Coward's Kiss (13 page)

We had a tail.

I finished lighting the pipe, took Maddy by the arm and steered her toward the door. I heard a rustle behind us as he started to fold up his paper. “Don’t look around,” I said, “but we’ve got a shadow. A little man who isn’t there.”

“How do we get rid of him?”

It’s not hard to duck a shadow if you know he’s there. You can tell your cabby to do some tricks with his hack, or you can walk in one entrance of a building and out another, or you can play games on the subway, getting off the car just before the doors close and letting your tail ride to Canarsie alone. But I didn’t feel like just ducking the little bastard. He was Bannister’s present to me and I wanted to send him home looking ugly. I was sick of Bannister and his presents.

“Could you stand a screen test?”

She didn’t understand.

“You’re an actress,” I told her. “I’ve got a little acting for you to do. Game?”

I told her about it and she was game. We walked out of the Ruskin and down the block to Forty-third Street. We cornered at Forty-third and idled in a doorway, waiting for our friend to catch up with us. He was lousy.

He took the corner and breezed past us without spotting us.

Now we were tailing him.

He must have thought we were shuffling along ahead of him in the crowd. He kept on going, taking life easy, and we stayed with him all the way to Broadway.

Then Maddy went into her act.

We picked up a little speed and moved even with him, Maddy on the inside. Just as we moved into the mainstream of pedestrian traffic Maddy brushed up against him and let out a yell they could have heard in Secaucus. Everybody within three blocks turned and stared at her. The little guy stared, too, and his eyes popped halfway out of his pudgy head.

So it was my turn. I yelled: “You rotten son of a bitch!” Then I grabbed him with one hand and hit him with another. He bounced off the side of the building and looked at me with the sickest expression anybody ever had.

“Horrible,” Maddy kept telling the world. “Dirty little pervert. Put his hands all over . . . oh, horrible!”

The jerk looked the part. He had runny eyes and a weak mouth and glasses half an inch thick. When I hit him the second time he lost the glasses. They landed on the sidewalk and somebody ground them into the pavement.

I was still hitting him when a cop turned up. He was big and rosily Irish and he wanted to know what the hell I was doing. I didn’t have to tell him. The crowd—a big one, and all rooting for me, defender of chastity and feminine virtue—let him know just what was happening and why. He gave our shadow a very unhappy look.

“I could take him in,” he said. “But it’s a heap of trouble. You’d have to swear out a complaint and make an appearance in court. And I’d have to come in and testify. Work for everybody.”

I commiserated with him.

“I’ll tell you,” the cop said. “Why don’t you just belt him a few times and forget him? He won’t pull a stunt like that again, I’ll tell the world. And my eyes will be open for him from now on.”

That sounded like a good idea. I stood the shadow up against the wall and hit him in the face. He lost a few teeth and his nose started to bleed.

“Tell Bannister to go to hell,” I told him.

I hit him again. Then I piled Maddy into a cab and we left him there.

“I wish you’d put that thing away,” Maddy was saying. “It scares me stiff.”

I’d been checking the Beretta to make sure it was loaded. It was. I put it back together and gave it a pat, then dropped it back in my jacket pocket.

“Take off your jacket,” she said. “Relax.”

I hung my jacket on a doorknob and sank down again on the couch. We were in Maddy’s apartment where the cab had dropped us. It was late.

“Poor Ed,” she said. “How do you feel now?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Bad?”

I nodded. “The cognac wore off,” I said. “I can feel my stomach again. I should have stopped for a bottle.”

“Look in the kitchen.”

I gave her a long look, then stood up and went into the little kitchen. Red and white linoleum covered the floor. A gas stove sat in one corner and looked dangerous. An antique refrigerator sat in another corner and looked undependable. There was a rickety table between them, painted to match the linoleum, and on top of it there was a bottle of Courvoisier. A pint, unopened.

I picked it up gently and carried it back to the living room. Maddy had a smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes. “This,” I said, “was not here yesterday.”

“The great detective is right.”

“And you’re not much of a brandy drinker. You didn’t buy this for your own consumption, Madeleine.”

She blushed beautifully. “The detective is right again,” she said. “I bought it this afternoon before I went detecting for you. I sort of hoped you’d be up here soon. Now pour yourself a drink while I sit here and feel wanton.”

