Too Darn Hot (17 page)

Heart, don’t melt.

TWENTY-FOUR

C
laire answered on one ring.

“They haven’t called,” she said.

“That’s not right. It’s been eight hours. Somethin musta happened by now. Lemme see what I can dig up.”

I looked at Johnny as I hung up.

“She doesn’t know anything?”

“Right.”

“Want me to make some calls?”

“I thought we agreed not to mix in each other’s cases.”

“That’s true. Why don’t you try whatever it is you’d do now if I wasn’t here. If that doesn’t pan out, I’ll see what I can dig up.”

“That’d be swell, Johnny.”

Zach appeared and did an S around Johnny’s legs, leaving a trail of hair on the bottom of his trousers. I was glad he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he leaned down, picked Zach up, and cradled him like a baby, scratching his stomach.

I reached William Ladd at the St. Moritz.

“I was callin to see how it went today.”

“It didn’t. Well, not yet.”

“Ya didn’t make the drop?”

“Oh, yes. I did that right on time. Then I came back here to wait. But as of this point no one has picked it up.”

“They probably eyeballed the cops.”

“The police have decided to wait until morning . . . well, there’s one FBI agent on site . . . and if no one picks up the ransom, he will.”

“And then what’s their plan?”

“I don’t think they have one. At least they haven’t told me. I think you were right, Miss Quick. Claire Turner should have gone.”

This was a big admission for someone like Ladd. And I had no desire to rub it in. “The kidnappers may try to contact Claire again, give her strict orders.”

“Do you think they’ve killed Charles?” His voice shook on the last words.

“Cause of the foul-up?” I didn’t wanna make it all his fault. “I’ve got no way of knowin, but I doubt it.”

He didn’t ask me why I doubted it cause he wanted to believe I was right.

“So you’re saying if the kidnappers don’t pick up the money by morning, they’ll get in touch with Claire and we can try again?” he said.

“That’s what I hope will happen.”

“And now we just wait?”

“I’m afraid so. Why don’t ya try to get some sleep, Mr. Ladd.”

“Ahh. There’s no way I can do that.”

I understood. “Okay. Could ya call me if anything happens?”

“Yes. Yes, I will, Miss Quick.”

We were back to the formalities. “Good. And I’ll call you if they contact Claire.”

“Yes.”

“And Mr. Ladd, you’ll keep the cops and the FBI outta this?”

“I will. I promise.”

“All right. That’s good. Let’s not tie up our lines now in case anybody is tryin to get us.”

“Yes. Miss Quick?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Yer welcome.”

After I hung up, Johnny said, “He thanked you?”

I nodded.

“That must make you feel good.” He smiled and put Zach down.

“It would if I didn’t feel so sorry for him.”

Johnny came over to me and gently pulled me to him. “You’re a special girl, Faye.”

He leaned down and kissed me and that’s when the phone rang. It startled us both. I hated to leave his arms but I knew I had to.

It was Claire.

“They called.”

“Who?”

“The kidnappers.”

“What’d they say?”

“They said I hadn’t followed orders but they were gonna give me one more chance. No cops. No one else deliverin the dough.”

“When and where?”

“They said they’d be callin back with those instructions.”

“Okay. This is good news, Claire.”

“What should I do now?”

“Go to sleep.”

“I’ll never be able to sleep.”

“Get in bed and try. They won’t call back tonight.”

“Ya sure?”

“Yes.” I wasn’t sure at all. But if I was wrong, I’d admit it.

After we hung up Johnny said, “They didn’t tell her where or when, did they?”

“No.”

“I’m glad. If they had that all set up, I’d be nervous about Charlie’s chances.”

“I know what ya mean.”

“I’m gonna go, Faye.”

“Okay.” I was disappointed that he was leaving so soon. But it was late and tomorrow might be a big day. I walked him to the door.

“Don’t forget to call back Ladd.”

“I won’t.”

