Get a Load of This (19 page)

     “You can take me home now if you like,” she said. “I mean, there is still plenty of time to find someone else. If this is your first night in New York, perhaps you want that sort of thing.”
     “You know you're being awfully superior,” Jason said severely. “I'm enjoying myself enormously. I wish you would tell me where we are going.”
     “Oh, you'll see in a moment, we're just there.”
     The cab drew up outside a tall building that looked like a private dwelling place. Jason paid off the taxi and together Miss Gellert and he ascended the crescent-shaped steps to the front door.
     She rang the bell and after a moment's delay the door was opened by a short, dapper little man wearing heavy hornrimmed spectacles. “Why, hello, Mary,” he said, “aren't you very late?”
     He stood on one side to let them in.
     Miss Gellert said, “This is Mr. Howard Jason.”
     The little man shook Jason's hand cordially.
     “Dr. Kaufman works harder than any other man in New York,” Miss Gellert said to Jason. “May we come in for a few moments, Doctor?”
     “Why, sure, come in. Take your things off, young man.”
     Miss Gellert said seriously: “I want him to see everything. Will you take him round? You will find he is very intelligent.”
     Jason stood frowning slightly. “Could you explain what all this is about?” he asked politely. “I really believe I could appreciate things so much better if I knew.”
     Dr. Kaufman took his arm. “Of course,” he said; “Mary is so impulsive. She brings all sorts of people here. I am very grateful to her, but sometimes I feel she brings them on false pretences.”
     Miss Gellert said: “Take him round, Doctor, then we can have a talk. I'll wait in the library for you both.”
     Kaufman said: “Will you be patient? I want to show you the work I am trying to do. Will you come?”
     Jason said, “Why certainly,” and went with him, feeling somehow that the little man was too sincere to be refused.
     Miss Gellert waited for over an hour before Jason came into the library. He came alone. She was sitting by a big fire, very serene and relaxed. Jason came and sat down opposite her. In the firelight he looked very pale.
     She said: “I can't say I'm sorry. You see, unless I do this sort of thing, I can't get people to take any interest.”
     Jason said, a little bitterly, “I suppose he wants money?”
     “Don't you think he deserves to have it? Would you like to do what he's doing?”
     Jason took out his wallet and pulled out some notes. He put them on the table. “I think I'll go now,” he said, getting to his feet.
     She touched the money with a long slender finger. “It is an awful lot, isn't it?” she said. “Thank you so much. I'm afraid I've completely spoilt your evening.”
     Jason looked at her. “How the devil did you get mixed up with such foulness?” he asked abruptly.
     She looked into the fire. “I guess it was because someone I loved a lot died of it. Dr. Kaufman is the only man here who really understands its cure. But it costs so much. He can't make progress without money. So I help him as much as I can.”
     Jason said: “I see. I think you're very clever. Do you always take people from places like nightclubs?”
     “You mean I'm taking an unfair advantage?”
     “It does make one think how much nicer it is in a crowded restaurant than it must be in those wards.” Jason wandered over to the door. “Perhaps you'll give the doctor my best wishes.”
     She got up and went with him to the front door. “I have spoilt your evening, haven't I?” she said.
     He looked down at her thoughtfully. “You know you completely deceived me. I thought it was just a gag about your ethics.”
     She said again, “I'm awfully sorry.”
     He smiled. “I suppose you'll take that other guy some other night?”
     She nodded. “Oh yes, he has a lot of money too.”
     He opened the front door and looked up and down the street. “Well, good night,” he said, and almost ran down the steps.
     A taxi slid out of the shadows and the driver leant forward to jerk open the door. “Where to, boss?” he asked.
     Jason looked back over his shoulder, but Miss Gellert had shut the door. He looked up at the tall building and frowned.
     Then he turned his attention to the driver. “Listen,” he said, “I've only been in New York a few hours. I've got a room about ten floors up which seems to me completely isolated from any earthly contacts. I want to find company. What do you suggest?”
     The driver thought for a moment. “The Gaucho Club is a good spot for a pick-up, boss,” he said. “If you're wanting someone to sleep with, I'd say that's your spot.”
     Jason raised his hat. “Never mind,” he said politely, “I think I'll walk.”

     
     You know how it is when you keep sticking your thumb up, and the cars go on by, just like you weren't there. You think, “O.K., I'll let this flock through and wait for a truck.” Then you pound away on your dogs, hoping for a truck to show up, but it doesn't.
