She said it like that, without seeing the contradiction. She wished she could have been really Jonathan’s woman, instead of Paul Baron’s woman, but not for Jonathan-for Baron! It was Baron she thought about, even now.
“What did happen?” I said.
“Jonathan talked about his nephew, who was always gambling and losing. Jonathan kept buying the kid off, he said. I told Paul it looked like a good chance, set Walter up for a squeeze on Jonathan. Paul thought it was a great idea. He played the kid into a corner, got him to work with those girls, and you know the rest.”
“He worked it alone?”
“No, he got some help, but I don’t know who. He never told me how he worked his schemes.”
“Go on.”
She lighted a third cigarette from the second. “Paul made his move on Sunday. He figured the payoff would be Monday. He was here with me. He was waiting for a phone call. It came about eleven-thirty, or a little later. I could tell it wasn’t what he’d expected. He went kind of pale, and ran out of here.”
“The call was at eleven-thirty? You’re sure? Not later, maybe one-thirty?”
“Maybe eleven-forty-five, no later. I was watching television.”
“All right,” I said.
“About one o’clock he called and told me to tell anyone who asked that he was with me until at least one P.M.” She blew a thin stream of smoke. “I didn’t hear from him again until I was in the club. He came around just after six. He told me to find Sammy Weiss, and to tell Weiss that Paul knew he was in a bind, and that Paul would help him. Weiss was to keep moving, stay on the loose, and check with Paul or Leo by phone every hour or so. I found Weiss and told him. That was it.”
“That’s all?”
“Everything I know,” she said. She ground out her barely smoked cigarette. “Something happened after he left me Monday. I don’t know what, but it all changed. He changed. I’d never seen Paul so excited as he was when he came to the club at six.”
“The deal was bigger?” I said. “Better?”
“He was like a kid after the first kiss. The deal of his life, he said. Big. An annuity, he said. No piker $25,000.” She looked at me. “And he wasn’t scared or nervous. He hadn’t killed anyone, believe me. He was flying high.”
“Two days later he was dead.”
She hunched forward in the armchair. “I didn’t see him again until I came up here after the last show Wednesday. He was on the floor in the bedroom. There was blood. I ran. I didn’t know who’d killed him, or why. I was scared. I went up to that Seventy-sixth Street place and laid low. Then I called you.”
There was a silence in the dim room. The wind was shaking the windows. Even with the windows closed, a chill draft scoured the room through the loose window frames of the old building.
“You could have told all this before.”
“Tell the cops I was tied into blackmail? Tell them I lied to cover Paul? Tell them I found him dead and didn’t report it? I’m not so smart, but I’m not crazy. I’m not getting tied in to any of this. I’ll deny telling you anything. But I want Paul’s killer to burn, and that’s why I hired you.”
“He never said why he was so excited Monday night?”
“No.”
“Did you see a knife, a wavy-bladed knife? A Malay kris?”
“You mean that Paul had? No, nothing like that.”
I stood. “I’ll have to tell the police.”
“You’ve got nothing to tell. I said nothing.”
She reached for still another cigarette and looked at the clock across the room. Soon she had another show to do, and a lot of shows after that: prancing with a big smile on a hot stage for drooling fools.
I laid her pistol on a table and walked to the door.
“Fortune,” she said. “Get who killed Paul.”
I nodded without turning around. I went out. Paul Baron had been a thief, a cheat, a liar, and a man who had probably never loved anyone in his life, but she had loved him. It’s a harsh and stupid world. We don’t worry about those who love us and suffer for it, we worry about those we love and who make us suffer.
Down on Fifth Street the Friday night crowds pushed around me. I went into a bar and found the telephone booth. I called Captain Gazzo. He was not glad to hear from me. I told him I wanted to talk to Sammy Weiss. He didn’t like it, but after a short argument he agreed to let me. He was on his way out on a call, but he would leave instructions.
24
A guard took me to the detention cell, and stood off. The guard was annoyed. My visit was irregular.
I stood at the bars. Weiss was lying on the lower bunk: a small, shapeless shadow; almost nonexistent. The dim shadow of a man who had never really lived, and who would leave no trace behind. When he saw me, he sat up, and his dark-circled eyes came into the light.
“How is it, Sammy?” I said.
“Not so bad,” he said. “Not so bad.”
I watched him. His voice was quiet, and he was not sweating. They say that adversity can make a man stronger, but I’ve seen trouble strengthen few men and ruin most. Yet Weiss sat there in the cell he had feared all his life without a twitch or a shiver. His deep, Levantine eyes looked straight at me, and his pale moon face was dry.
“I want you to think hard, Sammy,” I said. “You said that Paul Baron got in touch with you about noon on Monday. You’re sure it was noon? Not earlier?”
“Maybe after. Like I said, I was at the steam room like always. I had to take the call wearin’ a towel in the hall.”
“He knew you go to the Turkish bath every day at noon?”
“Everyone knows. Sammy Weiss, steamin’ off the fat every day. Sammy the Slob. You got one crummy room, no family, no friends ’ceptin’ bums like yourself, and nothin’ to do except wait for the night action if you got a buck, so you pick up the routine so you got somewhere to go. Every day, and the steam don’t do nothing at all.”
“What did Baron say?”
He didn’t hear me, or he heard something else inside him first. He stared at a dark corner of the cell. “I bought myself a corset one time. A man’s corset, you know? Up in that lousy room squeezin’ myself into that corset to make me a sharp-looking character. The easy way, the big fake. All a guy got to do he wants to look sharp is take care of himself and stop feeding his fat face. You looks in a mirror all your life, and you never sees.”
Who can say for sure what goes on inside the mind of a man, any man? Or what can happen inside a man? Sometime during the long day and night Weiss had stopped sweating his eternal fear.
“Tell me exactly what Baron said on the phone, Sammy.”
“He said I should go collect $25,000 from this Jonathan Radford around one-fifteen, not before that. It was worth $1000 for me. So I went. I was to take the money to his Sixteenth Street pad. Only this Radford started a brawl, and I never got the money. That’s the truth.”
“I believe you, Sammy. How long were you with Radford?”
“Maybe five minutes, a little more.”
Five minutes. The mistakes we can make by assuming what we don’t know but that seems logical.
“How did you feel when you walked into that study, Sammy?”
“Sweatin’. You know me. I been sweatin’ all my life.”
“Radford was at a window?”
“Like a big shot. In a bathrobe, giving me his back, you know? It was cold in there, but I’m sweatin’!”
“Now tell me exactly what happened. Details.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, it happened so fast, you know? He stands there makin’ me cool my heels a long time. I talk, he don’t answer. I got hot and laid the muscle words on him. So he turns and jumps at me. We
