Johnnie (15 page)

Her imprecations followed them to the elevator.

R
UPRECHT PUT A FINGER
on the buzzer. “A sweet girl,” he orated. “She is teaching me to Conga and Rhumba. Very good at it. Only she doesn’t like champagne. Strange.” He thrust a bottle at Mike Costello. “You wouldn’t care to manage one for me? I thought not.”

“Sorry, Bub. Not in uniform. Afraid I might run into Lieutenant McGonigle. Lefty, we call him.”

The elevator took them down faster than it had brought them up. The operator didn’t look at them.

“We’ll have to go up to Broadway to find my car,” Ruprecht pushed open the door to the street. “Or should I say Ferenz’s car? I prefer that the chauffeur does not know all of my places of dalliance. Not that I enjoy walking. A highly overestimated form of travel.”

“How’d you like to be a cop?” Mike asked.

“Would I get a whistle?” Ruprecht shook his head. “Not even for a whistle could I endure it. That is the trouble with all manly occupations—hunting, fishing, policemaning. Walk, walk, walk. And for what?”

Mike interrupted. “Do you know where this house is we’re going to?”

“Dorp’s, I presume.”

“Texas here doesn’t know the address.”

“Hundred and Twelfth Street.” Ruprecht scowled at Johnnie. “But you’ve been there. You just came from there.”

“He came from Texas,” Mike gurgled. “He didn’t think to notice the address.”

“I’d sure have been in a spot if you hadn’t been at Edna’s,” Johnnie admitted. “I have to get back there. Trudy snitched my dog tags.”

Rupe laughed admiringly. “Little devil.”

“She did it so I’d come back. Though I don’t know why she wanted me to come back particularly.”

“You’ll find women are like that,” Rupe stated. “Especially Trudy.”

They came over the crest on to Broadway.

“Gurk is somewhere about,” Rupe said. “Perhaps a restaurant. If I could whistle now—”

Johnnie said, “I can.” He did.

“There—up the block.” Rupe took his hands away from his ears and pointed. The others followed his lead to the long black car. Gurk slept at the wheel.

“Don’t the cops ever run him in for all-night parking?” Mike inquired.

“He has a host of good yarns. Try him sometime.” Rupe rapped on the window. Gurk blinked, scrambled out to open the rear door. When he eyed Mike’s uniform, his face retired.

“We are not arrested, my good man,” Rupe said. He gestured his guests ahead of him, followed. “To Dorp’s.”

The car turned, cut across the tracks, headed uptown. It slowed to the corner of 112th Street. It stopped. A red lantern and a saw horse barred entrance. Two men held a drill. When they pressed it into the pavement it made an awful racket.

“This isn’t the street,” Johnnie said.

“Yes, it is.”

Mike volunteered, “You don’t know how fast the N.Y.C. street department can pop up, Johnnie. No use trying the other end. It’s blocked too.”

“Have to walk,” Johnnie stated. He opened the door on his side. “It won’t wear you down, Rupe. It’s only half way down the block. You ought to be in the Army.”

“That is a matter of opinion,” Rupe said. “The Army takes the negative. I’m glad we brought refreshments. Dorp never has anything fit to drink. Stingy old coot.” He patted the top hat slant on his head. “Lead on, my hearties.”

They struck out for the house. It showed no light save the dimmed bulb in the lower hall. The throne room upstairs was completely blacked out. Johnnie had one foot on the steps when the voice from the gloom hit him.

“I wouldn’t go in there, soldier,” it said.

“Why not?” he demanded.

“I’m telling you.”

Mike put in from the darkness below, “Are you the watchman?”

“Yeah, I’m the watchman,” the man answered truculently.

“Watchman, what of the night?” Ruprecht mused.

“And I got my orders no one’s to go in.”

“Listen, you,” Mike began.

“Wait, Mike.” Ruprecht spoke up brightly. “It’s the wrong house.” He tittered. He nudged Johnnie with a champagne bottle. His voice was tighter than it had been. “You picked the wrong house.” He nudged again. “It’s the one next door we want.”

Johnnie played up. “That’s right.” He’d forgotten. They were supposed to go in next door. He didn’t know how Rupe knew it. “Sorry, Bud. We picked the wrong house. They all look alike in the dark.”

“You mean that one?” The man jerked a thumb down the street.

“You aren’t going to tell me we can’t go in there?” Johnnie blustered. “I got a key. I’m supposed to go there.”

Rupe interrupted quickly. “That’s where I live. With my Aunt Gretchen. Good old girl, Gretchen. She always puts up soldiers on leave. She isn’t home this evening. Aunt Bertha—she lives in Brooklyn—poor Aunt Bertha had another attack. But Aunt Gretchen told us to stay here just the same. Even gave us her key.” He dangled the bottle. “Come on, men.”

