Anatomy of a Killer (3 page)

“That kind of talk,” said Jordan, “doesn’t cut any ice with me either.”

“Maybe there’s more cut to it, if I tell you this looks like you maybe got the shakes?”

“You can stop talking crap,” said Jordan. “You hear me, Sandy?”

I’ve got him, thought Sandy. Like everybody he’s got to be perfect and don’t-mention-the-shakes-to-me. Nice. I’ve got him. And then Sandy pushed his point.

“If it isn’t the shakes, then why get prickly about it?”

Jordan shrugged this time. What had made him sensitive was the word and everything it implied. The shakes themselves were not bothering him, though Sandy could think so, if he wanted.

“Or is it something else?” Sandy said, and while he did not know it, he had Jordan again.

“No. Nothing else.”

“What then? I want to hear this.”

“You can stop riding me, Sandy.”

“I’m not riding you, I’m asking a question. I want to know why missing your in-between break shakes you up enough so you can’t take on the next job.”

“Nothing like that shakes me up.”

“Then what does?” Sandy kept at it.

“Nothing does.”

“So why is it no?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” said Jordan.

It meant different things to everyone in the room. Turner thought the next thing might be a shot. Jordan thought, this will change the subject. It better change the subject, because some things are nobody’s business. And Sandy thought nothing. He carefully dropped every thought because Jordan talking this way was not usual.

“You going on this job or not?” he said quietly, the way Jordan had talked.

Before he asks again, thought Jordan. Before he stirs up what I just found out myself. About the change having crept in.

“I’m going,” Jordan said.

This means no change, Jordan thought. This means there was nothing important, and he struck another match and this time lit the cigarette he had in his mouth.

After that it was cut-and-dry business and Sandy stayed out of it. He felt there was nothing else that he needed to do.

“And bring two more glasses,” somebody said in the hall, and a door slammed. Jordan took the cigarette out of his mouth, knocked the coal out of it on the window sill, put the dead butt back in his mouth. “So whatever you’ve got,” he said to Turner, “let’s have it.”

“And the beer,” somebody said in the hall, and the door slammed.

Turner made the bed squeak and smiled. “My,” he said. “A beer would be nice now, huh?” Then he pulled folded papers out of the inside of his jacket. “Well now,” he said, and put the sheets down on his knees.

Jordan sniffed, smelling dust.

“First of all,” said Turner, “the name. You got the name, right? Do you want a piece of paper and my ballpoint to write all this down?”

“No.”

“Yes. Now. Thomas Kemp. Same name he uses now. And the town is Penderburg. Address—” and he looked at his paper, “505 Third Avenue. He-he, they got avenues.”

“What does he look like?”

“What does he look like? Here you are. I brought this shot. This picture, I mean,” and he held it out.

Jordan took the small photo and looked at the old man in it. The old man sat in a chair in the sun, garden hedge behind him, and smiled. He had all his hair, Jordan saw. Maybe kinky.

“Is he gray?”

“Gray? Just a minute…. Yes. Sort of streaky.”

The sun was bright, and Jordan could not tell much about the man’s eyes because of the black shadows. Small eyes perhaps, but then Kemp was smiling. Lines in his face. From smiling? He looked fit, and built chunky.

“When was this picture taken?”

“When was this—let me think. Let me think what they said…. This year. It happens he’s got a daughter in L.A., and the way we got this picture, knowing he was going to visit her, we went….”

“I don’t need to know that.”

“Oh. That’s right.”

Jordan gave the picture back and then leaned on the window sill again. “Tell me more about where he is now. What he does.”

“Yes. And I better mention this,” said Turner. “Kemp’s got a bodyguard.”

Sandy exhaled with a sound which he covered by tweaking his nose, as if something itched him there. He sounded busy, very preoccupied.

Jordan did nothing. He had a matchbook in his hand and was playing with that but he had been doing that anyway. The bodyguard thing was a technical matter. He had no reaction to it, except technical interest. “What kind of bodyguard is he?”

“What kind? What do you mean what kind?”

Jordan looked at Sandy and Sandy explained it. “Is he just a punk or has he got training, Turner?”

“Well, he carries a gun. He hangs around all the time and, you know, watches.”

“You didn’t answer,” said Jordan, and Turner, who very much wished all this were over because he had nothing else to say and what else was there anyway, having met Jordan and seen all there was to see, started to giggle again.

“I mean, he carries a gun all the time.
You
know. That kind.”

Sandy sighed a slow sigh. Then he said, “In Pennsylvania. Where they dig coal. And he’s got a gun all the time.
That
kind.” Suddenly he slapped his hands on his thighs and started yelling. “Are you making this up as you go along, Turner, like maybe working up some kind of a comedy routine, or is this supposed to be the report that’ll lay out this Kemp or whatever?”

“I—what I mean….”

“Shut up!” Then Sandy sighed again. He stretched back in his chair and said to the ceiling, “Of all the jinxed-up, screwed-up deals that I’ve ever seen.”

Turner squeaked the bed.

“Jordan,” said Sandy. “You getting anything out of this?”

“Yes. A few things.”

He had a name and a place, and there were two men. He was startled by Sandy’s anger, just as Turner was, though for other reasons. He was impressed that Sandy had spoken up like this, though he wished he had not used the word jinx. And now, maybe, they could break up this meeting and Turner would leave, and perhaps there would be some time to have a beer somewhere, but without Turner.

