Never Love a Stranger (51 page)
I opened the door. “O.K., baby!” I said with a laugh, “I wasn’t too long, was I?” There wasn’t any answer. I stuck my head inside the car.
She was gone.
M
Y
meeting with Jerry at his office turned out to be a farce. Carson was with me, and every time Cowan asked a question he advised me not to answer. I spent an hour and a half keeping my mouth shut, and when I left I knew Jerry didn’t have anything to go on. He was just fishing. All they got was my picture.
The evening papers had it splashed all over the front pages. “This is the man,” they said in the caption under my photo, “that the government of your city and state calls their Number One Public Enemy.”
There was another item in the paper too. A man and a woman had been found shot to death in a field along the Boston Post Road. The description of the woman fitted the girl who had been part of the plan to frame me. Silk hadn’t lost any time at plugging the holes in his raft. The other guy was still in the can, but I was certain that Silk would take care of him at the first opportunity.
At least one thing had cleared itself up. I could come and go as I pleased. I had promised Jerry I would appear any time he sent for me. I called Ruth that night.
“What are you doing New Year’s Eve?” I asked. Her voice was cool. “I have an appointment.” “Break it!” I said. “We’ll do the town.”
She hung up on me. I smiled when I put back the receiver. Things weren’t just right yet, but in a little while——
January went by and February came. Nothing unusual had happened, but I knew the beavers were still gnawing in the dark. The new organization I had formed was all set, and the next move was to send Joe Price out and have him set up an office for it. I was waiting to do that only when it became necessary. The boys had behaved themselves and business had come back to normal.
The lull ended near the end of February. The first kicker came when I got a call from Carson.
“Frank,” his voice was nervous, “I’ve been suspended.” “What do you mean?” I asked.
“The Bar Association has instituted disbarment proceedings against me,” he said, his voice trembling.
“That means you can’t practise until your case comes up?” “Yes,” he said.
“Have they got a case?” I asked.
“Not much,” he answered, “but they’re going to string it out as long as they can, hoping for something to break.” He laughed a little bitterly.
That something was me. “Well,” I said, “come over here and we’ll talk about it.”
I hung up. I lit a cigarette and looked across the river. This was the real beginning of the end. They knew I couldn’t break in another shyster at this stage of the game. The
next step would be to knock off the boys. I turned back to the desk and called Joe Price and told him to come upstairs.
Two days later they went to work in earnest. Jensen was picked as a receiver of stolen goods; they traced a hot diamond necklace to him. He was out on twenty-five grand bail, but I could get ready to write him off. I had to pass the word around to the boys that the legal department was temporarily out of business. They didn’t like that. I didn’t think they would; but then, neither did I.
The next blast came when someone tipped Schutz’s wife off to the two dames on Park Avenue. She went over to the place, caught him playing sixty-forty with one of the two broads, and shot them both up. She didn’t kill either of them, but the cops had her down in the can and she was singing away to high heaven about his territory. I could imagine the coppers taking down every word she spoke and making pictures with it.
At the end of the week, I got Joe Price out of town. I turned the operation of his department over to a guy that had been his assistant. From the way things looked, the game didn’t have long to go.
The last Sunday in February was the clincher. After that I knew the party was over. I had split Schutz’s territory up between Carvell and Kelly and Fennelli. Somewhere along the line—I had an idea where—the word was crossed, and a couple of Fennelli’s boys shot up Kelly as he left his home one morning.
It was Fennelli who called me. “Frank,” he said quietly, “‘Piggy’ Laurens just knocked off ‘Iron Mike’.”
For the moment I was tongue-tied. We still would have had a chance if the boys had played it ray way, but this would only turn public support more solidly behind the government’s stand. I spoke quietly. “Who told him to?”
“I didn’t have a thing to do with it, Frank,” he said. I could detect a faintly mocking note in his voice. A sort of I-dare-you-to-do-anything-about-it tone.
“Then who did?” I shouted. “A gun-crazy son-of-a-bitch like that doesn’t go around doing anything he hasn’t been told to!”
“He says he had a call from you.” The voice came quietly through the phone.
