Kiss Your Elbow (19 page)

A
T A QUARTER TO FOUR
Maggie was in her apartment and I was downstairs in the hallway inside her front door. Through the glass I could see the line of mailboxes with the buzzers you press and then wait for the tenant to push the clicker in his apartment to release the front door. I got set beside the stairway by the basement where it was darkest. There were no lights in the hall and what light there was came from Fifth Avenue through the glass in the door. I tested it first from the front. You couldn't see much in the back if you were out by the buzzers and mailboxes.

Oh, yes, it had all worked out very cleverly. Our little scene in front of the company went off without a hitch except for the fact that when I started to play drop the handkerchief with the page from Burns Mantle's
Best Plays,
ever helpful Ted Kent picked it up before Maggie could get to it, but she snatched it away from him and got on with the plot. I made it quite clear to everyone that I had to go immediately after rehearsal to a fitting at the tailor's for my new dinner jacket. Of course, if anyone had thought real hard, he would have realized
that my chances of getting a dinner jacket built in only a few days were less than negligible, but I had to take a chance on that. Maggie came through with flying colors and everyone else picked up all the cues I had hoped they would. It ended up with Maggie promising to go home and get the page from the engagement book for me and bring it to the rehearsal at Frobisher's apartment that evening.

The minute the rehearsal was over I beat it out the door, leaving Maggie and Ted and Margo and Jenny and Libby and the rest of the cast still on the stage. I took up my post in Maggie's hall and Maggie didn't even see me when she came in and took the elevator up to her apartment about twenty minutes later.

The one thing that worried me was that Maggie would be all alone. However, I was determined Bobby wouldn't get past the front hall. I had a pretty good idea of what he must look like and there wouldn't be many people coming in this time of day who didn't live in the apartment house. He certainly wouldn't have a key. If I had guessed right he wouldn't know that Maggie had anything to do with my chase until this afternoon. So he would have to push the buzzer. No little Jan lived here.

He might do the old trick of pushing someone else's buzzer to get the door open, but I figured that any guy that pushed would be a likely candidate and I'd have a little talk with each one before he got in the elevator or set foot on the stairs under which I was hidden. When I spotted him for sure, it was just a question of sticking my gun in his ribs and leading him to the nearest cop
and then on to smarty-pants Heffran. If he wanted to get tough, the customary thing is, I believe, a slap across the chops with the pistol. If he brought any of his playmates with him—old Jo-Jo the rubber, or Peters, the dancing boy—so much the better. I'd shoot them if I had to and explain it later. Humphrey Bogart was a sissy compared to me. I was taking no chances this time.

I stood there and smoked like a chimney trying to keep calm. Each time I lit a cigarette I ducked my head behind the stairs so the flare of the lighter wouldn't be seen from the door. After fifteen of the longest minutes on record, the mailman came and unlocked all the little boxes and put some letters in them and locked them up again and left. I waited some more.

After another couple of years, a dumpy middle-aged woman in a squashed brown hat and a squashed brown coat appeared on the other side of the glass and pushed a buzzer. Almost immediately the clicker clicked. She opened the door and instead of taking the elevator walked up the stairs. When she reached the second floor I could hear her being greeted and a door slam. In a few minutes another woman, dressed for the street, walked down the stairs, opened the door, unlocked the mailbox, took out a letter, locked the box again and walked off. There didn't seem to be much doubt that she had been relieved by the babysitter and was off to wherever it is that women go at four o'clock in the afternoon.

There was another lull during which I looked at my watch every second on the second. My palms kept dripping and I kept wiping them off on my trousers. Another
woman appeared on the other side of the door and pushed a button. Presently the clicker clicked and she came in and started walking up the stairs, too. I should look into this babysitting racket…maybe I'd been wasting my time in the theater.

Suddenly the door behind me opened and a man came out of the basement. He was silhouetted against the light and I couldn't see his face. I jumped back and grabbed on to the gun in my pocket. He stood facing me. Very carefully he reached inside the door he had just come out of and switched off the basement light. I could see his face better. He wore a hat and coat. He closed the door behind him. And then I recognized him. It was the building superintendent. He knew who I was, too, and smiled.

“How you been?” he said.

“Oh, fine, fine,” I replied. I certainly didn't want to get into a great conversation with him at this point. “I'm waiting for Mrs. Lanson.”

“She gotten locked in any more bathrooms?” He gave me an enormous wink.

“Not that I know of.” I tried to keep one eye on the front door.

