The Long Wait (28 page)

I smiled at her and let it go at that. I said, “Once you said you had a picture to show me. Did you ever find it?”

Without answering she got up and left the room. She was back a couple of minutes later with a wrinkled display-size photo that had evidently been stored away for quite a while. She handed it to me and sat down.

There was a fresh pencil mark around the girl she wanted me to see. Her name was Harlan. She was incorporated. I had seen a later picture of her not so long ago. She was a waitress who worked in the ABC diner outside of town and had committed suicide because her roommate had been killed. Before she came to Lyncastle she had worked a con game in New York. She had served time.

Now I knew. Or at least had a good idea.

I handed the picture back to Venus. “Mind if I use your phone?”

“Go ahead.”

It was getting so I could remember the numbers now. I tried Logan's office first. He wasn't there. Wendy wasn't home and Nick still wasn't at the station. The next number was the police station and somebody answered. I asked for Lindsey and he was put on.

“Captain Lindsey speaking.”

“Johnny, friend.”

His breath got loud in my ear. “Go ahead.” He said it through his teeth.

“What about that letter?”

“Nothing. It doesn't fit. I found the envelope and that was all. Not a thing anyplace.”

“It's around.”

His voice was a hoarse rasp. “McBride, I think you're stalling. You won't get out of this town alive if you are.”

“I've been out and back already, Lindsey. Now listen to me. Servo's girl is loose somewhere. You know her?”

“Yeah, Troy Avalard. Why?”

“She's on somebody's kill list, Lindsey. Pick her up. I think she may be the key to this thing. Pass the word around and see what you can do.”

He said something dirty under his breath. “You gave me the answer to that one last night, McBride. Suppose I do give orders. Somebody else'll change 'em.”

“You're not scared, are you?” I asked easily.

Lindsey was silent a moment, then I heard another muttered curse. “I'll look for her,” he said.

“Fine. Call the bank and see if she made any large withdrawal. I'll call you back in a few minutes.”

I slapped the phone back, chain-lit another cigarette and went over to the window for a quick look down the street. There was a truck parked behind the Ford and a light green sedan behind that. A postman was sorting letters as he went up the steps to a house across the street. A kid came by on a bicycle. A kid in a sleeveless sweater was ambling along checking the house numbers.

I closed the curtains and went back to the phone. Lindsey had made his check. Troy Avalard hadn't made any withdrawals at all. The cashier had given him the information and was instructed to call Lindsey back if she appeared.

Venus was taking it all in silently, sitting there in her chair playing with the tassel on her dress. “You're big trouble, man. Real big. Things are getting ready to blow, aren't they?”

“Soon. It should have happened five years ago. It would have if a guy named Robert Minnow hadn't been killed.” I stopped and looked at her. “You'll be here right along?”

“I'm not going anyplace.”

“If Servo's boys come back ...”

She smiled and reached down behind the cushions. There was a gun in her hand. A long-barreled revolver that wasn't a woman's gun at all. You could poke your finger down the hole in the end. “They won't bother me, man. Not again they won't, not even Servo himself.”

“Where'd the rod come from?”

“My husband's. I told you I used to be married to a cop, remember? He taught me how to use it.”

“What happened to him?”

She jerked with a short laugh. “I shot him.”

The gun went back behind the cushions and she took me out to the door. Like I said, it was just the same as the first time. The tassel was dangling there and I pulled it.

Not quite like the last time. It was a different dress. Just the top fell off. She said, “Skin is still skin to you, isn't it?”

I agreed that it was and closed the door while she was picking her gimmick up from the floor.

The street was empty and I climbed in the Ford. While 1 angled back to town I switched on the radio and picked up the local station. It was right on the half hour and the news commentator was giving a recap of daily events. It was too late to get the details, but in brief, he said that John McBride, alias George Wilson, had not been apprehended and was somewhere at large in the eity. All efforts were being made to locate him and an appeal had been made by the City Council and the mayor for the citizenry to join in the search. A description followed that was a good one and changed my mind about breezing through town like I was.

Sometimes a crook is safest standing in front of a cop. Then nobody suspects he's a crook. Everybody expected me to be in hiding so when I went in the dry goods store nobody bothered looking at me twice. I had left my shirt and jacket in the car, walked in in my T shirt and asked the lady behind the counter for a work shirt, size 16, a size 44 leather jacket and a couple of handkerchiefs. To make it look good I bought a pair of blue jeans and a pair of brogans.

She rang up the sale on the register, smiled and thanked me, then went back to her paper. There was another picture of me on the front page. A little smaller in this edition. I changed clothes in the cubicle in the back, threw my other stuff in the rear of the car and started toward town again.

That's when I saw Wendy. She was coming out of a beauty parlor, on the next corner with a package under her arm, glancing down the street for a bus. I slammed on the brakes and yelled to her. She came across the street on the run and got in beside me.

“That where you've been all day?”

I didn't mean to make it sound like it did. She looked hurt and shook her head. “I just stopped in to make an appointment. I was on the way home.”

I could have seen that if I had looked first. She was still dark around the roots even if her hair did look custom-tailored. I looked some more and grinned. Wendy was an okay chick. I tapped the package. “For me?”

“For you.” She did that trick with her mouth again and opened the top of it. “Want me to tell you about it or read it off?”

“Tell me.”

“Tucker lives in a big house in the suburbs. He has a bar in the cellar with a game room and a poolroom. There's a two-car garage behind the house with a new Caddy in one side. He uses the other when he's working.”

“Nice going on a cop's salary.”

