The Collection (88 page)

I
jerked my thumb vaguely toward the back. "Back there," I said.

Maybe
it was the sound of voices that gave him the idea, but he chose that moment to
start thumping on the closet door. Not too loudly, and he didn't yell; I guess
he was too scared for that. He was just thumping tentatively to see if he'd get
any reaction.

I
slid off the stool quickly and went into the back room. I stood in front of the
closet door and called out, "Are you all right, Mike?"

The
thumping quit. It was so quiet in that closet that I could hear the scrape of
his clothes against the wall as he hugged one side of the closet and crouched
down, hoping I'd miss if I fired shots through the wood.

I
stood there a second as though listening to an answer and then went back into
the tavern. I strolled back toward the stool I'd been sitting on.

I
said casually, "Mike drank a bit too much; I think he's being sick. If
you're friends of his why don't you help yourselves and leave the money on the
ledge of the register?"

I
didn't think they'd take the suggestion seriously and they didn't. The woman
said, "Let's go to the place in the next block, Harvey."

The
man nodded and said, "All right, dear."

He
turned and looked at me a moment as though he wanted to ask a question. He
wanted, I could guess, to ask what Mike was being sick at his stomach had to do
with that thumping on a door back there, but decided not to ask. He was a
mild-looking little man; he didn't want, I could see, to ask a question that
just might lead to an answer he didn't like.

I met
his eyes and his dropped first. He took the woman's elbow and helped her down
off the bar stool and they went out.

I
took a deep breath and went back to the closet door again. I called out,
"Do that again, Mike, and it'll be the last time. Get me?"

There
wasn't any answer, and I went back to the bar. I held my hand out in front of
me and it was shaking badly. I put it down flat on the bar to steady it and
looked at my wrist watch. Twelve forty-five. Adrian had been gone for forty
minutes.

I
thought, I'll count to a hundred slowly, and if he isn't here I'll phone his
place. I turned around to face the door and started counting, as slowly as my
patience would let me, probably about one count a second.

I
got to seventy-nine before the door opened and someone came in. But it wasn't
Adrian Carr. It was a policeman in uniform. This is the payoff, I thought, here
and now. I'm not going to shoot it out with him. If he says, "Are you
Wayne Dixon?" it means he came here for me because Adrian sent him. And if
he does, I'll go along quietly. It was a thousand to one shot anyway, what I
had in mind doing.

And
if he says, "Where's Mike?" it'll probably mean that he met the two
people who went out of here a few minutes ago and that they'd told him about
that suspicious thumping on the door and the story I'd told about Mike being
sick.

He
asked, "Where's Mike?"

I
jerked my thumb casually toward the back room. "Back there," I said.

He
stopped halfway between the door and the bar. "Oh," he said.
"Well, tell him his brother looked in, will you, fellow? I got to make the
next call-box. Tell him I'll drop in again later."

He
went out, and I started to breathe normally again. When I felt able to get down
off the stool without falling, I did. And I quit worrying about taking further
chances. I went around behind the bar and poured myself a stiff drink of
bourbon. I drank it neat and felt the warmth of it trickle from my throat
downward.

Then
I went back to the phone and called Adrian Carr's number.

The
phone rang twice and Adrian's voice answered.

"This
is Wayne," I said. "What happened to you?"

"Oh,
hello, darling," he said. "Where are you?" The
"darling" was enough of a tipoff; Adrian didn't talk that way. If it
hadn't been, the "Where are you?" was enough too. He knew where I was.

I
asked softly into the transmitter, "Cops?"

"Well,
I'm afraid I'm going to be late, dear," he said. "Do you want to wait
for me there?"

"No,"
I said, urgently, "not here, Adrian. There's trouble at this end, too. But
look, what the hell are you standing up for me for? Why don't you tell them the
truth?"

"A
couple of hundred reasons, which I can't explain now. I'll give them to you
later. You want to go on to the party, then?"

"How
long will you be tied up?" I asked him.

"Another
hour, possibly. But it's an all-night party. It'll keep. Shall I pick you up
somewhere?"