“Well, take care of yourself,” he said and went on upstairs.

I mopped my hands and forehead.

Then I had an idea. What if Mr. LeB. was waiting outside to see who came in. Maybe he'd seen me, but I didn't think my timing could be that far off. I was the first one to leave the Lyceum. Anyway, I might as well have a look around.

I started toward the door, but before my hand touched the doorknob, the clicker started clicking. It startled me like an electric shock. I sprang back and almost yelled. It clicked again. There was no one by the buzzers and I hadn't taken my eyes from them even while I was talking to the superintendent.

I heard a door open upstairs and someone call down.

“Who is it?” I didn't say anything. The voice called again. “Is that you, Madge?” It was a woman's voice. She started walking down the stairs still calling “What do you want?” getting more and more peevish as she got near the bottom. She came all the way down and looked out through the door then turned around and saw me standing there looking as foolish as I felt. “Did you ring my buzzer just now, 3-D?” she demanded. I said I hadn't. “Well, how long have you been here?” I told her a few minutes. “Then did you see anyone ring my buzzer?”

“There was a woman who did ring for someone about a minute ago, but she went upstairs.”

“Did she have white hair with a green dress?”

“I didn't notice her face.”

“Well, you can remember if she had on a green dress and coat, can't you?”

“No, I think she had on a fur coat and her dress was a sort of red.” I couldn't remember it clearly. The light was behind people coming in the door.

“You're sure it wasn't a green dress? Madge might have worn her fur coat but she told me definitely she
would wear her green. You're sure?” I tried to remember exactly. Yes, I was sure.

“I'm sure it was a red dress. I noticed it when she started up the stairs. Sort of a funny color red.”

“Oh bother,” said the woman. “I'm going to speak to the superintendent. You never can tell who's running around this place. I never did approve of those buzzers anyway. They ought to have a doorman…the rent they charge.” She grumbled to herself all the way back to the elevator and up and out of sight. I went back to my post and lit another cigarette. I was getting disgusted with myself. I thought I'd been so smart—that it couldn't fail, but it looked like it had.

And then, of course, it hit me. The original slow-take kid, that's me. I was the smart one…old J. Edgar Briscoe. I didn't even have sense enough to realize what had happened. It was like the Life Saver business at the bath. The funny-color red dress and the clicking buzzer—but for the wrong apartment. I finally caught on and dashed upstairs. What a fool I'd been. By God if something had happened to Maggie…

I was completely bushed when I made the fifth floor and pounded on Maggie's door. There was no answer. I pounded again and again no answer. I still had a key so I unlocked the door and kicked it open. All the blinds were down and I couldn't see anything. I called out for Maggie but nothing happened. She couldn't have left. I had the pistol in my hand and very carefully entered the foyer. I kept calling…still no answer.

He must have been hiding in the coat closet in the
foyer. He simply waited for me to walk past, then sneaked up behind me and with an umbrella from the closet neatly sliced me across the wrist of the hand holding the pistol. While I was doubled up in pain, he picked up the gun.

In the dimness, I first saw the gleam of the muzzle. No matter how dark it is you can always see a gun that's pointed at you. Through the red mist of pain from my wrist, I gradually made out what was behind the gun. A mink coat open at the front now showing a dirty magenta dress—unmistakably Ernie's creation. A thin white face with a red square mouth. Black eyes shining in the faint reflected light. A mink hat with black hair showing underneath. One gloved hand still holding the umbrella—the other the gun. It was Libby's stage-struck friend, square-mouth Margo—the gal I'd just given five dollars to a few hours earlier. It was also, I realized now, too late, the guy I'd been looking high and low for—Mr. Bobby LeBranch.

W
ITHOUT TAKING HIS EYES
or gun from me, he reached behind him and closed the front door very softly, then nodded me toward the living room.

“Okay, Puss. In there. Get going.” The pistol moved closer.

“What have you done with Maggie?” He didn't say anything. Pistol or no pistol I ran into the living room.

Maggie was lying on the couch. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing heavily. I knelt down beside her and gently felt the back of her head. She moaned softly as I touched the bump that was forming. I whirled around. He was standing in the door across the room, watching, smiling.

