The Tough Guys Page 9

  She asked, “Again?” and when I nodded she dropped her face into her hand and remained that way until I tilted her chin up.

  “They were the same persons?”

  “No, but the same outfit.”

  “What… did they want?”

  I told her a half truth. “To teach me a lesson. They didn’t like me roughing up the hoods who started this party rolling.”

  She studied me, then said, “It’s my father, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “When will you be sure?”

  “Soon.”

  There wasn’t long to wait. The phone rang sharply twice and when I picked it up Dan said, “Phil?”

  “Here, Dan.”

  “I have that dope you wanted. Jean Stuart Massley was Rhino’s real name, but the guy had a phobia about effeminate names and changed it some place along the line. Apparently he hated women and this is what led to his divorce. His early record includes assault raps, mainly brought by women. He wouldn’t even employ a female secretary. So he changed his name. Jean Stuart was pretty frilly to him. The John Lacy tag he used was the name of a fighter back in the old days, so he went along with that.”

  “Got the other?”

  “Sure. The doctor was Thomas Hoyt. If you remember, he was the one the mob used back during the war. He was an alcoholic, but they straightened him out and put him back in business.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Still in Phoenix, I imagine. He’s not licensed in New York any longer. I couldn’t pick up that medical history. It went with Hoyt from Mayberry to Phoenix and is probably still there. One of the old dames at Mayberry said it was a pretty quiet affair all the way around. Hoyt brought in a nurse from outside and nobody was allowed near Rhino at all while he was there. She supposed they were afraid of someone coming in and knocking Rhino off and it’s a pretty good guess.”

  “Who was the nurse?”

  “I didn’t ask. Want me to check?”

  “Never mind.”

  I hung up the phone and turned around. Terry hadn’t moved.

  “Now you know,” she said.

  “That’s right. Now I know.”

  “You’ll tell me?”

  I nodded. “Rhino Massley was your father.”

  A shadow crossed her face. “You said he was dead.”

  “I said I thought he was dead. It’s beginning to look like there isn’t any other answer.”

  “But you’re not sure.”

  “I will be.”

  “If he is dead, then, who is pretending to be my father?”

  There wasn’t any other way except to spell it out. I said, “Your father was a hood. He had documentary evidence that kept the right people in line and used it to stay on top. Your mother either lifted that stuff from him or he gave it to her to hold.”

  “But she never…”

  “He might have had that much contact with her. She could still be useful even if she was divorced. Don’t forget that Rhino was a louse.” Her mouth pulled tight. “Sorry, kid, but that’s the way it was.”

  “I understand.”

  “When it came out who your mother was, the mob assumed those documents would come to light, most likely in the inheritor’s hands, which was you. They slapped a tail on you, not willing to move in until they knew where you were keeping the stuff.

  “Then when they got wind of somebody else trying to con in on the deal they had to scratch off fast. They couldn’t take a chance on anyone else getting it. If they could pick you up, they could squeeze out the information. If necessary, you were expendable. Knock you off and they could have time to search out what they wanted.”

  “But Phil…”

  “What?”

  “There isn’t anything. You saw what mother left.” Her eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown. “There never has been anything. Surely she would have told me if there had been.”

  “Perhaps not. I want to look at that stuff again.”

  “Go ahead. I haven’t touched it.”

  This time I dumped the lot on the bed and spread it out. I went over the papers searching for answers, but there was no more now than there had been.

  To myself I said, “There has to be something else.”

  Terry heard me, came over and stood beside me and reached into her pocket-book. She handed me a leather folder. “Mother’s wallet. She never carried a purse.”

  I took it from her fingers, opened the snap and leafed through the plastic card holders inside. There was her driver’s license, membership cards in local clubs, several gas credit cards, and two from L.A. restaurants. One folder held several news clippings, brittle and yellow, reporting events Terry had participated in in school. There were photos of her as a girl, two winter clothes storage receipts, a season ticket for the L.A. Dodger games, and a dime-thin ten-dollar gold piece.

  “Did it help?”

  “I can’t see how,” I told her. I put everything back where it was and handed it to her.

  “Phil…”

  Without realizing it, I had my arms around her, only now it was as if we had known each other a long, long time and I wasn’t what I was at all. Her hair had the fragrance of some wild flower that I could pick whenever I wanted to. She lifted her head, her eyes going over my face. I kissed her gently, her eyes closing when our mouths touched. It was only for a moment, then I held her close and wondered where all the crazy hate went that I felt when I first saw her. And how long ago was it to then… years?

  She said, “What shall I do?”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “If I stay somebody might… be hurt. It… might be you, Phil.”

  “I’m nobody. It wouldn’t matter at all.”

  “To me it would.”

  My fingers tightened on her arms and she winced, but didn’t try to pull away. “Don’t talk like that. We haven’t anything in common at all.”

  For a moment her face was blank, then shame and sudden shock touched her as with a strange hand, and the wetness that welled into her eyes overflowed to her cheeks and I could feel the sob working in her chest.

  “Because my father… was this man… I’m no good. That’s why, isn’t it?”