He lurched forward. Johnnie caught Mike’s arm. “Come on.”

Mike hung back. “What’s up?”

“We got the wrong house,” Johnnie said loud. He pushed Mike forward. “Come on.” Into his ear he undertoned, “We can get in this other way. Don’t say anything.”

Rupe was climbing to the other door. “Where’s the key, Johnnie? You didn’t lose the key, did you?” He lowered his voice. “You really have the key?”

Johnnie stuck it in the lock. “Hurry up, Mike.” Rupe was already in the hall. Johnnie pushed Mike, followed, closed the door tight. The three stood together in the black darkness. “We can’t show a light,” he warned.

“We’d better,” Rupe said soberly. “Whoever put that fellow out there, he wasn’t fooling. And he wasn’t a watchman. We want him to think we’re legal.”

“I don’t get it,” Mike complained.

Rupe turned on a lamp. “Dorp uses both of these houses. But he does keep an old woman here for a front. Her name’s Gretchen. She isn’t here tonight. She’s always sent to her sister’s in Brooklyn when anything big is happening. That varlet couldn’t know that Gretchen hasn’t a nephew who sleeps in occasionally. Only we’d better get to Dorp’s fast just in case he decides to report anything suspicious.” He took a blackout torch from his pocket, turned it on the stairs. “Let’s go up.”

“What is happening here?” Mike demanded.

“Didn’t Johnnie tell you?”

“I still think he’s ribbing,” Mike said. “All he told me was that a guy had been murdered.”

“Murdered?” Rupe swirled too fast. Johnnie grabbed the banisters as Mike pitched into his backlegs.

“I told you not to tell him,” Johnnie complained to the policeman.

“I forgot.”

Rupe demanded. “Who is murdered?”

Johnnie spoke reluctantly. “Theo. The little punk who used to open the door.”

Ruprecht scowled. “Why Theo?”

“It was supposed to be Rudolph.”

“I knew it!” He started taking the steps, two at a time. The others scrambled after him in the darkness. There was no letup in pace until they reached the fourth floor attic room.

Mike panted, “You mean there actually was a murder?”

“Sure there was,” Rupe retorted. “I’m surprised there hasn’t been a massacre.” He pulled on the overhead light here. The windows were painted over black. He replaced his torch in his pocket, set the bottles of champagne on a rickety table.

The wall was solidly papered. It hadn’t occurred to Johnnie before he departed; he didn’t know the trick of getting back in. He asked, “Shall we pound on the wall for Trudy?”

“Are you crazy?” Rupe demanded. “Someone else might be in there. No one must know I’m here.”

“But they’re waiting for you.”

“In good time, soldier, all in good time. I don’t want to be in the jug for a murder.”

“Did you do it?” Mike asked quick.

“He wasn’t here.” Johnnie was disgusted. “He was with that Conga mouse.”

Rupe was counting off bow-knots of wall paper. “But they’d like to pin it on me. And who has a better motive?” The wall began its slow angled swing.

“Will you look at that?” Mike gazed in awed admiration.

Rupe stepped back. “You take a squint, Johnnie?”

Johnnie advanced cautiously to the opening. He stepped through. The light had been left burning; the room was empty. He advised over his shoulder. “Coast’s clear.”

Ruprecht left the wall ajar as he followed. The befuddled Mike sniffed at the room. “Not very fancy,” he commented.

“What do you expect in a guardhouse—pink ribbons?” Johnnie tried the door. Locked. He turned around. “What do we do now? Wait for Trudy?”

Mike came to life. “What’s the matter with you dopes? There’s been a murder here.” He rattled the knob. “It’ll bust easy.”

“There was a guard outside earlier,” Johnnie warned.

“Listen. I’m the law.” Mike stuck out his chest. “New York’s finest.”

“Off duty.”

“In emergencies, always on duty. Murder’s an emergency.” He put his shoulder to the door.

“Wait!” Rupe cried.

“What for?”

“Why don’t we take off the hinges? Then we can sneak up on them. No use bang-banging around. They might scram.”

Johnnie examined the hinges. “This looks like a pipe.”

“It is,” Rupe agreed. “But it wasn’t the first time I did it. Trudy’s oiled it since then.”

While Johnnie removed the pins, the others steadied the door.

“Now if you’ll just smash the lock with your gun, copper, we can put it back together again and barge in and out easily.”

“It’s a pleasure,” said Mike. He unbuckled his holster.

