CAPTAIN HARLAN MCCANN of the Police Department was a bull of a man whose close-cropped, bullet-shaped head sat squarely on a pair of shoulders as wide as a barn door. His brick-red, fleshy face looked as if it had been hewn out of granite. His restless, small eyes were deep-set, and when he was in a rage, which was often, they glared redly, and struck a chill into the toughest mobster or policeman who happened to cross his path.
This night he was out of uniform. He wore a dark brown lounge suit and a slouch hat pulled well down over his eyes. He drove his Lincoln along Lawrence Boulevard, his big hairy hands gripping the wheel as if he had someone hateful to him by the throat.
He swung the car into Pacific Boulevard and drove along the sea front, passing the brilliantly lit hotels, the Casino, the night spots, the neon-plastered Ambassadors’ Club until he reached the far end of the front where the Paradise Club, hidden from casual passers-by by its fifteen-foot walls, overlooked the moonlit ocean.
He swung the car down a narrow lane that ran alongside the east wall and drove for a quarter of a mile, his headlights stabbing the thick darkness that now lay around him. From time to time he glanced in his driving mirror, but he could see no lights of any following car behind him. Ahead of him iron gates suddenly appeared in the glare of his headlights, and he slowed down, reached forward and flicked the lights on and off four times; twice fast, twice slow.
The gates opened and he drove through, pulling up by the guard-house.
A thick-set man wearing a peak cap peered through the window at him, raised his hand in a casual salute and waved him to drive on.
McCann engaged gear and followed the circular road to the club. He pulled up at a side door and got out. Another man in a peak cap slid into the driving scat and drove the car to a nearby garage.
McCann walked up the stone steps to a massive door, rapped four times, twice fast, twice slow, on the bronze knocker, and the door opened.
“Good evening, sir,” a voice said out of the darkness.
McCann grunted and moved forward. He heard the door shut behind him, then lights sprang on. He continued down a long passage without looking back, paused outside another massive door and knocked again, using the same signal.
Louis Seigel, Maurer’s personal bodyguard and manager of the Paradise Club, opened the door.
Seigel was tall and’ dark, and notorious for his good looks. Ten years ago he had been known to the police and to his fellow mobster as ‘Louis the Looker’, but since hooking up with Maurer he had acquired more dignity, and the tag had been dropped. He was around twenty-nine to thirty years of age, squarejawed, blue-eyed and sun-tanned. An old razor scar that ran from his left eye to his nose gave him a swashbuckling appearance, and his carefully cultivated smile that showed big, gleaming teeth, was a devastating weapon against women, and women were Seigel’s principal interest in life.
“Come in, Captain,” he said, showing McCann his teeth. “The boss will be out in a minute. What’ll you drink?”
McCann looked at Seigel out of the corners of his hard little eyes.
“A Scotch, I guess.” He found it difficult to be civil to this smooth, goodlooking hood. He glanced around the luxurious room, lavishly furnished in excellent taste, and moved ponderously over to the mantelpiece and set his great shoulders against it.
Seigel walked to the bar, fixed a Scotch and soda and brought it over.
“The boss was a little surprised at your message. He had to cancel a theatre date. No trouble, I hope, Captain?” he said, handing the glass to McCann.
McCann gave a short barking laugh.
“Trouble? That’s not the half of it! If you guys don’t handle this right, the whole goddamn lid’s coming off — that’s how bad it is!”
Seigel raised his eyebrows. He disliked McCann as much as McCann disliked him.
“Then I guess we’ll have to handle it right,” he said, and moved back to the bar. As he was pouring himself a whisky, he added with a sneering little smile, “We usually do handle things right, Captain.”
“There’s always a first time not to handle it right,” McCann growled, annoyed he hadn’t scared Seigel.
A door by the bar opened and Jack Maurer came in, followed by Abe Gollowitz, his attorney.
Maurer was a short, squat man around fifty. He had put on some weight during the past three or four years. His swarthy fleshy face showed a heavy beard shadow. His thick, oily black hair was turning grey at the temples, but the greyness didn’t soften his face, which reminded McCann of a photograph he had once seen of the death mask of Beethoven. At first glance Maurer would strike anyone as no different from the thousand rich, powerful business men who vacationed in Pacific City, but a closer examination would show there was a difference. He had the flat snake’s eyes of the gangster; eyes that glittered and were as cold and as hard as frozen pebbles.
