Somebody Owes Me Money

Abbie said, “A convent’s better?”

“Yes,” he said. “And believe me, I hated the idea of coming here the last two times, but I figured I had to, to keep up appearances. I figure this is my last game.”

I said, “Fred, are you telling me Cora took my money? To make up for your losses?”

“No,” he said, and almost looked offended. “A lot of people were in and out of that apartment, Chet. Who knows whose sticky fingers carried that cash away. Cora’s hotheaded, but she isn’t a thief.”

“Only a murderer,” Abbie said.

Fred sighed. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “Whatever you want me to do, Chet, that’s what I’ll do. You want me to make a statement to the police? I don’t want you and Abbie getting killed over this. Enough has happened already.”

“More than enough,” I said. I looked at Abbie. “What do you think? Is a convent punishment enough?”

“It would be for me,” she said.

I said, “We don’t care about the cops anyway. It’s the mobs that worry us. Just so they know the story, that should satisfy us. Okay, Abbie?”

She hesitated, but I knew she couldn’t retain the white-hot desire for vengeance against a woman who’d already turned herself in at a convent. “Okay,” she said.

“Good.” I turned to Sid. “You’ve got the story straight?”

“I’ve got it,” he said.

“Okay. You go make your phone call now. And first you tell them what really happened to Tommy McKay. And then you tell them about the lawyer I stopped off to see on my way in here, and you tell them I dictated a long letter to that lawyer to be opened in the event of either my or Abbie’s death, and you tell them that lawyer went to school with John Lindsay, and you tell them we want to be left one hundred percent alone from now on. You tell them we don’t intend to make any waves, and we don’t want any waves making on us, if you get what I mean.”

“I’ve got it,” he said.

“And you also tell them,” I said, “to be sure things are squared with Golderman.”

He frowned. “I don’t know Golderman.”

“You don’t have to. Just tell them. And tell them to pass the word to Droble and his clowns before they screw things up. And tell them I want my doggone nine hundred thirty dollars.”

Was he grinning behind that poker face? I don’t know. “I’ll tell them,” he said.

“Let me think,” I said. “Oh, yeah. And get word to Golderman to go outside and see if I left the meter running, and if I did, to turn it off, and I’ll be out tomorrow for the cab.”

“You’ll be out tomorrow for the cab.”

“Can you remember all that?”

“Of course,” he said.

“And I’ll tell you something I’m going to remember,” I told him. “I’m going to remember that you were willing to turn me over to people to murder me.”

He shook his head. “What would have happened if I said no, Chet? They would have killed me instead. You’re a nice guy and I like you, but I can get along without you. I can’t get along without me for a minute.” He got to his feet. “I’ll make that call now,” he said, and he left.

There was a little silence, and then Fred said, “What about me, Chet?”

“You can do what you want, Fred,” I said. “I don’t hold a grudge against you. I’m glad your aim wasn’t any worse than it was, that’s all. But I’m not going to turn you over to the police. You can go or stay, it’s up to you.”

“Then I believe I’ll go,” he said, and got wearily to his feet. “I don’t have much chips here,” he said. “Just toss these in the next pot.” He walked around the table and stood in front of me. “I’m sorry, Chet,” he said. “I honestly am.”

“I know you are.”

Hesitantly he stuck out his hand. Hesitantly I took it. Then he nodded to Abbie, nodded to the table at large, and left, very slope-shouldered.

Leo had the cards in his hand again. He said, “I know momentous things are happening all around me, but I don’t get to play poker that often. Are we ready?”

“We’re ready,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Five-card stud, in the lady’s honor,” he said, and started to deal. When he got to Sid’s chair he said, “What about Sid?”

“Deal him out,” I said.