I saw what the gag was. I spoke quietly again. “Since when does he do anything for me? He works for you.”
“He said you called him and told him to take care of Kelly and that you would take care of him.”
“You can tell him to go fry in hell as far as I am concerned!” I said flatly.
“But what if the cops get him?” Fennelli asked. “He’ll sing and throw it on you.”
That name “Silk” was right; this baby was smooth. “It’s up to you to see that he isn’t picked up,” I said. “It may be pointed out that he works for you.”
I put the receiver back on the hook for a moment, and then picked up the phone and called Jake Rance. Rance was the guy who took care of whatever publicity we needed. He planted information on winnings of betters and stuff like that in the papers for me. “Hello,” his voice answered.
“Jake,” I said, “Frank Kane. Got a story I want you to plant in Wetzel’s column for me.” “What is it?” he asked.
“A certain smooth midtown operator knows more about the murder of ‘Iron Mike’ Kelly than he wants to talk about.”
Jake whistled. “That’s hot, Frank. I don’t know if I could get it in.” “There’s a grand in it for you if you do,” I said.
“It’s in!” he said. “What’s up, Frank?”
“The rats are beginning to run,” I said, and put the phone down again. Let Fennelli sweat that one out.
The item made the Monday column. “Piggy” was a dead pigeon two hours after the first edition hit the street. It seems he ran into an automobile.
I
WAS
standing in front of the mirror shaving. I felt good. A faint touch of spring was beginning to creep into the April air. The sun was pouring in the window and I, like a damn fool, was humming. I put down the razor and splashed some after-shaving lotion on my face. Its cool menthol sting made my skin tingle. I combed my hair and left the bathroom, putting on my shirt.
I picked up the phone. A nice Sunday breakfast was in order and I felt hungry as hell. The operator came on. “This is Kane,” I said. “Have room service send up something to eat.” They would know what I wanted.
“Yes, Mr. Kane,” the girl replied. “By the way, Mr. Kane, someone is here to see you.
Dr. Cabell and his sister.”
“Send them up,” I told her, “and you better make that breakfast for three.” I put down the phone.
A few minutes later there was a knock at my door. I walked over and opened it. Marty and Ruth were standing in the hall. I smiled at them and held out my hand to Marty. “Come in, boy,” I said, “I’m glad to see yuh.”
He shook my hand strongly. “Frankie,” he said, looking at me.
They followed me into the room. “You’re just in time for breakfast,” I told them, “and I won’t take no for an answer.”
We sat down and I lit a cigarette. The room was upset, as Sunday was the one day the maid didn’t come in. “Don’t mind how the joint looks,” I said, waving my hand at the room. “Bachelor quarters.”
Marty grinned. “Frankie, you look good.”
“You look good, kid,” I said, “and from what I’ve heard, you’re going to do even better.”
He flushed a little. “That’s nothing,” he said deprecatingly, “I like the work and I try.”
Breakfast came up. We sat down and began to eat. Ruth was quiet. We didn’t have very much to talk about. I smiled at them. “Do you ever hear anything of Mrs. Scott?” I asked.
“She’s dead,” Marty told me. “That’s too bad,” I murmured.
“Yeanh,” Marty said. “She was the first one to give me an idea as to what I wanted. If it weren’t for her, I’d never have gone in for this.”
“Great gal!” I put in.
“She thought a great deal of you,” Marty said. “In a way you were her favourite. She expected a great deal from you.” He stopped, a little embarrassed.
I laughed and turned to Ruth. “What do you think?”
Her eyes were serious. “She was the first person ever to understand you, Frankie.”
I thought that over. Maybe. Anyway, things never go as planned. I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s a long way back.”
Marty started to say something but didn’t say it. We just sat there quietly for a few minutes. Then I said: “It’s damn nice of you two to come over!”
“It was my idea,” Marty said, “I wanted to see you. It’s been so long and I’ve been curious, and Ruth …”
“What about Ruth?” I asked.
Ruth spoke up. “I wanted him to talk to you. He’s your friend. He’s got nothing to lose or gain by what he tells you.”