Gollowitz, one of the most brilliant attorneys on the Coast, was built on the same lines as Maurer, only he was fatter, older and going bald. He had thrown up his lucrative practice to handle Maurer’s business and legal affairs, and had succeeded so brilliantly that he was now Maurer’s second-in-command.
“Glad to see you, Captain,” Maurer said, crossing to shake hands. “You’ve got all you want — a cigar, perhaps?”
“Sure,” McCann said, who believed in never refusing anything.
Seigel offered a cigar box and McCann took a fat, torpedo-shaped cigar, sniffed at it and nodded his head. He bit off the end, accepted the light which Seigel held out to him, puffed smoke to the ceiling and nodded his head again.
“A damn fine cigar, Mr. Maurer.”
“Yes. I have them made for me.” Maurer looked over at Seigel. “Have a thousand sent to the Captain’s home, Louis.”
“Why, no; I can’t accept a present like that,” McCann said, his thin mouth widening into a pleased smile. “Good of you, all the same.”
“Nonsense,” Maurer said, and walked over to an armchair. He sat down. “I insist. If you don’t want them, give them away.”
Gollowitz was watching this by-play with increasing impatience. He took the Scotch and soda Seigel offered him, then sat down near Maurer.
“Well, what’s the trouble?” he asked abruptly.
McCann looked at him. He didn’t like Gollowitz. He wasn’t exactly scared of him, but he knew he was dangerous, not in the same way as Maurer was dangerous, but he was too full of legal tricks and too close to the politicians.
McCann leaned forward and stabbed with his cigar in Gollo-witz’s direction.
“I’ll give you the facts, then you can judge the trouble for yourself,” he said in his hard barking voice. “Three nights ago, June Arnot, together with six of her staff, was murdered. June Arnot had her head hacked off and she was ripped. A gun was found in the garden with Ralph Jordan’s initials on it. Bard in and Conrad went around to Jordan’s apartment and found him in the bath with his throat cut and a razor in his hand. The murder weapon was found in his dressing-room.”
“You don’t have to tell us all this,” Gollowitz said impatiently. “We’ve seen the reports in the press. What’s it to do with us? Jordan killed her and then killed himself. It’s plain enough, isn’t it?”
McCann showed his teeth in a snarling smile.
“Yeah, it looked plain enough. Bardin was satisfied; so was I; so was the press, but Conrad wasn’t.” His little red eyes looked at Maurer, who sat smoking his cigar, his swarthy face expressionless, his flat gangster eyes staring at the carpet with patient indifference.
“Does it matter to us what he thinks?” Gollowitz demanded, moving irritably. “Does it matter to us?”
“I guess so,” McCann said. “Conrad’s a trouble-maker, and he’s smart, make no mistake about that. He’s got one set idea on his mind: to make trouble for you, Mr. Maurer.”
Maurer glanced up; his thick, almost negroid lips twisted into an amused smile.
“Sure he’s a smart guy,” he said, “but there’s enough room in this town for both of us.”
“There may not be,” McCann said ominously. “He thinks Jordan was murdered.”
Maurer’s smile widened.
“And of course he thinks I’m behind the murder. A cat can’t get run over without him thinking I’m responsible. So what? It happens every day.”
McCann pulled on his cigar. His eyes went from Maurer to Gollowitz, who was watching him with an alert expression in his black eyes.
“This is different. He’s got hold of a rumour that you and Miss Arnot were special friends,” he said, shifting his eyes back to Maurer. “This is the way he figures it: you found out Miss Arnot and Jordan were lovers. You went up there with Paretti. You killed her while Paretti took care of the staff. Then Paretti went around to Jordan’s apartment, cut his throat, left a razor in his hand, planted the murder weapon, took Jordan’s car out of the garage and crashed it against the garage door as evidence Jordan was full of dope. Then Paretti reported back to you and you knocked him off to shut his mouth.”
Maurer burst out laughing. His white plump hand came down on his knee with a loud smacking sound.
“What do you think of that, Abe?” he said. “The guy’s a trier, isn’t he? Did you ever hear such a story?”
McCann sat back; a look of relief and surprise chased across his brick-red face.
Gollowitz rubbed his jaw and raised his bushy eyebrows. He didn’t look anything like so amused as Maurer: he didn’t look amused at all.
“What’s his case?” he asked sharply.
“Don’t be so damned stupid, Abe,” Maurer said easily. “He hasn’t got a case, and he knows it.”
Gollowitz ignored the interruption.
“What’s his case?” he repeated, staring at McCann.
Seigel was listening to all this. He stood by the bar, behind Maurer and Gollowitz; there was a sick expression in his eyes that began to worry McCann.
