Build My Gallows High (6 page)

Lightning flared outside, filling the room with momentary brightness. The torn clouds spilled rain into the courtyard. Not until he stood beside her did Meta see him. ‘Come on,’ Red said. ‘I want to talk.’ Meta didn’t speak. Her lips parted and she put her hand over her mouth.

He led her to the couch and pushed her down. Her handbag was on the coffee table. He opened it and dumped its contents out. A small automatic clattered on the wood. He pocketed it and dropped on the couch beside her.

‘We crossed you up, baby’ Red said.

‘You sons of bitches!’

He flicked her mouth with his knuckles and then she was on him, clawing at him, slashing at his eyes with fingernails that were red daggers. His fingers dug into her right breast. She moaned and dropped her hands. Red relaxed his grip but kept one hand on her breast. ‘Nice,’ he said. She tried to pull her body away. ‘Now talk.’

‘No.’

Her breast was small in his cupped hand. Very gradually he squeezed the firm, warm flesh. ‘Oh, God!’ she moaned.

Red let her go, took a cigarette from the box on the table and lighted it. ‘We’ve plenty of time.’ He grinned at her, trying to look like a man who had all the time in the world, trying to hide the fact that he was listening for the sound of the buzzer that would announce Mr. Stefanos’ arrival. ‘Now tell me everything.’

‘You’re not Red Bailey’ Her voice was husky with fear.

Things were going better than he had hoped. He nodded. ‘Right. I’m a ringer. So is the little guy. Mr. Eels was not as trusting as he seemed. He’s heart-broken though. You’ve brought his world down around his ears. But he’ll get over it. Disillusion is so much easier to take than death.’

‘What are you going to do to me?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Whether you cooperate.’

‘And if I do?’

‘Nothing happens to you. We’re not concerned with you or your part in it. We want the big guy.’ He crushed his cigarette in the crystal tray.

‘Get me a drink.’ Her hands were shaking now and she seemed to be having trouble with her breathing. She motioned toward the cupboard. Red rose, got the Scotch bottle and two glasses, spilled whisky in the glasses and sat down again.

She gulped greedily. Her voice was barely audible. ‘You said—you said you were a ringer. And the little man. Where are the right ones?’

‘In the can.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘All of it. Let’s begin with Red Bailey. He’s a confused individual. Why was he picked for the patsy?’

‘I don’t know’ With a fingernail she traced the pattern of the couch cover and she didn’t look at him. The shadows of her long lashes were like cob-webs on her pale skin. Again he reached for her breast. She pushed his hand away. ‘That won’t do any good. I don’t know anything about Red Bailey.’ She shot a suspicious glance at him. ‘What are you so concerned about him for?’

Careful, Red told himself. He must tread lightly because the ice was very thin. ’We don’t want to leave anything out of the picture. All right. If you don’t know about Bailey, we’ll skip him. Let’s talk about you.’

She hunted in the glass for courage, found it. ‘I couldn’t help it. I had to do what I was told.’

‘Why?’

it doesn’t matter.’

With a wave of one hand, Red indicated she could skip that part. It was something he wanted very much to know but it would have to wait.

‘I met Eels before I went to work for him,’ Meta said. ‘That’s why I was picked for the job. He liked me. So I played up to him and then I said I needed work. So he put me in his office.’ She stopped talking and wet her lips.

Red hoped her mind was as dull as her eyes. He poured more whisky in the glasses and tried to act like a man who was doing a routine job. ’Go on,’ he urged. ’We haven’t all night.’

‘Last week I was told what to do,’ she explained. Red wanted to stop her there. He wanted to ask who told her but he didn’t dare. ’Two men were coming to New York. One was named Bailey and the other Stefanos. I was to take Bailey to Eels’ apartment, make sure he left his fingerprints around. I was to put something in Eels safe at the office.’

‘What?’

‘An affidavit made by a woman named McGonigle. It said that Bailey killed his partner in California ten years ago. It told where they could find the body.’

Red let the Scotch trickle down his throat, felt the warmth of it in his stomach. A good, complete job. No loose ends. Nothing left to chance. When Parker framed you they could hang you in the Metropolitan. A nice, heavy gold frame. That was Parker’s police training.

