Stop This Man! (15 page)

“O.K., I guess. You been waiting long, Tony?”

She went behind the screen to take off the red corset and net stockings she was wearing.

“Why’re you going behind that thing?”

“Just because.”

“Because what?”

“I don’t know. Just because, you know.”

“Come on out.”

“Aw, Tony, please. That’s not right.”

He didn’t answer her. He sat with his elbows on his knees, cracking his knuckles.

“How was it, Lily?”

“Reach me that bra, hon. How was what?”

“Where you came from, just now. That party.”

“O.K., I guess. We just danced. I sang a song.”

“What else?”

“Nothing, Tony, honest. Just a private party and we entertained. You know.”

“I bet you entertained. Anybody make a pass at you?”

“Tony!”

“Listen, I know those parties. Did anybody—”

“Nobody did nothing, hon, really. To me, anyway.”

“What?”

“Well, some of the girls stayed, you know. They’re still there. But nobody tried anything with me. They all know I’m your girl, Tony.”

She came out from behind the screen, wearing the white dress, high and smooth around her ripe body, the
dress she had worn the first time he’d heard her sing.

Catell got up and took her waist. “They knew you were my girl, huh?”

“They did, hon. That makes me special,” and she smiled up at him. “You feeling better now, Tony?”

“Sure. And all this is going to change. One more week, Lily, two weeks at the most, and you and I beat it out of here. No more of this life, Lily.” He kissed her hard and she gave the kiss back, slowly, earnestly.

“My number’s up, Tony. You sit out front?”

“Don’t say your number’s up. Bad luck.” He chucked her under the chin. “Say, ‘I’m going on stage,’ or something.”

“O.K., Tony. You’ll be out front?”

“I’ll be right there with you.”

They did the number about the evil baron again, and Lily did her song. Catell sat and waited. His throat felt hot and raw from smoking, so he drank a glass of milk. When Lily was through she came to the table and sat down.

“Why don’t we go home?” Catell said. He had one hand on Lily’s arm, working his palm against her wrist.

“One more number, Tony. The short one. Can I have a drink?”

“Sure. What?”

“Just bar whisky. And a glass of water.”

“Bar whisky! How can you stand that stuff? We can afford better, you know. Besides, it’s on the house.”

“Just bar whisky. I like a little shot. It makes me warm inside. You know, Tony, I don’t care for the flavors, I just like the heat inside.”

“Of course you know how fattening it is.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yes, very, and you are getting fat. Here.”

“Tony! The people!”

“And here.”

“To-nee!”

“True. At your age, getting fat is a bad thing.”

“Tony Catell, you do that once more and I’ll leave.”

“You’ll leave! Where to?”

“I don’t know yet, and besides, I wouldn’t tell you, anyway. So there!”

They looked at each other and laughed, not really knowing why. And in the middle of their being together, a cold anger suddenly pulled Catell’s face into an ugly mask. He got up.

“What in hell do you want?”

“Why, lovin’ cup, you old boozer, where have you been keeping yourself?”

Selma came up to the table with a rush, gesturing, looking back and forth between Catell and the seated girl.

“You gonna ask me to sit down, lovin’ cup?” She sat down next to Lily.

“This is my friend Lily. And this is Selma.”

Selma’s wide mouth was spread in a stiff grin and she kept crinkling her eyes as if she was suppressing a real killer of a joke.

“If you knew just how happy this makes me, to see good old Tony again. I’ve been asking around and around, ever since I got here, Tony, and finding out all kinds of things about you. I hadn’t heard about you, though,” Selma said, looking Lily up and down.

“I bet,” Catell said. He waved to the bartender.

“Me too, lovin’ cup. Scotch.” Selma looked at Catell as if he and she were the only people at the table. She put her chin in her hands and moved one shoulder. The strap of her evening dress slid down.

“Your thing slid down, Miss—Mrs.—”

“Just Selma, dear. Just call me Selma.”

There was an ugly scratch in Selma’s voice when she talked to Lily. Lily looked as she always did.

While they were waiting for the drinks, there was a moment of silence, the kind of silence that everybody hopes no one will break, but somebody has to.

Then Selma laughed. “Well, Tony, tell me about yourself. You been doing any good? Uh, pardon me, dear, I don’t mean you.” Selma gave Lily an indulgent smile.

“Selma.” Catell’s voice pressed out with a hiss. “Selma, I want you to get one thing straight. Leave the kid alone. In fact, leave her out completely. She’s done nothing to you, and you, sister, mean nothing to me. So get off my back, Selma. Just stay off my back.”

Before there was an answer the drinks came and Selma lifted her glass. Then she put the glass down without putting it to her lips.

“Don’t get me wrong, Tony dear.” She kept her eyes down. “I don’t mind what you did with the chippie. Now that you and me are back together again.” Then she tossed down the drink.