“He’s got evidence that Mr. Maurer and Miss Arnot were special friends, and that Jordan was scared of Mr. Maurer,”
McCann said slowly. “He has a sworn statement to that effect.”
“Whose statement?” Gollowitz asked sharply.
“Jordan’s dresser.”
McCann and Gollowitz looked at Maurer, who continued to smile.
“So what?” Maurer said carelessly. “Who else has said so?”
“Just one statement,” McCann said.
Maurer shrugged and spread his hands, smiling at Gollowitz.
“That’s nothing,” Gollowitz said. “What else?”
“Flo Presser called on Conrad this morning. She reported that Paretti was missing. She said he had to do a job for Mr. Maurer at seven o’clock on the night of the murder, and Miss Arnot was murdered around seven o’clock.”
Gollowitz slightly relaxed.
“A streetwalker’s testimony is about as effective as a handful of feathers,” he said. “What else?”
“Flo was stabbed to death a couple of hours after she had seen Conrad,” McCann said, his eyes going to Seigel. He saw Seigel grimace uneasily.
“Who killed her?”
“Ted Pascal, one of the Brooklyn boys.”
Maurer shrugged.
“I don’t know him. What’s the excitement about? Can I help it if some whore gets knocked off?”
McCann’s little eyes began to turn red. It had been a severe shock to him when he had listened to Conrad’s report at the D.A.’s meeting, and Maurer’s careless, indifferent attitude and his unconcern flicked his anger into life.
“Where’s Paretti, Mr. Maurer?” he barked.
“Toni’s in New York,” Maurer said smoothly. “I sent him to collect a gambling debt. That was the job he had to do. He caught the seven o’clock plane.”
“Then you’d better get him back quick,” McCann said grimly. “Conrad wants to see him. A sketch-plan of Jordan’s apartment was found in Paretti’s apartment.”
Gollowitz stiffened and shot a hard, searching look at Maurer, who waved his hand airily.
“I don’t believe it,” he said. “Who found it?”
“Van Roche.”
“Any witness?”
“No.”
“Obviously a plant,” Maurer said, and laughed. “Abe can take care of that, can’t you, Abe?”
Gollowitz nodded, but his eyes showed a growing uneasiness.
“If Toni shows up today or tomorrow,” McCann said, “half Conrad’s case will be knocked cold. You’d better get to Toni fast, Mr. Maurer.”
There was a long pause as Maurer studied the pattern on the carpet, then he said, without looking up, “Supposing I couldn’t get hold of Toni? Suppose he had decided to skip with the money I had sent him to collect? It is a big sum: twenty thousand dollars. I don’t say he has skipped, but suppose he has?”
McCann’s face suddenly turned purple. His big, hairy hands closed into knotted fists.
“He damn well better not have skipped!” he said through clenched teeth.
“Take it easy, Captain,” Maurer said, looking up and smiling. “I don’t think for a moment he has skipped, but even if he had, this cockeyed evidence of Conrad’s wouldn’t stand up in court. What have you got to worry about? I’m not worrying.”
“What else is there?” Gollowitz snapped, sensing that McCann hadn’t told them the worst of it.
“The guard who checks in all visitors to Miss Arnot’s place enters their names in a book,” McCann said, speaking slowly and deliberately. “At seven o’clock on the night of the killing a girl named Frances Coleman called to see Miss Arnot. We’re looking for her now, and she will be arrested as a material witness. Conrad thinks she may have seen the killer.”
Maurer looked at the glowing end of his cigar. A muscle in his cheek suddenly began to twitch, otherwise his face was expressionless.
There was a tight tension in the room.
Seigel lit a cigarette, his eyes on the back of Maurer’s head. He licked his lips as if they had gone suddenly dry.
Gollowitz stared down at his hands, frowning.
McCann’s hard little eyes took in each man, watching his reactions, a grinding, rising fury inside him made him feel short of breath.
“Well, say something!” he snarled. “Is this something Gollowitz can take care of?”
Maurer looked up. The flat snake’s eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and under his direct look, McCann’s eyes gave ground.
“I want to talk to the Captain,” Maurer said softly.
Gollowitz immediately got up and, followed by Seigel, left the room.
When the door closed behind them, Maurer crossed one short fat leg over the other. He took his cigar out of his mouth, leaned forward and touched off the ash into a cut-glass bowl. He didn’t look at McCann.
McCann sat still, his big fists on his knees, his face purple. Sweat gave an oily
appearance to his complexion.