“Don’t shoot!” Rupe warned. “Here.” He took the gun, bumped it against the catch.

“One shot would do it,” Mike complained. “And not so much noise either.”

“You don’t know how gun shy this house is,” Rupe said solemnly. “There. That’s enough.”

Johnnie hadn’t thought about that one. Somebody must have heard the shot that killed Theo. He hadn’t. And he’d been practically overhead. There were silencers. He’d read about them. But neither Magda’s nor Trudy’s gun was fitted. That cut out two who might have bumped off the underling. Not even those dames would be unsmart enough to walk up to someone in this house and say, “Let me take your gun with the silencer on it. I want to kill a guy.”

The door was back on its hinges. “Now where’s the Stiff?” Mike wanted to know.

“Wait,” Rupe called out again.

“What do you want us to do now?” Mike demanded. “Take up the floor?”

Ruprecht contemplated the rough boards. “A wonderful idea. Unfortunately it wouldn’t let you down into the reception room.” He glowed. “To be sure, if sweet Magda were in bed—” He shook his head dolefully. “She wouldn’t be. You’d better use the staircase. You fellows are going downstairs.”

“What about you?” Johnnie wanted to know.

“I’ll make my entrance without fanfare. Later. You try to get word to Trudy, in private, that I’m here. I want a confab with her before I walk into Dorp’s parlor. If you can’t reach her, sneak back and let me know.”

“And if I can’t sneak back?”

“I will wait a reasonable length of time, soldier. After that I shall do it another way.”

“You aren’t going to run out?”

Ruprecht smiled. “I give you my word. I shall see it through. In fact it will give me great pleasure to see this through.”

Johnnie had to take his word for it. He didn’t exactly disbelieve Ruprecht’s word. But if there should be any more shooting, any loud shooting, Rupe would be a sucker if he didn’t take a powder. He and Mike were the only two who couldn’t possibly have held the silent gun. Johnnie said, “Okay.” He led Mike down the stairs quietly, pushed aside the trick closet wall.

Mike gasped. “Jeeze. It’s like a film scarer, isn’t it?”

“Wait’ll you meet the folks,” Johnnie whispered. He wished that he had had the cop with him when those S.S. guards were jerking around. Together they could have cleaned up the lot. Until Magda pulled the gun on both of them. He warned, “Keep quiet as you can, Mike. I want you to see the body before we walk in on them. This is the room here.” Cautiously he made a light. “The body’s over here—”

Mike asked, “Where?” His voice was flat.

Johnnie’s eyes gazed hopelessly at the floor by the window. He said weakly, “It’s gone.”

Mike’s face was hard-boiled. “Gone where?”

“It was here. Rudolph was in the closet, he didn’t see it. I found it when I came over by the window. It was lying right down there on its face and the suitcase leaning against it. Like this—” He flung down on the rug, sprawled out. “With the hat like this—” He wrinkled his nose, stood up. “That floor smells funny.”

“Blood?” Avid interest returned to the cop. He knelt, sniffed the boards beyond the rug. He stood up and brushed his knees. “Floor polish.” His voice was flatter.

“Well, he was here,” Johnnie insisted. “He sure was here.” He didn’t take to the I-was-right-about-this-all-the-time look on Mike’s face. He scowled. “Those dirty Nazis have hidden him away. So they wouldn’t have to report to the police. I knew they didn’t mean to call the police.” He suddenly saw it plain. “They didn’t want Ruprecht here at all. They just wanted to get me out of the house so they could get rid of the body. Well, I’ll show them.”

He didn’t wait for Mike; he pounded out of that room and down the stairs. How much noise he was making didn’t matter. Not that it was much on the carpet. When he reached the throne room he flung open the doors belligerently.

They were all there, all looking pleased as hell over their trick. Rudolph was on the throne with the cigarette holder sticking out of his mouth. Magda and Ferenz were rallying round. Dorp and Ottomkopf sat on a squashy red velvet couch with Trudy between them. Janssen alone wasn’t amused. He was gazing at Magda from afar and picking up the cigarette butts as they wafted down.

Johnnie spoke up loud. “Where’s Theo?”

“Are you loose again?” Magda sighed. That was before her eyes popped like buttons. “The police,” she breathed.

Each one of the others slowly, apprehensively turned eyes on Mike stepping up beside Johnnie. Every mouth rounded. “Police!”

Magda was the first to stop behaving like a spook. She came off the throne smiling, her hand outstretched. “How clever of you, Johnnie, to know just what we needed.”

He didn’t get it. This was such a complete nip-up, it dashed the temper out of him. It was pretty much of a surprise to most of the others too.