getting Steve up to her place. When I finished Kay didn't hesitate a second to say, “Fine. I'll phone Steve right now.”
But Bobby got to the phone first. “Kay, why can't I be the one? He knows I'm familiar with all the details of the publicity project, so it would be logical for me to suspect him.”
“That's terribly sweet and brave of you, Bobby-boy, but you see it has to be me because I'm representing Central in all this mess. I'll phone him now, hint something has come up concerning the studio—that should bring him on the run. How soon should I tell him to come?”
“Right away,” I said. “There's one more piece of business before we start. I've socked a cop. Now, if we pin anything on Steve, I want you three to stick with me all the time I'm with the cops, even at the precinct house. I'm not going for any beating.”
“Don't worry,” Ted told me blandly, “we give them the real killer and they'll be happy.”
“Maybe, but I want you around for insurance.”
“Touie is right. We all know why the cops may want to beat him up, and I have a better idea,” Kay said, knocking the ashes out of her jeweled pipe. “Let me phone a reporter friend, have him stand by. If we get anything on Steve, we'll phone the reporter before calling the police. Publicity-wise it will be fine, because this fellow works for one of the big wire services. Okay, Touie?”
I nodded and she dialed some guy and, after the small talk and assuring him this wasn't merely another news plant or publicity release, he agreed to wait for her call. We were wasting time and I had her call Steve, the tenseness inside me coiling tighter with each turn of her phone dial. After a moment Kay hung up, said there wasn't any answer. The letdown must have shown on my face; she said, “He's probably out for supper, Touie. It isn't seven yet. I suggest we finish eating. Hungry, Mr. Bailey?”
Matter of fact, I was starving, and damn if we all didn't have supper as though we were waiting to go on a party instead of hooking a killer. Kay kept trying Steve's number every fifteen minutes, and in the meantime we had to watch TV. Kay wanted to “catch” certain shows and commercials. Ted phoned his wife to tell her he was working, and then he sat and stared at Bobby and Kay, his eyes bewildered. I had the same feeling I had in Bingston hanging around the Davis house: I began to wonder if all this was real or a nightmare.
Ted went down to check his car, kept worrying somebody would steal the equipment. Bobby had a kettle boiling in the fireplace and served hot rums. By ten I was a jumpy wreck, certain Steve had flown the coop. Kay was sipping too many rums and I snapped, “Don't get crocked.”
“I'm too excited for that. But I do need a few belts from the bottle of courage, as the non-A.A. people romantically call it. Rum doesn't relax, Bobby. Butch, you look tired, why don't you take a sleep pill?”
At five to eleven she finally got Steve, and I almost melted away with relief. Kay asked, “Steve, can you come up to my place at once? What? Don't be an ass, this is strictly business. I've found out something at the office that will make you drool. Oh, don't hand me any creative-mood junk. You can write later: this is important. No, no, I can't discuss it on the phone. Okay, stay with your typewriter, Hemingway.” She winked at us over the receiver. “But I have the inside dope on a new show—biggest thing in your career—a full net series, twice a week. Oh, I'm not kidding. You'll have to get on your horse and bring in a sample outline by tomorrow afternoon. Bighearted? Listen, I want a straight twenty per cent cut if you land the scripting.... I don't see why you can't come over. What? I'm offering you a big deal on a silver platter and you're playing coy....”
I tapped her shoulder, said in pantomime, “Tell him you'll go to his place.”
She nodded. “Steve, this is really big; suppose I come up to see you. You're damn right I'm money-hungry... when it's upper-bracket money. I'll be over within the hour. I have to dress and— All right, all right, cut the sex talk. I'm serious. I'll be up as soon as I can.”
As she hung up, Bobby cried, “Kay, don't, don't!”
“Oh, Bobby, relax. Take your pill and go to sleep.”
“No! I won't let you go alone!”
I said, “You can't go with Kay—louse up everything.”
“I insist. I won't let Kay face that creature alone!”
Ted said, “Since we'll have to do the tape in the car, let her stay downstairs with me. Another witness won't hurt.” He pulled the matchbox transmitter from his pocket, showed it to Kay. “This is important, so listen. You carry this in your bag, and make sure it don't get stuck to the bag. You have to play this smart and careful; if he sees it we're sunk. When you sit down, pin this under a chair, or on the back of a couch— anyplace where it isn't covered up and can't be seen. And you got to do it soon as you get inside his apartment.”
Kay poked a finger at the box. “This tiny gadget really broadcasts?”
