His feet came across the room, he yanked the door open and there I stood, grinning at him. It took a good three seconds before his hopped up mind realized the full implications of what he was seeing, then before he could move I chopped one across his jaw to shut him down. I put too much mad behind it. He was too small and I was too big for so much mad. He half flew back across the room, skidding on his back, then rolled once and lay in a soft heap with blood running down his chin and his breath dragging in through a twisted jaw.
I found my .45 in his waistband, then probed through his pockets for the capsule. When I didn’t find it I tried the seams, the linings, his shoes and every place he could have had it on him. But it wasn’t there.
Lisa said suddenly, “Ryan... Big Step...”
I nodded. “Yeah. Five minutes.” I had maybe two left. I couldn’t afford to take the chance on staying. I got up, looked at her squarely and said, “He took a cap off me. I need it.” When her eyes went funny I added, “I’m not on the stuff. There was something else in that cap besides H.”
“I’ll... I’ll try,” she said hesitantly.
“Okay baby. And thanks again. Just tell Primo Stipetto Fly did a lousy job tying me up. Now hold still a second.”
She saw what I was going to do and never moved. I hit her just right so there could be no doubt about what happened when Big Step came in. I put her down easy and got out of there.
I got word to Pete-the-Dog to meet me at Tony Bay’s deli and he left his news stand long enough to fake picking up a sandwich. It was a smart move because Pete told me both Newbolder and Schmidt had been alternating holding a steady stakeout on my apartment and detailed a guy new to plainclothes to watch him and a few others on the block. Homicide had a blanket over the area and I was to be the pigeon.
Pete said, “You’re nuts to move around daytimes, Ryan.”
“I got no choice, kid. Look you hear any word about Penny Stipetto?”
“Word? Man, that’s all I hear. You’re their boy, you know that.”
“But you know better.”
“Sure,” Pete nodded, “I do, but I ain’t Big Step. After the other brother catching it he’s laying it all on you. I’m hearing thing’s would scare a snake.”
“I got a favor coming, Pete?”
“Anytime. Just anytime.”
“Start asking. Somebody around must’ve seen something when Penny got it.”
“In this town two blocks away is somebody else’s turf, Irish. Over there they’re more scared of the Stipettos than they like you. These days it’s real nervous.”
“So ask around. Don’t stick your neck out, but see what you can pick up.”
“Okay, I can do that. Who you want off your neck first, the fuzz or Step?”
I grinned at him, just a little guy, a nobody with a paper stand, but a heart as big as your hat and ready to do anything for a friend he was asked to.
“Any help in either direction will be fine,” I told him.
He let out a low chuckle and picked up his wrapped sandwich. “Boy, your connections sure went sour fast. I thought you had an in with the fuzz after that job last year. I thought you was some kind of hero.”
“Nobody’s nothing with the murder squad when they think you pulled a big hit. They gave me one break. They won’t give me two.”
“Tough. Anything you want from the house?”
“No. I can get in if I want to. Better if I stayed away though. If you pick up anything, call me at Andy’s.”
“Right.”
I plucked a late copy of the paper from his pocket. “This mine?”
Pete-the-Dog nodded, grinned and walked away. I took the paper out the back door with barely a nod at Tony Bay and opened it up in the alley.
My publicity was a full page wide.
In brief, it stated that in an attempt to apprehend a suspected killer, a gunfight ensued with the wanted man’s confederates during which time four persons were killed and several injured. Among the dead were Vincent (Little Step) Stipetto, Carl Hoover and Moe Green, associates of the notorious Primo (Big Step) Stipetto. The other dead man was identified as one Lewis Coyne, address unknown. Two other men engaged in the gunfight escaped, as did “Irish” Ryan, the one suspected of having gunned down Fred (Penny) Stipetto.
For a street shooting of that size, the account was awfully vague. I was suspected of being a target for the Stipettos, yet accused of having them on my side, their diversionary shooting getting me off the hook. Nobody seemed to have pieced the thing together and if they had, it wasn’t given to the reporters.
Karen Sinclair was listed as critically wounded and taken to Bellevue Hospital and identified as a secretary in the FCC offices in Manhattan, but that was all.
And I was in the middle of a real fine mess. Like before, everybody wants to kill me and while they try I’m supposed to deliver a lost state secret to somebody who will nab me if I do.
Great life for a hood.
From a luncheonette near Seventh I called the hospital. I gave a phony name, said I was an AP correspondent and queried the operator about the condition of Karen Sinclair. Habit got the better of her and she put me through to the floor. Someone told me Karen Sinclair was still on the critical list and not available for an interview. I thanked them and hung up. I changed phones before making the next call, figuring that if the Sinclair dame had been telling the truth, there’d be Federal fuzz running down every lead they got.
The operator at the precinct house switched me into the office and a heavy voice said, “Newbolder speaking.”
“This is Ryan, Sergeant.”
After a moment’s heavy pause Newbolder said in a bored tone, “All right, boy, where are you?”
“Public phone. Don’t bother tracing it. I’ll be out of here in a minute.”
He knew it and I could tell he wasn’t going to be bothered trying. Maybe he was still remembering last year. “Are you coming in?”
“Not yet. I have something I have to do first.”
“Oh?” His voice was too soft.
“Let’s get something straight first. Don’t waste time trying to hang Penny Stipetto’s killing on me. I didn’t pull it off. I had nothing at all to do with that hit. You poke around for another angle and you’ll get some answers.”
He didn’t answer me at first, then he said quietly, “I didn’t think you did. You looked good for it though. Besides, you’d be better off in custody than having Big Step breathing down your throat.”
“He doesn’t bother me.”
“No? Well he bothers me now. He’s ready to blow the top off things.”
“Let him. What about the Sinclair girl?”
Newbolder came back too fast. “What about her?”
“She talk?”
He still spoke too fast. “What would she have to say?”
“That’s what I’m wondering.”
“Damn you, Ryan...”
“She’s in the picture, Sergeant. That mess last night wasn’t all me. Big Step had his men out there waiting for me, but she was something right out of the blue.”
“Ryan...” I knew he was signalling for a tracer now and cursing himself for not having put one on the phone before.
I said, “I’ll call you back, kiddo,” and hung up.
Now the bit was tighter than ever.
Until now Newbolder had figured that the Sinclair dame sitting with me was a pure accident and I took advantage of the diversion she stirred up outside to take off. Now he was figuring me as being part of a larger picture. In a way it was good. I could always get the fuzz for company real fast if I needed them.