The Day of the Guns (16 page)

The superintendent was a middle-aged Italian who occupied the basement floor of the first building and he took so much pride in his job he was almost happy about having an inspection run on him. He led the way through each building, smiling and talking, making us take note of the precision and cleanliness of the place and beamed every time Kelly made a check on the sheet on his clipboard that indicated an okay.

We wasted two hours on the farce, but I got to see what I wanted ... the way in and out of the place from all angles, cellar to roof. There was a self-operated elevator that serviced the four flights of each building, an interior fireproof staircase and steel fire escapes that went down the back to the concrete courtyard.

Each fire escape was tested and as we passed the window of Alexis Minner’s apartment I had a quick glimpse of the interior. He wasn’t home, the super had told us that earlier, but on the kitchen table were two empty bottles of vodka, a half-full one and four used glasses.

Murray made an entry on the inspection form, went through the routine of the play and we went back outside. In the car he said, “Satisfied?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You want anything else?”

“Not now. Which way you headed?”

“Back to the station, I have some work to clean up. Can I drop you off somewhere?”

I told him where to go. It wasn’t far and I had some questions to ask. Maybe Gretchen Lark could answer them for me.

 

She came to the door in a knee-length paint-smeared smock, holding a brush between her teeth and a palette in her left hand while she opened the door. I took one look at her and laughed and she almost dropped the brush. “Well, this is a surprise, Tiger.”

Only two buttons in the middle held the smock together and from the way it hung and the show of white at the closure I knew she didn’t have anything under it. “You’re going the Village route all the way. I like it.”

Gretchen grimaced, glanced down at herself nervously and didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. She finally pushed her hair back with her forearm, gave me an impatient look and waved me in. “Look at me! I’m a mess. I wasn’t expecting anybody.”

“You look great.”

“Oh sure.” She glanced back at me over her shoulder.
“You men!”

Gretchen dipped her brush in a peculiarly shaded apothecary jar half filled with solvent, picked up a few others and placed them beside it until they were soaked, swished them around and wiped them off, putting them on a table beside her easel.

I walked over and took another look at the study. Burton Selwick was a real British lion, proud, dignified, all his strength of character coming to life through his eyes and the set of his jaw.

“Like it?”

“He looks a shade strained. From here I’d say he was sick.” She stepped back, frowned at the portrait, turned the easel to catch a different light and, after several moments studying it, nodded slowly. “My fault, I’ve always had a flair for realism. Do you think I should soften it?”

“Hell, I’m no painter. If it’s for his wife I’d make him pretty, that’s all.”

“It might be a good idea.”

“How is he anyway?”

“Much better.”

“What hit him down there?”

“Nothing more than I told you. He keeps having these ulcer attacks. Last year it was gallstones and he had them out, but that job of his doesn’t invite peace and tranquility. He’s a walking medicine cabinet. I think he eats more pills then he does food. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to put something on. It’s too early to be entertaining in the buff.”

I let out a laugh. “Honey, it’s never too early for that.”

“Men,”
she said again and walked away.

While she dressed I went back to the portrait of Selwick. From the time I first met him a few days ago until now he had changed. There was little of the jocular type he seemed to be; it was more like he was hiding in the shadow of pain behind a mask of imperturbability. Chin up and all that sort of thing.

The chair that he was posed in was an ornate prop, but in the picture it appeared to be a throne. giving him a regal aspect. I sat in it myself and wondered if Gretchen painted him wearing nothing but a smock like she did when she was alone. I grinned at the thought because Selwick was just a little too dignified to sit through it. It would have shown on his face.

Beside the chair was an end table that didn’t show in the picture and I flipped open the box on it. Selwick’s medicine cabinet. There must’ve been a dozen bottles of assorted pills and capsules there, most from chain pharmacies in the city.

Gretchen came out in a sweater-and-skirt combination, her hair loose and flowing again and the paint smudges gone from her face. She smelled of a cross between turpentine and Chanel No. 5. She pointed to the box I had open on the table. “See what I mean? He sits there and eats them like candy.”

“The doctors must know what they’re doing,” I said.

“Sometimes, although I don’t always agree with their remedies.”

“No?”

She finally got her belt adjusted and patted her hips down. “I used to be a nurse.” She laughed, the tinkly one that sounded so nice. “Funny, but I wanted to try everything. I was good at it, but after a while the excitement seemed to pale. I guess I wasn’t what you call dedicated.”

“You should have tried getting married. You would have been good at that.”

“Someday, Tiger, someday perhaps. There are still a lot of worlds to conquer and although I am only a woman I want to see what life is made up of before I settle down to diapers and dishes.” She perched on an unpainted bar stool and swung her leg on either side. “Now, what do we do? It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m hungry, if that’s any kind of a hint at all.”

“So let’s eat,” I said.

“Where?”

“Oh, there ought to be some local slop chute that serves up the rare and exotic.”

“I’m thinking of that wonderful place you took me the last time, the
Hall
of the Two
Sisters.”

“No floor show at this hour but the chow is good.”

“Can we go back?”

“Why not? Only don’t ask for an interpretation of the menu.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Dell hadn’t arrived at the
Hall
of the Two Sisters when we got there but Joe Swan had and let us through with a big grin and a whistle-and-wink when he saw Gretchen. Swan handled most of the smuggling contacts, specialized in gems and blew the whistle on anybody he knew about handling narcotics. He had a special hate for horse because he lost a wife who was given an overdose by some wise punk at a party and wound up killing him. Down at headquarters he was treated with respect not given the ordinary informer or stoolie and although three rub-outs had been tried, Swan was still up at bat.

