Chapter 9

OLD BUDDY

Except for the lone worklight, the club Was dark and deserted by the time Ninette and Jeff had dressed and left the office. They'd called a cab and waited with her until it came and he saw her safely on her way. Then he went to the dressing room, and changed into his street clothes and left by the back door that lead into the alley.

He started to walk briskly through the blackness. Suddenly he heard a footstep behind him. He wondered if maybe it was Bianca, or Freda? He turned and came face-to-face with two big guys.

It was too dark to make them out. But there was no mistaking the sullenness in their voices.

"Suppose we all take a little ride?" one of the guys rumbled.

"A ride-where?" Jeff asked, cold sweat covering his body.

"That'd take all the surprise out of it. Let's just go, huh?"

Any argument that Jeff may have thought of offering was promptly and rudely discouraged when one of the guys poked a gun in his left kidney.

They walked him to a late model sedan parked at the curb, and prodded him into the back seat. The guy with the gun sat on the back seat beside him; his partner slid behind the wheel.

They took the Lincoln Tunnel to New York and headed north into the Seventies, where they finally veered off and rolled down into an underground parking lot, situated beneath a tall, modernistic apartment building. They brought the car to a halt in one of the few vacant stalls and got out.

There was a private elevator at the rear of the building. They walked to it and one of the guys unlocked the door with one of a bunch of keys. They climbed aboard and the guy with the keys thumbed one of the buttons.

Jeff's stomach knotted with a combination of fear and curiosity, as he watched the lights on the panel flash on and off as they passed each floor.

"Fifteen" was as high as the numbers went.

The door slid open. The three of them stepped out into a narrow corridor, facing a formidable-looking door. One of the guys stabbed the bell. The door opened automatically.

The guy with the gun nudged Jeff across the threshold and into a huge, plush study lined from wall-to-ceiling with books and decorated with artistic taste. A man arose from behind a sweeping flat-top desk as they entered.

Jeff went back on his heels, then felt the short hairs bristle at the back of his neck; fists clenched tightly at his sides.

His hair had grayed a little at the temples and there were a few added lines around the corners of his mouth and eyes. But Jeff could never forget the face of the man who'd sent him to prison for eight years. Val Salem!

Val smiled expansively, and came forward, quickly.

"Jeff-old buddy!" He shoved out his hand in welcome.

Jeff's right fist didn't travel more than six inches. It caught Val Salem flush on the brink of his classic jaw and dumped him on the floor.

Instantly the two goons closed in on Jeff. One of the guys grabbed him from behind. The other raised the automatic he was holding as if to start gun-whipping him.

Val interrupted. His voice rang out, sharp as the crack of a whip.

"Leave him alone," he barked as he climbed to his feet, working his injured jaw back and forth.

The two thugs stepped back.

Val looked at Jeff, disappointedly as he wiped the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. "That wasn't a very friendly greeting."

"I wonder why you thought it should be?"

Val went behind the desk and sat down. "I know exactly how you feel, old buddy."

"Do you?" Jeff asked bitterly.

Val looked up at him apologetically. "So I'm sorry for what happened eight years ago. But it had to be done. Now I want to make it up to you."

Jeff glanced ironically at the two men flanking him. "With a bullet in my back?"

Val grinned. "Brod and Matty? Wouldn't hurt a fly."

Jeff's eyes went to the gun one of them was holding. "Too bad their compassion doesn't extend to human beings."

Val smiled again, appreciatively. "I just wanted to make sure you'd come" He hesitated a moment then asked, "ever hear of the BLUE NOTE?"

Jeff shook his head.

"My night club here in New York. I want you to work there."

Jeff grinned mirthlessly. "I seem to remember working with you in another night club."

"I'm trying to tell you, old buddy. All that's changed. Things are different now. I'm an important guy in this town. I've got important connections. I can help you get wherever you want to go"

"Wouldn't I be a chump to believe that?"

"But it's true. I want to prove it to you. I want to keep you from doing anything foolish?"

"Like what for instance?"

Val shrugged. "I'm not sure. I just know you didn't travel all across the country to take a job in a joint like BRUNO'S PLACE. My guess is you came to settle a score. Maybe even to kill me."

"Scared?"

Val shook his head, slowly, thoughtfully. "Not really. I just hope you don't jump the gun. Because after you're around awhile, you'll wise up; you'll see how much I can do for my old buddy."

Jeff turned toward the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" Val snapped.

Jeff faced him, narrowly. "You wouldn't want me to throw up on your nice rich carpet, would you?"

Val chuckled with amusement. "Okay, old buddy. Have it your way. But remember the door swings both ways. And playing at the BLUE NOTE will fill your pockets with cash a lot faster than beating your head against the wall in BRUNO'S PLACE."

Jeff walked toward the door.

"Want Brod and Matty to drop you back in Hoboken?" Val called after him.

Jeff grinned mirthlessly at him over his shoulder. "Better they stay with you. Can't tell when one of your business connections might short-circuit and prove too much for you to handle on your own."

Val's eyes narrowed a little. "Any connections short circuit with me, they wind up in a big, metal-lined refrigerator drawer with a tag tied to their big toe."

"Sounds like a good way to spend a quiet evening," Jeff tossed off, unimpressed Then he opened the door and went out.