     That's the way it took Hienie. Not that Hienie was a bym, he wasn't. Fate, or what ever you like to call a lousy break, had dealt him one from the bottom of the deck. He and Johnny Frost had got together to do a job. It was simple enough. Hienie had seen to all the details and that meant something. Hienie was a smart guy when it came to details.
     All they had to do was to walk into a cafe, show the guy behind the counter a gun, open his cash-box, and beat it. Hienie knew this guy took the cash round to the bank every Friday. During the week the cash-box got good and full. The guy was crazy to have a system like that, but then, Hienie and Frost lived on crazy guys.
     You'd think you couldn't go wrong on a simple set-up like that—you couldn't, but Frost got it into his nut that you could. He started making plans and getting smart, until Hienie got sore.
     Hienie kept telling him all they had to do was to blow in, show the gun, and collect. You didn't have to hang around checking the time when the coppers would be around. You didn't have to turn your clothes inside out, so you wouldn't be spotted, or do any of the other cock-eyed ideas Frost kept squawking about.
     Frost wouldn't do the job the easy way. They were still arguing when they set off by road to Jefferson City. Finally, Hienie got mad, and that's where he came unstuck. Frost was a big guy and he owned the car. He listened to Hienie for a couple of minutes and then hoofed him out of the car. “O.K., smart guy,” he said, letting the clutch in with a bang, “go bowl a hoop. I'll handle the job myself.”
     Hienie was so mad that he let him go. He had a childlike faith that he could collect a lift from one of the many glittering cars that continually roared past. He'd get a lift to Jefferson City and beat that hop head to it.
     It was only after the sixteenth car had ignored his frantic signals that doubt began to cloud his optimism. After the twentieth car had choked him with dust, he gave up and decided to wait for a truck.
     He sat by the roadside and lit a cigarette. He cursed Frost viciously, groping far back in his loose mind for suitable terms. If ever he caught up with that guy he'd give it to him. He'd walk right up to him and say, “Hello, pal,” and then he'd let him have it in the guts. He'd stand over him and watch the heel croak.
     As he sat there brooding, he noticed a car approaching in the distance. One glance made him get to his feet hurriedly. It wasn't a private car; from where he was standing it looked mighty like a hearse.
     “This guy ain't passin' me,” Hienie thought, moving out into the middle of the highway. “He'll have to run me down first.” He began waving his arms violently.
     As the car approached, he could see a small red cross painted on the front, and for a moment he almost stepped aside; but the thought of Frost made him stand firm.
     The ambulance made as if to swerve, then slid to a standstill. A little guy in a white coat, and wearing a peaked cap, rolled down the window and looked at Hienie with interest.
     “What's bitin' you, pal?” he asked, resting two powerful fists on the wheel.
     Hienie took off his hat and blotted his face. “Jeeze! I was just givin' up when you blew along.”
     The little guy shook his head. “You can't ride on this wagon,” he said. “Don't get me wrong. I'd give you a lift, sure thing, but I'm on duty. I gotta patient.”
     Hienie didn't care if he'd got elephants on board. He was going to ride now he'd succeeded in stopping something on four wheels.
     “Forget it,” he said sharply, his thin wolfish face going hard. “There's room in the cab. I don't want to get inside.”
     The little guy shook his head again. “Can't do it, pal. I'd lose my job. Some other guy will be along soon. I gotta get on. Maybe you'd like a smoke or somethin'?”
     Hienie stepped round the ambulance, jerked open the offside door and got into the cab. He slammed the door shut.
     “I'm ridin',” he said briefly. “Get goin'.”
     The little guy twisted round in his seat, so that he faced Hienie. “Don't let's have any trouble; I may be a little guy, but I'm tough. Beat it, before I start somethin'.”
     Hienie could handle this sort of talk. He reached behind him and pulled his gun. He showed it to the little guy. “I don't have to be tough,” he said.
     The little guy's eyes popped. “Jeeze!”
     “That's it,” Hienie said, putting the gun away. “Let's go.”
     The little guy engaged the gears. “I'm going to lose my job,” he said regretfully.
     Hienie leant back against the well-cushioned seat. “You ain't losin' nothin',” he said. “You get me to Jefferson and you'll make yourself somethin'.”
     They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Hienie said: “You ain't worryin' about the rod, are you, pal?”
     The little guy gave him a quick glance. “Sure, I ain't,” he said hastily.
     “You're O.K. with me,” Hienie assured him, “it's just the way I've got when guys get tough. I just gotta pull a rod. Maybe it's goin' to get me into a little trouble one day.”