We kissed good night. It was long and loving and made me feel good all over.

When he was gone, I went right to the phone and called William Ladd with the skinny.

First thing Monday morning I called St. Vincent’s Hospital. Dolores was no longer in intensive care. She wasn’t out of the woods, though she’d been moved to a room. She couldn’t have visitors, but that might change later in the day.

Claire hadn’t heard anything more and neither had William Ladd. He said the cops seemed suspicious, but he thought he’d convinced them he was telling the truth.

When I left my apartment, it seemed strange not to see Dolores sweeping. I didn’t like the way it made me feel. I walked to the subway and went uptown to my office.

I stopped at Stork’s for smokes and all the boys were there, lounging around, shooting the breeze, flipping through magazines:
Collier’s
and
Life,
sheets on the nags. Fat Freddy was marking up the racing form, per usual.

“Hey, hey, Faye, Faye,” Larry the Loser said.

“You’re in fine fettle,” I said. Even a smile from him was scarce as hen’s teeth.

Fat Freddy said, “The dirty dog inherited a nice bundle of long green.”

“It ain’t that much,” Larry said.

“It’s enough to lend a friend a Benjamin.”

“I ain’t lendin ya a Donald Duck, Freddy.”

“Can ya believe that, Faye? Some friend.”

“He’s just smart,” Blackshirt Bob said.

“Who’d ya inherit from, Larry?”

“My aunt Elsa. Haven’t seen the broad in years and she up and leaves me a nice piece a change.”

“Good for you,” I said.

“I’m gonna move outta my SRO, get a real apartment.”

Stork said, “I wouldn’t be too quick. You’ll probably lose it all before the day’s over.”

He wasn’t called Larry the Loser for nothing.

“Whaddaya say, Larry? Ya gonna gamble it away?”

“Nah. I’ve changed my ways, Faye.”

“No kiddin. How’d ya do that?”
Once a gambler always a
gambler
was my thinking. I’d lived it. My pop might be working at the theater for now, but it was only a matter of time before he got in a game, bet on the ponies, tossed the dice.

Larry wasn’t interested in the track; his downfall was poker.

Blackshirt Bob said, “He got religion.”

They all laughed except Larry.

“That true?” I asked.

Larry looked sheepish, like he’d boosted an old lady. “I took a meal at the Salvation Army. Ya gotta listen to the preacher afterwards. So these mugs think that makes me a knee bender.”

“It’s nothin to be ashamed of if it’s true, Larry.”

“It ain’t true.”

“What’s true is the guy’s got a lot of do re mi now,” Stork said.

It wasn’t like I saw a blinding light or a major revelation smacked me in the puss. More like seeing something from a different angle.

“What’s the matter, Faye?” Bob asked.

“Hmmm?”

“Yer starin at nothin.”

“I am? Yeah, I guess I am. Stork, gimme a pack a Camels. I gotta make tracks.”

“You okay?”

“Sure.”

“On the level?”

“You bet. I gotta get to work, is all.”

“Okay. Cigs and the papers?”

“Just one today.” I paid him and grabbed the
Post
from the rack. “So long, boys. Don’t lose that money, Larry.”

“Ya can count on it, Faye.”

Outside, you could feel the temp rising, like a pot of boiling water getting the flame turned up. I ankled around the corner to my office. Birdie was typing away.

“As I live and breathe, a boss returns.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I hung my straw hat on the coatrack.

“Seems like I ain’t seen ya in a dog’s age.”

“Ya saw me Saturday. This is Monday. Same as always we had a Sunday in between.”

“Yeah. I know. And what a Sunday it was.”

I didn’t ask her what she meant cause I knew it was about Pete and I wasn’t in the mood.

“Any calls?”

She shook her head, sulking.

“Pete do somethin heinous?” What a softie I was.

“Heinous?”

“Yeah. Heinous.”

“Is that got to do with sex?”

“Nah. It means somethin really foul.”

“I guess it depends how ya look at it.”