“He isn't the only one. Most of the police work a shakedown racket on the side. Tucker does better than most though.”

“He's in with Servo?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “At one time Tucker was a few grand in the hole to one of the big boys. It's been said that Servo had the debt canceled. I have statements from seven people who saw him lose thousands in one of the joints in town.”

“Try again. He can always say he won the money on another wheel.”

Wendy fingered through the tops of the papers in the pack. “He hires a man to make out his income tax. The guy talked with a little persuasion. He said that Tucker declares everything.”

“He's smart. Capone should have thought of it. What else?” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat. “I went back to see Mrs. Minnow. The last time she didn't tell us everything. Her husband had Lenny Servo in court several times.”

“I know. It was in the papers.”

“The important part wasn't. Bob Minnow had evidence that would have broken the racket down ... or at least put Servo where he would have talked. Twice, on the night before he went to court, somebody broke into his office and rifled the safe. Each time his evidence disappeared.”

“Tucker,” I said. “Damn it, Tucker would have had the way and the means.” I slammed my fist against the wheel and cursed some more.

Her voice sounded like it came out of a fog. “Not Tucker,” she said.

I stared at her. “Who?”

She leafed out a brand-new poster of me, the kind you see in post offices. She had circled the paragraph that said I was wanted for jobs that involved robbing safes. I was an expert at it.

And not so long ago I had sat across a table from Logan telling him about the safe I had pulled from the dump heap and used to experiment on.

“You,” she said. It was soft, but it cracked like a pistol shot. Her eyes were dark with distrust, yet she sat there waiting for me to explain it away.

I didn't bother. “That's a lot of work for one day, kid.” She pulled back as if I had taken a swipe at her. There were sudden tears in her eyes and I wondered what the hell I could have said that would do that to her.

I said, “Oh, quit getting sore at me.” I reached out and pulled her under my arm, burying my face in her hair. She smelled pretty. “I'm just a born lout, Wendy. Always forgetting my manners. I should've said thanks.”

My thumb tilted her chin up until her mouth was under mine. I felt her lips quivering, then her hand went around my head and held me there until I finished apologizing.

The lines she had around her eyes when I first met her were all gone. Coming out of the hardness was a new kind of beauty she let me see only briefly before she pulled back in her shell.

I hit the starter button. “I'm going into town. You want to come along?”

“No ... I have things to do.” She tapped the package.

“What shall I do with this stuff?”

“Leave it in the house. Sure you don't want to come?”

She shook her head and opened the door. When she was out she stood there holding it open, her eyes going over me curiously. “You're dressed funny.”

“Disguise.”

“Oh.” She grinned at me. “You'll be careful?”

“Does it matter?”

She nodded and there were tears in her eyes again. A bus came along and she ran for it, leaving me wondering what it was I said that time.

PHILBERT'S was bustling with activity. Signs pasted on the windows blared “Anniversary Sale!” in fat red letters with the usual business about how prices had been slashed in half. I got behind a stout woman with a shopping bag under her arm and went in after her. I looked around, but as far as the customers were concerned, I was just another one of the crowd. I bought another work shirt just to have something to carry around, made my way through the aisles while I looked over the hardware, then slipped into one of the phone booths along the wall.

The operator got me my number and I could see the guy in the back answer the call. He had a habitual stoop that made his glasses seem to be ready to fall off his nose and he wasn't too polite when he barked hello.

I said, “I know how you can pick up a quick hundred, feller.”

They always get polite when you use that approach even if they think it might be a wrong number. There's always the chance that it isn't. I watched him look around quickly then muffle the mouthpiece. “Who ... you know who this is?” He sounded hopeful.

“Yep. You're in the printing end at Philbert's.”

“Why, that's right!” Now he was surprised. He turned his back to me and I couldn't see his face any longer.

“Can you get off for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

“Swell, go outside and start walking south. You got that?”

“Well, yes ... but ...”

I hung up and watched him. First he stared at the phone licking his lips, then must have decided that nothing could happen to him in the daytime. He waved over a young fellow and went in the back. He came out with a coat over his arm and threaded through the mob.

I stayed right behind him.

Outside, he took a look around, shrugged and started walking south. Slowly. When he was directly opposite the Ford I touched his arm and said, “In the car.”

The guy twitched, shot me a look over his shoulder, then let his mouth fall apart. I said, “In the car,” again and he opened the door without a sound and shimmied over against the other side. He was popeyed with fright and couldn't swallow his own spit.

It was about time somebody recognized me.

I was getting better at the game. I stuck a cigarette in the comer of my mouth, lit it and leered at him. “You can make that hundred if you feel like it, friend. You can start yapping and just make it rough on yourself. What do you think?”

He got his spit swallowed, but he still couldn't speak. His head made a jerky nod and nothing else. “Five years ago. Do you remember that long?”

Another swallow and another nod.

“Bob Minnow was the D. A. then. Before he was killed he went to your place and left something there. Remember that?”

“I ... wasn't there,” he managed to say. “Lee ... he mentioned it. I remember ... now.”

“What did he leave?”

This time he shook his head nervously “I ... dunno. He left something. Lee gave him ... a ticket. Maybe it's still in the files.”

“Can you find it?”

“Not ... without the ticket. I already ... looked.”

The cigarette almost fell out of my hand. I could feel my eyes turning into nasty little slits that blurred everything I looked at. “Who told you to look?”

He was flat against the door, his eyes wide, showing white all around. “Just the other day ... Logan, that reporter. He came in and ... asked me the same thing.”

So Logan had figured it out first. He remembered before I did that Philbert's did photograph and photostat work. Nice going, Logan.