Chapter 7

The day was starting out lousy. It was bleak, cloudy, with more than a gentle hint of rain.

Terry Scott took a cab to Washington Square, walked aimlessly a few blocks, made sure he wasn't being tailed, then made for Gone Garry's.

Garry was just opening up. He ushered Terry in, closed and locked the front door. "What are you doing here so bright and early?" he wanted to know.

"I've made contact with Krakalow," Terry said. "He's our boy."

"Good."

"He's going to hide me out," Terry said. "I'm supposed to let him know sometime today."

"So things worked out according to plan?"

"They certainly did," said Terry. "Now what happens when I get to this hideout? How do I contact you?"

"You contact the local treasury men in the nearest town," Garry said. "They'll get the message either to Levine or to Washington. The idea is to get to the nearest town. They may keep you as a sort of prisoner till it's time for you cut out. We don't know what's going to happen."

"I guess we won't be seeing each other again," Terry said. He extended his hand.

Garry took it. "Not till it's over at any rate." Terry went out the door.

He grabbed a cab, gave the address of a bank, which had in its possession a safety deposit box which held ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars in marked bills.

After securing the money, Terry Scott dialed Gina Clark's number. She answered on the second ring.

"Terry Scott here."

"Make up your mind, hon?"

"I'll take Krakalow's kind offer."

"Let me buzz him. Give me ten minutes, then call back. Now hang up."

Terry hung up, went to the fountain part of the drug store and ordered a cup of coffee. He drank the coffee slowly, watching the minutes go by on a big electric clock hanging on the wall. After ten minutes went by, he went back into the phone booth.

Gina Clark answered his ring. "Be here in an hour. With five thousand clams, at least."

"Will do." Terry hung up.

He went into the men's room, divided the money in half. He slipped a packet of five thousand dollars into the torn lining of his jacket, the other five thousand went into his inside jacket pocket.

An hour later, he was in Gina's apartment. Hans Krakalow and a tall, slim man were there, waiting for him. Hans introduced the tall man as Nocky Doyle.

"Have you the five thousand?" Krakalow asked.

Terry handed over the five thousand dollars from his inside jacket pocket. "Do I get a, receipt?"

Krakalow laughed smoothly. "What do you want it for? Your income tax?"

Terry shrugged.

"There's a car downstairs," Krakalow said. "Nocky will drive you."

"Where?"

"Portchester."

"So that's the hideout," Terry mused.

"Nope," Krakalow said. "But you'll stay there till everything is ready."

"And when will that be?" Terry asked impatiently.

"Everything should be ready within twenty-four hours," Krakalow said. He refused to say more.

Gina brought Terry his package.

Her cool fingers touched his for a second. "So long, kid," Terry said.

"So long, Terry," Her face was cool, composed.

Terry and Nocky Doyle went downstairs.

"I'm a talker," Doyle said, getting behind the wheel of a dark sedan. "I hope you're the same."

"I have my moments."

Doyle pulled away from the curb.

They lit cigarettes and Doyle started talking baseball, politics, and sex. Terry found him to be an interesting conversationalist.

The sky was still cloudy, still threatening rain.

"The one subject I hate to talk about is the weather," Doyle said. "I mean, what can you really say? It's cold, it's hot, it looks like rain. And that's it. Subject closed. Subject exhausted."

"How right you are."

"Hans told me you're a Limey. You don't talk like A Limey. You do have a slight accent. It's there all right. But otherwise you talk like Joe Blow from Kokomo."

Terry threw his half smoked cigarette out the open car window. He put his head back.

"Why don't you take a nap?" Doyle suggested. "I'll let you know when we get there."

"That sounds like a good idea," Terry said. He closed his eyes and presently he was fast asleep.

Doyle nudged him awake, "We've arrived."

Terry opened his eyes and sat up.

The car was parked in front of a rooming house. It was a two story building with a wide porch. The house needed a painting desperately.

They got out of the car and walked up onto the porch. The front door was flung open before either man could knock. A woman in a faded robe stood framed in the doorway. She was close to forty, very good looking, with red hair falling to her shoulders. She looked at Terry with open, admiring eyes. She said, "So that's the new guest for the Den of Iniquity." She stepped aside and the men walked into the large front room.

