The voice of the doorman was apologetic. “Yes, Mr. Baxter. I must tell you, the gentleman is somewhat disheveled and he smells of liquor.”
“I see. It’s all right. Send him up.”
“Very well, Mr. Baxter.”
Max hung up the phone and strolled out into the foyer. The elevator arrived, the door opened and Steve Winslow, as described, but very determined, emerged and strode up to him.
“All right, Uncle Max,” he said. “Take out your checkbook.”
Max prided himself on his self-control. It took a lot in this instance, but he merely raised his eyebrows, not his voice.
“What the devil do you mean barging in here in this fashion?” he said coolly. “You smell of liquor and you look as if you’ve been in a barroom brawl.”
Steve wasn’t about to take any shit. “Never mind that. Just take out your checkbook.”
“Now see here-”
“Take out your fucking checkbook.”
The elevator man, who had been reluctant to bring Steve up at all, now hovered expectantly.
Max waved him away. “That will be all, Frank,” he said.
Frank somewhat reluctantly closed the door.
Max stood aside and gestured Steve into the living room. His manner was still cool and polite.
“And just why should I take out my checkbook?” he said as he ushered Steve in.
“You are going to write me a check.”
Max smiled. “I think not.”
Steve wheeled around to face him. “I’m tired of working for nothing. You are going to give me a twenty-five- thousand-dollar retainer.”
Max stared at him. “Twenty-five thousand dollars! You must be drunk.”
“Did you know that your niece took drugs?” Steve snapped the words out, slapped him in the face with them. “Well, she does. Cocaine, to be exact. When the police get their hands on that bit of information you can kiss her ass goodbye.”
Max recoiled, genuinely shaken. “Mr. Winslow-”
“Not to mention the fact that she lied to the police about where she was at the time of the murder.”
Max was still at sea. “She told you that?”
“She sure did,” Steve said. “Which brings us to an interesting situation. Either I’m your niece’s attorney or I’m not.”
“Well, you’re not.”
Steve went on as if he hadn’t heard the interruption. “If I am your niece’s attorney, everything she told me is a privileged communication, and no power on earth can drag it out of me. If I’m not her attorney, the prosecution can put me on the stand and force me to tell everything I know.”
Max stared at him. “But… but… they wouldn’t know to put you on the stand.”
“Wanna bet?” Steve said. “I’ll bet you twenty-five thousand dollars that if I walk out that door without that check, inside of fifteen minutes the district attorney will get an anonymous tip to pick me up and shake me down.”
Max stared at him, openmouthed. “Mr. Winslow,” he said. “That’s blackmail!”
Steve nodded in grim satisfaction. “Yeah,” he said. “Ain’t it?”
25
Steve Winslow came out the front door of Baxter’s building holding the check in his hand. He folded it, stuck it in his pocket and headed for Lexington Avenue.
He found a phone on the corner, dropped in a quarter and punched in the number.
“Hello,” came the voice of the dispatcher.
“Charlie? It’s Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“You know yesterday I told you I was sick? Well, I got worse and died.”
Steve hung up the phone, stepped out into the street and hailed a cab. He gave the cabbie Sheila Benton’s address, then settled back in the seat as the cab headed uptown and through the park. It felt good to be riding in a cab instead of driving one. Steve pulled the check out of his pocket, unfolded it and looked at it again.
Yeah, it felt good.
The cab pulled up in front of Sheila Benton’s apartment. Steve paid the fare and over-tipped, knowing how the cabbie felt.
He went up the front steps and into the foyer, looked through the slot in the mailbox. Sure enough, there was something inside. He sighed and headed up the stairs.
The key was over the door, right where Sheila had said. He took it down and fitted in into the lock, clicked the bolt back and opened the door.
Hands grabbed him, pulled him into the darkness, wrenched him around. Jesus, not again. He braced himself for the blow.
It never came. Instead, the lights clicked on, and Steve could see the two men who had pinned him against the wall. Cops. They jerked his arms down and twisted them behind him. He felt the cold metal and heard the click of the handcuffs.
The cops spun him around and he saw the figure of a third man who was seated on the couch. A solid, beefy cop, obviously in charge.
Sergeant Stams arose from the couch with a triumphant grin. His stolid, impassive look was just the face he wore for Lieutenant Farron. It was his second-in-command face, his good-soldier face. But Sergeant Stams wasn’t the second-in-command here. This was his operation. He’d thought it up, he’d put it into operation, it had worked and now it was his moment to shine, to be as suave, as ironic, and as sarcastic as the rest of them.
“Well, well,” he said. “I figured maybe Greely had an accomplice.”
Steve stared at him. “Are you crazy? I’m Sheila Benton’s attorney.”
Stams looked at Steve’s rumpled clothes. “Sure you are.”
One of the cops who had been frisking Steve for a weapon held up the check. “Hey Sarge, look at this.”
Sergeant Stams took the check and looked it over. A broad grin twisted his face. “Well, well. A check from Maxwell Baxter for twenty-five grand. That ought to clinch it.”
Steve couldn’t believe it. “I tell you, I’m Sheila’s attorney. That check is my retainer.”
Stams looked at him ironically. “Yeah. Sure. You really look like an attorney. Can’t you come up with a better line than that?”
“I tell you-”
“Save it, buddy. You’re going downtown.”
Steve blinked. He took a deep breath and let it out again. He controlled himself with a great effort.
“All right,” he said. “But under the circumstances, I feel compelled to ask you one question.”
“Oh yeah?” Stams said. “What’s that?”
Steve looked him right in the eye. “How would you like to kiss my ass?”
26
Lieutenant Farron stood to one side as the guard unlocked the door of the holding cell and let Steve Winslow out.
“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Winslow,” he said.
“Yeah, sure,” Steve said. “Are you familiar with the laws regarding false arrest?”