  Amazement pulled my face tight. “Are you crazy?” I said. “Sugar, I don’t give a fat damn what your father was. You’re class, kitten. You’re a big, lovely woman with more class than a guy hardly ever gets to see at all.”

  “Phil…”

  “No, just listen. I’m a bum, a slob. I did time, even if it was a bad rap, and things like that change a guy and stick with him a long while. All I had in my head in the beginning was to get the chance to knock off your old man and that one hope kept me going. For a while I thought I had it again. I was all geared up to kill and no matter what it cost I was ready for it. Knocking Rhino over would have been the happiest day of my life.

  “Not now. You spoiled the picture for me. I could still hate him with everything inside me, but because you wanted him I couldn’t touch him. That’s what you’ve done to me. You got me all crazy gone and I can’t even look at you without wanting to put my hands on you and I’m thinking all kinds of things I thought I had forgotten.

  “But I’m not letting it rub off on you, girl. One touch of me and you’d be dirtied too, and the best thing I can do is to go back where I belong and let you alone. I’m going to run this bit down. I’m going to get it straight so nobody will be holding a sword over your head ever, and when I do it it’s going to be so-long all the way and that’s that.”

  Her hair shimmered with motion when she shook her head. “You can’t do that, Phil.”

  “The hell I can’t. Maybe another time it would have been different, but this is here and now and that’s how it’s going to be. Look at me. I’m lousy and dirty and a couple of days ago I was scrubbing for handouts so I could buy a jug. I run with the sewer rats now because there’s no place else to go. I don’t even care any more, can’t you tell? I like it this way. I can si
t back and spit on the world and there’s not a thing it can take away from me because I haven’t got anything. So take a good look, kid, and you can see why I don’t want anything rubbing off.”

  The tears were still there in eyes that were large and dark. “I don’t see all those things at all,” she said simply.

  I took her hands away and held them. “You’re all mixed up. So I did you a favor. I’ll do one more. Keep it that way. Just say thanks and let it go.”

  She smiled, wiped back the tears that stained her cheeks, and said, “You’re mixed up. If you think I’m going to let go of you just when I found you, then you’re really mixed up.”

  Her hand came up and lightly stroked the side of my face. “There isn’t any more past for either one of us. There is only now and later. Alone neither of us will be anything. Together we can be much. I want you, Phil.”

  This time I didn’t try to keep her off.

  Softly, she said, “Phil… I love you.”

  There wasn’t any need to answer her. She knew…

  The Mayberry Sanatorium was a private institution 30 miles outside the city. It was a two-story, brick building set in the center of 15 acres and had been the private retreat of the wealthy for the past half century.

  I had been up there a few times interviewing patients for the paper, and as far as I knew it had an excellent reputation. The head nurse was a Miss Mulligan, a good 60 years a spinster lady, but quick as a roach on her feet and with eyes that could snap the tail off a cat across a stone stoop.

  For a moment I thought she remembered me, but the curiosity in her face passed and she acknowledged our introduction with a nod. I said, “A Mr. Litvak called here earlier for some information on a former patient.”

  “That’s right. A police matter about Massley. That was some time ago.”

  “You gave him the information.”

  “I did.”

  “I see. Perhaps you can add a few points. Mr. Litvak said that the case had been handled very quietly.”

  “Secretly would be more like it.”

  “Did you see the patient?”

  “Several times.”

  “He was… sick?”

  This time her eyebrows shot up, then she saw what I meant. “We do get patients doing nothing more than recovering from prolonged drunkenness, or merely escaping from an unattractive home life or unpleasant business, but Mr. Massley certainly wasn’t like that”

  “Why not?”

  “If you’re going to feign sickness, there are easier and less expensive ways than faking polio.”

  “Uh-huh. Could be. Did you see him out of the lung?”

  “Yes. I passed by when he was being handled. He was able to stay out a maximum of 30 minutes. However, neither I nor any staff nurse handled him. He had his own nurse.”

  “Who was she, do you remember?”

  She rose, went to a wall cabinet, and opened the top drawer. From it she drew a folder, checked it, then handed it to me. “Everything is here.”

  The name at the top was Elena Harris. The hospital form she had filled out listed her age as 32, her address in the East 70s, and stated that she had graduated from a southern university and served at six different hospitals since. A letter of recommendation was included, written on Dr. Hoyt’s stationery. At the bottom was a 2 X 2 photo of Nurse Harris that was typical of identification photographs in all respects except one. No camera and no uniform could make her anything else than beautiful.

  “Pretty,” I said.

  “That was her trouble.” There was no malice in her statement, merely indifference.

  I tapped the photo. “She seems familiar.”

  “Possibly. She was a type.”

  “Like how?”

  “One to turn men’s heads. She was a distracting influence while she was here.”

  “That was her trouble you mentioned?”

  Miss Mulligan’s nod was curt, again without any seeming malice. “She caused… well, rivalries, especially among the younger doctors.”

  “Deliberately?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say it was deliberate.”

  “Was she efficient?”

