Джеймс Чейз - One Bright Summer Morning

Mason lit a cigarette and relaxed. These people couldn’t have anything to do with Kramer.

A few minutes to midday, a girl and a young man came walking down the street. They looked like twins. The girl, her hair dyed blonde, was wearing a cheap cotton dress, scuffed white shoes and sunglasses. The young man was dark. He had on bottle green slacks, an open-neck grubby white shirt and over his shoulder he had slung a lightweight fawn-coloured jacket. He also wore sunglasses. They looked like a couple of students on vacation. Mason gave them a disinterested stare and then dismissed them. Because Moe Zegetti had had the intelligence to insist neither of the Cranes should wear their uniforms, they passed into the hotel without raising the Federal Agent’s suspicions.

“The guy in the car across the way,” Chita said under her breath. “Could be a dick.”

“Yeah, I saw him,” Riff said. “Better tell Zegetti. Could mean nothing: could be a private dick on a divorce caper.”

They had been told by Moe to go to the first floor, Room 149, knock twice and wait.

There were a few elderly people sitting in the dusty lounge who peered at the Cranes as they walked to the stairs.

A bellhop eyed them, started to get up, but decided it was too much trouble. These two seemed to know where they were going.

They arrived at Room 149, knocked and the door was immediately opened. Moe jerked his thumb and they walked into a comfortably furnished sitting room with a door opposite them leading into a bedroom.

Big Jim Kramer sat in an armchair by the window, a cigar gripped between his teeth. He examined the Cranes as they moved into the room. They came in cautiously, like animals uneasy in new surroundings. Moe was right. These two were tough. His eyes travelled over Chita: the girl was something... that bust of hers! If he had been five years younger, he might have had ideas about her!

Ignoring Kramer, Riff said to Moe, “There’s a dick parked outside... could be a private eye... could be a Fed.”

Moe stiffened. His fat face lost a little colour. He looked quickly at Kramer who said quietly. “Forget him. I’ve got him tagged. The Feds must be interested when Zegetti and I get together... they don’t miss much.” He eased his bulk in the chair, making it creak. “When I’m good and ready, I’ll lose him. I’ve been losing cops for the past forty years.”

In their turn, the Cranes examined Kramer. They had read about him in the tabloids when they were kids. They knew him to have been one of the top racketeers in the business: a man who had made six million dollars. Seeing him now, heavy, old with a whisky complexion his suntan couldn’t conceal, they were disappointed. They had expected to see a man a lot more lethal-looking than this sixty-year old hunk of beef, sitting in an armchair and smoking a cigar.

“Sit down, you two,” Kramer went on. He stared at Riff who still had a couple of raw blisters on his face where, two weeks ago, the ammonia had burned him. “What’s the matter with your face?”

“A whore bit me,” Riff said as he sat down.

There was a long pause. Kramer’s beefy face turned a dark red and his little eyes snapped.

“Listen to me, you young slob,” he snarled, “when I ask a question, you answer up polite... hear me?”

“Oh, sure,” Riff said indifferently, “but my face belongs to me: it’s nothing to you what’s the matter with it.”

Zegetti eyed Kramer uneasily. In the old days, if some punk talked back to him, Kramer would crush him with a blow in the face, but instead, Kramer shrugged and said, “We’re wasting time. Now, listen, you two, I’m fixing a job. I could use you if you want to come in. There’s no risk and it’s worth five grand. What do you say?”

Chita was aware of the impression she had made on Kramer. She had an instinctive knowledge when she raised lust in men, and she knew she had stirred Kramer’s desires.

“No risk?” she asked. “Then what’s a cop doing, parked outside?”

“You two little jerks don’t know what it is to be famous,” Kramer said. “Moe here was one of the top craftsmen in the game and I ran a mob of over five hundred hoods who really knew their business. When Moe and I get together, it’s news. The Feds get scared. I said forget it. I’ll lose them when I want to. Right now they can sit outside and stew. It won’t get them anywhere. When I pull this job, they’ll know nothing about it. Do you want the job? It’s worth five grand. Make up your minds. If you want it, say so.”

Riff touched one of the raw blisters on his face and winced angrily.

“What’s the job?”

“You buy it sight unseen,” Kramer said. “You don’t get the dope until you say you’re in, and when you’re in, you damn well stay in or you’ll have me to reckon with.”

The Cranes looked at each other. For the past two weeks they had been having a very bad time. Word had got around how the little guy had fixed them and they had lost face with their gang. The other gangs openly jeered at them and Riff had been involved in several fights: one of them he had nearly lost. Chita had been pestered on the streets by punks who wouldn’t have dared touch her before. Riff had been laid up for a week. The offer of five thousand dollars stunned them. It was more money than they had ever hoped to lay their hands on in their lives. So far they had played it small, but safe. Now, getting themselves hooked up to a fat old square like Kramer could land them into trouble they had so carefully avoided so far.

But the money was too big a temptation. Riff nodded his head at Chita who nodded back.

“Well, okay, we’re in,” Riff said and taking out a couple of cigarettes, he tossed one to Chita and lit the other for himself. “What’s the deal?”

Kramer told them what he had told Moe, but he mentioned no names. He said the girl was the daughter of a wealthy man who would pay ransom without going to the cops.

There was a long pause after Kramer had finished talking.

The Cranes looked at each other, then Riff slowly shook his head. To Kramer, he said, “That caper could land us in the gas chamber. Five grand isn’t enough. If we’re going to risk our necks, we want five grand each.”

Kramer’s face went a blotchy red.

“I told you! There’s no risk!”

“It’s a snatch. Something could turn sour,” Riff said. “It’s hard to keep the Feds out of a caper like this. Ten grand or we don’t touch it.”

Moe looked anxiously at Kramer. The old man looked as if he was about to burst a blood vessel.

“Then get out!” Kramer spluttered. “The two of you! Out! There are plenty of punks who’d do it at my price!”

Chita moved uneasily, but her brother scowled at her. He said quietly, “For ten grand, we’ll do the job, and we’ll do it nice and smooth. You won’t have any complaints. I promise you that.”

“Get out!” Kramer snarled, leaning forward, his face congested. “Hear me! Out!”

“It’s not your money,” Riff said without moving. “What are you getting excited about? You just raise the ransom a little, and in return you get a hot service.”

“It’s five grand or nothing!” Kramer said, getting to his feet. His right hand hung near his coat where the bulge of a hidden gun was plain to see.

Riff stared at him for a long moment, his face expressionless, then he stood up.

“Come on, Chita,” he said. “We have things to do.”

“Wait!” Moe said sharply. Turning to Kramer, he said, “I want a word with you, Jim,” and he walked into the bedroom.

After hesitating while he glared at Riff, Kramer stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door.

“What is it?” he snarled.

“Take it easy, Jim,” Moe said quietly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. These two are tricky and you’re handling them wrong. They are worth ten grand. They’ll do the job. We can’t afford not to pay them now. They now know we are planning a snatch. They are like snakes. I told you. Give them what they want and they’ll do a job, but turn them out now and they’ll cross the street and tell that Fed what’s cooking. Neither of them have a record... but we have. Those two could fix us now. Don’t you see that?”