He Won't Need it Now

     They walked into the busy lobby. Across the lounge he saw Schultz reading a newspaper. Schultz made no sign that he had seen him, but by the way he folded the paper and laid it down Duffy knew he had.

     The little guy and Joe came in. Joe was looking mad, he scowled at Duffy. The little guy said, “You're going to get into trouble one of these days.”

     Duffy said, “Skip the talk. Let's get down to business.” He walked into the bar. The little guy Followed him, leaving Joe in the lobby. Shep beamed at Joe, but said nothing.

     The little guy said, when they got to the bar, “What you doing with Gilroy's mob?”

     Duffy stared at him coldly. “You'll know before long,” he said. “Come on, let's get this over, you stink.”

     The little guy giggled. He put his hand inside his coat and took out an envelope. He opened it and drew out a sheaf of notes. Duffy watched him count them. Twenty-five grand. Then Duffy took the note-book out and they exchanged. The little guy said, “And the duplicate?” Duffy smiled. His eyes were like ice. “The State's got that.”

     The little guy shook his head sadly. “You shouldn't have done that,” he said. “Morgan's going to get mad when I tell him that.”

     Duffy said deliberately, “Morgan can —— himself.”

     The little guy giggled again. “I'll tell him that too.” He put the note-book in his pocket. “Those notes are phoneys,” he said, as an afterthought.

     Duffy took the envelope out of his pocket, examined one of the notes carefully. It looked all right to him. “You don't say,” he said.

     The little guy nodded cheerfully. “Sure, Morgan wouldn't pay a punk like you in real dough.”

     Duffy put the notes away. He had an idea.

     The little guy said, “Well, for God's sake, you're taking it quietly, ain't you?”

     Duffy said, “Take my tip, scram.”

     The little guy looked at him, then nodded. “You'll see me again, of course,” he said apologetically.

     Duffy said, “Before you think.”

     He watched the little guy walk out, followed by Joe, then he beckoned to Shep and called for two ryes. Shep came over. “You got it?” he said.

     Duffy slipped one of the notes out and gave it to him.

     Shep glanced at it, beamed and said, “As easy as that, huh?”

     Duffy pushed the glass over to him, drained his quickly and nodded at the barman. “One more,” he said.

     Shep said, “You drink too quickly.”

     “So long as I don't drink too much, why should I worry?”

     Shep frowned, then said, “It amounts to the same, don't it?”

     He gave Duffy back the note reluctantly. Duffy put it with the others. He said, “Let's go.”

     Gilroy and Schultz were sitting in the Buick waiting for them. When the Buick was rolling, Gilroy said, “No fuss?”

     Duffy handed the notes over to him. “There they are,” he said.

     Gilroy counted them and whistled. “This don't seem natural,” he said.

     Duffy stared out of the window. “Maybe, it ain't.”

     Gilroy examined the notes carefully, then he said, “Phoneys.”

     Duffy nodded. “Yeah, he told me as much before he left.”

     “So what?”

     Duffy turned his face, so that he looked at Gilroy.

     “I guess we're going to frame Morgan with those. It'll be worth twenty-five grand to clap him away. English'll pay as much as that for the job.”

     “How... frame?”

     “We'll go out to his place and plant that stuff tonight. There's a nice little rap for making notes as big as these. Once we get those planted, then we tip English, and he does the rest.”

     Gilroy said, “The dough would've been better.”

     Duffy shrugged. “You can't have everything,” he said.

     Shep had been listening to the conversation. He turned his head. “Say, those notes sure made a sap of me. Why not put 'em on the street? We'd pass 'em okay.”

     Duffy said, “No, that's not the way to play it. You'll get the dough all right, but it'll take a little longer. When you get it, it'll be safe.”

     When they got back to the Bronx, Duffy 'phoned English. English said, “We've got Wessen.”

     “How about Annabel?”

     “Never mind about her. I've paid another five thousand dollars into your account. That should hold you for a bit.”

     Duffy grinned to himself. “Listen, English,” he said. “Are you holding Clive Wessen on a murder rap?”

     “Murder?” English seemed surprised. “No, he's in for cocaine smuggling.”

     Duffy grinned and winked over his shoulder at Gilroy.

     “I bet that guy had his pockets full of the white stuff,” he said.

     “The police found enough incriminating evidence to justify an arrest,” English said smoothly.

     “I bet they did,” Duffy said. “And Annabel?”

     There was a pause, then English said in a faintly hostile voice, “You know about that. My unfortunate daughter was killed by a hit-and-run motorist.”

     “That's too bad,” Duffy said. “I'll be having some more work for you in a little while.” He hung up. “That bird's cagey,” he said to Gilroy. “They framed Wessen, smothered Annabel's murder. It's a hit-and-run case.”

     Gilroy shook his bullet head. “You gotta watch him.”

     Duffy shrugged. “We're playing on his side.” He went over and helped himself to a drink. “It's nice to have a guy like that behind you.”