“Frances Coleman, did you say?” Maurer said suddenly, keeping his voice down.
“That’s right,” McCann said.
“Who is she?”
“Let’s get this straight, Mr. Maurer, are you…?”
“Who is she?” Maurer repeated without raising his voice, but
McCann recognized the danger signals.
“She’s an out-of-work movie extra. She checked out of her room on Glendale Avenue on the night of the murder. The Central Casting Agency haven’t her new address.”
“Did she know Miss Arnot?”
“She worked with her on her last picture: a bit part.”
“You’re looking for her now?”
“Yeah. We should turn her up in a few hours.”
Maurer nodded.
“Got a photograph of her?”
McCann took out a print from his inside pocket.
“I got this from the C.C.A.”
Maurer took the photograph, looked at it, then put the photograph face down on the arm of his chair. He looked up suddenly and smiled.
“You’ve finished your drink, Captain. Help yourself.”
“No, thanks,” McCann said.
He wasn’t fooled by the smile. The atmosphere in the room affected him like
the pressure of an approaching electric storm.
Maurer got up and walked across the room to a door near the casement windows. He opened the door and went into the room that McCann knew Seigel used as an office.
McCann sat still, his cigar gripped tightly between his teeth. He was aware that his heart was beating unevenly and his mouth was dry.
Maurer returned from the office carrying a long white envelope. As he crossed the room, McCann got to his feet and faced him.
“I have been meaning to give you this for some time,” Maurer said, smiling. “A little investment I made in your name came out pretty well.”
McCann took the envelope.
“Fifteen thousand bucks,” Maurer said in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
McCann drew in a slow deep breath. He slid the envelope into his hip pocket.
“Perhaps I can return the favour,” he said woodenly.
“Well, yes,” Maurer said, and moved over to the empty fireplace. “I should like to be the first to know where Miss Coleman is to be found. Could that be arranged?”
McCann became aware that sweat was running down his face.
“She may not have seen anything,” he said thickly. “The chances are she didn’t. Miss Arnot wouldn’t have let her come up to the house. She probably left her name and then went away.”
“Could it be arranged?” Maurer repeated.
“I guess so. I’ve told my men to report direct to me as soon as they have found her, and to take no action until I give instructions. I’ve promised to contact the D.A.’s office. They want to see her: they’ll take charge of her.”
’I think I should see her first. When you have found her address, please telephone here. Louis will be waiting.”
“The D.A. will be waiting too,” McCann said quietly. “I have to be careful about this, Mr. Maurer. There mustn’t be much of a time lag. I can’t give you more than half an hour.”
Maurer smiled. He reached out and patted McCann’s shoulder.
“A half-hour will do splendidly.”
“Can’t you give me this straight?” McCann said hoarsely. “Has Conrad got a case? You — you didn’t…?”
Maurer put his hand on McCann’s arm and led him to the door.
“He won’t have a case, Captain,” he said softly. “I promise you that.”
He opened the door and waved McCann to the passage.
“Good night, Captain, and thank you for your co-operation. We shall wait to hear from you.”
It wasn’t until McCann was driving down the narrow dark lane away from the club that he gave vent to his pent-up feelings. He swore vilely and obscenely for as long as it took him to reach the bright lights of the sea front
Gollowitz came into the room, closed the door, and walked slowly over to where Maurer was sitting.
There was a long silence. Neither of the men looked at each other. Maurer continued to smoke his cigar, his face thoughtful. Gollowitz waited, his hands clasped behind his back, his mouth hard and set.
“I shouldn’t have used Paretti,” Maurer said suddenly. “That was a mistake. I always thought he was the best man I had. Imagine leaving that sketch-plan where it could be found.”
Gollowitz shut his eyes, opened them and drew in a deep breath.
“Are you telling me you killed that woman — yourself?” he said huskily.
Maurer looked up, his heavy eyebrows lifting.
“It gave me a lot of pleasure. I warned her. I told her to keep away from Jordan. She promised, but all the time she was seeing him: a dirty, mugglesmoker like him!”
“Why the hell did you have to do it yourself?” Gollowitz said fiercely. “Don’t you realize this is just what Forest has been waiting for? For years you’ve kept in the clear. You’ve never given him an opening. You don’t imagine he’s going to pass up such an opportunity, do you? If you wanted to get rid of her, why didn’t you let Louis handle it?”
Maurer smiled.