Lily was watching Catell with a puzzled look. His hands were shaking. She stretched her hand out, slowly, trying to touch Catell. Selma turned on her with hate in her eyes.

“Don’t you try and wheedle him, you slut. And don’t you forget for a minute that your kind—”

That’s when Catell hit her.

He did it so fast that nobody saw it clearly, and there was nothing to show for it but a slow red welt on Selma’s cheek.

She stared at him open-mouthed. Lily, eyes wide, had
started to get up when Selma’s expression changed. With a soft, tired voice she said, “Don’t be upset, dear. He’s like that. Perhaps you haven’t found that out. You would if you stayed with him, Lily. He has crazy ways of getting his kicks. Why, I remember once he woke me up at four in the morning and asked me—”

“Selma, either you stop or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

There was something in Catell’s voice that reached the woman. She swallowed and patted her hair. “Buy me another drink, Tony?”

“No. And now you listen to me. All you and I ever were to each other was a dance and a drink and a jump. That’s all. I’ve asked you once to stay off my back. This time I’m telling you. Keep out of our way and nothing will happen to you. Cross me and you’ll regret it. So remember what I say and act your age. That’s all I’ve got to say to you, Selma, and I’m not going to say it again.” Catell took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. “Now if you still want that drink, I’ll get you one.”

“Yes, Tony, thanks.”

With the unpredictability of a lush, Selma’s attitude had turned helpless and soft. When the drink came, she sipped at it, throwing shy glances at Lily and Catell, never raising her head.

“Tony,” Lily said, “I’m on. My number’s up.”

“Don’t say that!” His voice was a shout.

“I’m sorry, darling. I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I’m the one that’s sorry. Selma, finish your drink. You’re leaving too.”

“Yes, Tony.” Selma got up, trying to move with a contrite grace. She stepped close to Catell and looked at him
through her lashes. “Lovin’ cup,” she said with a voice suddenly hard, “I’m not through with you yet.”

She turned and left.

While Lily did her number, Catell sat hunched at the table, stirring the ashes in the ashtray with a dead match. He knew for sure that Selma was not through with him.

When the sun came up, Catell was still in the mountains. He had pushed the powerful car all night, trying to get to Pasadena early. It was five in the morning, still time to get to Smith’s before noon.

Catell opened the thermos on the seat beside him and drank some of the hot black coffee. He put the stopper back in the bottle and lit a cigarette. He was satisfied with the week he’d spent at the resort.

The place was isolated, with only one telephone line coming in through the long stretch of woods. There were two roads out of the place, one road going downhill to join the main highway, the other going uphill to join the same highway farther away. Then there was one more way of getting out: across the lake, two miles through the woods, and then a different highway that never actually got near the resort. Catell liked the layout.

Inside the main building of the resort there were three major safes, it seemed. There was one for guest deposits, behind the registration desk. Another one, for the hotel intake, was in the manager’s office, right off the main lobby. The third safe was a movable, compact job, probably a new model, and it stood in the basement of the lodge. That was the building where the big dance was held on Saturdays, and where the gaming tables operated. The lodge stood close by the lake, and the basement of the lodge was right next to the boathouse.

Catell had the plans in his pocket.

He had stayed at the resort long enough to cover two weekends. He had gambled freely, always dropping a game after a short time, going from one table to another. He had a fair idea what the house took in. On Monday mornings, he figured, there was close to a hundred thousand in that safe in the basement.

Catell had the figures in his pocket.

There was a routine about the way each employee worked. Some were important to Catell, others weren’t. He had clocked the ones that were important for over a week.

Catell had the schedules in his pocket.

Nine o’clock. The highway was dipping steadily, twisting through the last hills before the valley of the big city. Catell stopped for gas once and then pushed on. The traffic got thicker, and dusty olive trees lined the long highway that cut through flat vineyards and hot stucco towns.

Ten o’clock. Catell entered Pasadena and found his cutoff. He wound through still little streets that looked alternately like futuristic movie sets and old Spanish settlements. Catell was glad to be almost there. The job he had set up looked good, but best of all, this thing would be over soon. First the cash for his job, then the cash for the gold—waiting in the dust near a desert town—and then he and Lily. They were going away. Mexico? Uruguay? He had a friend in Uruguay. A friend with a business that was legit, as far as anyone could tell.

Catell found the address. He stopped the car under a long port and walked to the front of the house. There were no other cars in sight.

A houseboy opened the door and let him in. It was cool inside. The modern sweep of the building had been deceptive, because there didn’t seem to be more than five or six rooms. Catell was led to the rear terrace, where he saw that the house was all glass on one side.

“Mr. Smith will be with you shortly,” the servant said.

Catell sat and waited.

