He Won't Need it Now

     Duffy walked out of the drug store, looked up and down the street before he crossed the pavement, then climbed into the Buick. He let in his clutch and drove over to Dinty's. He parked the car in the underground garage, took the lift to the top floor, asked for a private room.

     The waiter who served him said, “A lady is coming?”

     Duffy shook his head. “Get the room ready, have some rum, absinthe and dressing up there, and some Club sandwiches. I'm waiting downstairs for a friend.”

     Sam came in the hall a little while after. They went up together in the lift. Neither of them said anything, but Sam kept wiping off his hands and face with a large handkerchief. They went into the room and Duffy shut the door.

     Sam said, “You gone crazy?”

     Duffy went over to the table and began to fix the drinks. “Has it broken yet?” he asked.

     “They're printing it now. I was down at the station when the report came in.” Sam was trying to be casual, but he was as jittery as a hophead.

     Duffy poured the drinks from the shaker, and silently pushed one of the glasses over.

     Sam said, “You're in a hell of a spot.”

     “Annabel's playing this,” Duffy said savagely. “She's pulling strings behind the scene.”

     “What happened, for God's sake?”

     Duffy drained his glass, and immediately filled up again. “We were set to pull out. I went down to the bank to get the book out. When I got back, I found the joint in pieces and Olga dead. Some rat had stuck a knife in her. I must have been crazy. Instead of grabbing the 'phone and reporting it right away, I ran round in circles. Then a couple of cops moved in. They had the story pat. I'd killed Olga for her roll. They even found the dough on me. One of 'em palmed it, put his hand in my pocket and seemed surprised to find it clinging to his hand.”

     Sam stared. “Why the frame? They had you sewed up tight enough without that.”

     Duffy shrugged. “You telling me? The sweet part of the set-up was they intended to iron me out. I could see them getting set for it. Resisting arrest, closing the case, and slapping the murder rap on a corpse. Save the State plenty. It was nice planning, but they were slow on it. One cop shot the other, and I ducked out as the patrol wagon arrived.”

     Sam fidgeted with his glass. “You're it,” he said.

     “Annabel knocked her off.” Duffy sat on the edge of the cable, he held his glass a little on one side, so that the liquor slopped slightly on the carpet. “They thought they'd get the list without paying. Well, they won't. It's going to be just too bad for them.”

     “You better skip while the going's good. You can't stand up against this outfit. It's too big for you.”

     Duffy said evenly, “I'm finishing this. They've had all the fun up to now. Olga said I'd never get anywhere with those rats till I took a gun, and by God, she's right.”

     Sam said, “You liked that Jane, didn't you?”

     Duffy's mouth set in a thin line. He kept his eyes on the floor. “I was getting used to her,” he said at last. “She had all the bad breaks.”

     “I still say skip. You can't buck the cops, as well as Morgan. They're too big for you.”

     Duffy said, “You keep out of this, Sam. I'm going out to the Bronx on Maddiston. Ross's got a hide-out there. If things begin to break wrong, you can find me there. I'll wait until the heat cools off, then I'll start something.”

     Sam said, “I got to go. I'm on my way to the Villa. All the boys are down there.”

     Duffy went over to him. “Tell Alice to keep her pants on. I guess this's bound to happen sometime. I wasn't cut out for a soft life.”

     Sam moved to the door. “If you want some jack, I can stake you.”

     Duffy grinned. “You'd be surprised just how much dough's coming my way.”

     They didn't shake hands, they just looked at each other. Sam gave a worried smile, it hadn't much heart in it, but he smiled. Duffy nodded. “You'll hear from me,” he said.

     He waited until Sam had gone downstairs, poured himself another drink, lit a cigarette, then went out and down to the Buick.

     Rain was beginning to fall in heavy drops. Duffy leant over and rolled up the off-side window, then he drove the Buick on to the street. As he threaded his way through the traffic, the rain drummed hard on the car roof. It was splashing knee-high off the pavement.

     Duffy drove carefully. It took him quite a time to get to the Bronx, which was a basement club, with a convenient garage over the way. Duffy left the Buick at the garage and walked down the steps into the club.

     “Gilroy around?” he asked.

     The thin man who opened the door looked at him suspiciously, said, “Who wants him?”

     “Tell him a friend of Ross.”

     The thin man pulled the door open. “Come in,” he said. When Duffy stepped into the dimly-lit passage, the thin man ran his hands down Duffy's suit. He stepped back. “You can't bring a rod in here,” he said.

     “Tell Gilroy,” Duffy snapped, “and shut up.”