“It was a personal tiling, Abe,” he said patiently. “It gave me a lot of satisfaction. You should have seen her face when she saw me. She knew. For all her looks, her poise, her fame, she had no courage. You should have seen her. You should have seen her eyes.” He smiled again; a smile that sent a chill down Gollowitz’s fat spine. “You should have heard her scream. It was a personal thing: I wouldn’t have missed doing it for anything in the world.”
Gollowitz rubbed his hand over his sweating face.
“This could sink the organization, Jack,” he said feverishly. The Syndicate won’t like it.”
“—the Syndicate!” Maurer said, his voice suddenly vicious. “I’ve had about enough of the Syndicate! They’re not going to tell me what to do!”
Gollowitz turned away, walked over to an armchair and sat down. He didn’t let Maurer see the shocked, startled expression that showed for a moment in his eyes. “If this Coleman girl saw you…”
“You don’t have to worry about her,” Maurer said indifferently “She’ll be taken care of. Without her, Forest hasn’t a case. He can start trouble, but he won’t get anywhere. You can handle this, if she’s out of the way?”
“Sure. But she’s got to be out of the way!”
“She will be. McCann will let us know where she is. He’s going to give us half an hour before the police move in.”
Gollowitz thought for a moment.
“We can’t take any chances, Jack,” he said abruptly. “We’ll have the yacht stand by. There’s going to be a hell of a stink when this girl dies. You’d best be out of the way. A fishing trip where you can’t be reached would be an idea. Just until the heat dies down.”
Maurer shrugged.
“I’ll have Louis take care of it. The yacht’s all ready. I’ll go aboard as soon as McCann calls.”
“Who’s going to take care of the girl?”
“Get Louis in here. That’s his job.”
Gollowitz got up, crossed the room, opened the door near the bar and beckoned to Seigel.
Seigel came in as if he were walking on egg-shells. He was no fool. From what he had heard he knew Maurer had handled June Arnot’s killing himself, and he was appalled at the possible consequences. He knew one slip now might upset the whole of the carefully built-up kingdom. He had clawed his way up the ladder during the past ten years until he was now in the highest position he could ever hope to attain, with plenty of money, plenty of women, and every conceivable luxury within reach. The thought of losing what he had gained filled him with a sick, vicious rage.
“Louis, this girl’s got to be hit,” Maurer said, coming immediately to the point. “McCann will let you know where she is. You’ve got to move fast. We have half an hour before Conrad moves in.”
Seigel stared at him.
“It’ll have to be a crude job, Mr. Maurer,” he said. “We shan’t have time to case the joint, and that’s bad.”
“I don’t care how the job’s done so long as it is done. Who’s going to do it?”
Seigel thought for a moment.
“Moe and Pete,” he said finally.
“Pete — who?” Maurer asked sharply.
“Pete Weiner. He’s okay. He hasn’t hit before, but he’s got to start some time.”
“Is he the guy with the birth-mark?” Maurer asked frowning.
“That’s him. He can talk good. His old man was a minister. We want a guy who can get into her apartment without her making a noise. Pete can do that. If he slips up, Moe can take over, but he won’t slip up. He’s keen.”
“I don’t like using a guy with a birth-mark,” Maurer said. “He’s too easily spotted.”
“I’ve got no one else who could get into the apartment. I don’t know the setup. If I had a little more time so I could case the joint I wouldn’t use him. As soon as he’s done the job, I’ll get him out of town. There won’t be any kick back.”
“There’d better not be,” Maurer said grimly.
A tap sounded on the door and Dutch Feiner, who looked after the club when Seigel was otherwise occupied, came in. He was a big, red-faced man with blond hair and hard ice-grey eyes.
“What is it?” Maurer said impatiently.
“There’s a dame just come in, Mr. Maurer. I thought you should know. Seems to me she’s Conrad’s wife. I may be wrong. She was in the other night, and I thought her face seemed familiar. I’m pretty sure now that’s who she is.”
“You mean Paul Conrad’s wife?” Seigel said, staring at him.
“That’s right,” Feiner said, pleased with the sensation he had caused.
“She’s not with Conrad, is she?”
“She’s on her own.”
“Check that, Louis!” Maurer said sharply, and got to his feet.
Seigel pushed past Feiner and hurried down the passage that led to the restaurant. He came back after a minute or so, his face excited.
“It’s Conrad’s wife all right. She’s at the bar on her own.”
Maurer waved Feiner away. When he had gone, he looked over at Gollowitz.
“What’s the idea? He wouldn’t send her here to spy, would he?”
Gollowitz shook his head.
“I can’t believe that.”