When he heard footsteps again, it was a woman. She was a stately figure, gray-haired, and with the graciousness of those who can afford to concentrate on nothing but the pursuit of a well-mannered life.

“I am Mrs. Smith,” she said, smiling. “My husband told me he was expecting one of his associates. Please sit down.”

“Catell is my name.” He sat down again, awkwardly.

“I think I’ll ask Kimoto to bring us something cool. Gin and tonic?”

“Fine, that would be fine.”

When the drinks were brought, Catell waited for Mrs. Smith to take her glass before picking up his own. The stuff was good. The whole setup was good, he thought. A respectable address, the best little house a man could want, a real lady for a wife. Everything neat, comfortable, and right. The life. How would Lily look when she was older? She wasn’t so tall, like Mrs. Smith. Lily was different, too, in the way she acted. Not so polite. But Lily was friendlier; she was quiet most of the time, but really friendly.

“Have you been with my husband long, Mr. Catell?”

“Ah, no, not very long. Just a little while.”

“I don’t suppose that’s unusual, though. In my husband’s business, old employees of long standing, so to speak, aren’t so essential as they are in some types of enterprise.”

What in hell was she talking about?

“But then, of course, my husband has so many business interests. Which one are you associated with, Mr. Catell?”

“Uh, that’s hard to say. What I mean is, we’re just discussing things. You know, to see what can be done.”

“I think I understand.” She laughed. “In the investment field you can’t always put a precise name to the nature of any given business at hand.”

Didn’t she know a damn thing?

“Mr. Catell, would you like a fresh drink?”

He accepted another one and they talked about the heat and the lawn.

Eleven o’clock. When she rose, Catell got up too, and she offered her hand.

“I’m sorry my husband is keeping you so long, and now I must run too. I’m taking a little trip and my packing isn’t half done. You will excuse me?”

Probably a little trip to Hawaii or someplace. Catell finished his drink. He was getting annoyed with the rising heat and the long wait. He tilted his glass and sucked on the small piece of ice that was left. Then he heard a car crunch on the gravel, and a few minutes later Smith came through one of the glass doors.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Catell. Didn’t really expect you till later. Christ, the heat!” Smith sat down, mopping his big face. “I see you’ve tried to cool off. Join me in another one?”

“Sure.”

“Who’s been drinking with you? My wife?”

“We chatted a while. She’s packing.”

“Still packing? What did you talk about?”

“Investment business.”

“Oh.”

Kimoto brought two more drinks and Smith leaned back with a sigh.

“How’d it go at the resort?”

“Fine. I got everything here in my pocket.”

“Not now, Catell. Let me catch my breath.”

“Should be a cinch, that place.”

They drank quietly for a while.

“Get your expenses down?” Smith asked.

“Yeah, right here.”

“Never mind. How much?”

“Twelve hundred. The gambling—”

“Never mind. Here.”

Smith counted out some bills and pushed them across the glass-topped table.

“Not a bad business, this, huh, Catell?”

“Thanks, it’s O.K.”

“What do you think the take will be?”

“Perhaps close to a hundred grand.”

Smith took a cigar out, unwrapped it, lit it.

“Not a bad business, huh?”

“Looks that way.”

“Catell, listen. You still going through with your plans?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look. This heist is worth three, four times as much as that gold of yours. Did you ever think of sticking around? Right now, I’m giving you peanuts for your work, sure. But—”

“You trying to pull out from under?”

“I’ve told you once before, Catell, I don’t operate that way. What I’m offering you is a chance to come into my organization.”

“No deal.”

“What’s the matter with you, you crazy nut? Just what’s so much more important about heisting a stick of gold for a guy like Schumacher than to do the same work for more dough in this outfit?”

“A hell of a difference, Smith. Forget it. Besides, I got other plans.”

“Well, my offer stands. For a while longer. Think about it. Now let’s finish up and get going. I asked you to come here so you could give me a lift to Burbank. It’s on your way.”

They got up and walked to the carport. Catell was gritting his teeth at the delay, but he didn’t say anything.

“You drive.” Smith sat in the back.

When they pulled up to the side of the machine shop, the heat had become like a simmering liquid.

One o’clock.

There were four other men in the office, none of whom Catell knew. They were waiting in their shirt sleeves, collars open, hair sticky. The air-conditioning had broken down.

“Fellows, I want you to meet Tony Catell, head man on this job. Catell, this is Penny, Gus, Plotke, and Corvean. All good men. They’ll go with you.”

“I only need three.”

“Why?”

“I only need three, Smith. You’ll see why.”

“Never mind. Gus, you beat it.”

“Wait a minute,” Catell said. “Why Gus? Maybe I want Gus and not one of the others.”

“I said Gus goes.” Smith sat down. “All right, gather around. Any time you’re ready, Catell.”

Three o’clock.

They went over the job for the hundredth time. Every detail, every eventuality, every movement and step.

