“Were they cops?” Lagana said.
“No, they must have been an out-of-town mob,” Danielbaum said, twitching nervously. “Mr. Lagana, they were hard. They had guns and they acted like they grew up with ’em in their fists.”
Lagana paced up and down the floor slowly, a worried little line appearing over his eyes. “But they let you go, eh?”
Creamy and Danielbaum nodded hastily.
“I should of sent a couple of Boy Scouts,” Stone said.
“Did you call the district on this?” Lagana said to Stone.
“Yeah. They’re sending a car over to look into it. I told the sergeant to lock up everybody he found there.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Half hour, forty-five minutes.”
“Well, they may know something by now,” Lagana said. He went to the phone and put a call through the Police Board to the district. “This is Mike Lagana,” he said, when the connection was made. His voice was low and pleasant. “Who’s talking, by the way?”
“Sergeant Diamond, Mr. Lagana.”
“Sorry to bother you, Sergeant, but what have you heard about a complaint that was made about half an hour ago, something about some private citizens in your district resisting and mauling a couple of constables?”
“The car got back a few minutes ago, Mr. Lagana.”
“I see. What’s the story?”
“Well, the officers say there was just a bunch of fellows sitting around playing poker. Nothing to the complaint, I guess.”
“There was something to the complaint,” Lagana said, in a harder voice. “I’m telling you so, Sergeant. You send a car back there and pick up everyone in that poker game.”
“Mr. Lagana, there was a police Inspector sitting in that game, and a priest from Saint Gertrude’s. I’m not going to arrest them, unless I get an order from the Superintendent.” The Sergeant wasn’t defiant; but he wasn’t afraid.
“You know who you’re talking to?” Lagana said, surprised.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Lagana, but I—”
Lagana put the phone down with a crash. “Bannion’s getting cute,” he said, slapping his gloves down against his open palm. He frowned at the floor for a moment, and then, automatically, he checked the pulse in his left wrist. His lips moved, counting, but still he frowned at the floor, apparently unaware of what he was doing. “I don’t like this very much,” he said, at last. “However, we won’t do anything about it. Not right now.” He put his hands in his pockets and squared his shoulders. “What about Larry?” he said, glancing at Stone.
Stone looked at Keene. “Where’d you say he went?”
“He bought a through ticket to Los Angeles.”
“Well, we’ve got some friends out there,” Lagana said, thoughtfully. “Give them a call, Max, and tell them friend Larry is a loudmouth.”
“Sure thing.”
“Come on, Gordon, let’s go,” Lagana said. “I’m tired.”
Watching him go, seeing the slow step, the strangely gray face, Stone felt an uneasy stab of fear. The old man was worried, and that wasn’t like him. He always said people worried because they couldn’t think. But he was worrying now; maybe it was the time when thinking wasn’t any good. Maybe it was time to worry.
“Let’s have a drink,” Stone said. He glanced at Creamy and Danielbaum, aware that he was frowning. “Well, don’t look so sad,” he said. “Everybody makes mistakes.”
Bannion parked before his hotel, checking the street with a quick glance, and walked into the lobby. The night clerk gave him his key, and said, “That girl you took a room for has gone, Mr. Bannion.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes, she was alone.”
“I see.” Bannion lit a cigarette, feeling oddly letdown. “Did she leave any message?”
“Why, yes. She just asked me to tell you she wouldn’t be back.”
“I see, thanks.” Well, that was that. She might have gone to Stone, although it wasn’t likely. Probably she was on the run. He wondered if she had any money...
Bannion went up to his room and made himself a drink. He stretched out on the bed, lit a cigarette and stared at the ceiling. The faint night sounds of traffic, a man’s laugh, a train starting up, drifted in on him with a curiously depressing effect...
The phone at his elbow rang. Bannion lifted the receiver and said, “Yes?”
“Bannion?”
He knew the voice. “Yes. Where are you?”
“I decided to get out of your hair,” she said. “You were a good egg about it, but I was a nuisance.” She laughed then, an odd little laugh. “You weren’t so tough after all. But that’s okay. You’re better off being a little soft.”
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Sure, I’m fine.”
“Where are you?”
“Did I forget that? I’m at Mrs. Deery’s, Bannion.”
Bannion sat up abruptly. “Are you crazy? What in hell are you doing there?”
“I’m proving something, I guess.” She laughed again, softly. “I’m proving I’m a tough guy.”
“Get the hell out of there, Debby.”
“No, I’m staying.”
Bannion hesitated, feeling a sudden coldness in his stomach. “Where’s Mrs. Deery’, Debby?”
“She’s dead, Bannion.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Maybe. Anyway, I’m a tough guy. I did what you couldn’t do, Bannion. I did it for both of us.”
“Debby, you’re out of your mind. You didn’t do a damn thing for me.”
“Well, I like to think I did. It’s nice to think that. Give a girl that much, Bannion.”
“This is a gag, a stupid, silly gag.”
“No, it’s no gag. I read the papers, you know, and I read about Deery. That’s why I came out here. He left a note, and his wife had it. You were so damn cryptic, if that’s the word I mean. About not being strong enough to bend the Fifth Commandment.” She laughed, a high, happy laugh. “You must have thought I never went to Sunday School with all the good little girls. You thought I wouldn’t get it, eh?”
“Debby, listen to me!”
“Not now, Bannion. She had the note, and you couldn’t kill her. Well, I could. It was easy. With the little gun Stone gave me to protect myself in this big bad city. He’s through now, isn’t he? When the note comes out, he’ll be through, won’t he?”
Bannion got to his feet, reaching for his coat with his free hand. “Listen Debby! Sit tight, I’m coming out there. You wait for me, do you hear?”
“No, I can’t wait, Bannion. Goodbye, you big baby. You were nice to me, so thanks.”
The phone clicked in his ear. Bannion jiggled the hook several times, and then looked up the Deery number in the phone book. He tried it but got no answer.
Bannion paced the floor, frowning, rubbing his big hands together slowly. Finally he stopped and sat down at the phone. He hesitated again, then called the Express, and got Jerry Furnham’s home number...
Furnham sounded as if he had been asleep.
“Jerry, this is Dave Bannion. I’ve got what may be a good story.” He talked rapidly for half a minute, and when he stopped, Furnham said, “I’ll get right on it, Dave.” He didn’t sound sleepy now. “We can find that lawyer. If this is straight, the lid’s going off. Thanks.”
Bannion picked up his hat and coat and left the room.
Chapter 17
The news spread slowly, almost casually at first, from one cop to another, from a police captain to a magistrate, and then it picked up speed and flew through the night, from the top to the bottom, from one end of the city to the other. Telephones rang shrilly. Lights went on in homes on the Main Line, in downtown hotels, in homes and apartments in all sections of the city. Men with suddenly stricken faces looked at worried wives, or bored, sleepy girls, and then some of them took sedatives and others took stimulants, and a few began packing bags and checking plane and train schedules. The lucky ones, the great honest majority, grinned at the news and went back to bed with the pleasant realization that heads would be rolling by tomorrow night.