“How do
you
look at it?”

“Heinous.”

“What happened?”

“We were supposed to spend a nice Sunday together, the park, a movie, dinner. All like that.”

“And instead?”

“Sunday mornin he wouldn’t get outta bed. Pulled the covers up to his chin. He said he had the flu.”

“I suppose ya hadda wait on him all day, too.”

“Yeah. That was the heinous part.”

“Sorry, Bird.”

“Thanks. What’s up with the case?” She lit a cig.

I filled her in best as I could.

“So what yer sayin is that it’s not much different from Saturday.”

“Guess I am. Except for the meetin with Barbara Swanson.”

“From what ya said that didn’t tell ya too much, did it?”

“It told me that lies and deceit are more a part of the picture than I already thought. And I gotta look at the whole case from a new angle.”

“What kinda angle is that?”

“I was in Stork’s and Larry the Loser was talkin . . . ah, it doesn’t matter what he was sayin . . . but he inherited some lettuce and he thinks he’s a changed palooka.”

“So?”

“People think they get money, their life is gonna change . . . they’re gonna have natural curly hair instead a straight.”

“Larry’s got a new hairdo?”

“Never mind, Bird.”

“Yer losin me here.”

“That’s cause I don’t know what I’m talkin about.”

“You feel all right?”

“I’m fine. Somethin hit me at Stork’s but I don’t know what exactly. It’s gone now.”

“Lemme know when it comes back.”

“I will. Somethin else happened Sunday, too. Ya know Dolores, my neighbor across the hall?”

“Yeah, sure. The sweeper lady.”

“Somebody shot her. She’s in the hospital.” I got my Camels from my pocketbook.

“Was she burgled?”

“No. That’s why I think there’s a connection.”

“To what?”

“Me. The case.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I don’t, either. I mean, I can’t figure out the thing or who coulda done it, but I’m as sure as death and taxes there’s a link. Maybe it was meant as a warnin for me.” I opened the pack and shook one out.

“That’s some warnin.”

“I’ll never forgive myself if that turns out to be true.”

“Ah, Faye, even if it is, it’s not yer fault.”

“Maybe I oughta get outta this line of work.”

“You kiddin?”

I thought for a few seconds. “Yeah.”

“That’s a relief.”

“I didn’t know ya cared about me so much, Bird.”

“Who said I did? I’d be out of a job.”

“Yer all heart.”

The phone rang and Birdie answered.

“Who’s callin, please? Just a minute.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “It’s the Turner dame.”

I stubbed out my cig in Birdie’s ashtray and went into my office.

“Hello.”

“Faye?”

“Yeah.”

“They called again.”

“And?”

“They wanna do it today.”

“Where and when?”

“Grand Central at two P.M.”

So now they were trying a crowded place instead of a secluded one. It didn’t make much sense, though. The cops could so easily be watching.

“Where in Grand Central?”

“Nowhere.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“I gotta catch a train there?”

“To where?”

“I go get my shoes shined, say the magic words, and the shoe shine boy gives me a piece a paper that tells me what train.”

“What’re the magic words?”

“Has Charlie gone home?”

I didn’t like the sound of this at all, but I didn’t let on to Claire. “So that’s it. Ya take the train on the paper? How d’ya know where to get off?”

“I go to the bar car and say the same thing to the bartender. He gives me another piece of paper, which tells me where I should get off.”

“Then what happens?”

“I leave the bag a money in the ladies’ room at the station and take a train back to the city.”

The ladies’ room? Either the destination was remote or there was a broad involved.

“Okay. We gotta meet Ladd and get the dough. I’ll call him now and ring ya back.”

I hung up and dialed the hotel. When the clerk answered, I gave Ladd’s room number. He answered quickly and I filled him in. I also made him swear again. No cops. No FBI.

We agreed to meet at Horn and Hardart at Forty-fifth and Fifth at one o’clock. I called Claire back and told her.