  “I found no cause for complaint. Certainly Mr. Massley was satisfied. She scarcely ever left him. In fact, she was more than nurse to him.”

  “Oh?” I looked at her and waited.

  “She took care of all his correspondence and seemed to be the intermediary between him and his business contacts. There were times when she acted rather the secretary than the nurse.”

  “You checked on her, of course.”

  “Naturally. In fact, she had an excellent scholastic record. As you notice, however, Mr. Massley was her first case in four years, although that isn’t anything unusual. Quite often one returns to practice for private patients.”

  “I see. Can I keep this picture?”

  “Yes. We have a duplicate upstairs.”

  “Thanks. Now, if it’s within the realm of professional ethics, you might add something.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “What is your personal opinion of Miss Harris?”

  At first I thought she would ignore the question entirely, then she said, “Could you give me a practical reason for your inquiry?”

  Her eyes had seen a little too much of the world to be fooled by a lie or taken in by half truths.

  I said, “Massley was a hood. When he died he left behind information dangerous to certain persons. They think Massley’s daughter has his documents and she’s in line to be killed unless I can find them first. It’s possible that anyone who was close to Massley could come up with something.” I paused for a deep breath. “Now, what about her?”

  Miss Mulligan’s mouth tightened into a thin line, her nostrils pinched tight above it. “I see. Then perhaps my opinion won’t be unethical. I mentioned that Harris was first, a nurse. Secondly, she was a confidante of a sort. Third, in her personal relationship with Mr. Massley I had the impression that he had been, or was, her lover.”

  “How did you determine that?”

  For the first time Miss Mulligan showed the dull flush of emotion kept well under control. Her blush was faint, but definite. Her eyes left mine and sought her desk top.

  “Our rooms do not have locks on the doors,” she said a little breathlessly.

  “I see. Were they aware that you happened on their… intimacies?”

  A gentle whisper of a shudder touched Mulligan’s shoulders and with a far away gesture her tongue touched her lips, almost wistfully. “No,” she said hesitantly. “They were… engrossed.”

  “But the lung… ?”

  “What they… the lung didn’t…” Then the deep red flooded up from her starched collar and she turned away quickly.

  I let it stay there. Whatever could bring a flush to her face needed little further explanation.

  I thanked her, but I don’t think she heard me. I slipped the picture of Elena Harris in my jacket pocket, picked up my hat, and left. There was still a half hour before train time back into Manhattan, so I wasted it over coffee at the station diner.

  From Grand Central I called Terry and had her meet me for supper at Lum Fong’s. The junior executive crowd was there at the bar as usual, the deliberately casual eyes that scanned us via the big mirror showing almost professional consternation because they couldn’t figure how a guy like me had a dame like her.

  “You’re lovely, doll,” I told her. “Everybody here has eyes for you.”

  “You like it that way?”

  She smiled, but now it was to hide the concern that came back again. “Is the trouble still big?”

  “It’s big.” I told her most of the details of my visit with Miss Mulligan, then. “It could get bigger. Look, how much money can you get hold of fast?”

  “I have $1,500 in traveler’s checks at the hotel. Why?”

  “I want to go to Phoenix. Phoenix is where your father… supposedly died. There may be some answers there. Now, do I get financed?”
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br />   “On one condition.”

  I raised my eyebrows and waited.

  “That I go along,” she said.

  “Forget it. This won’t be a fun trip and I can travel faster alone. Besides, I have something for you to do.”

  “Like what?”

  I took Elena Harris’ photo out of my pocket and handed it to her. “It’s a little thought I have,” I said. “Beautiful women usually make a stab at show business some time or another. In the process they leave their pictures around. Do you think you could comb the agencies who might know something? I could…”

  She didn’t let me finish. She grinned and said, “I know the ropes. All of them. Many was the time I made the rounds. But can’t I do this and go with you too?”

  “No, because I want you to stick around to see about that contact at the Sherman.”

  The sudden stricken look of an animal caught off guard touched her face with fine taut lines. She was remembering the happy thought she had had in the beginning, the thought of seeing her father, and now, once again, she was being reminded that she never really had one.

  “Is it… really necessary now?”

  “Somehow that contact is a key to all this. It has to be run down.”

  “Phil…”

  “Whoever it was is dangerous. The stakes are high in this game and you make up the rules as you go along. You’re a necessary factor in the game because, as far as anybody is concerned, you know old Rhino’s secret. Keep them in the dark and we’ll have the edge.”

  “But we can’t fight those people, Phil.”

  “I don’t intend to,” I said. “I know when to holler for the troops.”

  “Like when?”

  “Like now.”

  I went to the row of phone booths at the back of the room and put in a call for Dan. When he answered I said, “Dan, I want to see the D.A. tonight. Can you arrange it?”

  There was the queer sound of silence a second, then incredulously Dan said, “Cal Porter?”

  I could almost see him shrug. “I’ll see what I can do. Give me five minutes.”

  I let him have the time. When I called back he had the information. “Porter is at his desk right now having been called away from a supper party to preside at the questioning of a hot suspect in last night’s park kill. He said he’d see you.”