There was a big sofa, three overstuffed chairs, a writing table, a dresser, green drapes, and over in a corner stood an oak liquor cabinet.

"He'll probably be here just for one night," Doyle informed the woman. He turned to Terry. "This is Dolly Schubert, Terry Scott."

"How do you do?" the woman said. "I own this forsaken palace. My old man died, left it to me. It's all the bastard left. Except for some rather unpleasant memories."

"How about a drink, Dolly?" Doyle asked.

"Sure." She moved away to the liquor cabinet.

Doyle patted her buttocks as she passed him. "Fresh," she said. But she looked pleased.

"Dolly is a very understanding dame," Doyle informed Terry. "And not bad-looking either."

The men sat down on the sofa.

Dolly brought them over drinks.

"Have you got anything on under that robe?" Doyle inquired. He reached out and pulled the robe open, exposing two soft breasts which sloped slightly. Her nipples were large and brown. "Why don't you wear a brassiere?" Doyle asked.

"You never complained before," she jeered. She pulled the robe closed.

Terry tasted his drink. It was good bourbon.

"Doyle finished his drink and stood up. "I'm leaving you in Dolly's capable hands. I'll be back to pick you up when things are ripe."

"Sure," Terry said.

Dolly showed Doyle to the door.

Terry finished his drink. He watched Dolly to go to the liquor cabinet and bring back the bottle.

"Are there any other tenants?" he asked.

"No one, dearie. No one here except you and me." She poured bourbon into his glass.

"You said something about a Den of Iniquity?" Terry reminded her.

"Sure. That's where you're goin' no?"

"I suppose so," Terry said. "I didn't know it had such a fancy tide."

"That's the name Gall gave it," she said.

"Gall?"

"Donny GalL" Dolly said. "He manages the Den of Iniquity."

"Have you ever been there?"

"No."

"Where is it?"

"Didn't Krakalow tell you?" she asked suspiciously.

"I suppose he thought it wasn't that important," Terry said. "We had to move fast."

"I think I've told you more than enough," she said. "Maybe Hans don't want you to know too much. Hell, you can't blame a person for being careful."

"Sure, I understand," Terry said.

"Maybe Nocky will tell you what you want to know. Nocky is a great talker."

"He sure is."

"You want another drink?" she asked anxiously.

"I hate drinking alone," he said pointedly. "It's kinda early for me."

"I'll wait."

"Okay, hon. Are you hungry?"

"No really."

"Let me know. I'll cook something."

"Sure."

"What's your pitch?" she wanted to know. "No," she admitted. "Didn't Hans tell you?"

"Well, maybe Hans doesn't want you to know too much," Terry said. "Hell you, can't blame a person for being careful, now can you?"

"Giving it back to me, huh?" She laughed. "Okay. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe."

"You know Nocky?"

"Sure. I know him."

"I came with him, didn't I?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So I must be okay," Terry said.

"So you're okay. So maybe I'll talk ... later. But right now I'm getting hungry. If I have to eat alone, I may as well eat out."

"Out?"

"Yeah," she said. "Out. Outside the house. There's a damn good restaurant a block away."

"Maybe you could bring me back, a sandwich." He gave her a five dollar bill. "Have your dinner on me."

"Thanks." She went to the staircase. "I can't go out like this. Pardon me while I get dressed."

He watched her go upstairs. Her buttocks, under the robe, jiggled tantalizingly. He stretched out on the sofa, kicked his shoes off.

He was staring at the ceiling when she came down. He turned his head to look at her. She had on a yellow dress with frills at the sleeves. She looked good.

"I'll be back soon, hon." She opened the front door and stepped out.

Terry's eyes went back to the ceiling. He waited for a good ten minutes before he sat up and put his shoes on. He quickly went to the dresser and searched for anything that would give him a clue to the Den of Iniquity. He came up with blanks.

He contemplated searching the rooms upstairs but gave it up; it would be too risky. She might come back while he was upstairs. He decided he'd get more information from her with some sweet talk.

She was damn good-looking.

After all, it was all in the line of duty.

A guy in his line of work never knew what the next second would bring.

So he wasn't turning down any piece of ass. He would screw anything that had the right equipment on her chest and between her thighs.