If I got there before the other two, I’d have time for a slice of apple pie and cheddar. Maybe two.

TWENTY-FIVE

O
h, be still my heart. How I loved the Automat. For lotsa reasons. No waitresses to make me feel like a worm. Nice little rectangular windows so I could see the food I’d be eating. The style of the place, with its geometric designs repeating over and over. And the brightness that made it so much nicer than eating in a dark, stuffy dining room.

The tables were round, the chairs wooden. The floor was tile with all these intersecting circles. In the center of the big room a large column shot off in four sections when it reached the flashy ceiling.

The food was always fresh and cost practically nothing. But that wasn’t the only thing you could say about the food. It was good. And no one made a better cup a joe.

Some people might not like that anyone could sit at any table at Horn and Hardart. This meant you might find yourself with strangers. That never bothered me. I’d met some pretty interesting characters that way. The elite
didn’t
meet to eat here. H&H was a place meant for the hoi polloi.

I went over to the wall where the shiny little chrome-edged windows were lined up in their sections: SOUPS; SANDWICHES; HOT ENTRÉES; VEGETABLES; DESSERTS; CAKES AND PIES. I headed for the pies cause I wouldn’t have time for a whole meal like macaroni and cheese, baked beans, or creamed spinach, some of my favorites.

With the war on, the dessert entries had been narrowed down, and the pie section had gotten pretty sparse. But they still had my favorite. I put in two coins, turned the handle, and listened for the click, which was the door unlocking so I could open it wide and take out my apple pie with the cheddar cheese on top. I got a cup a java, too, and carried it and the pie to an empty table near one of the big windows.

While I ate my pie, I looked around. The Automat was filled with soldiers, sailors, and marines. They were everywhere these days. And so young. That’s how they looked to me anyway. Maybe the older fellas had families already and spent their leaves with them. Maybe New York City had a special pull for fledglings outta the nest for the first time. You could still see the fuzz on some of their faces. I knew we hadda fight this war, but why did kids hafta do it? On the other hand they were the most able.

I gazed out the window and saw more boys in uniform, lots of them with girls on their arms. It had become a world of instant love and heartbreak.

These kids would meet one night, marry the next day, and be off to war the day after that. Lots of em never came back. Their brides sometimes had babies, and those could be sad stories. It happened cause everybody was lonely, and lots of the tenderfeet shipping out were scared.

I’d volunteered at the USO center when I could, and those boys were homesick and in need of company, eager to yak and grateful for distraction.

News on the radio focused on where the bombs fell, what ground was taken. Same stuff in the papers, along with shining a spotlight on the brass handing out grand strategies. No one ever talked about the boys. Except Ernie Pyle.

It occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t the best place to hold our meet. Any stranger could throw a monkey wrench into our plans by sitting with us. Had my desire for the pie clouded my judgment?

In fact, a guy was making a beeline for my table at that moment. I began making strange noises and talking to myself. I flapped my hands and made like I was deep in conversation as I faced an empty chair.

The mug took a sharp right turn and headed for another table. I looked at my wristwatch and saw that I’d better get going on my pie.

I hadda put on my loony act two more times to keep the table free of strangers until the others arrived. I finished my pie and a busboy came and took my empty plate. I breathed a sigh of relief. My pie eating would now be my little secret.

As I was lighting up, Claire came in.

“I’ll be right with ya, Faye. I’m gonna get some coffee.”

I watched her cross the room in her white dress and white pumps, the clack of her shoes on the tile floor sounding almost like tap dancing.

William Ladd came in carrying what coulda passed for a doctor’s bag. He saw me right away, came directly to the table, sat, shed his panama hat, and parked it on an empty chair. He set the bag on the floor next to him.

“Why isn’t she here?”

Hello to you, too. “She
is
here. She’s gettin some coffee.”

“How can she drink coffee at a time like this?”

I picked mine up and took a swallow. “Easy.”

He drummed his fingers on the table.