“Yeah, I'll set it as soon as you're ready. And be careful with it. It costs like crazy, too.”
Kay pinched the Chinese robe, said almost to herself, “I ought to get into a bitchy dress—something real seductive.”
“Kay!” Bobby said.
“My God, the very last thing I want is Steve McDonald. I'll be a moment.” She went into the bedroom.
I called after her, “What sort of house does he live in?”
“One of these remodeled deals, but larger than this house.”
“Sport a doorman?”
“No, I don't think so.”
“Does he live in the front or back?”
“I don't remember. He has one large room and kitchenette. Fantastically decorated.”
“Is it on a fire escape?”
“Really. How would I know?”
Ted and I got our coats while Bobby slipped into a tailored cloth coat and bebop cap, which didn't look at all mannish on her. Kay walked in wearing spike heels and a light silver strapless gown. Her face wasn't made-up, the copper-colored hair carefully— but casually—brushed around her head. The gown and hair set off her thin shoulders and all of it added up to sex. Tossing a mink cape on her shoulders she said, “Now I'm prepared. I always said I'd wear this mink till the day I died.”
“Kay, please!” Bobby whined.
Ted held up his thick hands. “Let's get things straight. I'll let you women out on the corner, in case this McDonald is the suspicious type and looking out his window. When we find a parking space, Bobby here will walk down to the car. Kay, you wait in front of McDonald's house for Toussaint, who will go up and get on the fire escape, be set before you enter the apartment. That may not be easy.” He glanced at me and we were both thinking the same thing: a Negro seen on the roof or fire escape in a white neighborhood would bring a dozen frantic calls to the police. “If a fire escape is out, I think Toussaint should plant himself outside McDonald's door, batter it down when the time comes.”
“How can I hear through a door?” I asked. Loitering in a hallway would be dangerous as the devil—for me.
“Planned that,” Ted grunted. “It's late and quiet out. Soon as Kay plants the bug, I'll give three short blasts of the car horn—meaning the bug is sending okay. If it ain't working, if you don't hear the horn within five minutes after you set the bug, get the bug back and leave. You tell him, Kay, you have a headache or—”
“It has to be tonight,” I cut in.
“The main thing it has to be done right,” Ted went on. “You don't hear the horn—here, better yet. If I'm not receiving, Bobby will phone; that will give Kay an excuse to leave. Now, if things go okay, I'm hearing everything, I'll give another three blasts of the horn if Kay seems in danger. Toussaint can then come through the door and window, and I'll be on my way up.”
“That sounds good,” Kay said.
“If Touie can't be outside a window, we can't go through with it,” Bobby said. “It'd only take Steve a second to do... something.”
Ted shook his big head. “Don't worry, ma'am. Once he hears somebody at the door, he'll only be doing one thing —trying to get out of there. And Toussaint will be armed.”
“I can handle Steve. I've kicked a few men in the right place before,” Kay said. “Let's go.”
Bobby and Ted went down first while Kay and I waited for the elevator. “Are you nervous, Touie?” she asked calmly.
“Wish I knew more about the location of his apartment in the building.”
“It's a walk-up and he's on the third floor, but that's all I remember. I'm really sorry I got you into this mess.”
I shrugged. “Risks of the job, I guess.”
Steve lived in the Sixties, east of Madison Avenue. Ted gave Kay the transmitter, making sure it was working, and she slipped it into her bag as she and Bobby got off at the corner. Ted said, “Now watch yourself, don't leave your bag when you take off your cape.”
We turned into Sixty-fifth Street, which was empty of people but full of cars. There was only one open space, in front of a large apartment house, with no parking lettered across the curb. I told Ted to park there and he said the doorman would raise hell. I told him to park.
This old man dressed like a foreign general came rushing out and before he could say a word I shook his hand, said, “It's important we park here for about a half hour.”
“You can't—” He saw the ten bucks I'd palmed in his hand, added, “Raise the hood of your car, like you're broken down. Only a half hour. What's this all about?”
“Divorce raid. Not in your house.” We were in a good spot, on the same side of the street and less than a hundred feet from Steve's place.
I raised the hood as Ted fooled with the tape recorder. Then I stepped into the shadow of the nearest building. Bobby came down the block first, got into the car, while the old doorman stood in the doorway of the building, watched us with suspicious eyes. As Kay walked toward the house, I walked up the street, stepped into the small lobby of Steve's house right behind her. I said, “No fire escape on the front. Ring the bell and walk up.