“By God, if you've…”

“Just what will you do, Timmy?” It gave me gooseflesh to hear him call me Timmy now. It was futile to threaten him. I was helpless. I knew it and he knew it. The whiskey decanter was on the table by the couch. I poured some into a glass and forced a few drops between Maggie's lips. She coughed and rolled her face away from me. I began to rub her wrists. I didn't know what
I was going to do, but whatever it was—and I had to do something—I didn't want Maggie unconscious when I did it. But what? Oh, I knew what you were supposed to do in these scenes. You kept the murderer talking and then somebody came in and killed him and then the curtain came down and you had your bows and then you took your makeup off and went over to Sardi's. Well, it looked like the curtain was going to come down, all right, but I was going to be in no condition to take any bows. Keep him talking. For what? Who was going to come?

There might be one chance, at least for Maggie, if I didn't louse it up like I had everything else. He hadn't killed us so far. He was waiting for something. Maybe for Maggie to come around so she would know when he killed us. It would be more fun that way—if he did wait…. Oh, Maggie darling, open your eyes. Please, dear God, make Maggie open her eyes…then maybe I could rush him so he'd get me, but maybe I could tangle him up enough so she could get away…. You can keep moving for a few seconds with slugs in you, with luck I could…Oh, Maggie, open your eyes…Maggie…Maggie…

He was still standing there, smiling.

“What are you going to do to us?” Keep him talking…say something…say anything till Maggie comes to…Maggie…Maggie…Please…

“What do you think, Timmy?”

“But Maggie doesn't know anything about this. Let her go. She doesn't understand what the whole thing is about. Anyway, it was all an accident. Nellie died accidentally. The police said so…the papers…”

“But it wasn't an accident, Timmy. I had it all planned. I meant to kill her.”

“But why? What did she ever do to you?” Maggie's head was rocking back and forth. How long, oh Lord, how long?

“She wasn't a nice person, Timmy. Not at all. Much better dead. She got greedy. Oh, I didn't mind a little money now and then for buying my clothes and arranging my social engagements.” There was a shorter and uglier way of saying that. “But she kept wanting more money all the time. Lots more, and when I wouldn't give her more she started threatening me. She said she could have me put in prison for draft evasion,” he simpered. “That and other things. Now I couldn't have that, could I? You see my point, don't you, Timmy? As soon as someone knows something about you that you don't want other people to know and they start getting greedy, the only thing to do is get rid of them. And you know something about me now that I don't want other people, strangers that is, to know. So, you see, there's nothing else for me to do. You do understand, don't you, Timmy, dear?” He was loving this. Telling me how clever he'd been…almost squirming with delight. Maggie, for God's sake wake up. He was moving slowly toward us now. “I should have thought that after old Kendall suffered a, shall we say, unfortunate accident you would have had sense enough to stop bothering me….

“Accident…?”

“I didn't mean to kill him, really…just impair his
vision slightly…. But it was just as well, because he would probably have tried to blackmail me, too, just like Nellie, and just like you if I let you go…. I thought he was too drunk, the old sot, but he'd recognized me at the funeral when you introduced us, and he found me in your room that night I went to get Nellie's engagement book. Really, what a disgusting place you live in. Surely with your looks you could have done better than that.” I felt as though I were listening to a case history in one of those medical books, the kind they have to describe in Latin.

Maggie groaned. “Ah, at last. It looks like the beautiful Maggie is joining us. I didn't mean to hit her, but she got annoying and I had to…before she'd give up that page. Most unladylike.” He could even laugh at this.

Maggie opened her eyes. She gasped when she saw me bending over her.

“Oh, Timmy darling. I thought you'd never get here. It was that woman, Margo. You didn't tell me it would be a woman.”

“It isn't.” I indicated the dark figure standing across from us. “It's our old friend Bobby LeBranch.” She stared at him.

“But…but…”

“Quite convincing, too, wasn't I, Maggie? If I do say so myself.” The purring voice started to take on an edge. “Shall we go into the bedroom now, if you don't mind? So much more touching, I think, and such lovely pictures for the tabloids. Publicity is
so
important, don't
you agree?” We didn't move. His voice became a rasp. “Get in there.”

“Oh, Timmy,” said Maggie, “what's he going to do?”

“Don't worry. It'll be all right.”

“Really very simple, Maggie dear.” The purr was back again.
“Crime passionel,
I believe it's called. A psychoneurotic veteran and beautiful showgirl, that's what you'll be called, you know. Both discovered locked in each other's arms like Paolo and Francesca. Even death won't part you.” He moved toward us. “Now get going.”

I helped Maggie to her feet. Going through the door into the bedroom I might be able to throw her to one side and make a dive for him.