“Go and talk to her, Louis,” Maurer said. “Handle her carefully. Don’t let her know you know who she is. See if she’ll tell you. Try and find out what she’s doing here.”
Seigel nodded and went out.
“Do you know anything about her?” Maurer asked as Gollowitz sat down again.
“Not much. She’s a looker. I think at one time before she married, she did a bit of singing: small stuff, small fees: you know the kind of thing. They got married about three years ago.”
“What the hell can she be doing here?” Maurer said, pulling at his under-lip.
Gollowitz shrugged. He wasn’t interested in Janey Conrad. In a few hours, he was thinking, Maurer would be on the yacht. He would then be in charge of Maurer’s kingdom, something he had thought about as a remote possibility for the past three years, and now it was within his grasp. It would be he now who would be the power in the organization. No longer would he have to persuade or even beg to have his advice followed. He would decide something should be done, and it would be done immediately.
His mind shifted from the taking over of Maurer’s power to something else that Gollowitz had looked at with envious eyes and frustrated desire ever since he had first met her: Maurer’s wife, Dolores.
Just to think of that tall, red-haired, green-eyed woman made Gollowitz short of breath. To his mind there had never been any woman more desirable and intriguing than Maurer’s wife, and yet Maurer seemed scarcely to be aware she existed. How could he have had an affair with that Arnot woman when Dolores was his? Gollowitz wondered. How could he?
“What’s on your mind, Abe?” Maurer asked sharply, his eyes on Gollowitz’s face.
Gollowitz realized he had been practically thinking out loud, and that was highly dangerous.
He shrugged, his face expressionless.
“A hell of a lot of things,” he said, frowning. “Do you imagine I like this? You walk out of here and leave me holding the can. I’ve got a hell of a lot of things to think about.”
Maurer nodded.
“I won’t be away for long,” he said. “Just hold everything down until I get back. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Gollowitz thought that if anyone should worry it should be Maurer, but he didn’t say so.
Janey Conrad looked anxiously around the crowded bar. She had got past the doorman by telling him she was expecting friends. The Paradise Club didn’t encourage women on their own. The club had its own flock of hostesses, and outside competition wasn’t welcomed.
The last time Janey had come to the club she had been picked up almost immediately by a fat, elderly man who had spent the evening buying her drinks and telling her off-colour stories. Janey had found him insufferably dull, but now she hoped feverishly that he would put in an appearance, but there was no sign of him.
In fact there appeared to be no unattached men this night at the club, and Janey began to grow uncomfortable. She realized she couldn’t continue to sit alone at the corner table much longer. Already the bartender was looking her way, and two of the hostesses, bright, brassy-looking girls, were eyeing her over with open hostility.
She nervously finished her drink. What a let-down if she had to go! she thought. After spending the whole evening making herself look as attractive as she could, and then wasting a taxi fare to the club. There was nowhere else she dared go. At least none of Paul’s stuffy friends ever came to the Paradise Club.
Then just when she was resigning herself that she could stay no longer, she saw a tall man moving towards her, wearing a faultlessly cut tuxedo: a man that set her heart beating rapidly. His lean good-looking face and the white scar that ran from his left eye to his nose set her nerves in a flutter.
He paused at her table and gave her a wide friendly smile. She smiled back, a little uneasily, but she didn’t attempt to conceal her hopeful interest.
“Don’t tell me he’s stood you up,” Seigel said, bending over her. She felt he was trying to look down the front of her low-cut dress, and she drew back, a little alarmed, but excited, too. “I’ve been watching you. You’ve been here quite a time.”
“Well, yes,” she said, and glanced at her wrist-watch. “He is late, but he’ll be along. He — he’s always late.”
“Time and woman should wait for no man,” Seigel said, his smile widening. “Can’t I take his place?”
She pretended to hesitate.
“Well, I don’t know. I — well, we don’t know each other, do we?”
He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“That’s easily fixed. I’m Louis Seigel. Who are you?”
“Janey… Conrad,” Janey said, remembering that Paul had said she was easily recognized and deciding at the last moment not to give her maiden name.
“Well, there you are,” Seigel said. “We now know each other. Simple, isn’t it? Let’s have a drink.”
She watched him snap his fingers at the bartender, and saw how quickly the bartender came out from behind his bar to take Seigel’s order. She noticed, too, the drinks came with miraculous swiftness, and the martini the bartender placed before her was unrecognizable from the one she had ordered and had to wait for.
“I wish I were a man,” she said, as the bartender went away.