I got up and walked over to the window. “I want friends,” I said, “but no advice.”
Ruth followed me to the window. She took my hand. “Friends are more than just people who will listen to what you have to say and agree with you. Sometimes they have to tell you things you don’t want to hear for your own sake. Please listen to what we have to say.”
I turned to her. I didn’t care if Marty was in the room. I put my arms around her. “Baby,” I said, “if you love me, why don’t you let it go at that? Why keep knocking yourself out trying to tell me to do what I don’t want?”
She leaned against me for a moment. “It’s just that, Frankie,” she said softly. “If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care what happened to you.”
Marty looked over at us. His eyes were serious. “You really meant what you told me,” he said to Ruth.
She looked back at him. “Yes,” she said simply.
He grinned at me. “You might as well throw in the towel now, Frankie. The little lady’s mind was made up a long time ago, and you can’t win.”
I looked from one to the other. They were both smiling at the thought they shared. “What the devil are you talking about?” I asked.
“Should I tell him?” Marty asked Ruth, still grinning.
“No,” she said, suddenly serious again, “that’s one thing he’ll have to find out for himself.” She drew me back into the room. We sat down on the couch, my arm around her shoulders. She leaned her head comfortably against me and looked up at my face. She spoke to me. “Marty was in Europe a few years ago. He saw something there. I want him to tell you about it.”
I looked at him curiously. “What?” I asked.
He cleared his throat. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“I got all day,” I said, tightening my arm around Ruth. Like this, he could sell me the Brooklyn Bridge.
“I was in Germany in 1935,” he began seriously. “I saw what happened there—what happens to a country when gangsters take over.”
“Are you talking about Hitler?” I asked. “What’s he got to do with me?” I fished for a cigarette. I remembered what had happened last June when France fell. People walked around in the streets talking in subdued voices, looking bad. There was a great deal of
muttering about going to war with Germany. Business fell off a few days but jumped back to normal quickly enough. I think it even picked up a little. But we didn’t go to war and I didn’t think we would—especially if we kept on minding our own business.
Marty continued to speak, ignoring my question. “In 1935 Hitler was organizing his country. Ruthlessly he put down anyone who dared voice opposition to him. At that time he said: ‘Today Germany, tomorrow the world.’
“Well, this is tomorrow. The tomorrow that he promised Germany. He’s already delivered the continent of Europe as he promised and all that remains there is Russia and England. Then he will turn his eyes across the ocean to us.”
He stopped for a moment and reached for a cigarette. I still didn’t get what he was driving at. He put his cigarette in his mouth without lighting it and began to speak again. “When he first started, people said he wouldn’t last. I said that too. But I pointed out that he would last as long as people refused to recognize him for the menace that he was.
“When the world does recognize him for what he is, he will be stopped. They’re beginning to do that now and he is slowly being stopped. England is holding out, Russia is holding out. The man in the street is stopping him. They’re stopping him with bridges made of their bodies, of their determination.
“When the man in the street decides you’re no good for him, he’ll stop you. No matter what you do to prevent him from doing it, he will find a way. You can’t be strong enough or smart enough to beat the man in the street.”
I held up my hand. “All right, so they’re goin’ to stop this bitch on wheels! I still don’t see what it’s got to do with me.”
“You should, Frankie.” Marty stepped in front of me and stood looking down at me. “The man in the street is against you. And if he says you gotta go, brother, you gotta go!”
I laughed at that. Everywhere I went, people kissed my hand. If they were so against me, why didn’t it show? I told Marty what I thought.
“That’s just it, Frankie,” he replied. “That’s just what I’m pointing out. When Hitler goes out, people kiss the ground before him. But they do it from fear—because they’re afraid of what will happen to them if they don’t.
“That’s why people bow down to you. They’re afraid of you. Your name has become a symbol of terror, of murder and thievery. They’re afraid of your reputation, of the things people whisper that you did. Whether you did them or didn’t do them is not important any more. The fact remains that they believe you did them. And they’re going to destroy you, just as some day they will destroy Hitler.”