to illustrate how two men under stress can work together in perfect harmony. Wren & Company was doing a large turnover and checks for five, ten, twenty, even thirty thousand dollars cleared through my account fairly often. Wales opened an account in a Bronx bank using an alias and a fake address. Over a two-month period he made a few deposits and withdrawals and in the meantime practiced forging my name—with my help. At the beginning of the third month he forged my name to a check, made out to his alias, for twenty thousand dollars. It was on a regular printed Wren & Company check. He deposited this in his new account. It was truly a foolproof scheme. Banks rarely check signatures but if my bank should question mine, if they called me to verify it, I was to tell them it was my signature but I wanted the check stopped, for business reasons. That would have been the end of it. In that case I would have mortgaged my plant to raise Wales' money. Look at me, Wintino, or doesn't this interest you?”
“Yeah, I'm all ears. The bank let the check go through and in a few weeks Wales closed out his account and the phony name became a dead end.”
Wren nodded and the light seemed to make his glasses spin. “Yes, the check went through without a hitch and Wales gave me my old gun, which I destroyed. On the second of the following month, when I received my bank statement, I naturally made a fuss about the forged check. I had three experts testify my signature was a forgery. Legally I had to go through the red tape of suing the bank. Within a few months the suit came up and I won, of course. Wales had his money without any strain on my part. You see what two intelligent men can do when they put their minds to work?”
“I see, you robbed a bank.”
“Technically, yes. But who suffered? The bank was insured and as for the insurance companies, perhaps this caused them to raise their rates one-hundredth of one per cent. Being a smart man Wales didn't do anything to arouse suspicion. By that I mean he never put the money in his regular account, nor did he start living big. He played strictly by our rules.”
“Is that why he's dead?”
“A mistake. I keep telling you that! A man doesn't reach the top by being soft. I have a family, an industry, a position, to protect. I frankly told Wales he was in a position to keep forging my name. After the lawsuit with the bank I could hardly protest another forgery without giving Wales away, involving myself. I impressed upon him that I had carried out my end of the deal, and if he ever tried blackmailing me in the future, killing would be the only answer. For over seven years I never heard from Wales. Then, several days ago when I received my monthly bank statement and canceled checks I found —”
“A forged check for $4000.75 made out to a Francis Parker,” I said getting the complete picture fast. “Wales must have kept things a secret from Owens—till a couple months ago. Wales probably blabbered while juiced and Owens decided to try his luck.”
“Precisely, except I was certain it was Wales tapping me again. I can hardly be blamed for assuming that. And the only real answer to blackmail is a bullet. Actually I didn't even read about Owens' death until after I shot Wales and the papers played up both killings. I didn't know a thing about Owens' death but I felt it would benefit me by throwing off any possible suspicion on me.”
“You had a wrongo hunch on that.”
“Perhaps. It wasn't until you came into my office and said Owens had the money that I realized Owens had got into the game. Undoubtedly Wales killed Owens in the alley to make it look like a robbery. Must have told him to stop and Owens wanted another crack at my jackpot. You can see Wales had to kill him, to protect himself. Just as I thought I had to kill Wales. I blundered. I shot him while he was in a drunken sleep. He died without pain but I never gave him a chance to explain. I admit it was a terrible blunder, but that's over, nothing we do now can ever bring Wales back to Me.”
“What's there to do?” I asked, keeping my eyes on his thick mustache.
“That's the point of our talk. I want to live, Wintino. I want to avoid a scandal that will haunt my wife and children forever. Your young, life is ahead of you. I'm in a position to offer you $35,000 in cash. If you spend it wisely and slowly and keep your job it means a comfortable nest egg for the rest of your years and some immediate small pleasures—a new car, a house. Naturally you'll have to keep the money in a safe deposit vault, spend it carefully. Even your wife must never know. If you have children, their education is—”
I sat up straight, pressed the crease in my pants. “No dice.”
“Think of something except your pants, damn you. Think! Don't say no before you mull it over. You can quit the department and live like a king in Europe. Or you can hold on to your job, secretly secure, without a money worry. How many young fellows have a chance at life without money worries? Think hard!”
“I'm not buying, Bird. A couple of ex- cops are killed and nobody gives a damn—but I do. You've confessed a murder, I'm going to take you in. If you kill me they'll collar you because I did make a report about my visit to you.”
