McBain, Ed - Killer's Payoff

“Torr, Torr,” Danny said. “Torr. It don’t ring a bell.”

“He took a fall for extortion in 1952,” Carella said. “Got one-to-two on the state, paroled in fifty-three. Had a previous arrest for blackmail. He’s allegedly honestly employed now, but he’s interested in Kramer’s death, claims he was a good friend of Kramer’s. Know him?”

“It still don’t ring,” Danny said. “Maybe he really did go straight, who knows? Listen, miracles can happen, you know.”

“Not often enough,” Carella said. “Have you seen any imported talent around?”

“You’re thinking Kramer was important enough to hire an out-of-town gun? Steve, believe me, this is crazy reasoning.”

“Okay, okay. But is there any imported stuff around?”

“A hood from Boston. They call him Newton, cause that’s where he’s from.”

“A gun?”

“I think he cooled a few, but you can’t prove it by me. He ain’t here for that, though.”

“Why’s he here?”

“They’re tryina set up something between here and Boston. This Newton is just a messenger boy, so the Bigs don’t hafta be seen together. He ain’t the guy who cooled Kramer.”

“Where is this Newton?”

“He’s shacked in a hotel on The Stem, downtown. The Hotel Rockland. His last name’s Hall.” Danny chuckled. “He sounds like a girls’ finishing school, don’t he? Newton Hall.” Danny chuckled again.

“You don’t think he’s worth looking up?” Carella asked.

“A waste of time. Listen, do what you want to do. I don’t run the squad. But you’re wastin’ time. Let me listen a little. I’ll buzz you if I get anything.”

“What do I owe you?” Carella asked, reaching into his pocket.

“Wait’ll I give you something,” Danny said.

He shook hands and left the precinct. Carella walked over to Hawes’s desk.

“Get your hat, Cotton,” he said. “There’s a bum I want to pick up.”

COTTON HAWES was a recent transfer to the 87th Squad.

He was six feet two inches tall, and he weighed one hundred and ninety pounds bone dry. He had blue eyes and a square jaw with a cleft chin. His hair was red except for a streak over his left temple, where he had once been knifed and where the hair had curiously grown in white after the wound had healed. His straight nose was clean and unbroken, and he had a good mouth with a wide lower lip.

He also had good ears. He had been with the 87th for a very short time, but he had learned during those weeks that Steve Carella was a good man to listen to. When Carella spoke, Hawes listened. He listened to him all the way down to the Hotel Rockland in the police sedan. He listened to Carella when he flashed his tin at the desk clerk and asked for the key to Hall’s room. He stopped listening only when Carella stopped talking, and Carella stopped talking the moment they stepped out of the elevator into the fourth-floor corridor.

There was, perhaps, no need for extreme caution. Unless Hall had been in on the Kramer kill, in which case there was need for extreme caution. In any case, both detectives drew their service revolvers. When they reached the door to Hall’s room, they flanked it, and Carella’s arm was the only portion of his body that presented a target as—standing to one side of the door—he inserted the key and rapidly twisted it. He flung open the door.

Newton Hall was sitting in a chair by the window, reading. He looked up with mild surprise on his face, and then his eyes dropped to the guns both men were carrying, and fear darted into those eyes.

“Police,” Carella said, and the fear vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

“Jesus,” Hall said, “you scared me for a minute. Come on in. Put away the hardware, will you? Sit down.”

“Get up, Hall,” Carella said.

Hall rose from the chair. Hawes quickly frisked him.

“He’s clean, Steve.”

Both men holstered their guns.

“You got identification, I suppose,” Hall said.

Carella was reaching for his wallet when Hall put out his hand to stop him. “Never mind, never mind,” he said. “I was just asking.”

“When’d you get to town, Hall?” Carella asked.

“Monday night,” Hall said.

“The twenty-fourth?”

“Yeah. Listen, did I do something?”

“You tell us.”

“What is it you want to know?”

“Where were you Wednesday night?” Hawes asked.

“Wednesday night?” Hall asked. “Let me see. Oh yeah, I was with a broad.”

“What was her name?”

“Carmela.”

“Carmela what?”

“Carmela Fresco.”

“Where’d you go?”

“We stayed right here.”

“All night?”

“Yeah.”

“From what time to what time?”

“From about nine o’clock until the next morning. She left after breakfast.”

“What’d you do all that time?” Hawes asked.

Hall grinned. “What do you think we did?”

“I don’t know. You tell us.”

Hall was still grinning. “We played Parchesi,” he said.

“Leave the room at all during that time?”

“Nope. Here all night. I like Parchesi.”

“Do you know a man named Sy Kramer?” Carella asked.

“Oh,” Hall said. “That. I mighta known.”

“Did you know him?”

“No. Never met him. I read about the killing in the newspapers.”

“But you’d never met him?”

“Nope.”

“Ever hear of him before?”

“Nope.”

“Why’d you come here from Boston?”

“A little rest. See some of the shows. You know. Like that.”

“What shows have you seen so far?” Hawes asked.

“None,” Hall admitted. “It’s pretty rough to get tickets, you know? Except for the longhair stuff. Who wants to see the longhair stuff? I like musicals. Songs, girls, that’s for me. Good-time Charlie, that’s me.” He snapped his fingers. “I got a friend who gets ice, you know what that is?”

“What is it?” Hawes asked.

“Free tickets. Not really free. Well, like they’re paid for at box-office prices, but he sells them back a little higher, you know what I mean? The difference between the box-office price and what he gets is called ice. So he gets ice. Only he can’t fix me up yet. Tickets are hard to get nowadays.”

“And that’s why you’re here, right? To see a few shows.”

“Yeah, and to take a rest.”

“But you haven’t seen any shows yet?”

“No.”

“Have you rested?”

“Well, you know…”

“Good-time Charlie, that’s you,” Carella said.

“Sure. Good-time Charlie, that’s me.”

“Where do we get in touch with this Carmela Fresco?”

“Why drag her into this?” Hall said.

“Have you got a better alibi?”

“No, but…She’s just a kid. I know her, and we…”

“How old?” Hawes snapped.

“Nothing like that,” Hall said. “She ain’t underage, don’t worry about that. I wasn’t born yesterday. But she’s a kid. You go around asking questions, you’ll scare the hell out of her. Also, you might ruin a good thing for me.”

“That’s too bad,” Carella said.

“What makes you think I had anything to do with the Kramer kill, anyway?” Hall said.

“Do you know who did?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Why?”

“Let’s assume I did know, okay? Let’s assume I know who hired some guys to kill Kramer. To kill him, now. Not to scare him or warn him or anything like that. To kill him. Cool him. Put him away. So these guys mean business, right? These guys ain’t playing around. So do you think I would open my mouth on these guys who mean business, these guys who ain’t playing around, these guys who hired some other guys to kill a guy? To kill him! Oh, you got to be real foolish to open your mouth on these rough fellows, don’t you?”