‘We’ll find it in Eels’ safe?’

‘Yes. I put it there tonight.’

‘No wonder Mr. Bailey was so upset,’ Red said. ‘What was your next step?’

‘That was all. The rest was up to Stefanos.’

‘You knew he was going to kill Eels?’

She emptied her glass rather than answer. He wondered if she had a conscience, if she knew what shame was. He said, ‘Jesus, what a cold-blooded bitch!’

‘I’m not going to talk any more.’

‘Oh yes,’ Red said. You haven’t finished. What did you take out of Eels’ office tonight?’

She hid her eyes behind heavy lids, put her glass down and dropped her hands in her lap. They were very small and white.

‘I was waiting outside the Graybar Building,’ Red said. ‘You went in empty-handed. You came out with a brief case. What was in it?’

She looked up. ‘What do you suppose?’

‘The file on the case Eels was working on?’

‘Of course.’ Her eyes studied his face and now there was wariness in her expression.

The ice was thinner than ever.

‘What did you do with the brief case?’ Red leaned forward, trying to hide his nervousness behind the glass in his hand.

‘Gave it to a guy.’

‘Who?’

‘Do you have to ask?’ Her wary glance probed the face hidden by the highball glass.

‘I want to be sure.’

‘Go ask him for it then.’

“I plan to.’ He couldn’t sit here all night beating around the bush—he knew that. Stefanos would be along presently. Stefanos would stop by to make sure things were going on schedule. And Red didn’t want to be there when that happened. Nor did he want Meta to know he was Red Bailey just yet. Might as well shove off because she was wising up fast. He got slowly to his feet.‘I could take you in tonight. I’m not going to. I’m going to give you a few hours to think things over.’ He headed for the door, stopped with his hand on the knob and looked back. She was staring after him, frowning.

‘Goodnight,’ Red said. ’And good luck. You’ll need it, baby’ He grinned and let himself into the hall.

The rain had stopped. The wind was sweeping the clouds south, not being very thorough about it. The worn-out moon struggled wearily across the untidy sky and its anemic light fell like dust on the city. Red came out, looked cautiously up and down the street, then headed east. There should be a cab stand at Forty-Ninth and First and what he needed right now was a cab.

He was less than a hundred yards away from Meta’s apartment when he heard a motor behind him. Turning he saw a cab coming along the street. He stepped back against the wall, saw the cab pull up, saw Stefanos get out and hurry up the steps. The gears clashed, the cab moved toward him. He ran to the edge of the sidewalk and flagged it down. He jumped inside.

‘Hudson River Club,’ Red told the driver. As the cab swung north on First Avenue and picked up speed Red felt fear tightening his stomach muscles. If Meta started telephoning, he was really in trouble. If he had it doped out wrong, that’s what she would do instead of waiting until she talked things over with Stefanos and looked for Eels’ missing body.

There was little traffic on the Causeway. The cab picked up speed and the cool wind flowed in, bringing with it the smell of the river. The driver’s flat voice droned on. Occasionally Red answered with a monosyllable. He thought suddenly of Ann and then he stopped worrying about what was going to happen to him. Dusk would be creeping up the shoulders of the Sierras now, softening the granite spires and bald domes. The great meadow would be a pool of darkness. So much at stake. So much to lose. The memory of the girl increased the aching anger in him. Damn them, damn them! If he lost, she would fight at first. She would be loyal at first. Then they’d move in on her—her father and mother, that lump of a game warden, the people of Bridgeport. She’d forget him after a while. And suppose he didn’t lose. Suppose his plan worked. He had killed a man and if it didn’t catch up to him now it might some day. The driver’s voice intruded.

‘Gonna do some gambling?’

‘I’m toying with the idea,’ Red said.

‘You better be well heeled.’ The driver threw a sour grin back at him.

‘Tough joint?’

‘Just crooked. First time for you?’

‘I’ve been away. Who runs it?’

‘Lou Baylord.’

The name meant nothing to Red. ‘Who’s he?’

‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t run around in them circles. Too rich for my blood.’

’Joint wide open?’

‘Night club part is. You want to gamble, you go upstairs, Baylord looks you over and if you don’t smell like the law he gives you a card.’

They were crossing the bridge. Red leaned over and peered down at the river. He hoped this wouldn’t be his last look at it. If Mr. Baylord was expecting him it might be.

‘Always I get a kick out of this bridge,’ the driver said.  ‘I’m queer for bridges.’

‘I’m queer for rivers.’ Red thought of the Kings and the West Walker and the Stanislaus and the Tuolomne. Good names to roll around your mouth. Tough, brawling streams tearing through the canyons. Why in hell did the past have to catch up with him now?

Ahead lights bloomed on the cliff. They turned off the bridge and a neon sign wrote the name of the club on the sky.

‘Hold on to your watch,’ said the driver. ‘Here we are.’

Red handed him a ten-dollar bill. ‘Stick around.’

‘You can always pick up a hack here.’

‘Not one driven by a guy who is queer for bridges,’ Red smiled.

‘Okay. I’ll wait. Don’t be all night.’

‘Not me.’ Red climbed the steps under a canopy, was bowed to by the doorman who came hurrying down, ignored the hat-check girl’s request for his hat and coat, glanced into a big circular room where a tired floor show was in progress, located a stairway and went up. The feel of his gun against his leg gave him small comfort, as he found the door with Baylord’s name on it. His heart was slapping against his ribs and not from climbing stairs. Here goes, he thought, and rapped on the door.

‘Come in,’ a man’s voice told him. Nothing familiar about the voice. He opened the door, saw a middle-aged man with thinning hair and jowls standing in front of a desk. Something vaguely familiar about that face. Yet it might be because Lou Baylord looked like a thousand other men. The door clicked to behind him. He crossed the thick carpet, nodded and smiled, all the time watching the other’s face, searching for some look of recognition in the hard, dark eyes.

‘Mr. Baylord?’

‘That’s me.’

‘Wynn said to look you up.’

The thin eyebrows drew together. ‘Wynn?’

‘Yeah. I want a card.’

‘Oh,’ Baylord said, still puzzled.

‘You remember Wynn,’ Red said, stopping in front of the man.

Baylord looked up at him.

‘I’m sorry—’

‘So am I,’ Red said and brought his fist up. Baylord’s head snapped back. Red caught him with his left hand and hit him again on the jaw. Then he eased him down on the carpet, took out his gun, rapped him sharply on the temple, hurried to the door and locked it. The phone on the desk brought him back across the room. He picked it up, grunted into the mouth piece.

‘Mr. Baylord,’ a girl’s voice said. ‘Somebody just—’

‘It’s all right,’ Red mumbled and hung up the phone.

He wasn’t frightened now. Socking Baylord had driven all the fear out of him. He glanced down at the man, tried again to place him, gave it up. What he wanted was a brief case and he had better start tearing the joint apart. He went around the desk and started opening drawers.

The big bottom one wouldn’t give. He yanked at it, then hunted for something to pry the lock open. A thin paper-knife broke in his hand. He tossed it away, frowned down at the desk. An idea occurred to him. He pulled out the drawer above and put it on the floor, reached through the hole and felt the lovely smoothness of leather. A moment later he was holding a brief case and on the front of the case was Lloyd Eels’ name printed in gold.

Baylord groaned and tried to push himself up on his hands. Red came around the desk and shoved his face into the carpet. Weakly Baylord tried to wriggle away. Red flipped him over, rapped him again on the temple and, when he was still, ran one hand into the man’s breast pocket and brought out a fat wallet. The wallet was stuffed with bills. No use being squeamish at a time like this, Red told himself as he pocketed the wallet. He was going to need money, plenty of it, because it might be a long while before he could show himself in a bank. He shoved the gun in his coat pocket, picked up the brief case and headed for the door.

Two men in evening clothes were coming up the stairs. They stared at him coldly. Red smiled and went slowly down. He knew they had turned and were watching him but still he didn’t hurry. The hat-check girl leaned on her counter. She too was watching him. He found a bill in a pants pocket, dropped it on the counter as he passed, gave her a smile and went outside. He kept his steps slow, wanting to run yet knowing that if he did all hell would break loose.