     “I ain't so tough,” the little guy said rather bitterly. “I oughtta've taken a chance and hung one on you.”
     Hienie grinned. “You're all right. You're a wise guy. It ain't healthy to tap a guy with a rod. Take it from me, pal, I know.” He fumbled for a cigarette and offered one.
     When they had lit up, Hienie said, “What's your name, pal?”
     The little guy looked at him suspiciously. “Joe,” he said, with obvious reluctance.
     Hienie grinned. “A swell name for a swell guy, huh?”
     Joe didn't say anything, he kept on driving. Hienie watched the road for a while, then he shut his eyes and dozed. It was hot inside the cab, so he let himself drift for a while. Then curiosity made him ask lazily, “Say, Joe, what's wrong with the patient?”
     “Aw, she's nuts,” Joe said, leaning forward to switch on the side lights.
     Hienie sat up. “You mean she's crazy?”
     “Yeah.”
     “That's tough. Gee! I'd hate to be a nut.”
     Joe shrugged. “When you're crazy, you don't mind so much. It's goin' crazy that's bad.”
     Hienie thought this over. “Yeah,” he said, “I guess that's right.” He lit another cigarette. “Crazy guys give me the heebies.”
     “You get used to it,” Joe said, rolling down the window to spit into the dark. “It's the tough ones I don't fancy.”
     “Is she tough?” Hienie asked with morbid curiosity.
     Joe hesitated. “Yeah,” he said; “I ain't allowed to talk about the patients.” He slowed down as they approached a gas station. “Keep outta sight, pal,” he said, “I got my job to think about.”
     Hienie sat back. “I could use a drink. Yes, sir, right now I could use a lotta drink.”
     Joe's face brightened. “I could get you somethin' if you've the dough.”
     “The right stuff. I don't want any gut-rot. I want the right stuff.”
     “Sure, the liquor's the McCoy. The guy distils it himself right here. It'll cost you a couple of bucks, but it's panther's spit all right.”
     Hienie dug into his trouser pocket and found two dollars. “Get it,” he said briefly.
     Joe climbed out of the cab and walked stiffly into the office. He came out after a few minutes, carrying a gallon-size earthenware jar. Hienie reached forward and took it from him.
     Joe stood watching. Hienie drew the cork with his teeth and carefully raised the jar to his mouth. He took a long pull and blinked. He coughed, and began to rub his coat front with the palm of his hand. “Yeah,” he said, when he could get his breath, “it's the McCoy all right.”
     Joe shifted about, anxiously eyeing the bottle, but Hienie paid no attention. He took another long pull from the jar, then hurriedly handed it to Joe. “My Gawd,” he gasped, “it went down as far as my boots that time.”
     Joe wrapped himself round the jar lovingly and kept it glued to his mouth.
     After almost a minute, Hienie leant forward. “Hey!” he shouted sharply. “Take it easy. Hey! Lay off, will you?”
     Joe removed himself from the jar with a little shudder. His eyes swam mistily as he handed it back. “Pretty nice,” he said; “that's swell poison.”
     Hienie looked at him admiringly. “You certainly can take it,” he said.
     Joe wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I can take it all right, but it sortta sneaks up on me and bonk—I'm out.”
     Hienie wasn't listening, he was busy with the jar again.
     Joe said, when he was through: “I'm just goin' to look at my patient, and then we'll dust.”
     “Sure, give her a drink—it's tough bein' a nut.”
     Joe shook his head. “She ain't to have any liquor. That's her trouble—too much liquor,” he said, going round to the back of the ambulance. When he had paid for the gasoline he climbed into the cab.
     Hienie said, “She O.K.?”
     “Yeah, she's asleep,” Joe returned, starting the engine.
     Hienie offered him the jar. “Just one for the road,” he said.
     Joe grabbed the jar and took a long pull. He handed it back with a deep sigh. “Pal,” he said, blowing out his leathery cheeks, “this is certainly a great little evenin'.”
     After a couple more drinks, Hienie felt so merry he began to sing at the top of his voice.
     Joe said hastily, “You can't do that on this wagon.”
     Hienie continued to bellow, counting his time by waving the jar to and fro.
     Joe got scared and brought the ambulance to a standstill. “For Pete's sake,” he said urgently, “pipe down. You'll wake my patient up and maybe get the cops lookin' us over.”
     Hienie roared with laughter. “Forget it, Joe,” he said, taking another pull from the jar. “Don't be a crab. I bet that nutty dame just loves my voice. Come on, you sing too.”
