sense of catching up. He figured he could trust Iris. Anyway, he didn't have any choice. As long as she kept his documents hidden, he was relatively safe. But he knew the police would keep her under surveillance and there'd be no way to reach her for a time. He didn't know what the police had on him and that worried him as much as the loss of the money.
He had to admit the robbery had been a cute caper, well organized, bold, even risky. Perhaps it had succeeded just because it was risky. But it had been too well organized for a crime of that dimension, for $87,000, or so it seemed to him; it couldn't have been any better organized for a million dollars. But there seemed a lot of easier ways to get $87,000. One interpretation, of course, was that the syndicate had staged it not only to break him but to frame him. But if it had been the syndicate, why hadn't they just hit him?
Penn Station came before he had finished thinking.
He found a long line of telephone booths and telephoned Mrs John Hill, the wife of the young recruiting agent who had been killed. He didn't remember her but he knew she was a member of his church.
'Are you alone, Mrs Hill?' he asked in a disguised voice.
'Yes,' she replied tentatively, fearfully. 'That is — who's speaking, please?'
'This is Reverend O'Malley,' he announced in his natural voice.
He heard the relief in hers. 'Oh, Reverend O'Malley, I'm so glad you called.'
'I want to offer my sympathy and condolences. I cannot find the words to express my infinite sorrow for this unfortunate accident which has deprived you of your husband — ' He knew he sounded like an ass but she'd understand that kind of proper talk.
'Oh, Reverend O'Malley, you are so kind.'
He could tell that she was crying. Good! he thought. 'May I be of help to you in any way whatsoever?'
'I just want you to preach his funeral.'
'Of course I shall, Mrs Hill, of course. You may set your mind at peace on that score. But, well, if you will forgive my asking, are you in need of money?'
'Oh, Reverend O'Malley, thank you, but he had life insurance and we have a little saved up — and, well we haven't any children.'
'Well, if you have any need you must let me know. Tell me, have the police been bothering you?'
'Oh, they were here but they just asked questions about our life — where we worked and that kind of thing — and they asked about our Back-to-Africa movement. I was proud to tell them all I knew…' Thank God that was nothing, he thought. 'Then, well, they left. They were — well, they were white and I knew they were unsympathetic — I could just feel it — and I was glad when they left.'
'Yes, my dear, we must be prepared for their attitude, that is why our movement was born. And I must confess I have no idea who the vicious white bandits are who murdered your fine… er… upstanding husband. But I am going to find them and God will punish them. But I have to do it alone. I can't depend on the white police.'
'Oh, don't I know it.'
'In fact, they will do everything to stop me.'
'What makes white folks like that?'
'We must not think why they are like that. We must accept it as a fact and go ahead and outwit them and beat them at their own game. And I might need your help, Mrs Hill.'
'Oh, Reverend O'Malley, I'm so glad to hear you say that. I understand just what you mean and I'll do everything in my power to help you track down those foul murderers and get our money back.'
Thank God for squares, O'Malley thought as he said, 'I have utmost confidence in you, Mrs Hill. We both have the same aim in view.'
'Oh, Reverend O'Malley, your confidence is not misplaced.' He smiled at her stilted speech but he knew she meant it. 'The main thing is for me to stay free of the police while we conduct our own investigation. The police must not know of my whereabouts or that we are working together to bring these foul murderers to justice. They must not know that I have communicated with you or that I will see you.'
'I won't mention your name,' she promised solemnly.
'Do you expect them to return tonight?'
'I'm sure they're not coming back.'
'In that case I will come to your house in an hour and we will make that our headquarters to launch our investigation. Will that be all right?'
'Oh, Reverend O'Malley, I'm thrilled to be doing something to get revenge — I mean to see those white murderers punished — instead of just sitting here grieving.'
'Yes, Mrs Hill, we shall hunt down the killers for God to punish and perhaps you will draw your shades before I come.'
'And I'll turn out the lights too so you won't have to worry about anyone seeing you.'
'Turn out the lights?' For a moment he was startled. He envisioned himself walking into a pitch-dark ambush and being seized by the cops. Then he realized he had nothing to fear from Mrs Hill. 'Yes, very good,' he said. 'That will be fine. I will telephone you shortly before arriving and if the police are there you must say, 'Come on up,' but if you are alone, say, 'Reverend O'Malley, it's all right.'
'I'll do just that,' she promised. He could hear the excitement in her voice. 'But I'm sure they won't be here.'
'Nothing in life is certain,' he said. 'Just remember what to say when I telephone — in about an hour.'
'I will remember; and good-bye now, until then.'
He hung up. Sweat was streaming down his face. He hadn't realized until then it was so hot in the booth.
He found the big men's room and ordered a shower. Then he undressed and gave his suit to the black attendant to be pressed while he was taking his shower. He luxuriated in the warm needles of water washing away the fear and panic, then he turned on cold and felt a new life and exhilaration replace the fatigue… The indestructible Deke O'Hara, he thought gloatingly. What do I care about eighty-seven grand as long as there are squares?
'Your suit's ready, daddy,' the attendant called, breaking off his reverie.
'Right-o, my man.'
Deke dried, dressed, paid and tipped the attendant and sat on the stand for a shoeshine, reading about the robbery and himself in the morning Daily News. The clock on the wall read 2.21 a.m.
Mrs Hill lived uptown in the Riverton Apartments near the Harlem River north of 135th Street. He knew she would be waiting impatiently. He was very familiar with her type: young, thought herself good-looking with the defensive conceit with which they convinced themselves they were more beautiful than all white women; ambitious to get ahead and subconsciously desired white men, hating them at the same time because they frustrated her attempts to get ahead and refused to recognize her innate superiority over white women. More than anything she wanted to escape her drab existence; if she couldn't be middle class and live in a big house in the suburbs she wanted to leave it all and go back to Africa, where she just knew she would be important. He didn't care for the type, but he knew for these reasons he could trust her.
He went out to the ramp to get a taxi. Two empty taxis with white drivers passed him; then a colored driver, seeing his predicament, passed some white people to pick him up. The white policeman supervising the loading saw nothing.
'You know ain't no white cabby gonna take you to Harlem, man,' the colored driver said.
'Hell, they're just losing money and ain't making me mad at all,' Deke said.
The colored driver chuckled.
Deke had him wait at the 125th Street Station while he phoned. The coast was clear. She buzzed the downstairs door the moment he touched the bell and he went up to the seventh floor and found her waiting in her half-open doorway. Behind her the apartment was pitch dark.
'Oh, Reverend O'Malley, I was worried,' she greeted him. 'I thought the police had got you.'
He smiled warmly and patted her hand as he passed to go inside. She closed the door and followed him and for a moment they stood in the pitch dark of the small front hall, their bodies slightly touching.
'We can have some light,' he said. 'I'm sure it's safe enough.'
She clicked switches and the rooms sprang into view. The shades were drawn and the curtains closed and the apartment was just as he had imagined it. A living-room opening through a wide archway to a small dining-