He got a waiter to get us our spot, suggested the specialty of the house and when we were halfway through came in to say he had something special to show me, the leer indicating it was of a sexy nature not intended for tender feminine eyes and Gretchen gave me the raised-brow look and sighed fatuously.

But it wasn’t that. Dell was back in his office and after he closed the door he said, “I have information for you, Tiger. Your man with the stiff finger.”

I waited.

“He has been seen.”

“Where, Dell?”

“Not too far from here. In the section between Fourteenth and Fourth Street.”

“Who got on to him?”

“Two people. One is a newsdealer who remembered the hand. He bought a copy of a foreign newspaper that is sold in the section. The other was a contact, Marty Lehman, a junkie. He’s a peddler. The man you’re looking for purchased three caps of H.”

“Somebody steered him to Marty,” I said.

“Not necessarily. Marty, unfortunately, is well known in that section. He took a chance with your man and charged him well above the going price for the goods. He passed it through a door and remembered the hand well. The man paid, Marty was clear and satisfied and so was the customer.” Dell moved behind his desk and sat down. “Have you learned something?”

“It’s coming together. The big thing is that he’s an addict.”

“That is important in a man.”

“He’d almost have to be to be a killer.”

Dell smiled and shook his head. “Tell me, Tiger, have you ever used this terrible thing?”

“I’m not about to, buddy.”

“Yet you have killed.”

“Just killers, Dell. They are animals who need killing badly. I don’t have to get hyped up for that job.”

“Please be careful. I like your business.”

When I got back to the table Gretchen said, “How was she?”

“The great Oriental mystery is a secret no longer. They are all alike. The slant is only in their eyes.”

“Dirty man.”

“Just curious,” I said. “Eat up. I have things to do.”

“Can I go?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Business. Broads aren’t an asset when you’re setting a deal. They’re too damn distracting.”

“Will I see you again?”

“Maybe.”

“When?”

I pushed away from the table and called the waiter in for the check. “You sure you want to?”

Her eyes had a mist over them and a rueful smile tugged at her mouth. “Yes, Tiger, I’m sure. You make me feel foolish saying it, but there hasn’t been too much in my life, not really. I guess that’s why I do so many things that seem strange to those who know me. Since you ... well, I feel funny inside.”

“Don’t kid. If anything happens it can hurt.”

“What can happen?”

“It’s a rough business.”

“Please don’t scare me.”

I felt pleasant and relaxed and thoughts of the past and the present were very close in my mind. There was no future after Rondine, but there had never been any future anyway so it really didn’t matter at all. Maybe with Gretchen Lark, but who could tell? You didn’t parade any checkered flag past the grandstand until after you had won the race and it wasn’t over yet.

“Can you tell me?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Try and see.”

I leaned back in the chair and felt for the words. “Suppose I have to kill somebody.”

“Is it necessary?”

“Essential.”

“Then there is no choice, is there?”

“No choice at all, baby.”

“Who is this person?”

“Not one ... several. Maybe just two. There have been others. I’ve killed before.”

She studied me intently, her eyes filled with quiet passion. “I know that, Tiger. It’s something I can feel in you. Whatever it is you have to do, you’ll do it. Just don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.”

“When do you have to do this?”

I moved my shoulders and frowned. “Tonight maybe.”

“You’ll be careful?”

“I’m always careful.”

“You will be back?”

“Later.”

“I’ll wait for you,” she said gently.

 

At five I let her out of the cab and had the driver take me back uptown to Ernie Bentley’s new workshop. It was a cross between a laboratory and a miniature machine shop and he was working at a microscope when I got there.

When I was at Minner’s apartment I got the name of the lock on his door and asked Ernie to fix me up with a master key for the make. He said he’d have to make six, one of which would fit and would take twenty minutes to complete.

While I waited I called Charlie Corbinet, got him as he was about to leave the office and asked him about the bullet that killed Toomey.

“Matches one gun that was used on you.”

“The guy must be nuts to hang onto the piece. If he’s picked up with it he’s had it.”

“Not with diplomatic immunity.”

“If
he has it. We may not be talking about the same one. I’m thinking he might be smart enough to dump that rod.”

“Tiger ...”

“What?”

“In ’41 you were issued an Army Colt automatic. Do ’ you still have it?”

“Okay, I get the point.”

“Do you have anything for me?” Corbinet asked.

“Are you ready to work with probables?”

“Anything.”

“They seem to be located in the Village. If we push them hard they’ll have to move fast and won’t have the time to be careful. The improvisation is coming from their end, not ours. They’re the ones running scared.”

“Then move fast, boy. This coming week is a critical point in our history. If that leak is still there we can lose everything.”

“It won’t be,” I said. “If necessary I know one way of stopping it.”

“We may have to do it that way.”

“Did you see a report on Selwick?”

“I have it on the desk in front of me. They used a stomach pump and all known tests on him. Negative. His condition is a natural one.”

“Clever,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“There are ways to do anything if you have the right means. I can name you two poisons that can kill without leaving a trace and will be diagnosed as natural death.”

“Selwick didn’t die,” he reminded me. “He was in good health except for an organic disorder. Several top medical authorities attested to that.”

“You ought to remember what we did to Krouse and Gettler that time in ’45 to get them off the planning committee and put it directly in the hands of Hitler who we knew would louse up the situation.”

Before he could answer, I laughed and hung up.

Ernie finished the keys, dropped them in my palm and said, “Martin Grady called. We’ve been working on something you might find useful. He suggested you consider it.”

“Like what?”

He held out three black spheres half the size of golf balls. One had a line around its perimeter. “Remember the torpedoes you got as a kid on the Fourth of July? You could hit a sidewalk or a wall with them and they’d blow?”