‘Oh yes,’ he said, bobbing his head up and down like an idiot. ‘Much better. You know our store — the chair rail that runs around the wall? Right around the wall, behind the display cases?’
‘Sure. I’ve seen it.’
‘Seen it,’ he said, smirking. ‘It’s all pressure. We stay away from it. The whole rail. Waist-high. On the wall. It’s pressure. In sections. Back into it, it goes off. You know? We’re held up. Our hands in the air. We back up. Our ass — I beg your pardon, dear lady — our ass presses against the chair rail. It activates the alarm.’
Puzzling. 1 was puzzled.
‘So?’ I said. ‘Noel, you back into that railing, and it activates a silent alarm. Then? In another ten or fifteen minutes cops or private security guards could be swarming all over the place. But by then the crooks would be long gone. That’s what happened in Frisco. So what’s the point?’
‘The point,’ he said. ‘What’s the point. Ho-ho!’
The empty brandy snifter slipped from his limp fingers, thumped to that thick, buttery rug. His head began to loll, bobbing on his thick neck. I was still standing alongside him. I should have been kind. After that magnificent dinner, I should have let the cook drift off to a deep, drunken, well-deserved rest. But I had to know.
‘Noel,’ I said loudly, bending down so my lips were near his ear, ‘what’s the point? The point, Noel? If you or any of the clerks back into the railing, the silent alarm goes off. So?’
‘You see,’ he muttered, chin on chest. ‘Silent alarm. They come right away. Five, ten, fifteen minutes.’
‘Yes, yes,’ I said desperately, ‘but by then the crooks are gone. With everything in the store.’
He heaved suddenly. I thought he might be about to throw up, to crack his cookies, and I stepped back hurriedly. But no, it was just a spasm of mirth.
‘Nonononono,’ he mumbled, settling back. ‘Not going. Anyplace. The crooks. You back into the railing. It sounds silent alarm. Cops come. But also, it locks the door. Electrical. Front door. Locks. Only way out. Heavy double-glass. Take ‘em an hour to smash through that. See? Silent alarm. Door locks. Can’t get out. No back way. Trapped.’
.’Noel,’ I breathed, ‘that’s beautiful!’
But he didn’t hear me. He was gone. Head tilted to one side. Face flushed and smiling. I went into the kitchen, made some efforts at cleaning up. I mean, I rinsed and stacked the dishes in the sink. Emptied the ashtrays. I figured I owed him all that. I didn’t think I’d be seeing Noel Jarvis again.
I got home without being molested, raped, or murdered. The cabdriver told me all about his kidney stones, and I said things like ‘Really?’ and ‘No fooling?’ When I was safe inside my own apartment, the first thing I wanted to do was to call Dick Fleming and tell him about those crazy pressure alarms that locked the front door at Brandenberg amp; Sons.
But then I had just sense enough left to note that it was past midnight. And sense enough to realize that, while not exactly zonked, I was spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about that cabdriver’s kidney stones. So I undressed and fell into bed, laughing like a maniac.
I awoke Wednesday morning with an awful hangover. I did what I could: popped aspirin, drank a quart of water, and rubbed my temples with ice cubes. Then ate the cubes. After a while the shakes stopped and 1 was able to make a cup of instant coffee and toast a frozen bagel. I was getting along all right, recovering slowly, when the phone rang, and I thought that shrill bell would cleave my skull.
‘Noel Jarvis here,’ he said briskly. ‘Just wanted to make sure you arrived home safely.’
‘I hate you,’ I told him. ‘You forced me to eat all that divine food. You practically poured all that beautiful wine down my throat. It’s all your fault.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘we have the whimwhams this morning, do we?’
7 do,’ I said grumpily. ‘You sound in offensively good shape.’
‘Listen, Jannie,’ he said, suddenly serious. ‘If you’re really suffering, 1 know exactly what you need. Do you have any cognac in the house? Or any kind of brandy?
