Ed McBain - Lady Killer

'Regular partnership set-up,' George said, shrugging. 'It's the same all over. Jo and me are partners.'

'How old is Jo?'

'Thirty-four.'

'And you?'

'Fifty-six.'

'That's a big difference. Know him long?'

'About eleven years,' George said.

'You get along with him?'

'Fine.'

'How'd you meet?'

'At the 52-20 Club. You were in the service, weren't you?'

'Sure.'

'Remember when you got out, they had this thing where the state gave you twenty bucks a week for a maximum of fifty-two weeks. A sort of a rehabilitation thing. Until you found work.'

'I remember,' Hawes said. 'But you weren't in the service, were you?'

'No, no, I was too old.'

'Was Jo?'

'He was 4-F during the war. Had a punctured eardrum or something.'

'Then how'd you meet at the Fifty-two—'

'We were both working there. For the Welfare Board, you know. Jo and me. That's how we met.'

'What happened then?'

'Well, you know, we got friendly. I'd trust him with my right arm. Straight from the beginning. It was just one of those friendships. You know, we hit it off right away. It started with us stopping for a few brews on the way home from work. We still do it. Whenever we work together, we stop for a few brews. Place down the street. Jo and me, the guzzlers.' George smiled. 'The guzzlers,' he repeated fondly.

'Go ahead,' Hawes said. He looked at his wrist watch. He had the oddest feeling that he was wasting precious time listening to this fraternal account. 'Go ahead,' he said again, more impatiently this time.

'Well, we got to discussing our dreams and ambitions. I had a little dough socked away, and so did Jo. We talked about opening a little business. First we thought we'd open a bar, but it costs a lot of money to equip one, you know, and then there's the liquor licence and all. We just didn't have that kind of dough.'

'So you decided on a diner instead.'

'Yeah. We got a loan from the bank, and together with what we had, that was enough to start the business. Partners. Me and Jo. Fifty-fifty split. And it works, believe me. You know why?'

'Why?'

'Because we've got ambition. Both of us. Ambition to get ahead, to make something of ourselves. In a few years we'll be opening another diner, and then later on another. Ambition. And trust.' George's voice dropped to a more confidential tone. 'Listen, I trust that kid… I trust him like he was my own son.' He began chuckling. 'Hell, you have to, in my position.'

'What do you mean?'

'I'm an orphan, all alone in the world. Jo's the only one I've got. And this is a partnership. That kid's as good as gold. I wouldn't trade him for the world.'

'Where is he today?' Hawes asked.

'Wednesday. His day off. We both work Saturdays and Sundays, and we each take a day during the week. We're building, you know. Toward the big string of diners.' George smiled.

'You think Jo might have given your card to the man whose picture I showed you?'

'He might have. Why don't you show him the picture?'

'Where can I reach him?'

'I'll give you his phone number. You can call him at home. If he's not there, he's probably with his girl-friend. A nice girl. Her name's Felicia. He'll probably marry her someday.'

'Where does he live?' Hawes asked.

'In a nice apartment downtown. One of these hotel apartments. Very nice. He likes to live nice. Me, any hole in the wall'll do. But not Jo. He's… You know, a smart kid. Likes nice things.'

'Give me the number,' Hawes said.

'You can make the call right here, in the kitchen. There's a phone on the wall. Listen, can we get out of here? Besides my customers, it's getting hot as hell in this cubby-hole.'

He opened the door, and they started walking toward the kitchen.

'It's like this every night,' George said. 'Jam-packed. We give them quality, and it pays off for us. But, boy, it's a lot of work. This won't begin slacking off until seven thirty, eight o'clock. Busy. Busy all the time. Knock wood,' he added, rapping on the counter.

Hawes followed him back to the kitchen. The kitchen was very hot, hot with the heat of the day and the heat of the stoves, and hot with hurried, frantic speech.

'Phone's over there,' George said. 'The number's Delville 2-4523.'

'Thanks,' Hawes said.

He walked to the phone, and deposited a dime. Then he began dialling. He waited.

'Riverdix Hotel,' the voice said.

'Jo Cort, please,' Hawes said.

'I'll try his apartment, sir. One moment, please.'

Hawes waited. The operator rang.

'I'm sorry, sir. He doesn't seem to be answering.'

'Try it again,' Hawes said.

'Yes, sir.' She tried it again. And again. And again and again. 'I'm sorry, sir,' she told him. 'There's still no answer.'

'Thank you,' Hawes said, and he hung up.

He went out front and found George.

'He's not home.'

'Oh. Too bad. Try his girl-friend. Felicia Pannet. She's in Isola, too.'

'Where?' Hawes asked.

'I don't know the address. Midtown someplace. Or just above the Square, I think. Yeah, that's it. On the North side.' George turned to a customer. 'Yes, sir,' he said, 'would you care to see a menu?'

'Just give me a bacon and tomato on toast,' the man said. 'And a cup of coffee.'

George turned to the pass-through leading to the kitchen. 'BT down,' he shouted. 'Draw one!' He turned back to Hawes. 'Will I be glad when this day is over. Know what I'm going to do?'

'What?' Hawes said.

'As soon as this crowd thins out, half hour or so from now, I'm going for a brew. Right down the street. Maybe two brews. Maybe I'll sit there and drink all night. I'm so thirsty I could drink a keg of the stuff. I can't wait. Half hour or so, whizzz , I'm out of here.'

He had mentioned time, the enemy, and so Hawes unconsciously looked at his wrist watch. It was three minutes to seven.

An hour to go.

'Thanks,' he said to George, and he left the diner.

Outside, he wondered what to do. The girl lived in mid-town Isola, above the Square. Should he go there? Was it worth it? Suppose Jo wasn't there? Or suppose he was there and couldn't identify the picture? Or suppose he could identify the picture, would there be time to stop the killer? He looked at his watch again.

Seven o'clock.

Was there time?

Could they stop him now? Could they stop him from killing the woman, whoever she was?

Well, what else was there to do? Go back to the precinct squad-room and wait for the hour to pass? Sit there with the boys while a killer took aim at his target, while a Luger was brought to bear and then fired?

What the hell else was there to do? If he hurried, if he put on the siren and cleared the streets, he could be there in ten minutes. Another ten to talk to Jo—if he was there—and then ten to get back to the precinct. He could be in the squad-room by 7.30, and maybe Jo would identify that picture. Maybe, maybe, maybe …

Hawes walked into a drugstore and directly to the phone booths. He looked up Felicia Pannet's address, got it, and then decided to call her first. If Jo Cort wasn't there, she would tell him so and save him a trip.

He repeated the number to himself, went into the booth, and dialled it.

The busy signal clicked in his ear.

He hung up and waited. Then he dialled again.

Still busy.

Damnit, he was wasting time. If the phone was busy, somebody was home! And he sure as hell couldn't spend the next precious hour in a phone booth. He left the drugstore and walked back to the police sedan.

He gunned away from the curb, and turned on the siren.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Nathan Hale Square divided the island of Isola almost exactly in two. Dominated by the huge statue of the patriot, it was the hub of a bigger square of city commerce. Swank shops, bookshops, drugstores, automobile showrooms, hotels, and the new giant sports arena surrounded the square with their bustling activity. The heat had in no way diminished the bustle, or the hustle accompanying it. The heat very rarely affects pursuit of the long green.