Miss Walsh came in. She was wearing a new dress. I noticed that the women always put their best foot forward at these little affairs: flowers in their hair, new dresses, beauty treatments, bright smiles. “If you won’t need me for the balance of the day,” she said, smiling, “I think I’ll go downstairs.”
I smiled back at her. “You can go, Miss Walsh, it’ll be all right.” I took out the present I had bought for her a few days before. Usually I gave her a bottle of perfume or a box of candy, but this year I bought her a small wrist-watch. She deserved it; she had been working rather hard since Allison had left, and many were the nights she had stayed late to help me out. “Merry Christmas!”
She took the closed package and held it in her hand. I could see she wanted to open it but didn’t dare in front of me because I might think it rude. “Thank you, Mr. Kane,” she said, smiling, “and a very merry Christmas to you!” She turned and went out.
I sat there for a little while longer and then went down to the party. It was going full blast. There were the usual number of slightly drunk, and everyone was in various stages of Christmas joy. As usual the conversation fell away as I entered the room. For a few seconds there would be a little silence, broken by whispers as new employees would be told who I was, and then gradually the party would begin to warm up again. I would stand around for a while, smile and nod politely at whoever spoke to me, and then leave quietly.
This time I felt sort of blue. Usually I came away from these things with an inner feeling of strength and power, but this time I just felt empty. I watched the couples dancing around and wisecracking, and felt sort of left out of things. I might be paying for the whole shebang, but it was their party.
I shouldn’t have had anything to worry about. Things had been rather quiet since Luigerro and the others had been pinched. The boys seemed to be behaving themselves, and the whole affair seemed to be dying a natural slow death. Day by day the news of me crept farther and farther into the inner pages of the newspapers, being pushed back by newer and more sensational copy. Yet I couldn’t escape the sense of impending doom that seemed to envelop me like a dark cloud over the sun. I turned to leave.
“Mr. Kane?” the voice was soft and young and had a question in its tone.
I turned back. A girl was standing near me. She looked like her voice. Youth was
A look of relief flooded over her features. I imagine if I spoke coldly she would have run away. “Would you care to dance?” Her face looked down and her hands made a gesture towards the floor.
I smiled reassuringly. “I’d be very glad to.”
Her face looked up at mine at that. She sort of brightened up a little. I held my arms towards her and we began to dance. People stared at us. Let them stare, I thought. I have a right to dance here if I want to: it’s my party. This was the first time I had ever danced at any of the parties.
She danced well—young and light on her feet. The music was gay and a little on the fast side. She fitted snugly into my arms and I could feel the pressure of her youth against me. She looked up at me as we danced; her eyes seemed to be studying my face. I looked down at her, and she half closed her eyes so I couldn’t look too deeply into them. She half turned her face away. “You’re a very good dancer, Mr. Kane,” she whispered timidly.
I smiled back at her. “You mean you are. I wouldn’t do half as well with anyone else, Miss——?”
She coloured a little. “Muriel—Muriel Bonham,” she said. And then, as if the words had burst out of her, “I hope you don’t think I’m fresh—I mean about asking you to dance.”
I shook my head slightly. “I don’t; in fact I’m glad you did.”
She gained a little confidence at that remark. “It’s just that I thought you looked sort of lonely standing there by yourself— not talking to anyone, I mean.”
I looked at the girl again. I must be in a bad way if a kid could see it. “What made you think that, Muriel?” I asked
“The way you stood there watching the dancers, it was as if, well, as if you wanted to dance too.” She was smiling now.
“I see,” I said slowly. The music was drawing to a close. I turned at a corner and the music stopped. We stood there applauding. Her face was bright and shiny, her mouth gay and laughing.
There was something about her that seemed too young to be involved in this sort of business. I made a mental note to tell Miss Walsh to find out in what department she worked and have her fired. She would be better off out of this.
The music started again. I looked at her; she nodded and we danced another dance. When the music stopped I thanked her and went back to my office. I mixed a drink for myself and sat there until I could hear the music had stopped. The girl was right. I was alone. But you got to make up your own mind as to what you want. I had made up mine a long time ago.