“I hope I haven’t made a mistake about meetin here. Anyone could sit with us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t ya ever been to an Automat before?”

“No. We don’t have such places in Rhode Island.”

You woulda thought it was a burlesque house. “The tables aren’t reserved.”

“That’s uncivilized.”

“That’s the way it is.”

He reached inside his jacket for a leather case, which I guess was for daytime, plucked out a cig, then lit it with a matching lighter.

When Claire arrived with her coffee, Mr. Ladd stood and they exchanged cold hellos.

I said, “We’re doin one thing here, so let’s do it and get out.”

“But there are things to discuss, Miss Quick.”

“Yeah? What things?”

“Well, exactly what Miss Turner is going to do?”

“We know what. She’s told us.”

“But what if something goes wrong?”

“What could go wrong?” Claire said.

“There’s something about handing over that money and not getting Charles in exchange right away that I don’t like.”

“What choice do we have, Mr. Ladd?”

“Did they say when they’d release the boy?”

“After they got the money,” Claire said.

“But how long after and where?”

“They didn’t say that.”

“You should have gotten a time and location.” He banged the side of his fist on the table.

Claire looked like she might cry.

“Mr. Ladd, yer not bein fair. Claire did the best she could. She wasn’t the one in control of the chinfest they had. The kidnappers told her as much as they wanted and no more.”

“I suppose.”

“What
I
want to know is if ya kept to yer promise ya wouldn’t get the law involved,” I said.

“Of course. A promise is a promise.”

“What about last time?” Claire asked.

“I didn’t promise.”

I felt like I was with two first-graders. “The bag with the money is on the floor between ya. When ya get up, Claire, take it. We’ll leave one at a time. Someone mighta followed ya here.”

“But when will we know if they’ve gotten the money?” Ladd said.

“When Claire gets back, she’ll go right to her apartment, won’t ya Claire?”

“Sure.”

“And she’ll wait for the call that’ll tell her where we can find Charlie,” I said.

“I’ll stay there until I hear. Ya wanna wait with me, Mr. Ladd?”

“That might be a very good idea. Why don’t you call me at my hotel when you get back.”

I guess Claire’d gone beyond caring if Mr. Ladd saw her apartment or what he’d think of it.

“You still have my number, don’t you?”

“Natch.”

“How do I know you won’t just run off with the money?”

“This is too much,” Claire said and stood up. “I don’t need this kinda insult.” Under her powder and rouge, spots of angry color were breaking through.

“Sit down,” I said.

She did.

“Mr. Ladd, Claire wants Charlie back as much as you do.”

Looking down at the table he said, “I’m sorry.”

After a moment Claire put her hand on top of his. “Mr. Ladd, you have to understand that we’re both on the same side.”

He nodded.

“All I want is to get Charlie home.”

“Home?”

“Let’s not get goin on this now, okay?” I said. “Are you two gonna survive waitin together?”

“Would you come and wait with us, Miss Quick.”

Oh, brother. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Claire said. “When I get back, I’ll call you, too.”

“Swell.” I didn’t feature a night like that, but she was my client. An evening with the two of them? “I might not be in my office when ya call but I’ll be checkin in with my secretary. So let her know yer home.”

“Will do.”

“I think we’d better skedaddle now. Claire, pick up the case and walk out.”

She did. We watched her go.

“You trust her, Miss Quick?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know anything about the girl.”

“Ya know as much as ya seemed to know about Barbara Swanson.”

“What are you implying?”

“She’s not engaged to yer son.”

“How do you know?”

“I met her. Charlie hasn’t written to her for months. If anyone’s doin any lyin around here it’s you.”

“It’s always been assumed they’d marry.”

“Assumed by you and Mrs. Ladd, but not by Charlie. So why’d ya say that the other day?”

“I didn’t want Claire . . . I wanted to . . . I don’t know.”

I knew. “Try to be nice to Claire when ya go to her place to wait, will ya?”