A cab motor started in the drive. His cab pulled up in front of the canopy. The doorman opened the door and stood aside. Red found another bill, shoved it in the outstretched hand and slammed the door.

‘You certainly was quick,’ said the driver.

‘I certainly was,’ said Red. ’Now see how quick you can get to Grand Central.’ He threw a glance back at the door. The doorman was plodding up the steps and no one was coming down. He ran his hand lovingly over the brief case and sucked air into his lungs.

From where he stood in the arcade Red could see the information desk and most of the lower level waiting room. It was eleven o’clock and he had been waiting fifteen minutes. He tried to simulate interest in the shop window beside him but every few moments he glanced into the waiting room. His right hand was thrust into his coat pocket and his fingers were curled around the butt of his gun. When he saw the cab driver come into the waiting room carrying a suitcase Red didn’t move toward him right away. He waited until the driver reached the information desk, to make sure no one was following the man, then he walked briskly forward.

‘All set,’ the driver said, ‘I hope she’s all there.’

‘You pack?’

‘No. The bellhop. They wouldn’t let me.’

‘Pay the bill?’

‘Sure.’ He fished some money out of his pocket. ‘Here’s your change.’

‘Keep it,’ Red said and gave him another ten. ’Go out and find yourself a bridge. There are some fine covered ones in Vermont.’

The driver grinned. ’And forget I ever seen you.’

‘An understanding heart,’ said Red.

‘Did you stick up that joint?’

‘No. Should I have?’

‘I sorta hoped you would,’ the driver said. ‘So long.’

Red watched him go away. He picked up the bag, climbed to the upper level, went through the arcade into the Biltmore lobby to the desk.

A pleasant, gray-haired man shoved a card at him. He scrawled on the card the name of a man long dead and turned to find an elderly bellhop tucking the brief case under his arm.

Red held out a hand, ‘I’ll take that.’

‘I can manage,’ the bellhop said but at Red’s insistence, he grudgingly gave up the fat leather case, though he looked at it hungrily as the elevator shot them upstairs. Red, hoping the man’s eyesight was bad, casually turned the case so that Eels’ name was against his leg.

A cool wind pushed into the room when the bellhop opened the windows. ‘Anything else, sir?’ he asked.

Red gave him five dollars and told him to rustle up some wrapping paper and string. The man’s gnarled fingers caressed the bill. He smiled respectfully and went out.

Excitement made Red’s hands clumsy as he worked on the lock with a fingernail file. Presently the lock gave and he pulled out the thick pile of stapled onion-skin paper, stared down at the neat typescript and the row on row of figures, flipped the thin pages and saw names and dates. When the bellhop rapped softly on the door Red knew why Lloyd Eels was dead.

The bellhop put a folded sheet of brown manila paper and some heavy string in Red’s outstretched hand. ‘Thank you,’ Red said and closed and locked the door.

He went back to the bed and stood looking down at the sheaf of documents that had cost a man his life. He wondered at his blindness.

Now he remembered where he had seen Lou Baylord before. Now he remembered snow drifting past a window and a man with a bullet hole in his belly and a thin, soft-voiced man with a copy of
North of Boston
in his hand. Lou, Whit Sterling had called him.

There was no anger in Red any more. He had double-crossed Sterling and Lloyd Eels must have double-crossed him too. Apparently you couldn’t do it and get away with it. He felt a vast surprise at Sterling’s capacity for revenge.

On the bed lay Sterling’s one-way ticket to Alcatraz. Sterling wanted it and Red didn’t blame him. Eels had done a job of digging—too good a job. He had dug himself right into Woodlawn Cemetery. And me with him unless I move fast. Red told himself.

He had a handful of dynamite to heave at Sterling. He had evidence that the gambler had evaded some three million dollars in income tax. But there was one thing he didn’t have—one thing he must have if he wanted to keep on living—the affidavit accusing him of murder and bearing Mumsie’s name tucked away in the safe in Lloyd Eels’ office.