He Won't Need it Now

     He felt his way cautiously to the bed and flipped on the small reading-lamp, then he sat down on the bed gently.

     Olga started up, her fists clenched and her lips formed into an “O”. Duffy put his hand gently on her mouth. “Okay,” he said softly. “Take it easy.”

     She looked at him and then lay back. “You scared me silly,” she said.

     “Quiet,” he said, “I don't want the others to wake.”

     She looked from him to the clock and then back at him again. “It's so late... what is it?”

     “Things are happening,” he said. “I gotta talk to you. You know the spot you're in, don't you? Max has been knocked off. Someone paid him a visit and slit his throat for him.”

     The pupils of her eyes became very big. “You mean—?”

     “I'm going to start from the beginning. Then you gotta fill in the gaps.” He lay back a little, resting on his elbow. His battered face was drawn with fatigue. She suddenly felt a little pang of compassion for him.

     “Take off your shoes and lie here beside me.”

     He shook his head. “I'd go to sleep,” he said. “Now listen. There's a redhead called Annabel English, she's the daughter of Edwin English, the politician. She's wild and bad. One of her boy friends is this guy Weidmer. She has dealings with Cattley. This punk called on her and she tossed him down the elevator shaft. Right, before we go any further, you gotta tell me all you know about Cattley.”

     She said in a low voice, “Cattley was mixed up in a big dope traffic. He started off in a small way, peddling the stuff and taking a rake-off. That was when I knew him. Then he got big and began to make money. Weidmer was his boss. Gleason was the big shot. Cattley got tired of taking orders and he stole the list of customers——”

     “Stop!” Duffy's voice sounded like the snap of a steel trap. He took the little note-book from his pocket and put it on the coverlet before her. “Is this the list?”

     Her startled face told him. “So that's it,” he said. He thumbed the book through. “Why, these guys can't operate without this list... the dope buyers must be hopping mad.” He shut his eyes and tried to think.

     “How... how did you get that?” she asked.

     He opened his eyes. “I got it from Cattley's joint. Annabel came down to look for it, and I took it off her. This makes things pretty clear. Hell! They certainly operated in a big way. Look at those names, for God's sake.”

     She put her hand on his arm. “They'll get it away from you,” she said, fear coming into her eyes. “It means millions to them.”

     Duffy turned on his elbow and looked at her. His tired eyes searched her face. “You know,” he said, speaking slowly, “years ago, I used to think of being in a spot like this. To have the chance of grabbing a million dollars from a bunch of toughs. Well, I've got my chance. I'm going to play the ends against the middle.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “If they find you've squawked, you're going to be washed up. I like you, honey. Will you come in on this with me?”

     Her eyes became shrewd again. “How?”

     “This guy Morgan,” Duffy said, “you ain't heard about him. I can't quite see how he fits, except he's looking for easy dough.”

     She looked blank. “Morgan?”

     Quickly and with economy, he told her about Morgan and the three toughs. “They thought they'd blackmail Annabel. It'd be good enough to publish a photo of Cattley and Annabel to upset old man English. I thought it was deeper than that. Gee! I gave her the benefit and thought they killed Cattley to pin it on her. All the time she had killed Cattley herself, and I was sucker enough to help her shift the body. Anyway, that's her funeral now. I'm selling the book to the highest bidder.”

     Olga said, “Why should Morgan want to buy it?”

     Duffy grinned. “Use your head,” he said. “This crowd here,” he tapped the note-book, “is lousy with dough. They'd pay anything to hush up scandal. How'd it look if it got round that they traded in dope?”

     She leant back in the bed and brooded. Then she said, “I believe you've got something.”

     Duffy put the note-book away. “You bet I've got something,” he said. “Why not? Why the hell shouldn't I make a little dough out of these punks? Why shouldn't you?”

     “How much will it be?” she asked.

     “Fifty grand, hundred grand, anything.”

     She lay back flat, and ran her fingers through her thick hair. Duffy thought she was a very nice broad indeed. “We could do a lot with that money, couldn't we?” she said, her voice thrilling.

     Duffy patted her hand. “Yeah,” he said, “we could do a lot.” He glanced at the clock and got stiffly to his feet. “I'm going to have a little sleep. There's action coming.”

     She put her hand on his arm. “You look so tired,” she said.

     He dug up a grin. “You're dead right, sister.”

     She lay there, her eyes very bright, and he could see the sudden rising and falling of her breasts under the sheet. She said, looking into his eyes, “I could make you better. Won't you come?”