“I’ve been wondering too.”
“All you have to do is ask, Lee.”
“Yeah, that’s what you told me before.”
“Then ask.”
“I’m afraid of what you might tell me.”
“So don’t ask.”
“I don’t think I will,” he said.
When Lee went to make arrangements for his bash, I told him I’d pick him up about five, then had the cabbie take me down to the elite establishment of Weller-Fabray, Tailors. Two gentlemen who ran an oil company and a newspaper syndicate were being serviced by a pair of immaculate young men in formal morning wear, showing shirts and cravats whose label and style were their own price tags.
In the back, the manager saw me enter, gave me a businesslike smile of recognition and left his account book to say hello. This time he spoke Spanish without realizing it and took my hand. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Kelly. I trust the suits were satisfactory.”
“Perfect. Sorry I didn’t let you know I was coming the last time.”
“I understand.”
“My buddy was a little upset.”
“He didn’t understand.”
“Your merchandising attitude is a little rough, my friend.”
“It’s an attitude that affords me the pleasure of doing what I do. Now, let’s back to you.”
He took my arm and we drifted back toward the fitting rooms. I said, “Something’s getting scratchy on the Continent.”
His shrug was eloquent. “One leaves, another one comes in.”
“Somebody wants me tapped out. They tried through The Turk.”
“Tried,” he repeated. “A word that says everything. I’m surprised that it would be The Turk. One would think he’d be glad to leave well enough alone.”
“That’s what I figured. He could be fronting for somebody.”
“Likely, but he is crass enough to try something on his own. The last episode was quite detrimental to his stature ... and his little empire. Don’t forget, it was The Turk who personally wiped out Louis Albo and took over his operation.”
“He was a younger gun then. He didn’t have anything to lose.”
“Does he have now?”
“I’m retired, my friend. The event sent shock waves throughout the troops.”
“But you’re alive,” he said. “Speculation persists that you have something that can guarantee your living.”
“Maybe.” ..
“Then you’d better decide which way you’ll go.”
“Sure. Meanwhile, send out a probe and see who’s doing the pushing. If there’s going to be an advantage, I want it on my end.”
“Very well, I’ll try.” He held out his hand and I took it. “I hope I don’t open up old sores.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
I went to leave and he stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Mr. Kelly ...”
“Yes?” ,
“Just why did you . , discontinue your activities? You knew what would happen.”
“Yeah, but I hoped it wouldn’t. Just let’s say I got tired of the whole fucking shooting match.”
Lee had made a pair of drinks and brought one into the bedroom for me. I had my coat off and was hanging it up when he said, “What’s that for?” He was looking at the gun on my belt.
The weight of the .45 was so natural I had forgotten about it. “You counted the money,” I said. “Millions make for targets.”
His voice was shaky. “It’s all in the bank.”
“Only you know that.”
“Dog ...” Before he could finish the buzzer went off, a long, insistent growl from the other room. Lee put his glass down and went to answer the door. I took the gun off my belt, stuck it on the closet shelf along with the box of shells and went out to join him.
This time he was pasty white, his eyes wide, darting back and forth between the two standing there before reaching out to me. One was in his middle forties, built like a heavyweight fighter, the other a few years younger, slim and angular, but with all the earmarks of a terrier. They didn’t have to flash their ID’s; the cop sign was all over them. No matter where you are, that look never changes.
“Evening, gentlemen,” I said.
The older one stared, frowned a second, then asked, “Mr. Kelly?”
Lee stepped between us, the old wingman moving up to cover his partner. “Listen, they haven’t got a search warrant ...”
“At ease, kid. They were invited in.” I looked at the cop. “Weren’t you?”
“After a fashion.”
I tasted my drink, liked it and took another pull. “What can I do for you?”
It threw them a little off base. That and something else they hadn’t put their finger on yet. The one who identified himself as Sergeant Tobano said, “Can you account for your whereabouts today?”
“Every minute.”
“Witnesses?”
“All the way. Why?”
He held out his hand and the other one handed him a manila envelope. He tapped the package against his thigh and watched me. “How about, let’s say, eleven thirty this morning.”
“We had just gotten back into the city.”
“We?”
“Two friends of mine and the driver of the car.”
“Go on.”
I took another pull of the drink and put the glass down so I could get a cigarette out. “We dropped my lawyer friend off ... his name is Leyland Hunter, by the way, then my other friend, female Caucasian named Sharon Cass, and I got out at the garage and I walked her home.”
“What garage?”
“Beats me. It’s in the East Fifties.”
“Denier Garage?”
“Now that you mention it, yes.”
He opened the envelope and drew out two eight by ten photos and handed them to me. I held them out in front of me and looked at them. Beside me Lee’s breath gagged in his throat. Bridey-the-Greek and Markham were enough to make anybody gag. They both looked dead as hell with all the blood around Markham’s face and the ice pick still stuck through the Greek’s balls.
“Messy,” I said.
“Recognize them?” the cop asked me.
“Am I supposed to?”
“That’s not the question, Mr. Kelly. Look at them again.”
“So it’s two guys laid out in a public john.”
“How do you know it’s a public john?”
“Who has urinals in their house anymore?” I said without taking my eyes off the photos. I was beginning to enjoy myself. “Where do I fit in?”
“That’s the toilet in the Denier Garage. You were in that toilet when you were there.”
“That’s right. I asked the attendant for directions, had my friend wait for me and went to take a leak. I finished, buttoned up my fly and left.”
