The little guy shook his head sadly. “You shouldn't have done that,” he said. “Morgan's going to get mad when I tell him that.”
Duffy said deliberately, “Morgan can —— himself.”
The little guy giggled again. “I'll tell him that too.” He put the note-book in his pocket. “Those notes are phoneys,” he said, as an afterthought.
Duffy took the envelope out of his pocket, examined one of the notes carefully. It looked all right to him. “You don't say,” he said.
The little guy nodded cheerfully. “Sure, Morgan wouldn't pay a punk like you in real dough.”
Duffy put the notes away. He had an idea.
The little guy said, “Well, for God's sake, you're taking it quietly, ain't you?”
Duffy said, “Take my tip, scram.”
The little guy looked at him, then nodded. “You'll see me again, of course,” he said apologetically.
Duffy said, “Before you think.”
He watched the little guy walk out, followed by Joe, then he beckoned to Shep and called for two ryes. Shep came over. “You got it?” he said.
Duffy slipped one of the notes out and gave it to him.
Shep glanced at it, beamed and said, “As easy as that, huh?”
Duffy pushed the glass over to him, drained his quickly and nodded at the barman. “One more,” he said.
Shep said, “You drink too quickly.”
“So long as I don't drink too much, why should I worry?”
Shep frowned, then said, “It amounts to the same, don't it?”
He gave Duffy back the note reluctantly. Duffy put it with the others. He said, “Let's go.”
Gilroy and Schultz were sitting in the Buick waiting for them. When the Buick was rolling, Gilroy said, “No fuss?”
Duffy handed the notes over to him. “There they are,” he said.
Gilroy counted them and whistled. “This don't seem natural,” he said.
Duffy stared out of the window. “Maybe, it ain't.”
Gilroy examined the notes carefully, then he said, “Phoneys.”
Duffy nodded. “Yeah, he told me as much before he left.”
“So what?”
Duffy turned his face, so that he looked at Gilroy.
“I guess we're going to frame Morgan with those. It'll be worth twenty-five grand to clap him away. English'll pay as much as that for the job.”
“How... frame?”
“We'll go out to his place and plant that stuff tonight. There's a nice little rap for making notes as big as these. Once we get those planted, then we tip English, and he does the rest.”
Gilroy said, “The dough would've been better.”
Duffy shrugged. “You can't have everything,” he said.
Shep had been listening to the conversation. He turned his head. “Say, those notes sure made a sap of me. Why not put 'em on the street? We'd pass 'em okay.”
Duffy said, “No, that's not the way to play it. You'll get the dough all right, but it'll take a little longer. When you get it, it'll be safe.”
When they got back to the Bronx, Duffy 'phoned English. English said, “We've got Wessen.”
“How about Annabel?”
“Never mind about her. I've paid another five thousand dollars into your account. That should hold you for a bit.”
Duffy grinned to himself. “Listen, English,” he said. “Are you holding Clive Wessen on a murder rap?”
“Murder?” English seemed surprised. “No, he's in for cocaine smuggling.”
Duffy grinned and winked over his shoulder at Gilroy.
“I bet that guy had his pockets full of the white stuff,” he said.
“The police found enough incriminating evidence to justify an arrest,” English said smoothly.
“I bet they did,” Duffy said. “And Annabel?”
There was a pause, then English said in a faintly hostile voice, “You know about that. My unfortunate daughter was killed by a hit-and-run motorist.”
“That's too bad,” Duffy said. “I'll be having some more work for you in a little while.” He hung up. “That bird's cagey,” he said to Gilroy. “They framed Wessen, smothered Annabel's murder. It's a hit-and-run case.”
Gilroy shook his bullet head. “You gotta watch him.”
Duffy shrugged. “We're playing on his side.” He went over and helped himself to a drink. “It's nice to have a guy like that behind you.”
Gilroy nodded and left him. When he had gone, Duffy sat down and did some thinking. Then he got up and went over to the small bureau, unlocked the top drawer, took out the bundle of money he had left there, and looked at it. Then he went to the door and turned the key. He sat down at the table and counted the money carefully. He'd got thirty-four grand and some small notes. He counted on the table three piles of five thousand dollars. That left him nineteen thousand dollars. He split the nineteen grand into four parts. One went into his hip pocket, another in his side pocket, and the third in his trouser pocket. The fourth, three thousand dollars, he folded carefully and put in his shoe. He had to take his shoe off and put it on twice before it was comfortable.
He went over and unlocked the door, picked up the money on the table, and wandered into the bar.
Gilroy was talking to Schultz and Shep. They were drinking beer. They all looked up, a faintly expectant expression on their faces.
Duffy leant on the bar. “Here's your split,” he said gently. He gave each man the money rolled in a tight ball. “Five grand,” he said. “Don't count it now.”
Shep picked up his glass and poured the beer on the floor at his feet. “Gimme champagne,” he said to the barman. “I'm goin' to launch myself.”
Schultz fingered his cut, then shoved it in his trouser pocket. He looked vacantly at Duffy, nodded, and went out.
Gilroy turned his head, watching him walk across the floor. “That guy's mighty careful with his dough,” he said. “I wouldn't say he's tight. He's careful.”
Duffy glanced at the clock. “I'm going to snatch myself a little sleep,” he said. “We'll get going about eleven.”
Gilroy said, “Any dough hanging to this job?”
Duffy nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I want you boys to make money while you can.”
Shep took his short fat nose out of his glass. “That's a hell of a way to talk,” he said.
Duffy grinned. “You expect to earn this dough, don't you?” he said.
“Sure, but we won't work that hard.”