I looked over at the telephone. It would be easy to call Ruth and wish her a merry Christmas. It was as good an excuse as any. Every day since the last time I had spoken to her, a florist delivered an orchid to her for me. She had never acknowledged them, but neither had she refused them. It would be nice to talk to her. I reached for the phone.
When my hand was halfway towards it, I stopped. I noticed the door was opening
slowly. I opened the left-hand desk drawer and put my hand in it as I watched the door. My hand touched the cold metal of the automatic I kept there, and my fingers closed around it reassuringly.
A girl’s head peeked in through the half open door. The hair, a pale gold colour, shimmered in the dimming light of the room. She saw me sitting there, and opened the door wide and came into the room. “Were you here all the while, Mr. Kane?” Muriel asked.
I shut the desk drawer. “Yes,” I said. “Why did you come?”
She was in front of my desk. “I don’t know,” she said simply. “I just had to.” Her eyes were vaguely puzzled. There seemed to be something she didn’t understand about herself.
I got out of my seat and walked around the desk towards her silently. Something inside me was haywire. I was nervously taut and tense; my mouth was set in a queer hard line.
“Mr. Kane.” She was a little frightened. “Mr. Kane, what are you going to do?” Her voice went a little thin and she seemed to shrink back from me.
I didn’t answer. I put my arms around her shoulders and pulled her roughly towards me. Her hands pushed against my chest ineffectually. I held her against me with one arm; with the other hand I gripped her face under the chin and turned it up to me and put my mouth on hers and kissed her.
Her hands opened and closed themselves against my jacket and then clutched my pocket and held. It was a long, hard kiss. When I let her go, her eyes were half closed, She hung limply against me. “Is this what you came here for?” I asked harshly.
She paid no attention to the sound of my voice. Her head was on my shoulder, her face turned away from me, her voice small. All she said was: “Oh, Mr. Kane!”
I looked down at her. Suddenly I felt old and tired. All the fever pent inside me seemed to disappear. I dropped my hands and backed away from her.
She looked at me. “Mr. Kane, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “Go home, baby, before you’re sorry.” I lit a cigarette.
“Mr. Kane,” she said in that tricky, small voice of hers, “I won’t be sorry. Don’t send me away.”
“Beat it!” I said. “You’re too young to be playing these kind of games. Go home to your mother.”
“I’m twenty, Mr. Kane,” she said, drawing up her head in a funny, proud sort of way, “and I’m old enough to play at any sort of games I choose.”
I looked over at her. I didn’t speak.
“Mr. Kane,” she said, looking down at the floor again, “who are you going to have Christmas dinner with?”
The question knocked me for a loop. It was the last thing I had expected her to ask. “Why?” I asked.
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” she asked, still looking at the floor. “I don’t want to spend Christmas alone again.
The word ‘again’ intrigued me. “Why?” I asked.
“I live in a boarding house,” she answered softly. “My parents are dead and I haven’t anyone to spend Christmas with.” She looked up at me. Her eyes were blue and swimming in tears. “All the others,” she said huskily, “they have places to go—but us.”
“How do you know I haven’t?” I asked.
“I can see it in your face, Mr. Kane,” she said, looking straight at me. “I can tell when someone is alone.”
I watched her for a moment and then smiled slowly. She smiled with me. “O.K., Muriel,” I said as sternly as I could, “I’ll have dinner with you; but remember: no funny business.”
“Mr. Kane,” she said, smiling slightly, “I’m no virgin.”
I laughed and sat down in my chair. “Miss Bonham,” I said, “neither am I!” I kissed her and we went out to dinner.
We had dinner at the Oyster Bay. She was a nice kid all right, but I wasn’t in the mood. Besides, I didn’t think she was as old as she said she was. After dinner I took her home; she lived out in Teaneck. I pulled up in front of the house she pointed out, and walked her to the door.
The light was dim inside the hall. I said good night and turned to leave. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Mr. Kane?” she asked plaintively.
I laughed to myself. I must be nuts to pass this up. “O.K., baby!” I said. “Just a kiss!”
She came towards me. In the light her face looked older, wiser. “Mr. Kane, I’m not a child.”
