."