I opened the bottle and poured drinks for both of us.

I gave her about an ounce and filled my glass to the brim. I drank off some of the brandy and told my stomach it could relax now. Then I gave Maddy her glass and sat on the couch with her, sipping and smoking, while the world got better again.

She said: “You’re not going home tonight.”

I started to say something but she didn’t give me a chance. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ed. I don’t have any designs on your virtue. Not in your condition. It would probably kill you.”

“Sounds like——”

“——a good way to go. I know all about it. Don’t hand me a hard time, Ed. You’re staying here tonight You can’t go back to your apartment. You’d be a sitting duck and God knows how many people want to shoot you.”

“Not too many,” I told her. “I could always take a hotel room.”

She said NO very emphatically. “It’ll take you hours to find one and hours to fall asleep. And this is the best hotel in New York, Ed. Here you get congenial companionship, room and board, and the use of an untapped phone. What more could you ask for?”

“That’s plenty. You make it sound sensible.”

“It is sensible,” she insisted. “And you’re staying. Agreed?”

I agreed. I slipped an arm around her and took a sip of the cognac. I was getting tired but I didn’t feel like sleep. I was too comfortable to think about moving.

“I’ve got a feeling,” she said suddenly. “I don’t think you should be on that Peter Armin’s side.”

“Oh? I thought you liked him.”

She bit her lip. “I do, kind of. But he’s a crook, Ed. He wants to make an illegal profit on stolen jewels. If you get the briefcase back are you going to give it to him?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Even though it’s illegal?”

I took a sip of the cognac. “We made a bargain,” I told her. “Besides, I’m looking for a killer. Not a batch of jewels. A murderer.”

“But——”

“And the murderer’s all I give a damn about,” I went on. “Why in hell should I care what happens to the jewels? Armin’s as much entitled to them as anybody else. Who do they belong to? Wallstein’s dead and buried. His widow shouldn’t get them—they weren’t his to give her and she wasn’t married to him legally, anyway. The original owners are either dead or lost. Who’s next in line? The government of Argentina, as a reward for harboring a Nazi?”

I took a breath. “I don’t care about them. Armin may be as crooked as a corkscrew. As far as I’m concerned he’s welcome to the briefcase and the jewels and whatever he can get out of this mess. All I care about is a killer.”

“Then why did you ask for five thousand dollars?”

“Because otherwise he would have thought I was insane. And because Bannister’s boys ruined my home and my appetite. I’ve been shot at and followed and slugged. Hell, I don’t have a client—I might as well get a little compensation one way or the other. I can use five grand.”

She nodded, digesting this. I couldn’t tell whether she approved or not. Hell, I’m not a plaster saint. Single men in barracks don’t grow into them.

“What I wonder now,” I said, “is how much of Armin’s story is true.”

“You think he lied?”

“I’m sure he lied. It’s a question of degree.” I shrugged. “I can’t swallow that routine of his about being a clever operator waiting in the wings to make a neat profit. It’s too damned cute. I’d like to know where he fits in.”

“Any ideas, Mr. London, sir?”

“A couple,” I said. “Notice how formal he is? You’re not the only one who calls me ‘Mr. London.’ He’s never called me anything else. He even refers to our boy Clay as ‘Mr. Bannister.’”

“It’s a common affectation, Ed.”

“Sure. But Sheila-Alicia was always just plain ‘Alicia’ to him. I’ve got a hunch he knew her when. Think back a minute. He talked about her almost reminiscently. Remember?”

“I didn’t notice. But now that you mention it. . . .”

I grinned. “Now that I mention it, I think he’s one of the jewel thieves. Or Alicia’s buddy from the past, hooking up with her again to pull a quick one.”

We sat there thinking that one over. I got my pipe going again, worked on the cognac. “One thing comes first,” I told her. “The briefcase. Nobody’s got it and it’s in the middle of everything. I think I’ll ring up Jack Enright tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I can pry a little more out of him. The girl must have been nervous as all hell just after she pulled the rug out from under Bannister. She may have dropped a hint or two about the briefcase.”