     Joe said angrily: “Cut it out. No girl's goin' to like the row you're makin'—not even a crazy one.”
     Hienie stiffened. His smile slipped into a heavy scowl. “Yeah? Is that so? O.K., you soft-bellied little runt, we'll ask her and see.”
     Joe shook his head. “Like hell we will,” he said firmly. “You pipe down, or I'll get tough.”
     Hienie reached out and slid back the small panel that divided the ambulance from the cab. He put his head through the foot-square aperture and blinked into the faintly lit ambulance. He touched an electric switch by his hand, and a brilliant light went on.
     Joe said furiously: “Lay off. You can't do this.”
     Hienie ignored him. He looked curiously at the bunk that ran the length of the ambulance. Someone was lying there covered by a rug.
     He leant further forward. “Hey!” he called. “Let's have a look at you.”
     The figure stirred and then slowly sat up. Although the applejack had given him plenty of courage, he felt a little chill run through him as the woman moved. He had always had a fear of things he couldn't understand. Madness scared him more than most things. He got a hell of a shock when she sat up. He had vaguely pictured her to be old and horrible to look at, only because he had associated madness with decay.
     This dame was something to look at. She was not only a beauty, but she had everything. Her colouring, the sleepy passion in her eyes, the small, full, heavily rouged lips and the soft, golden lustre of her hair. Her beauty hit Hienie like a physical blow. He peered at her, his jaw a little slack and his bloodshot eyes glassy. “For God's sake!” he said in a low tone.
     She looked at him, a puzzled interested expression on her face. “Who are you?” she asked, then, hurriedly: “Please get me out of here.”
     Hienie was so confused that he jerked back and slammed the panel shut. Feebly, he pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his damp hands.
     Joe said angrily: “What the hell do you think you're doin'?”
     Hienie looked at him. “Wait a moment. That dame's no more crazy than I am. What's the game?”
     Joe began to stutter. “I don't know what you're talkin' about. I tell you she's not only nutty but she's goddam dangerous. You can't go by how a dame looks. It ain't her looks that're wrong, it's her mind—get it?”
     Hienie nodded. “Yeah, I get it,” he said, sliding his hand behind him and pulling his gun. “Listen, pal, how come you're travellin' alone with this dame?”
     Joe hastily shifted his eyes., “I'm givin' you a lift. That's all that'll interest you.” He reached forward to start the engine, but Hienie rammed his gun into his ribs.
     “Hold it, lug,” he said viciously. “Spill it, or I'll start somethin'.”
     Joe shifted uneasily. “The nurse oughtta've come along, but she wanted to make the journey on the train with her boy friend. So I fixed it for them. It's against regulations, but they knew the girl was safe with me.”
     Hienie sneered. “What a yarn! Say, I could have cooked up a better tale in half the time. I'm on to you, hophead. This ain't no nut wagon. You ain't no nut hand—this is a snatch, ain't that right?”
     Joe's eyes bulged. “You're crazy.”
     “That's what you think. I'm goin' to see what cherry-pie's got to say.” He slid back the panel.
     The girl still sat on the bunk. She was looking scared now. As soon as she saw him she said frantically: “Let me out! Please! I'm not mad! He keeps saying I am, but I'm not. Don't you believe me—do I look mad?”
     Hienie shook his head. “Keep your pants on, sister,” he said soothingly. “I just want a little talk with this guy here, an' then you'll be O.K. Take it easy. It ain't goin' to be long.” He slid back the panel and looked at Joe. “So what?” he said.
     Joe flapped his hands. “Don't listen to her,” he said feverishly. “Don't I keep tellin' you she's nuts?”
     Hienie sneered. “A dish as hot as that ain't bugs,” he said. “Come on, lug, spill it. This dame ain't crazy. Who is she? Who're you workin' for?”
     Joe clutched his head. Sweat ran down his face, and his eyes rolled feverishly. “For Gawd's sake don't do anythin',” he gasped. “I tell you she's pullin' a fast one. Don't let her get away. I'll lose my job.”
     “Who is she?”
     “Marie van Drutten. The banker's daughter.”
     “Listen, I've heard of that guy. He never had a nutty daughter, but he's got a load of dough. What's the ransom, buddy?”
     “There ain't any ransom,” Joe said earnestly. “Van Drutten's hushing this up. He don't want anyone to know she's gone nuts. He's given out she's in Europe or some place. Now do you get it?”