Chapter 4
Terry Scott went into the living room in his shorts. Gina was listening to some mood music. "How was she?" she asked. "I can't' complain."
"Want a drink?"
"I'd appreciate it."
She poured scotch for him. "What's Alice doing? Recuperating or what?"
"She's taking a nap."
"So you put 'em to sleep huh?"
He drank the scotch. "Have you been singing at the Club Rondo for long?"
"Long enough."
"Who is Hans Krakalow?" Terry asked. "Just a guy who owns a night club."
"Is the jealous type?"
"Very."
"Should I be afraid?"
"You haven't done anything to bring Hans down on you," she said. "Not yet."
"Do you think that chance will come?"
"Could be."
"May I see you tomorrow for lunch?"
"Why don't you call me? I'm in t he book."
"All right."
"Now get dressed," she said. "I'll take you home. Or are you going to stay the night?"
"I haven't made up my mind yet."
"Then I'd better say good night." She kissed his cheek and left the apartment.
Terry Scott went to the window and saw her get into a cab and drive off.
He went into the bedroom.
Alice was awake.
"Hello, baby," she said.
He sat on the bed and put his head on her soft breast. "Alice, Gina just left."
"So what? Who the hell cares? You're a great bang."
"Thank you."
"Why don't you crawl back into bed?" He did as she asked.
She pulled his head down to her breast. He took her nipple between his lips and his right hand stroked the length of her soft body.
She sighed. "That's the way, lover. That's the way.
Gone Garry's Coffee House was flanked by an art gallery and a swap shop. The windows displayed blow ups from newspapers and photos of well known beat characters.
Gone Garry was tall, bald and bearded, exactly the way he was described by Morris Levine. He was serving a customer when Terry Scott walked in. "Be with you in a minute," Gone told Terry.
Terry wandered around the place, looking at poems written on the walls. Garry left his customers and walked over to Terry. "Yes, sir?"
"I'd like a ginsberg gimlet."
"How about a keruac cocktail?" Garry said. He grinned at Terry. "Silly, isn't it?"
"But sometimes necessary."
"Levine tells me you were a spy during the war."
"I was an intelligence officer."
"Same thing." Garry closed the front door. "We can talk in the back."
The back room consisted of two stuffed armchairs, a chest of drawers, a serving table and an army cot. "Do you want a drink?" Garry asked. "I've a bottle of Old Mustane."
"No thanks. Too early in the day."
They sat. They lit cigarettes.
"Have you made contact with Simeon?" Garry asked.
"I slugged him last night."
"Yes, well...."
"I made contact in a way."
"I suppose you did," Garry supposed.
"I met Hans Krakalow's girl. She's a singer at his club. Her name is Gina Clark and I'm to ring her up sometime today."
"That's something. We've been checking on Krakalow. Absolutely nothing. Levine thinks you should pose as a British Mobster, hiding out from the law. That way, you may get to follow the route Joe Hurtze took."
"What do you think of Levine's idea about a hideout for the underworld?" Terry asked. "Do you think there is such a thing? Seems kind of fantastic to me."
"It would explain a lot," Garry said. "A lot of top hoods have disappeared recently. Tony Talento disappeared just before deportation. Irish Freddy vanished after robbing a bank. They're definitely in hiding, but where? They didn't skip the country. We're sure of that. Ships, trains, and planes have been checked and double-checked. We've added men to the Canadian and Mexican borders. Nothing."
"Tell me, how do I put across the idea that I'm hiding from the police? Do I put a Wanted sign on my back?"
"Levine has an idea."
"You will take me into your confidence, won't you?"
Garry laughed. "Sure. You'll ask Miss Clark to hide something for you. It'll be five pounds of pure opium. Miss Clark, being a woman, will unwrap the package and find the opium. Chances are she'll inform Hans Krakalow. If we're lucky Krakalow will contact you and ask the score. Of course, you'll have to play this by ear. But this is the story you'll get across: you're in this country to deliver the dope to a certain party. You gave the stuff to Miss Clark because you didn't want to get caught with the goods. You already have one rap against you and the fuzz are hot on the trail. Have you, you got all that?"
"I have a vague idea."
"You can't deliver the stuff yet as the man you're to contact is still abroad." Gone Garry continued.
"What if they want to buy the dope?"
"I doubt it. Crooks usually stick to their own particular racket."
"And you've the idea they'll offer to hide me out till my man shows up?"
"That's what we're hoping for," Garry said.
"And how do I pay them?" Terry asked. "Or do you think they do charity work?"
"I'm going to give you a key to a safety deposit box," Garry said. "When you need the money you'll use the key. You'll have ten thousand dollars to play around with. Oh, yes. Each bill is marked. But only ultra violet light will bring it out."
"Once Krakalow accepts the money I've got him."
"If Krakalow is the right contact," Garry said.
"Simeon works for him so we take it for granted he's mixed up in it. Let's hope we're right. And we don't pick Krakalow up either, if he takes the money. He may be the top man or just a small cog. No, what we want is the location of the hideout. We want to know where it is and who runs the organization."
"Let's have the key."
Garry opened one of the chest drawers and took out a small envelope and a package. "There's a key and the address of the bank in the envelope. It's been all arranged. You don't need a signature. Just the key. The opium is in the package."
Terry took the package and the envelope.
They went back to the front of the coffee shop.
"Son of a bitch!" Gone Garry shouted as he saw two men with their pants off playing with one another's private parts. "Get the hell out of here," he yelled, and he threw them out onto the street where a crowd gathered and watched them get dressed.
"Damned Fairys," said Garry as Terry walked past him and out of the coffee shop.