He Won't Need it Now

     “You can't break into the game,” Morgan said. “You're soft. What've you got that'll stand up against an outfit like mine? Get wise to yourself, you little heel. Where's the dough coming for your protection? Who's going to work for an out-of-work button-pusher? You must be nuts to come to me with a proposition like that. Here, give me the list and take the five hundred bucks. That's what you're worth, and save yourself a lot of grief.”

     Duffy's expression didn't change, but his eyes went suddenly frosty. “Soft? Was that it?” he said.

     Morgan shrugged. “I've wasted enough time with you. Scram, I'll do the job myself.” He put the five bills into his pocket. Then he looked up quickly. “I want that list tonight,” he said evenly. “You can't buck the rap. The list tonight, or I'll turn Joe loose on you.”

     Duffy nodded; he stepped past Joe carefully, who grinned at him, then he walked to the front door and down the steps.

     Olga looked at him and said, “So it didn't work.”

     Duffy engaged the gear and drove the Buick down the block. He began to swear softly under his breath, without moving his lips. Olga laced her fingers round her knees and stared ahead.

     Duffy swung, the Buick into Seventh Avenue and went with the traffic. He cut right at Longacre Square and drove into Central Park. When he reached the lake, he stalled the engine and stopped.

     Olga said, “Don't get mad.”

     For a moment he said nothing, then he took off his hat and tossed it at the back of the car. “Those birds certainly got me going,” he said. A grim little smile came to his mouth, and she liked him a lot better.

     “Tell me,” she said.

     He screwed round in his seat, so that he was facing her, and took her gloved hands in his. “This is going to get tough,” he said. “You'd better skip before the war starts.”

     Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Suppose you cut out the hysterics and tell me.”

     Duffy said, “Morgan wants the list. I'm to hand it over tonight or else...”

     Olga said, “No dough?”

     Duffy nodded. “That's right. No dough.” She was silent for a minute.

     “And then....?”

     “Morgan's got big ideas. He thinks he's the only big shot round here. He told me to lay off the big dough with a few compliments on the side.”

     Olga took her hands away and began to pull off her gloves.

     “I expected it, didn't you?” she said. “Does this dough mean anything to you?”

     Duffy said, “How do you mean, anything?”

     “High-pressure bastards like Morgan can't imagine you're serious. You've got to have a reputation as a killer to get away with a proposition that you've put up.”

     Duffy said, “For God's sake, what can I do?”

     She leant forward, touched the spring on the dashboard, and took out the Colt automatic.

     “A rat less won't make any difference. Pop him, before he pops you.”

     Duffy looked at the gun with distaste. He shook his head. “No,” he said, “I guess I wouldn't go that far.”

     For a moment she sat very still, then she said, “He's right. You're soft and you're yellow.”

     Duffy took the gun from her and put it back into the panel. He sat looking at the knife-edge crease of his trousers. “No dough's worth murder,” he said. “If you and me are going to get along, we got to think the same way.”

     She put her hand on his arm. “I guess I'm a heel,” she said.

     “Forget it,” he said. “You're fine.”

     “You go ahead. The next move's yours.”

     “Let's take Gleason for a ride. If we get some dough out of him, we can scram to the coast. Would you like that? Some nice hot place with plenty of yellow sand. With a sky real blue and just you and me?”

     She leant back. “It sounds pretty good.”

     “It would be a lot better than having the cops chasing you and getting that nice little bottom of yours burnt. Come on, honey, let's look Gleason up.”

     He started the engine and drove out of Central Park, down Second Avenue.

     She said, “Go along the river. It's nice there.”

     He turned left when he could and came out at Bellevue Hospital. They drove with the traffic as far as the Williamsburg Bridge, then Duffy spun the wheel and they headed East.

     They got back to his apartment just as the evening sun was dropping behind the roofs, throwing long, starved shadows.

     They left the Buick at the kerb and walked up the stairs together. Duffy said, “It seems a mighty long time since I had my last drink.”

     “How about putting on the glad rags and taking me out?” she asked.

     He put his hand on her back and pushed her a little. “These stairs are hell, ain't they? Sure, we'll go places, but I want Gleason first.”

     He opened the door of the apartment and they walked in together. Then Duffy said, “Well...”

     The room was a complete shambles. The furniture was overturned, drawers had been jerked out and left piled on the floor, the contents strewn over the carpet. The overstuffed furniture had been ripped to pieces and the stuffing dumped in piles. Pictures had been taken down from the walls and were lying with their backs cut. A tornado had certainly hit that room.

     Duffy said gently, “Gleason trying to save himself some dough.”