When Bill Maxton said it like that, with that twinkle, it was almost enough to convince. If Rebecca hadn’t been at gunpoint, if her throat wasn’t still sore from Hanner’s chokehold, if she’d not been scared out of her wits… she’d still not have gone. But in her dingy one-room walk-up later she’d have regretted it, and dreamed of how her life might have changed forever.
“I’ll take your details. About the hat, I mean.”
“What hat? Oh, that hat. Auntie’s hat. Horrible, really. If someone does hand it in, you might do the public a service and arrange for it to be ceremonially burned. With a priest on hand for exorcism. It’s that horrid a hat. I’d probably have written it off and faced the wrath of Auntie except I noticed that there was a remarkably gorgeous girl on late-night lost property duty. And so… ” Maxton offered a what-can-you-do gesture with his hands.
The thug under the counter pinched Rebecca’s leg hard. “Get rid of him,” he mouthed.
“Mr. Maxton… ”
“Bill. Call me Bill. People who’re going to run off together should be on a first-name basis. Where d’you fancy? Chicago? Toronto? Niagara Falls?”
“Mr. Maxton, I’m very busy. I don’t have time for nonsense tonight.”
Maxton looked around the quiet concourse. A few travelers drifted about, mostly crossing the waiting room to the men’s smoking room or the women’s rest room, but the seething bustle of the day’s traffic was reduced to a handful of visitors.
“I don’t have time for nonsense from you,” Rebecca clarified. She wished there was some way she could signal to Bill – Mr. Maxton – that she was in trouble. But that would kill them both. “Be on your way.”
Maxton was persistent. “You haven’t put Auntie in your book yet,” he pointed out.
Rebecca reached for the lost property register. She flipped the big ledger open and uncapped a pen. She checked Maxton’s card for his address.
Written on the calling card in sprawling script was: I know you’re at gunpoint. This is a rescue.
The woman swallowed hard. She glanced over at Maxton. His expression remained amiable and relaxed. He winked at her.
She scribbled onto the register page: There is a man with a gun under the desk. Call the police.
Bill Maxton grinned. “What’s going on here tonight?”
Rebecca tensed. Did he realize that the killer under the counter would shoot them both at even the suspicion that he’d been detected? “I don’t know what you mean,” she told Maxton.
“All those goons with guns running round the station. At first I thought maybe the Mayor or someone was coming and they were security. But their suits are a bit loud for Secret Service, and badly cut for hiding the gun-bulges.
Beneath the desk Hanner looked around wildly, like a hunted man.
“I don’t know anything about that,” the baggage girl replied.
“Oh sure. A real mooks’ convention, down where the lockers are. Half a dozen knuckle-draggers scratching their heads. I think they’re looking for their buddy.” Maxton dinged the counter-bell merrily. “Ah well, I’ll be off, then. I’ll be seeing you again though, Miss Sharp. I promise.”
The baffling traveler turned to go, but Hanner sprang from concealment and leveled his.45. “Don’t move, bud. Climb over the counter and get back here. Fast.”
“How can I not move and jump back there?” Maxton asked reasonably.
The thug turned his gun to Rebecca. “Get in here. Where nobody can see you.”
Maxton shrugged, then scrambled over the desk to join Rebecca.
“In back,” Hanner insisted.
Maxton laid a guiding hand on Rebecca’s shoulder and steered her before him into one of the aisles behind the front desk. The wire shelving was filled with cases and parcels ready to be collected.
Rebecca felt absurdly ashamed at her relief when the gun turned back on Maxton. He seemed so much more suited to being held up by some seedy gorilla.
“Tell me about those guys you saw at the lockers,” Hanner demanded.
“What’s to tell? Around six of them, I’d say, with some buddies out on Vanderbilt by the taxis. Plenty of mashed noses and cauliflower ears between them. Like if an old boxers’ convention accidentally stumbled into a cheap tailor’s store. They’re looking for a friend of theirs called Hanner.” Maxton looked speculatively at the man aiming a weapon at him. “You wouldn’t be Hanner, by any chance, would you? You’ve got the tailoring for it.”
“Don’t be smart. Did they have a suitcase?”
“A case? No, no case. To be honest I didn’t get too close. I think they might be jimmying open lockers. I steer clear of that kind of business. You’d think the station guards might be a bit more vigilant.”
“I think… he may have done something to Mr. Stuart the night guard,” Rebecca admitted.
Hanner’s lip twisted. It might have passed for a smile in the dim light of the naked overhead bulbs if the expression had reached his eyes. “Nothing like what I’ll do to you if I don’t get my goods. I want my locker. I want my suitcase. I want what’s due me.”
Maxton turned to Rebecca. “This fellah seems to have lost some property. Any ideas?”
“No. He just grabbed me and knocked me around and pointed a gun at me. I don’t understand what he’s after.”
Maxton glanced at the sweating thug. “Let me take a guess. This guy Hanner, he’s run off with something that he thinks he’s entitled to. Those bruisers out there disagree. He hid his swag in one of your station lockers while he, I don’t know, bought a ticket, got a drink, used the boys’ room – I hope you washed your hands, buddy. And now he can’t remember where he parked his stash.”
“I remember fine!” snarled the gunsel. “Locker 59. Here’s the key, see? But when I went back down to the lockers, opposite the barber shop, it’s gone.”
Rebecca frowned. “You’re not claiming that a whole row of metal cabinets has just disappeared, are you? That’s ridiculous – and impossible!”
“I know what I did! I know what I saw!” Hanner was sweating profusely now. His eyes kept flicking toward the counter. He was afraid that the men he’d double-crossed might search here next. Time was running out. It made him more dangerous than ever.
“Stay calm,” Maxton advised him. “We can solve this. You’ve got a gun on us so we’ll have to. Tell us some more. We need all the info. What’s in the case?”
“None of your damned…, ” the thug began; but he caught himself and explained through gritted teeth. “Thirteen years I worked for Charlie the Head. Done everything he asked me to. Tortured. Maimed. Killed. Took out my own cousin when he was going to squeal. Charlie owes me. He owes me big.”
“So you took a retirement plan?” Maxton guessed. “When Charlie wouldn’t just let you go away with a fair settlement you grabbed what you could into a suitcase and made for Grand Central?”
“It was due me!” Hanner insisted. “I heard about – this guy sold me the combination to Charlie’s safe. So I took what I was due. And now I want it. I want it!”
“Maybe those men Mr. Maxton saw have already found it?” reasoned Rebecca.
“I can understand your frustration, big guy,” Maxton admitted. “Been thinking about retirement myself. Get out of the rat race. Travel the world. Maybe settle down somewhere eventually with a nice girl. In fact, I was considering Miss Sharp here for the part. I’m fairly confident that if there hadn’t been a hulking goon lurking behind the counter I could have had her on a train out of here before the guard blew his whistle.”
“You would not!” Rebecca insisted, blushing.
“Why not, honey? I saw it in your eyes when I dinged your desk. You’re just spinning your wheels here. It’s not living. It’s not what you dreamed of, is it? But you’re smart, you’re easy on the eye, you’re a good person – and brave, I can see that – so why not take a risk and retire with a fellah like me? You need a change. I need reforming. Could be a match.”