Reavis was working the gatehouse when I drove back to the island. He came up to the car as soon as I was through the gate.
“We got company,” he said, putting a hand on the window frame. “Maxine and three of his outfit. Also that girl he shacks up with.”
I nodded, drove on up the hill. Maxine’s car, a gleaming black Lincoln, was in the way so I couldn’t get into the garage. I left the Buick in the drive, started to go inside.
“Mallory,” a voice said. I turned from the door and waited. Charley Rinke hurried across the front lawn to me.
“They’re here,” he whispered, when he thought he was close enough.
“I know it,” I said shortly.
He smoked nervously. “Mallory — Pete, this is our chance. The big chance for both of us. Macy is through. But the organization hasn’t completely deteriorated yet. All that’s necessary is for somebody to step in and take control. Two men could do it. You and I. I know the books. You’ve got the contacts. You could round up the men. In a few days we could smash any resistance. There wouldn’t be much, if Maxine was dead.”
I turned away from him. His hand caught my arm. “Wait. Wait, Pete.” His voice was strained. “Listen to me. I’ve worked it all out. We can do it. Think about it, Pete. You saw the money in the safe. There’re millions more, just waiting for us to step in and take them.”
“Let go of me,” I said.
His hand dropped away. “What’s the matter? I — I thought—”
“I don’t know what you thought,” I told him. “I don’t know what kind of plans you made. But you better forget ’em, Rinke. You haven’t got any idea what you’d be starting. With Maxine dead and Macy out of control this territory would be wide open. Every out-of-work Syndicate hood from Seattle to Newark would be down here on the first train. I couldn’t hold this area with a battalion of Marines. It takes time to hire good men. You can’t use any two-bit leadslinger who has a gun and is willing to work. You got to have some smart heads under you to try a play like that. Meanwhile your life wouldn’t be safe from one second to the next. I don’t know why I’m standing here explaining this to you. I ought to let you go ahead and try to take Maxine on your own. If you have the guts. I don’t think you do. Your bright idea is for me to pick up the lead while you scratch around in the account books and sit back and enjoy the idea of being the local crime king. You wouldn’t live a week. And when you died you’d die messy and scared.”
He stared at me, his thin lips apart. There was an expression of childlike frustration on his face.
“I’ve got some advice for you,” I said. “As soon as Maxine takes over you pack your tail up and get out of here. Go as far away as you can. Maybe change your name. You know too much to be hanging around town after Maxine is top man. He might get nervous about you after a while and tell somebody to chill you. Why don’t you get an honest job somewhere and give your wife a break for a change?” It exhausted me, saying so much to him.
He sneered at me. “I can handle Evelyn all right,” he said.
“I’ve noticed,” I said. “Get away from me, Rinke, before I just sort of lean over and pound the hell out of you. It would probably do you good.”
Rinke backed away from me hastily. “I thought you were smart. I thought I could talk to you.”
“You can’t talk to me,” I said. “You don’t have any words that interest me. All I’m interested in right now is getting a thousand miles away from this place.”
I moved toward him and shoved him, hard. He almost fell. He backed away from me again. I didn’t have to do that. There was no reason for me to do that. I turned away and walked into the house, wearily. I held my hands a little out in front of me as if I had smeared them with something dirty. I was tired of myself, of trying to be tough. I wasn’t tough. I wasn’t one of the hired apes who could smash somebody’s face or put a bullet in somebody without feeling a twinge. I was conditioned to toughness, that’s all. I was used to sudden violence and I knew how to take care of myself. But once in a while the guard came down and I started shaking. The only really tough men are the hefty lads with the sixty-plus IQ’s who don’t have the reasoning abilities of a flea, who can’t see it happening to them someday. Who don’t give a damn anyway.
In the brightly lighted living room, Gerry sat all by herself at the small curved bar sipping some kind of pale blockbuster from a tall etched glass. She wore a gray skirt and full-sleeved blouse with wide red stripes. Her skin was fresh as poured cream. She looked very young and very charming.
“Hello,” she said, edging sideways on the bar stool, her lips pursed around a straw. “What happened to you?”
I glanced down at my clothes. I looked as though I had just been dug out of a cave-in. My hands were trembling. One palm was scraped. The arm that had been slugged with a pipe ached. I had trouble lifting it more than a few inches. I took out a handkerchief and put it to my face. It came away streaked with dirt. Mallory, home from the wars to count his medals.
“What are you drinking?” I said. “Ginger ale?”
“Don’t be silly. It’s some kind of rum thing. Stan showed me how to fix it. Do you want me to fix one for you?”
“Don’t bother. One swallow would lay me out like a mortician’s helper.” I sat down in a chair of curved tubed aluminum. “Where’s the gang?”
“They’re all somewhere else talking business,” Gerry said. “At least, Stan and Macy are.” She drank the rest of the rum thing and put the glass up. “You haven’t seen Owen around, have you?”
“Honey, I just got here.” I had a thought. The tired wheels notched together as they turned. “Maybe you shouldn’t see Owen while you’re here,” I said patiently. “You wouldn’t want trouble to start, would you?”
She giggled. She reached for a square bottle of rum nearby, sniffed at it, dropped some over the ice in her glass. The giggle was a hint that she and the rum had been companions a bit too long.
“No, I wouldn’t start any trouble,” she said. “I used to live here. You didn’t know that, did you? Macy used to think a lot of me, before that kid came along.” For an instant there was a trace of bitterness in her eyes. “Good old Macy,” she said ironically. Gerry turned slightly on the stool. “Even if I went to see Owen,” she said, “Stan wouldn’t send me away. He’s always telling me that he can’t live without me.”
I sat there trying to work up enough energy to leave the chair.
She smacked her lips over the rum. “Not,” she said mysteriously, “that he’s going to live long anyway.”
“Huh?”
She giggled again. “Shouldn’t tell you.” A stray bit of hair swooped across her forehead, giving her a roguish look. She smiled, the glass at her lips. Her teeth clinked against it.
“What shouldn’t you tell me?”
She shrugged indifferently. “Oh. That Stan goes to the doctor all the time. Sometimes he goes three times a week. He should have an operation but I think he’s afraid to. He takes these pills. Phen — pheno—”
“Phenobarbital?”
“I guess that’s it. Some nights he lies awake in bed and groans.” She put her lips against the glass again, kissing it. The flesh of her underlip looked soft and hot. She was a potent piece. I could understand some of Stan’s attachment to her.
“It gets to be terrible,” she said moodily. “I can’t sleep.” Her eyes were dreamily thoughtful. “I think,” she said, “that some night I’m not going to be there when he comes home.”
I looked at her. “You mean you’d walk out on him?”
“That’s right.” Her head bobbed enthusiastically. “Leave. Time for Gerry to move on. There’s this man I met. He’s a count or something like that. I met him once when Stan took me to Boca Raton. He’s very nice. He wanted me to come with him then. But I told him I’d have to think about it.”
She put the glass down with a flourish, slid off the stool. She stretched, rising to her toes. The skirt fitted the curve of her legs. “Now I’ve thought about it,” she said lazily, giving me a sidelong look. She kicked her shoes off. “Don’t you think I’m pretty?”
“You’re a darling,” I said. “Queen of the junior prom. All the beanie-wearers are mad for you.”
“That’s not funny,” she said.