Five o’clock.

“Plotke, go out there and tell that slob foreman to get some more fans in here. And sandwiches.”

“How about some beer, boss?”

“No beer. You drink water till we’re through.”

Seven o’clock.

“All right, we’ll go over it once more. We leave both cars…”

Eight o’clock.

“Everybody here same time tomorrow. And don’t write anything down in the meantime. Memorize, memorize.”

When Catell drove to Santa Monica he was exhausted. The heat, the tension before the job, his strange faintness, all made him wish for a cool, still darkness and peace.

He stopped at a drive-in on the other side of Hollywood and dialed the apartment. Lily didn’t answer. He dialed the number again and let the phone ring a long time. Lily must have gone to the store. She didn’t work tonight. Buying some more cans at the store, probably.

Ten o’clock.

When Catell put the key into the door, it opened. Lily came at him in a rush, throwing her arms around his neck, kissing him.

“Hold me, Tony. You’ve been so long. Tony, Tony!”

Then Catell saw Selma.

She was sitting in an easy chair by the empty fireplace. The bottle on the small table next to her was more than half empty, and she had crossed her legs, swinging one foot against the andiron on the left of the fireplace. Her foot went tap, tap against the sharp spike of the black metal.

“Where’n hell you been, lovin’ cup?”

Catell swung the door shut and stepped into the room.

“Tony, make her go. She’s sat there for hours, Tony, saying things, drinking, and the phone rang and she wouldn’t let me answer, drinking there, talking—Tony, please!”

Catell held the girl close, stroking her back, his head deep in her hair. When Lily stopped sobbing she stepped back and looked up at Catell. He smiled at her, then turned his eyes to Selma.

“What have you been doing to her, Selma?” Catell sounded like ice.

“The facts of life, lovin’ cup. I just been tellin’ her the facts of life. Right, dearie?”

Lily retreated to the back of the room, pulling her dressing gown around her tightly.

“Anything you got to say, say to me.” Catell stepped close to Selma’s chair.

“But I got nothin’ to say to you, lovin’ cup. I was talkin’ to the chippie there. She’s the one needed talkin’ to. You, lovin’ cup, got all the answers, so I don’t need to say nothin’ to you.”

“What answers?”

“About us. You sendin’ for me and us takin’ up again. You shoulda told her sooner, lovin’ cup.”

Catell looked over at Lily and their eyes met. Catell knew he didn’t have to explain. Then he turned back to Selma.

“You aren’t making a ripple around here, so why don’t you give up and beat it? Why don’t you take your booze and your filthy tongue and that vicious mind of yours and beat it, Selma?”

Catell hardly expected her to move, but he had the
wild hope that she might. His insides were crawling with a shivering sickness and there was a pounding in his ears.

Selma didn’t move. “Don’t try to bluff the poor kid,” she said. “I explained everything.” Selma picked up the bottle and poured herself another drink.

“Out, Selma.”

He stood, staring down at her. She looked up at him over the raised glass, understanding nothing.

“Out!”

“Out,” Selma said, flinging her arms back and forth. “Out, out, out, out.” Then she burst into a shrill giggling.

“Selma!”

She didn’t hear him.

“Selma, shut up!” He reached for her arms, yanking her out of her seat so that her head flopped back.

“Out, out, out,” she giggled.

“Shut up, shut up!” He shook her back and forth as if he were possessed.

Suddenly she stopped giggling. Her eyes opened wide, and long folds grew down the sides of her mouth. Before she could start to cry Catell slapped her hard on the cheek.

“Do you hear me, Selma?” His face, sharp and drawn, was close to hers.

With a sudden softening of her face she leaned up against Catell and tried to kiss him.

“You crazy lush!” he yelled, and pushed her back into the chair. There was hate in his motions. “You goddamn crazy lush, don’t you know when you’re through? You make me crawl, you hear? You make me crawl!”

He stood over her, panting, a wild fevered glitter in his eyes, shaking all over.

“Tony, please!” Lily came forward. “Let her go.”

“Tony, please.” Selma was mimicking the girl’s voice. “Let her go, Tony.”

Catell had started to shake from head to foot. He sat down, panting, doubled over.

Selma looked puzzled only for a short moment; then she jumped up and ran to him. Lily was there already. She was stroking his head, murmuring to him.

When Catell straightened up his face was quiet, except for the muscle that jumped in his cheek. Then he got up and turned to Selma. What she saw in his eyes wasn’t good.

“Tony,” she said, “I’m sorry about everything. Really I am, Tony. Look at me. All I want is to have you back, like before, and me taking good care of you. You need a woman, Tony, not a kid like that.”

“Selma, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Not a kid, Tony. I’m not saying she’s no good, I can tell by looking. But she’s a kid, Tony, and you’re a man old enough—”