“You get all the service. The last drink I had was disgusting.”
“I’m glad you aren’t a man,” Seigel returned, giving her his famous bold look. He had always wondered how Conrad had got hold of such a lovely wife, and now at close quarters he wondered still more. “Didn’t I see you here a few nights ago?”
Janey nodded.
“I look in sometimes. I like this place. Do you know it well?”
“Pretty well,” Seigel said, and laughed. “It’s the best of the night spots in town.” He picked up the martini. “Here’s to a long and beautiful friendship.” He drank the martini, emptying his glass in one swallow. “Down the hatch with it,” he went on, “and let’s have another.”
Janey was ready to comply, and the bartender immediately served two more martinis without being asked. She was not slow to notice the frank admiration in Seigel’s eyes as he looked at her. She was experienced enough to know Seigel was dangerous. He wouldn’t be content just to sit and talk. Before very long the inevitable suggestion that they should go somewhere alone together would be made, and Janey’s heart beat a little quicker as she tried to make up her mind just how far she would allow him to go. It didn’t occur to her that when the time came, she might have no choice. She had plenty of confidence in herself to handle any situation, but then she wasn’t to know that Seigel was a difficult man to stop, once he got going.
Talking to him, seeing the way he was looking at her, feeling the effects of the martinis and hearing the dance band in the restaurant, brought back to Janey the exciting days before she married. She had really kicked the can around in those days, she thought. After all, it wasn’t all that long ago: three years.
“You have a wicked thought running through your mind,” Seigel said. He had the knack of reading a woman’s mind. It was because he invariably knew the right moment to make his advances that his success with women had become a bye-word amongst his friends.
Janey flushed. “I haven’t!” She finished her martini and put the glass down on the table with a defiant little click. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Seigel grinned.
“Oh, yes, you do. You’re wondering what my next move will be, and if I’m going to suggest you come back to my place to look at a valuable etching I’ve just bought.”
Janey stared at him, for a moment nonplussed, then she laughed.
“I was thinking nothing of the kind!”
He leaned forward. There was an animal magnetism in his strength and looks that left Janey a little breathless.
“Are you interested in etchings?”
She shook her head.
“Not a scrap. Are you?”
“No. I’ve never found an etching was necessary.” His smile widened. “A good dinner, a little dancing, discreet lights and soft music are far ahead of any etching.” He pushed his chair back. “Shall we eat?”
Janey looked at him and hesitated. She suddenly sensed that this big, goodlooking man might be taking too much for granted, and he might, as the evening wore on, become much more difficult to handle than she had first imagined. But she knew if she refused his invitation he would leave her flat, and then she would have to go back to the dreary, empty house and the still more dreary television set.
“You’re talking in riddles,” she said, “but I’m hungry, so I will eat.”
“Fine. While you’re powdering your pretty nose,” Seigel said, “I have a phone call to make. Let’s meet here in five minutes.”
“It’ll take me longer to powder my nose than five minutes,” Janey said, refusing to be ordered about.
“In five minutes,” Seigel said, smiling, and walked quickly across the bar to the lounge where a row of pay booths were discreetly concealed.
He dialled a number, and while he was waiting for the-connection, he lit a cigarette.
Janey puzzled him. If he hadn’t known who she was, and that she was married to Conrad, he would have been certain that she was inviting seduction. Was she playing with him? he wondered, or was she really a push-over? Was Conrad going to appear suddenly just when Seigel was ready to move in for the kill? Was that the idea? Would Conrad let his wife come here on her own and act like this just for a chance of making trouble for Seigel? Seigel doubted it, but he decided to play his hand carefully.
A click sounded in his ear and Moe Gleb’s growling voice snarled, “Wadyawan’?”
“I’ve got a job for you,” Seigel said curtly. “You and Pete are to handle it: the works, understand? Pete will do the hitting, you’ll take care of the wheel. Get Pete, and stick to your end of the phone until you hear from me. I’ll let you have the address as soon as I get it.”
“Hey! Don’t we case the joint first?” Moe’s voice sounded startled.
“You won’t have time. The job’s got to be done within a half-hour of you getting the address; after that the cops move in. It’s important; no slipping up, Moe. I’m holding you responsible; understand?”
“Sure,” Moe said.
“Make it a pick job: no noise and quick. I’ll call you any time from now on, so stick close,” and Seigel dropped the receiver back on its hook. He walked quickly along the passage to his office and pushed open the door.
Maurer and Gollowitz were still in the room. Dolores, Maurer’s wife, had joined them.
