two of 'em and they got a shiv they're the toughest mugs in the world. It ain't nice to get took, by a woman, neither. They never learn.'
'They learn, Tony. For about ten seconds they're the smartest people in the world. But then it's always too late. After ten seconds they're dead. They only learn when they finally catch a slug where it hurts.'
I walked back to the booth and sat down opposite Velda. Tony brought her another Manhattan and me a beer. 'Very good,' I said.
'Thanks. I knew you were watching.'
She lit a cigarette and her hands were steadier than mine. 'You were too rough on him.'
'Nuts, he had a knife. I have an allergy against getting cut.' I drained off half of the beer and laid it down on the table where I made patterns with the wet bottom. 'Tell me about tonight.'
Velda started to tear matches out of the book without lighting them. 'I got there about seven-thirty. A light was on in the front window. Twice I saw somebody pull aside the corner of the shade and look out. A car went around the block twice, and both times it slowed down a little in front of the house. When it left I tried the door, but it was locked so I went next door and tried that one. It was locked too, but there was a cellar way under the stairs and I went down there. Just as I was going down the steps I saw a man coming up the block and I thought it might be Deamer.
'I had to take the chance that it was and that you were behind him. The cellar door was open and led through to the back yard. I was trying to crawl over a mound of boxes when I heard somebody in the back yard. I don't know how long it took me to get out there, possibly two minutes. Anyway, I heard a yell and somebody came out the door of the next house. I got through into the back alley and heard him running. He went too fast for me and I started yelling for you.'
'That was Oscar Deamer, all right. He saw us coming and beat it.'
'Maybe.'
'What do you mean . . . 'maybe'?'
'I think there were two people in that alley ahead of me.'
'Two people?' My voice had an edge to it. 'Did you see them?'
'No.'
'Then how do you know?'
'I don't. I just think so.'
I finished the beer and waved to Tony. He brought another. Velda hadn't touched her drink yet. 'Something made you think that. What was it?'
She shrugged, frowning at her glass, trying to force her mind back to that brief interval. 'When I was in that cellar I thought I heard somebody in the other yard. There was a flock of cats around and I thought at the time that I was hearing them.'
'Go on.'
'Then when I was running after him I fell and while I lay there it didn't sound like just one person going down that alley.'
'One person could sound like ten if they hit any of the junk we hit. It makes a hell of a racket.'
'Maybe I'm wrong, Mike. I thought there could have been someone else and I wanted you to know about it.'
'What the hell, it doesn't matter too much now anyway. The guy is dead and that should end it. Lee Deamer can go ahead and reform all he wants to now. He hasn't got a thing to worry about. As far as two people in that alley . . . well, you saw what the place was like. Nobody lives there unless he has to. They're the kind of people who scare easily, and if Lee started running somebody else could have too. Did you see him go down the subway?'
'No, he was gone when I got there, but two kids were staring down the steps and waving to another kid to come over. I took the chance that he went down and followed. The train was skidding to a stop when I reached the platform and I didn't have to be told why. When you scooted me away I looked for those kids in the crowd upstairs but they weren't around.'
I hoisted my glass, turned it around in my hand and finished it. Velda downed her Manhattan and slipped her arms into her coat. 'What now, Mike?'
'You go home, kid,' I told her. 'I'm going to take me a nice long walk.'
We said good night to Tony and left. The two guys we had thrown in the street were gone. Velda grinned. 'Am I safe?'
'Hell yes!'
I waved a taxi over, kissed her good night and walked off. My heels rapped the sidewalk, a steady tap-tap that kept time with my thoughts. They reminded me of another walk I took, one that led to a bridge, and still another one that led into a deserted store that came equipped with blackout curtains, light switches on the door and coffee urns.
There lay the story behind the green cards. There was where I could find out why I had to kill a guy who had one, and see a girl die because she couldn't stand the look on my face. That was what I wanted to know . . . why it was me who was picked to pull the trigger.
I turned into a candy store and pulled the telephone directories from the rack. I found the Park Avenue Brightons and dialed the number.
Three rings later a somber voice said, 'Mr. Brighton's residence.'
I got right to the point. 'Is Ethel there?'
'Who shall I say is calling, sir?'
'You don't. Just put her on.'
'I'm sorry, sir, but . . .'
'Oh, shut up and put her on.'
There was a shocked silence and a clatter as the phone was laid on a table. Off in the distance I heard the mutter of voices, then feet coming across the room. The phone clattered again, and, 'Yes?'
'Hello, Ethel,' I said. 'I drove your car into Times Square last night. Remember?'
'Oh! Oh, but . . .' Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. 'Please, I can't talk to you here. What is . . .'
'You can talk to me outside, kid. I'll be standing on your street corner in about fifteen minutes. The northeast corner. Pick me up there.'
'I--I can't. Honestly . . . oh, please . . .' There was panic in her voice, a tone that held more than fear.
I said, 'You'd better, baby.' That was enough. I hung up and started walking toward Park Avenue. If I could read a voice right she'd be there.
She was. I saw her while I was still a half block away, crossing nervously back and forth, trying to seem busy. I came up behind her and said hello. For a moment she went rigid, held by the panic that I had sensed in her voice.
'Scared?'
'No--of course not.' The hell she wasn't! Her chin was wobbling and she couldn't hold her hands still. This time I was barely smiling and dames don't usually go to pieces when I do that.
I hooked my arm through hers and steered her west where there were lights and people. Sometimes the combination is good for the soul. It makes you want to talk and laugh and be part of the grand parade.
It didn't have that effect on her.
The smile might have been pasted on her face. When she wasn't looking straight ahead her eyes darted to me and back again. We went off Broadway and into a bar that had one empty end and one full end because the television wasn't centered. The lights were down low and nobody paid any attention to us on the empty end except the bartender, and he was more interested in watching the wrestling than hustling up drinks for us.
Ethel ordered an Old Fashioned and I had a beer. She held the fingers of her one hand tightly around the glass and worked a cigarette with the other. There was nothing behind the bar to see, but she stared there anyway. I had to give up carrying the conversation. When I did and sat there as quietly as she did the knuckles of her fingers went white.
She couldn't keep this up long. I took a lungful of smoke and let it come out with my words. 'Ethel . . .' She jerked, startled. 'What's there about me that has you up a tree?'
She wet her lips. 'Really, there's . . . there's nothing.'
'You never even asked me my name.'