“Boy, don't make me kill you!” Wren said. “Even if you really did make such a report, I can cover the Owens check with the yarn I gave you this afternoon. I've been thinking it over. Even though I did make it up on the spur of the moment, it's good, it will hold. And I have an alibi for every second of the day Wales was killed. If I have to make a run for it, killing you will give me time and as the old saying goes, they can only hang me once. Please think about —”
“There's nothing to think about. You killed Wales. I'm a cop. I have to arrest you.” I leaned forward slightly, slowly, wondering if Wren would be amateur enough to try for the head instead of the body.
“God, if only you were older, more mature...! Wintino, listen to me, laws were made not as a punishment but to prevent crimes. I killed Wales but I'm not a killer, a criminal. I had to kill, so would you to protect yourself, your family. I'll never kill again, nor commit a crime, so what's the point in arresting me? Can't you understand? It would be your duty to arrest me if you thought that by letting me go you were endangering society. There never will be any reason, any need for me to kill again. If we act intelligently we can both live in peace.”
“And when will I get it like Wales did?” I raised my right hand slowly to my head, pretended to scratch my hair.
Wren's gun hand followed my right as he said, “Never, unless you try to blackmail me. Or if I tried to blackmail you, I would expect you to kill me. Wintino, this isn't something to haggle about. I'll go the limit—$45,000 and you get it all by Tuesday.”
“Bribing an officer of the law is an additional—”
“Bribing? You stupid ass of a kid! You must realize what big money means in this world, what—“
I set my feet and raised my right hand toward my head again. As his eyes and my gun followed, I threw myself forward, on my right shoulder, bringing up as hard a left hook as I could.
The tiny room came alive with thunder and the stink of gunpowder. I felt the punch up to my elbow, my fist ramming into his fat belly. A gut punch is a paralyzer. I saw him sinking to the floor, nothing moving except his mouth, which seemed open in a wide scream of fear.
I reached out and grabbed his right hand, digging my nails into his wrist till he dropped my gun. I picked it up and got to my feet. He hadn't hit me!
I wanted to shout a prayer of thanks, and as I stood up a hot wire ripped across my stomach like a burning knife. Everything was pain, searing pain that made me sink to my knees beside him and scream and scream and scream.
I pressed my stomach to hold down the burning and felt blood. The bastard had shot me. The first time my gun was used on a man it had to be me.
I was on my knees, trying not to keel over, almost on top of Wren who lay there, crumpled, not moving, mouth open as far as he could get it. His glasses had half-fallen off his nose and one eye was enlarged by a lens and bright with pain; the other was a small glitter in the dim light. He wasn't out, just stunned by the gut belt.
I tried to move and pain went through my body like a million knives and I screamed again and again... and heard only silence. The store was full of the same old dusty stillness. My mouth was open but I wasn't making a sound. The silence of the empty store had absorbed the brief bark of the gun. It was crazy, nothing had changed—except I'd be dead in another ten minutes, an hour at the longest. And in a few minutes Wren would be able to walk away.
His eyes were mocking me now, at least the one eye covered by his glasses. I looked away, at my gun in my hand, was damn glad I was going out like a real cop. When I raised my gun Wren's eye grew so big with fear I thought it would pop through the thick glass.
I said, “I'm not going to kill you,” but the words slid all around my mouth and I chewed on them as the pain throbbed deep in me like a long piston needle going up and down in my guts.
I sent a bullet through his knee cap to anchor him. There wasn't any thunder this time, merely a sharp clear bark and a flash of orange, both swallowed by the darkness of the store, never heard outside.
Wren was on his back, out cold, fainted. I took a deep breath that seemed to smother the pointed burning within me; I pulled his gun out of his pocket, crawled over him. The crawling put my blood on fire and when I reached the archway that opened on the store, I had to let go, sink into the pain.
When I came to, the pain was still throbbing steadily in my stomach, stabbing at my heart and brain now and then. Everything about me seemed wet with blood. There was a dull sound behind me. I had to listen for many seconds before I realized it was Wren moaning, calling for help. I got up on my knees, it was easier to move on my knees than to crawl. I made the left wall of the store, the fire within me soaring higher each time I moved. Resting my shoulder against the wall I tried to see the store-front window. I couldn't focus, things were blurred. I figured I was ten feet away. It didn't matter, I couldn't move another inch. I'd had it.