I
said, "You're mad, Adrian. But there's a little all-night restaurant on
Seventy-second, south side, west of the park. I'll be there. If you change your
mind, send the cops for me instead."

"Fine.
'Bye, darling."

I
put the receiver back and went over to the bar for one more stiff drink. I made
plenty of noise getting it so that Mike would know I was still around and wait
a while before he tried hammering again. Then I left, quietly, so he wouldn't
know I was gone. I didn't want him loose yet.

I
walked over to Central Park West and north to Seventy-second Street. I took a
seat on one of the benches along the edge of the park, from which I could watch
the door of the restaurant I'd told Adrian about. I lighted a cigarette and
tried to look as though I'd just sat down to rest a minute.

It
must have been an off night; they weren't doing much business. After I'd been
watching ten minutes I saw a policeman stroll in and out again, but I knew he
wouldn't have been looking for me. If there'd been a tip-off from Adrian,
there'd have been more than one of them. Three or four, probably; Adrian would
have told them I was armed.

I
was on my third cigarette when I saw Adrian's car drive up and park in front of
the restaurant. He seemed to be alone in the car and he got out of it alone and
walked to the door. I saw him look in through the glass and hesitate when he
didn't see me, but he didn't look around or make any signals. He went inside.

No
other car had driven up. I crossed the street and went in. Adrian had taken one
of the little tables for two along the side, facing the door. He'd hung up his
hat and cape, and--in full dress--he looked as out of place in that little
greasy spoon of a restaurant as a peacock in a chicken yard.

He
looked up as I came in and called out, "Hi, Harry."

I
sat down across from him. I asked, "What's the Harry stuff?"

"Well,
I didn't want to call you by your right name. Suppose it's been on a broadcast
or--"

"Adrian,
the guy behind the counter there knows me by my right name. He's going to
wonder."

Adrian
stared at me wonderingly. "You mean you actually
eat
in a place
like this?"

"Occasionally.
At least as often as I eat at Lindy's. But forget the gastronomics. What's with
the cops?"

"Dropped
in just after I got home to pick up the sketches." He leaned forward
across the table and dropped his voice. "Lola's body was found in the park
at a little after midnight. She had identification on her. They went to your
place and--"

"Wait,"
I said. "Here comes Jerry."

The
waiter had finished serving his customers at the counter and was going to our
table. He said, "Hi, Mr. Dixon. How are things?"

"Swell,
Jerry. Two orders of ham and eggs and coffee."

I
saw Adrian open his mouth to say something and I glared him into silence until
Jerry, whistling, had gone to the grill back of the counter. Then he said
petulantly, "Why did you order ham and eggs, Wayne? I can't eat--"

"I'll
eat both orders," I told him. "I'm hungry. What about the cops? You
said they'd gone to my place and that was as far as you got."

"They
went to your place and you weren't there, so they're trying to locate you. They
found an address book of yours and they've been checking among your
friends."

"Mine?"
I asked, "or Lola's?"

He
looked at me blankly. "Why do you ask that? Yours, I presume. They had a
little brown leather notebook about four by six--"

"Good,"
I interrupted him. That was my notebook; it had been lying on my desk near the
telephone. I knew which names were in it and which weren't.

Adrian
went on: "Mostly they were looking for you, through your friends. They
asked me first if I'd seen you tonight and I said I hadn't. And then--"

"That's
the bad part, Adrian," I told him. "After you left Mike's, Mike got
onto me. I had to lock him up in a closet in his back room. He's out by now,
and he'll tell the cops fast that I was in his place and that you were with me.
They'll know you were lying when they were at your place. I should have told
you that over the phone so you could have changed your story. I'm sorry, but
you're going to have to do some fast talking the next time they call on
you."

He
waved that aside. He said, "I can talk fast. And I've got connections. I
can't get away with murder, but I can get away with lying to the cops for a
couple of hours--if I think up a good story why I lied to them. Can you give me
one?"

I
shook my head slowly. "Why
did
you lie to them, Adrian? I don't
even know that."

