James Chase - Mission to Siena

Her eyes lost their cold look.

“You. mean you’ll give me fifty pounds if I tell you where he is?” she said, staring at him.

“I’ll give you fifty pounds if you show me where he is,” Don said. “I’m not parting with all that money for an address.”

The tip of her tongue passed over her lips as she studied him. “Honest? If I had fifty pounds could go home. I could go to

Naples.”

“Show me where Ed is and you can go home. That’s a promise.”

“I haven’t seen him for weeks, but I think I know where he is. When will you have the money?”

“In a couple of hours.”

“All right. Meet me outside the Casino theatre at one o’clock. I can’t get away from here until twelve, and I’ll have to make sure he is where I think he is.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“There’s not much I wouldn’t do for a chance to go home,” she said. “He’s in trouble, isn’t he?” “Would you worry?” She shook her head.

“Find out where he is, but don’t tell him I’m looking for him,” Don said. “That’s important.”

“I’m not likely to tell him,” she said. “I’m not crazy. Ed’s dangerous.”

At five minutes to one, as Don walked briskly along Old Compton Street, his head bent against the driving rain, he could hear Harry’s light footfalls behind him.

Although Don had promised Uccelli not to bring in the police, he had no intention of tackling Shapiro single-handed.

“This girl may not know where Shapiro is hiding,” he told Harry. “She wants the money badly, and if she doesn’t know where he is, she may be tempted to pull a fast one. So watch out. Keep out of sight, but move in if there’s trouble.”

He glanced over his shoulder as he neared the darkened Casino theatre and motioned Harry to stop. Harry slid into a dark doorway and out of sight.

Glad to get under the shelter of the Casino’s canopy, Don glanced at his watch. It was now two minutes to one o’clock, There was no sign yet of Gina. He opened his coat and shook off the rain drops. Then lighting a cigarette, he leaned against the wall and settled down to wait.

After he had finished his second cigarette, he began to pace slowly up and down the length of the sheltered pavement. It was now quarter past one. He decided to give Gina another quarter of an hour before making a move. He continued to pace up and down, listening to the rain beating on the roof of the canopy. He remembered that Uccelli had warned him how dangerous Shapiro was. If Shapiro suspected Gina was betraying him…

Again Don looked at his watch. It was three minutes to half-past one. He looked up and down the deserted street, then crossing the street he joined Harry in the shop doorway.

“It doesn’t look as if she’s coming,” he said. “I don’t like it, Harry. She may have run into trouble.”

“Do you know where she lives, sir?”

“No, but we should be able to find out. There’s no point in hanging around here any longer. We’ll go to the Florida Club.

They may know where we can find her.”

Stepping out into the rain, they hurried over to Firth Street.

The Florida’s neon sign still blazed into the dark night, making a red pool on the wet pavement.

“Wait here,” Don said. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

He went down the steps to where the doorman sat in his cubby hole.

The doorman looked up and scowled at him.

“We’re shut,” he growled. “The last lot are coming out now.”

“Is Gina around?” Don asked.

“She’s gone home.”

“I have a date with her, but I’ve mislaid her address,” Don said, taking out a pound note and letting the doorman see it.

“Can you give it to me?”

The doorman eyed the pound note, rubbed his jaw, then lifted his heavy shoulders.

“I could,” he said and pulled a well-thumbed notebook out of a drawer, flicked through the pages, found an entry and scowled at it. “I ’ave an idea she’s moved from the address I’ve ’ere. If she ’as, then you’ve ’ad it. Want to try it, mister?”

“Sure,” Don said.

“2a, Peters Road: know where it is?”

“That’s off Charing Cross Road, isn’t it?” Don said and slid the pound note through the window of the glass partition.

“That’s right.” The doorman snapped up the note. “Twenty yards past Cambridge Circus on the left.”

Don nodded and climbing the steps, walked out into the rain again.

Harry joined him.

“We may be out of luck,” Don said. “I have an address, but she may have moved. Let’s go and see.”

Five minutes’ brisk walking brought them to Peters Road: a dingy street lined on either side by shabby warehouses, small factories and two or three Greek restaurants. No. 2 turned out to be the address of a firm dealing in bathroom fitments. A narrow alley ran down the side of the building. Harry threw the beam of his flashlight into the darkness.

“This is it: No. 2a,” he said and moved into the alley.

Don joined him.

Shielding the light with his fingers, Harry let the beam play over the door. He put his hand on the cracked, shabby door panel and pushed, but the door was locked.

Don stepped back and looked up at the building. There were two windows; one on the first floor and another on the second. No lights showed: the lower window was without curtains.

“Let’s see if we can raise anyone ” he said.

Harry dug his thumb into the bell push. They could hear the bell ringing somewhere in the house.

They waited for a minute or so while the rain fell steadily on them.

“Doesn’t look as if anyone’s at home,” Harry said. “What do we do now?”

“Let’s see if we can get in. I want to be sure this is her place.”

Harry examined the lock of the door.

“Nothing to it, sir, I’ve a bit of wire that’ll fix it.” He handed the flashlight to Don and inserted a piece of wire into the lock. He fiddled for a few seconds then twisted sharply. The lock clicked back.

Don turned the handle and pushed the door open.

They stepped into a musty-smelling passage and Harry closed the door. The beam of Don’s flashlight lit up a flight of stairs leading to the upper landing.

Moving silently and followed by Harry, Don went up the stairs. His flashlight showed a door at the head of the stairs, a short passage and another flight of stairs.

Across the door was painted in white letters:

The Acme Manufacturing Co.

“Stay here, Harry,” Don said. “If she’s anywhere, she’ll be on the next landing.”

He went along the passage and began to mount the second flight of stairs. These, he noticed, were covered with a dusty, threadbare stair-runner that looked as if it hadn’t been swept in months.

At the head of the stairs was a red-painted front door; its brass fitments tarnished. The card-holder screwed to the door was empty.

Don listened outside the door. He stood listening for some moments, but no sound came to him. Turning the door handle, he pushed, expecting to find the door locked, but to his surprise it swung inwards.

Holding the door open, and not moving, he swung the beam of his flashlight around the small hall. Facing him was a large gilt framed mirror. Below it a carved wood chest on which stood a vase of dead zinnias. Dust lay thick on the chest and obscured the mirror. On either side of the mirror was a door.

Don moved into the hall, leaving the front door open. He crossed to the door on the right, turned the handle and opened it.

Darkness and silence came out of the room. He groped for the light switch, found it and pressed it down. A shaded lamp in the centre of the room sprang alight.