‘Do as I say,’ he said sternly. ‘Exactly one ounce. No more, no less. Take it straight. No ice, no water. In twenty minutes you’ll be leaping into the air and clicking your heels.’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise.’
I thanked him for a marvelous dinner and he said he’d be in touch. As soon as I hung up, I dug out a half-full bottle of Courvoisier and measured out a precise ounce. I held on to the kitchen counter, closed my eyes, and downed the shot in three determined gulps. Murder. Then I looked at my watch.
You know, he was right? In almost exactly twenty minutes that Mt. Vesuvius in my stomach stopped erupting, and I thought I might live to play the harpsichord again. In fact, I was feeling so chipper, I took a second brandy into my office and set to work on my secret manuscript, describing all the events of the preceding evening, including that business about the pressure alarms in the chair rail at Brandenberg amp; Sons.
That chore completed, I showered, shaved my legs with a steady hand, put on my trollop’s togs, and set out for the Hotel Harding, happy that I wouldn’t have to be making the Beatrice Flanders transformation many more times. It had started as a lark and was becoming a drag.
I knocked on Jack Donohue’s door. He wasn’t in, which was fine with me.
Anyway, I didn’t see him. I carried out the hotplate and some personal junk in a shopping bag, so fatso behind the lobby desk wouldn’t think I was skipping. I reckoned that Fleming and I could handle the suitcases and the rest of my stuff on Thursday night. That was when I figured to split. And even if I had to leave everything behind, it would be no great loss. I had made certain there was nothing in the room to connect Beatrice Flanders with Jannie Shean.
As a matter of fact, the room clerk wasn’t behind the desk when I came downstairs. So I unloaded the shopping bag into the trunk of the rented Ford and went back upstairs for a second load. This time I took Bea’s black wig, extra sets of falsies (front and back), and most of her clothes. Who knows — someday I might be invited to a masquerade party.
I got back to East 71st Street late in the afternoon. One of the things I had brought back with me was my trusty, handy-dandy pistol. That I carefully stowed away in the
bottom drawer of my desk. Then I called Dick Fleming at his office, and suggested we meet for dinner at Chez Morris. He groaned.
‘Jannie,’ he said, ‘can’t we go someplace for a decent meal?’
‘I had a decent meal last night,’ I told him. ‘Tonight I want food 1 can’t eat. I’ve got to drop at least three pounds. Please, Dick, humor me. I’ve got a lot to tell you.’
‘Well … all right,’he said grudgingly.
‘That’s a love,’ I said. ‘Afterwards we can come back to my place for a sweet, rich, wonderful dessert.’
‘Oh?’ he said, interested. ‘What?’
‘Me,’I said.
The dinner was just as lousy as I hoped it would be. I ate three mouthfuls, and Dick, trying hard, finished only half his fried sole.
One of the reasons I ate so little, aside from the loathsomeness of the food, was that I was talking so much. First of all I told Dick about the final meeting at the West 47th Street garage on Thursday night.
‘Can you make it?’ I asked him.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he promised.
I gave him all the details of Donohue’s plan. Dick put his elbows on the table, began rubbing his eyebrows back and forth.
‘Something wrong?’ I asked him.
‘Too loose, Lautrec,’ he said. ‘How are the other guys going to get to the antique shop on time?’
‘Beats me,’ I said, shrugging. ‘Donohue was vague about it. Maybe they’ll take cabs. Maybe they’ll steal another car. Maybe one of them will use his own car.’
‘Maybe, maybe, maybe,’ he repeated. ‘I just don’t like it. It’s not well planned. Doesn’t sound like Donohue. He’s usually so careful about details. And that business of them coming into the car one at a time to put on the coveralls — that’s crazy.’
I thought about it for a moment.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘you’re right. The rest of the caper took a lot of work, a lot of planning, a lot of thought. I admit the part you mentioned just doesn’t hang together. It’s sloppy. But it’s Donohue’s idea, so I guess he figures