“But he said——”

“I know what he said. Memory’s a tricky proposition. I’m going to try him on Armin’s theory about the apartment, then on the briefcase. He may be able to remember a little more now. His big concern now is keeping himself in the clear and preserving the harmony of his happy home. His memory might work better now that he’s had a day or two to cool off.”

She took my pipe from my mouth and placed it in an ashtray. “Speaking of which,” she cooed, “it’s time for you to cool yourself off. You’ve been through the wringer today, Ed. Drink up your brandy and we’ll go to bed.”

I leered lecherously.

“To sleep,” she said. “Not to bed. To sleep.”

I finished the brandy.

Her bed was soft and welcome, the sheets cool and clean. I let my head sink into the pillow and opened my eyes to look at darkness. Water was running in the bathroom. I pictured her washing her face, brushing her teeth, drying herself with a towel.

Pretty pictures.

The bedroom door opened inward. The light was behind her and I saw her slender body silhouetted in the door frame. She touched a switch and the light died. She came into the room, closed the door behind her. I could barely see her in the darkness.

“Ed?”

I didn’t answer her.

I heard a nightgown rustle. She lifted the covers on her side of the bed and slid under them. “Goodnight, Ed,” she whispered. “Sleep well. I’ll make breakfast for you in the morning, Ed.”

I still didn’t say anything. I heard her breathing beside me, sensed the sweet warmth of her body. I remembered that body, remembered the night before.

I reached for her.

For an instant she gasped, surprised. Then my mouth found hers and we kissed. I took her shoulders in my hands and felt her body begin to tremble.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, Ed. Ed, we can’t, not tonight, Ed. You’re all tired and all hurt and we can’t. Ed——”

I ran a hand over her body, all clean and soft and warm through the sheer nightgown.

“We can’t, Ed. Ed, darling, we can’t, I want to, I want to but we can’t.”

I put my face to her cheek and breathed the fragrance of her hair. I kissed her again and heard her sigh.

“We can’t,” she said. “We can’t we can’t we can’t we can’t—”

I drew her body very close to mine. I whispered softly into her ear.

“We can,” I said. “And we will.”

We did.

She amazed me in the morning. She scrambled eggs and fried bacon and toasted rye bread, and she didn’t even try to talk to me until I was working on my second cup of strong black coffee. I had never known a woman could behave so magnificently in the morning, or look so lovely. I told her this and she beamed at me.

“The phone,” she said. “You were going to call Enright.”

I picked up the receiver and dialed his number. A female voice found out who I was and told me to hold the line. I did. Then Jack picked up the phone.

“Ed, Jack. I’ve got to talk to you. Important.”

He said: “Oh, Christ.” Then he didn’t say anything for a minute or two. A juvenile voice wailed unhappily in the background. “I’m busy as all hell right now, Ed. You at home? I’ll call you as soon as I get a free moment.”

I told him where I was and he took down the number. “Stay there,” he said. “I may be a while. Bye, Ed.”

I told Maddy he’d be calling back. We cleared off the table. She washed the dishes and I dried them. Then we sat around waiting for the phone to ring, with the whole scene so damned domestic that I couldn’t stand it. Finally the phone came through for me and I stood up to answer it.

“It might be for me,” she said. “I’ll take it.”

I was already at the phone.

“Please,” she said. “You’ll compromise me.”

“You’ve already been compromised. And after the way you kept saying we couldn’t. You were wrong.”

“So you’re Superman. Now . . . hey, let go of me, you oaf! It’s the middle of the murky morning and the phone’s ringing. Let go!”

I got out of the way. She answered the phone while I stood by, waiting for her to hand it to me when Jack identified himself. This didn’t happen.

The phone was for her and I listened while she talked to somebody named Maury. She spent most of her time listening, tossing in an occasional uh-huh. Then she made scribbling motions in the air until I brought her a scrap of paper and a pencil. She took them and began jotting down mysterious information. This went on for a few minutes, until finally she said: Thanks, sweetie at least four times and kissed the telephone mouthpiece twice. Then she hung up and turned to me, her eyes bright.

“It was Maury,” she said.

“Thanks. Who’s Maury?”

“My agent. And Lon Kaspar’s auditioning for the lead in ‘The House of Bernardo Alba,’ it’s the Lorca play and they’re doing a revival over on Second Avenue and it’s this afternoon and Maury thinks I’ve got a great chance and——”