“Yes. Of course I will.”

“Good. Ya can leave now.”

He got up from the table. “Thank you for your help, Miss Quick.”

“You’re welcome. See ya later.”

He tipped his hat.

I waited about ten minutes, thought about having another piece of pie, put it out of my mind, and left.

Outside in the Mojave Desert I looked for a phone booth. I knew I’d find one if I walked over to Grand Central, but I didn’t want to take that route. One of the snatchers might be eyeballing me and think I was following Claire.

I beat a path down to Forty-second and crossed Fifth Avenue. The library, with its guardian lions, was tempting. If anything could get the taste of that meeting outta my mouth, I’d find it in there. I was pretty soft on the place. Many a day I’d go to the research section, latch on to a book or a bunch of them about my current obsession, and read the afternoon away. Like last year when Montgomery’s victory at El Alamein got me exploring northern Africa. By the end of the day I was Faye of Arabia.

No time now for indulging myself. I kept walking until I got to Times Square, where I found a telephone booth. I asked the operator for the number for St. Vincent’s Hospital. When I was connected, I went through a rigmarole until I got somebody who could answer my question. Dolores could now have visitors for a brief time.

Then I rang my office.

“Claire’s gonna call when she’s home so I’ll be checkin in with ya.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why will Claire be callin to tell ya she’s home?”

“Bird, it’s too long to explain. If I don’t get ya before ya leave, I’ll give ya a jingle at home, if that’s all right with you.”

“It’s hunky-dory. Where ya goin now?”

“I’m gonna see Dolores.”

“Oh, that poor thing. Tell her I’m prayin for her.”

“I didn’t know ya prayed.”

“I don’t, but people like to hear that.”

“That’s the most hypocritical thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”

“Then ya haven’t been listenin. Talk to ya later.”

I walked to the subway and took a train down to Fourteenth Street.

Dolores was on three. As hospital floors go it was pretty quiet. I went to the nurses’ station.

“I’m here to see Dolores Sidney.”

“Are you a member of the family?” She looked like she’d eaten a bar of Lux soap. I hadda be on my toes with this one.

“Daughter,” I said.

She looked at a page in a file. “It only mentions sons here.”

“There’s a reason for that,” I said.

“Yes?”

Oh, no. “I was adopted.”

“What difference would that make?”

“Not
by
Mrs. Sidney, from her.”

She frowned underneath her winged white cap. “Are you saying Mrs. Sidney gave you up for adoption?”

“Yes. That’s right.” Why hadn’t I said granddaughter?

“All right. Then why are you here?”

“I just found out she’s my mother and I need to see her.”

“That might frighten her. I think you’d better go.”

“But . . .”

She narrowed the slits of her eyes further. “Don’t make me come out from behind this desk. You won’t like it.”

I believed her. And left. I went to the end of the hall and turned out of her sight. Then I waited. Eventually, the Warden would have to leave her post.

An hour later she hadn’t. I hadda try something. So I crossed the hall, jammed myself against the wall, and crawled. As I passed under the nurses’ station I was glad I had no more stockings cause they’d be ruined. I hadn’t had stockings for a dog’s age. I guess I was trying to count my blessings. When I got to the end of the station it was make-or-break time.

If the Witch had glanced to her left she woulda caught me. I slithered like an eel, hugging the wall and feeling like a character from
Freaks.
I’d seen the movie when I was fifteen and never quite gotten over it.

But she didn’t see me and I was on my way. The trouble was I didn’t know Dolores’s room number. At the first open door I called in a hoarse whisper: “Dolores?”

Nothing. I called again. Nothing. It occurred to me I might not even be on the right side of the hall. Couldn’t be helped. I snaked along to the next room and went through the same routine. The next and the next.

At the last door I was feeling skunked. Schneidered. I knew crossing the hall was probably gonna do me in. So I tried one last time.

“Dolores.”

“I’m in here, bubele.”