The Soft Centre

Cursing, Moe blundered along a dimly lit corridor as the approaching sound of Police sirens added to his panic. He reached a door, pulled back two bolts, dragged the door open and stepped into hot sunshine and a narrow alley that led to the waterfront. He ran down the alley, paused at the end of it and looked back. There was a woman leaning out of a window in the apartment block, staring down at him: a fat, middle-aged woman with blue dyed hair. As she saw him look at her, she started back and began to scream.

Moe shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans and walked quickly along the waterfront. Within fifty yards was Fris-Fris’ bar. Fris-Fris had once been Moe’s lover. He was a fat, elderly Jamaican, a reefer addict, who made a reasonable living organising a Call-boy service for the degenerate rich of Miami.

Moe entered the dark little bar. At this hour, only FrisFris was in the bar. He was dozing behind the counter, a sporting sheet spread out before him, a cup of cold coffee near at hand.

Moe grabbed his arm.?‘Fris! Get me under cover! The cops are after me!’

Fris-Fris sprang out of his daydreams. He moved with the smoothness of a snake. Holding Moe’s arm, he drew him into a room at the back of the bar, pulled aside a curtain, shoved Moe into another room where a man slept on a straw mattress, past the sleeping man and into a narrow corridor.

Fris-Fris fiddled with a hidden catch: a panel that looked like a continuation of the wooden wall slid back and he shoved Moe into a small recess.

‘Wait, I’ll fix it,’ he said and closed the panel.

He scurried back to the bar, settled himself and closed his eyes. A minute later, two patrol officers came in. One of them reached across the bar and slapped Fris-Fris across his fat face.

‘Wake up, Queen,’ the officer barked. ‘Where’s Moe Lincoln?’

Fris-Fris blinked the tears out of his eyes.?‘Lincoln? I haven’t seen him in weeks.’

The two officers, guns in hands, went through the sordid little building, but they didn’t find Moe.

While the hunt for Moe was going on, the news of Williams’ death was flashed to police headquarters.

*****

Terrell and Beigler bundled into a police car and rshed over to Hardy’s penthouse. Lepski was already there.

Hardy lay on the settee. A livid bruise from Moe’s gun showed on his white face. Gina, sick looking, her eyes dark with fear, sat in an armchair, sipping whisky.

Lepski was prowling around the room, jumpy and ready to hit out at anyone.

As Terrell and Beigler entered the apartment block, four white coated interns staggered out, carrying Jacko’s gross body on a stretcher. Terrell stared at the vast mound of flesh, hidden under the sheet, grunted and then walked with Beigler to the elevator.

‘This slob was hiding them,’ Lepski said as Terrell and Beigler came into the penthouse. ‘I don’t give a damn what he says… he was hiding them!’

‘Okay,’ Terrell said. ‘Get after Lincoln. Tom. I’ll handle this.’

Lepski snarled at Hardy who had slowly sat up. Then he walked out of the lounge. Hardy knew at he met Terrell’s cold, hostile eyes, that this was his moment of truth. He had either to play his cards right or he would land in the gas chamber.

‘Chief … they came here last night,’ he said. ‘Jacko and Moe. I was out. They settled in: threatening Miss Lang. When I came in, they told me they had knocked off Henekey. He had double-crossed them in some deal. They didn’t say what. They wanted a get-away stake… five thousand. At first, I wouldn’t play, but they had me. They said if I didn’t give them the money, they would crucify Gina Miss Lang. Those were Jacko’s very words. When that hood promises to do something like that … he does it. So I got the money. Then Lepski came here. Those two were in the bedroom. They heard Lepski tell me there was an officer outside. When Lepski left, they forced Gina to go out there and talk to the officer, then Moe went out and killed him.’ Dramatically, Hardy tossed his automatic on the table. ‘I killed Jacko. I admit it. When I heard the shooting, I grabbed my gun and fired at him as he got into the elevator.’

‘All right,’ Terrell said curtly. ‘Let’s start again.’ He looked at Beigler. ‘Let’s have it down in writing.’

It was a little after five o’clock that evening that Terrell heard from Lepski that he had met Val Burnett in Hardy’s penthouse and that she had been there representing the Miami Sun. Terrell was both tired and worried. Moe Lincoln had again slipped through the police dragnet. Terrell had arrested Lee Hardy for killing Jacko, but Hardy’s lawyer had got Hardy out of the hands of the police on bail. Hardy had claimed he had been forced to kill Jacko as Jacko was about to shoot Gina. As Gina supported this story, there was nothing Terrell could do but to allow Hardy out on bail.

At first he couldn’t believe that Val Burnett had masqueraded as a press reporter, but when Lepski had finally convinced him, he got in his car and drove fast to the Spanish Bay hotel.