Seigel looked at her, feeling his blood quicken; something that always happened to him whenever he saw her.
Dolores was his idea of a woman. No other woman he had ever known excited him as she did. He knew she was as beyond his reach as the snow-capped heights of Everest, but that didn’t stop him thinking about her, conjuring up dreams of her and lying awake at nights sweating for her.
She had married Maurer for his money and his power. Seigel knew that, and he knew also she was paying a high price for the position she held.
Maurer by now was sated with women. He had only to lift a finger for any girl to throw herself at him. His control of the movie unions, the night spots along the Californian coast and the big theatres gave him power over the big movie stars as well as the little stars. Even June Arnot, with her fabulous wealth, had thrown herself at him. To him, Dolores was just one more woman, and he treated her as such.
Seigel’s eyes went over Dolores as she sat at the bar in a shimmering emerald green evening dress, covered with glittering sequins. She had the most perfect skin he had ever seen on a woman: like old ivory with the texture of cream. Her masses of dark-red hair set off her big, almond-shaped green eyes, and her figure, tall, lush and sensual, turned his mouth dry.
She swung around on the high stool and smiled at him. It was a mocking smile of a woman who knew what was going on in his mind and didn’t care.
“Hello, Louis,” she said. “How’s the romance going? I saw you with the blonde. Do you like her?”
Seigel changed colour. He looked quickly at Maurer, then over at Gollowitz. He knew Gollowitz was crazy about Dolores, and he knew Gollowitz stood a chance. If anything happened to Maurer, he knew Gollowitz would not only take over the organization, but he would also take over Dolores. He knew Dolores hated Gollowitz as much as she hated Maurer, but so long as fat old men had money and power, the kind of money and power Maurer had and Gollowitz would have, she chose them.
“Keep out of this,” Maurer said, frowning over his shoulder at Dolores. “If you can’t keep quiet, you’d better get out.”
“Oh, I can keep quiet, Jack,” she returned, smiling. “Just regard me as part of the scenery.”
Maurer’s eyes moved to Seigel.
What’s she doing here?”
Seigel shrugged.
“I don’t know. She’s having dinner with me. She told me who she was, and
she’s already a little high. The way she’s acting, she’s a push-over, but maybe she’s playing me for a sucker.”
“Not you, Louis,” Dolores said mockingly. “Anyone else but you. I’m sure she’s just dying to feel your manly arms round her and your passionate breath against her cheek. Who wouldn’t?”
Seigel’s face went a dusky red and a look of vicious fury jumped into his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself in time.
“Go away, Dolly,” Maurer said without looking round. “I’ve had enough of you tonight. Go home!”
Dolores slid off her stool, picked up her ermine wrap she had thrown carelessly over the back of a chair and walked across the room, trailing the wrap behind her. She moved slowly, a little smile on her red lips, and she swayed her hips slightly, attracting the attention of Gollowitz and Seigel who both watched her with intent expressions. As she passed Seigel, she wrinkled her nose at him.
“Good night, Abe,” she said at the door.
“Good night,” Gollowitz said with a little bow. He was careful not to look at her nor to let Maurer see the anger in his eyes.
“Good night, Louis,” she said.
“Oh, get out!” Maurer exclaimed angrily. “We’re busy!”
“And good night, darling.”
She went out, closing the door behind her.
Maurer made an impatient gesture with his hands.
“Damned women! If that bitch doesn’t…”
“We shouldn’t keep Mrs. Conrad waiting,” Gollowitz put in sharply.
“That’s right,” Maurer said. He looked over at Seigel. “Get friendly with her, Louis. She might be useful, but watch your tongue. Make sure she isn’t after information.”
“I’ll watch it,” Seigel said.
“Get back to her. I don’t have to tell you how to handle her, but handle her right.”
Seigel nodded and stepped out into the passage and closed the door.
Janey was waiting for him in the cocktail bar, and it gave him sadistic pleasure to see how worried she looked as she sat at the table. It was so obvious that she was thinking he had walked out on her, and she was once more alone.
“Well for goodness sake!” she exclaimed when she saw him. “You said five minutes and you’ve been a quarter of an hour.”
He grinned at her.
“The number was engaged.” He ran his eyes over her. She was good, but not in the same class as that red-headed devil. Still, she would have to do instead. He would take her somewhere in the dark and imagine she was Dolores. She wasn’t going to forget this night with him. He would leave a scar on her mind — a scar in memory of Dolores.
“Come on,” he said, taking her arm possessively. “Let’s eat.”