“Sorry you won't be able to make the opening night of your little play, but then we can't have everything, can we? Perhaps I'll get the understudy job. Thank you so much, Tim. And now that you two will be unavailable maybe I'll get to play a part, but which shall I do, yours, Maggie, or yours, Tim? That's really quite a problem.” We backed toward the bedroom door. I moved a bit so Maggie would go first, but he had anticipated that.

“No dear, let the gentleman go first. And, Timmy, be sure to stand by the bed in plain sight. I do want to make it as nearly simultaneous as possible.”

“You can't get away with this, LeBranch.”

“Oh, I think so. Who's to tell? Not you, nor Maggie. Certainly not Nellie or Kendall. Who, then? Libby?” He came nearer. “Ted? You didn't suspect, so why should they? Which reminds me.” He reached into the pocket
of his coat and pulled out a crumpled five-dollar bill and tossed it to me. I didn't try to catch it. It fell to the floor and stayed there. “I really insist on paying for my ticket after all.”

“The police will be here any minute,” said Maggie.

“Together with the U. S. Marines, no doubt. No, Maggie dear, I'm sure we won't be disturbed.”

Maggie and I had backed up until we were stopped by the bed. He reached over and snapped on the bedside radio. He had planned this scene very thoroughly. We waited forever until the radio warmed up and music blared out. He raised his voice.

“So helpful, don't you think, for covering the sound of shots.” He was panting with excitement. “Really, radio is a wonderful invention. What a shame they aren't playing the
Liebestod.
Now then, if you two will just get on the bed. You know, I really feel quite like Petronius Arbiter. What a pity we haven't time to explore the possibilities of this piquant scene more fully. However, there isn't much time.”

Maggie looked at me, I nodded and she got on the bed. There wasn't anything else for me to do but try to rush him. Maggie would have sense enough to run…at least I hoped she would.

“I think it would be most unwise of you to be heroic at this point, Timmy dear.” He had to shout over the radio. “I shall get you both no matter what and it will just be unnecessarily messy. Now don't be difficult, Pet, I want to arrange you nice and pretty…at least as good a job as I did on Nellie. Still I'm afraid it would be
impossible to make this look like an accident. However, I promise when they find you, you will go down in history as the romance of the ages.”

This was the time. That miracle hadn't happened. Now or never. I got ready to jump. Well, I thought to myself, here goes nothing….

“Robert, put down that gun.”
It was a shout from the doorway. LeBranch quickly glanced over his shoulder. Backed by the superintendent, Mr. Frobisher was standing in the doorway. He had a gun in his hand and it was pointed at Le Branch.

“Go away. It's too late,” yelled LeBranch. “Go away.” He took one step nearer us. “Get on that bed,” he shouted at me. His voice broke into a scream.
“Get on that bed!”
I didn't move.

“Robert. Put down that gun. We can work this out some way.”

“It's too late for that.” His fingers whitened at the knuckles. The pistol snout was pointed at my head. Frobisher moved toward us.

“Robert!”

I sprang at him.

The two explosions came almost together. A blinding flash…a force like a kick in the face…then blackness. That's all I remember.

 

It was quiet when I opened my eyes. Water was dripping on my face. A sharp ache seemed to be bursting my skull. I struggled to sit up. There were lights on. More blew up in my head.

“Lie still,” said Maggie softly. “Lie still. You'll be all right, darling.”

“But where is he? What happened?” She looked past me toward the floor. I rolled over on my side and squinted over the edge of the bed.

I had seen it before. In England, in France, in Germany, huddled figures holding their dead in their arms, rocking back and forth in stunned agony, crooning a wordless song…comforting a body past comfort.

Mr. Frobisher raised his head and looked at us. Tears were streaming from his browless eyes. His face was gray as death. Mechanically he was stroking the head he held in his lap. The ridiculous fur hat had fallen to one side and with it the black wig. The white face, the glistening, bloody mouth, contrasted grotesquely with the short brown hair. A frightening caricature of the face in the photograph on Frobisher's desk.

“He's dead,” said Mr. Frobisher dazedly. “I killed him. I killed him.”

“Bobby was Mr. Frobisher's son,” Maggie whispered softly.

Mr. Frobisher heard her and his head snapped up.

“My son?” His tear-filled eyes hardened. “My son died in the war.” He looked down at the body in his arms. “This is not my son. My son died in Normandy. Do you understand? He was killed in the war…not like this…. My son died in the war….”