"I'm
not too sure myself," he said. "All right, then, don't worry about
that. I'll figure an out for myself. What about you?"

I
said, "I've got a hundred to one chance. It was a thousand to one when I
figured it out--just before I met you. If I've got you on my side --for another
hour or so anyway--that cuts it down to a hundred to one."

"Not
very good odds."

"No,"
I admitted. "Not very good. I don't like them at all. But the alternative
gives me less of a chance--no chance at all."

"You
haven't an alibi?"

"Not
a ghost of one. Damn it, Adrian, three people know we left home to take a walk
in the park half an hour before I killed her. And a paraffin test will show I
fired the gun. Adrian, barring a miracle, I'm strapped into that chair
now."

"And
what's the miracle?"

"I
can't tell you, Adrian. It sounds silly, but--if you want to help, and God
knows why you should--you'll just have to string along with me for the next
hour or two. If you don't, that's okay. I don't blame you. I don't think I
would, if I were in your shoes. If you don't, my chance goes back from one in a
hundred to one in a thousand, but I'll carry on."

"What
do you want me to do?"

"That's
the sad part; I won't even tell you. Because if we're separating now, you'd
better go right to the cops and tell 'em how you lied to them the first time.
They'll know by now anyway, from Mike. And you're in deep enough; I don't want
you to have to do any more lying for me by saying you don't know where I
am."

Adrian
sighed. "And what makes you think I wouldn't string along a little longer?
Want me to write it out and sign it? You're not going to commit another murder,
are you?"

"I
don't think so."

"All
right, then. What are we waiting for? Oh, the ham and eggs." He made a
face.

I
got up and said, "Forget the ham and eggs. I can eat ham and eggs in jail,
maybe. Come on."

I
dropped two dollar bills on the counter as I went past Jerry and said,
"Forget the grub, Jerry. We just remembered something important." And
I got out before he could say anything.

We
got in Adrian's car and he started the engine and asked, "Where to?"

I said,
"Carry on as though those cops hadn't dropped in on you. Just what we were
planning to do before."

"You
mean go to Dane Taggert's? What for?"

"What
we were talking about in Mike's. You're looking for a Bluebeard for your play.
You said I'd have to have Taggert's okay for the part, didn't you?"

Adrian
killed the engine. He said, "Don't try to kid me you're interested in a
part and a murder rap at the same time, Wayne. It doesn't make sense and the
gag is wearing thin."

I
said, "That's exactly what you told me a little over an hour ago--only
about a different matter. You said then that the gag about my having killed
Lola was wearing thin. It's got a little thicker since then. Hasn't it?"

"Yes,
but--"

"But
you want to know what I really have in mind. Just take my word for it that this
gag might get thicker, too. I hope it will. But maybe it won't. If you don't
want to play--and I've said already I won't blame you --I'll get out and trot
along."

I
opened the door of the car. Adrian sighed and said, "All right, all right.
But look--how much of a hurry are you in to get there?"

"Only
my life depends on it." Then I relented a little. "You didn't ask
that; you asked how much of a hurry I'm in. None, as long as we get the role
business settled before the cops get me. I can spare half an hour, if that's
what you mean."

He
started the car again. He drove across Central Park West and took the southeast
fork inside the park; he cut east and then north to where there's a wide
parking place near the lake. He parked the car and turned to me.

"Let's
get one thing straight, Wayne," he said. "There's no gag left about
that first gag? You
did
kill Lola?"

"Yes,"
I said.

"Then--are
you sure you know what you're doing, boy? Let me give you some money, and get
away from here before they catch you. I had another three hundred cash at home;
I've got five hundred you can take now. Are your fingerprints on file?"

"No,"
I told him. "But what am I going to do? Get another chance at acting
somewhere? I'm no good at anything else. No, Adrian. Thanks for your offer of
the money, but I'm going to take my chances here."

"All
right, then. I'll help with a lawyer. And it looks like I'm going to have to do
some awfully fast talking--or I'll need one for myself too."