I put my arms around her and kissed her. When I let go, I knew she wasn’t kidding. If there was a trick to kissing, she had it. I went for it again.
She was close to me: I could feel the whole length of her against my body. Her mouth was warm and sweet, her hands cupped over my ears, holding my face down to hers.
The voice came from right behind me. It was a man’s voice, rough and harsh. It spoke to her not to me. “O.K., Bonnie,” the voice said. “You can let go now.”
The girl dropped her hands from my face. She stepped back a little. Her face didn’t have any expression of surprise, wasn’t even startled. I took a quick look at her and started to turn around slowly. Pinwheels were going around in my head. By the time I had finished turning and saw the two men—one with a gat pointed at my belly—only one thought remained.
This was the kiss-off.
I
DIDN’T
speak. My stomach tightened up; for a moment I felt like being sick, but I swallowed my guts and stood there.
“Frisk ’im,” the guy with the gun said to the other.
“You don’t have to,” Bonnie said, moving away from me. “He’s light.”
“Frisk ’im anyway,” the first guy said. “We don’t take chances with this baby.”
I held up my elbows while the second man shook me down. Then as he moved away, I lowered them. The girl now stood next to the man with the gun. I looked at her; she was perfectly composed. I was trying to figure the deal, but no angles popped fast. My brain seemed to be a little foggy; it must have been or I wouldn’t have picked up a hand like this.
“Turn around,” the gunsel told me, “and go out to your car.”
I did what he said—you don’t argue with a gat! But it didn’t make sense at all. If this was a bump, this place was the best spot for it. There weren’t any houses near the one we were in. A thought jumped into my mind. The girl had said her parents were dead. Only two people might figure that I would be a sucker for that gag. Only two people who knew my history were also concerned with my future.
Jerry and Silk.
If it was Jerry, I couldn’t figure it. If it was Silk, I should have been knocked off in the house. I got behind the wheel of the car still thinking.
“Over the bridge to New York,” the gunsel said, sitting behind me. The girl climbed into the front seat next to me. “You’re going to see the D.A.,” the man continued.
I let a little sigh of relief escape me. At least it wasn’t a curtain. But I still couldn’t understand how Jerry had come to do it this way. It wasn’t the way I’d thought he operated. I spoke to the girl next to me. “You took me, kid.”
“It wasn’t hard,” she answered unflatteringly.
She was right: I did it all. She just had to play along. “How long have you been down at my place?” I asked.
“I wasn’t,” she replied. “I just walked in on the party and waited for you.”
I started to say something else but the guy in the back seat poked me between the shoulders. “Shut up!” he said.
I clammed up.
We got over the bridge and I started downtown. The guy tapped me on the shoulder. “Go to the Dauphin Hotel,” he told me.
I knew the place. It was on upper Broadway in the Seventies. The deal began to smell up again. Something was cooking. I didn’t know what it was, but I could smell it burning.
I parked the car on Broadway and we walked into the lobby of the hotel. The man looked at his watch. “We’re early,” he said. “Go into the bar and we’ll have a drink. And don’t screw around!”
Silently the four of us entered the bar. There was a booth empty and we sat down.
The waiter came up and we ordered. I had a Scotch-and-water. I paid the tab. We sat there a few minutes. Then the girl got up and went to the telephone. She came back when she had made her call. I saw the gunsel nod to her.
He got up. “Finish your drink,” he ordered. I swallowed it.
“O.K.,” he said. “Come on.”
I followed him to the desk. He stopped there and said to the clerk: “Two rooms and a bath for my friend here.” He pointed to me.
The clerk held the registration book to me. “Sign,” the gunsel ordered.
I wrote my name on the book: “Frank Kane”. This was beginning to shape up. It had all the elements of a frame. Only I didn’t know who was pulling it. And I couldn’t figure the frame.
We were shown to some rooms on the fourth floor. I tossed a buck to the bellboy and he left. “Make yourself comfortable,” the gunsel said.
I sat down in a chair near the window. The first gunsel crossed to the telephone and dialled a number; he had his gun out and was covering me. A voice answered the phone. “Mr. Cowan?” he asked.