Turner said that he was sorry there was nothing else, and why couldn’t Sandy take a reasonable attitude about this the way his friend there, Mister Jordan, was taking it, and the only thing about the bodyguard was, he did not seem to be there because of Kemp’s maybe getting active again, but had been there with him for some time. “You know how those older ones are,” said Turner, “those kingpins, always having somebody hanging around. You know what I mean?”

“No,” said Sandy. “I don’t.”

“He means habit,” said Jordan.

There was a knock on the door and the young man stuck his head in. “Oh,” he said, and smiled at Sandy.

“Yeah,” said Sandy. “We’re almost done.”

“I didn’t mean….”

“That’s all right, that’s all right,” and he got up, stretching.

“Maybe a drink?” asked the young man.

“Now that,” said Turner, “would be a fine idea,” and he bustled his papers around and stuffed them into his pocket. “As a matter of fact, there’s a drink I know, what you do is….”

“Not right now,” said Sandy. “Later.” Then he looked at Jordan and said, “Finish up.”

“I’m done,” said Jordan, “unless Turner here….”

“No. I got nothing else.”

The young man in the door raised his eyebrows at Sandy, and Sandy nodded at him. “Okay,” he said. “We’re done.”

Then the young man opened the door enough to come in and leaned against the door frame. He smiled at everybody and waited.

“You’re looking fine,” he said to Jordan. “How you been?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

“But tired, huh?”

“Yes. Some.”

They all stood around while Turner took his papers out again to refold them, and while Sandy put on his overcoat. Jordan was chewing his cigarette. The party sounds were much clearer now, and with music.

“Tell you what I’ll do,” said the young man. “How about a drink before you go, huh, Jordan?” and he ran off down the hall before Jordan could answer.

The three men in the room stood around while the young man was gone, and Sandy wiped dust off his pants. Turner said how hot it was and wouldn’t a drink be the ticket now.

The young man came back with one drink, which he gave to Jordan. “Happiness,” he said.

The drink was straight bourbon with ice, and Jordan kept a mouthful of liquor and let it burn. It distracted him while there was nothing to listen to or to say. He heard the young man say, “How about it?” to Sandy, and Sandy answered, “Who’s here?” It was, Max is here, you know Max, and his brother, you know him and his bunch, you know, that crowd, nice. And Sandy said that would be nice and Turner started talking about his special drink again.

Then Jordan thought about his own affairs, just briefly, there being time and need to think more about all of it later. Vague job, which was the kind needing thought ahead of time. Bad having to case Kemp himself, almost as bad as having to touch somebody afterwards. But that made sense. No superstition in that. No jinx. Not casing was caution and not touching was hygiene.

Turner had already left the room. Jordan swallowed the liquor and wiped his face. Then he put the glass on the window sill.

“You didn’t finish,” said the young man.

“That’s all right.”

“You want my car to drive home?” Sandy asked.

“No. I’ll take a cab.” Or, no. Maybe I’ll stay, he thought. “Who’s here?” he asked, and walked to the door where Sandy and the young man were standing.

“Nobody you know. Not well, I mean. There’s Max, I don’t know if you….”

Just vaguely, thought Jordan. I probably know everybody there, just vaguely. Then he said, “That laugh just now. That sounded like Lois.”

“Hey, yes,” said the young man. “That’s right. You know Lois.”

“You want her?” said Sandy. He held a cigar in his hand and was licking the end with his tongue.

And the young man was off down the corridor again. There was music and talk buzz when he opened a door down the hall and then just the mumble again when he closed it.

“When are you leaving town on this?” Sandy asked.

“I’ll make it tomorrow. Middle of the day.”

“Need money?”

“No. We can work it out afterwards.”

“You’re not dropping over tomorrow, before going out?”

“No.”

The buzz getting big and then the mumble and the young man came back.

“Gee, man, I’m sorry. She’s with what’s-his-name, you know, Fido’s brother.”

“I don’t know his name,” said Jordan.

“Well, you know how it is, he brought her.” He smiled and went away.

Sandy took Jordan’s arm and they walked down the corridor all the way to the end.

“I’ll call that Ruth for you,” he said. “I’ll call her from here.”

“That’s all right. You don’t have to do that.”

“What’s a phone call?” Sandy opened the front door.

Jordan said good-by and, “In a week or so…”

“Yuh,” and when Sandy closed the door Jordan thought, who in hell is Fido’s brother….

4

He took his suitcase out of Sandy’s car and walked back to the main drag. There he hailed a taxi and took it to a place three blocks from his building. He walked the three blocks and smoked a whole cigarette.

He had a room for sleeping and for keeping his clothes. He shut the door, walked to the dresser, bending a little when he walked past where the light hung from the ceiling. He took a clean shirt out of the suitcase and some underwear, and put them into a drawer. He had dirty laundry in a little bag, and he dropped that on the floor. Then he closed the suitcase and put it into the closet. He carried a gun and put that away in the place where he always kept it. Then he sat down on the bed and closed his eyes. He sat like that for a while but could not decide whether he was tired.

She came down the hall to his room, and he knew who it was by the steps. Then she knocked on the door the way she was supposed to and he let her in.

“Hi, Sammy. How’s business?” and she laughed too loud.

She went past him, to the night stand, bending a little when she passed where the light hung from the ceiling. She put her purse on the night stand and said, “You got the bottle, Sammy?”

“I forgot,” he said.

“Now, Sammy!”

He did not want to leave the room again but he did not want her to leave either. “Wait five minutes,” he said and she said, “Naturally, Sammy,” and laughed again.

He left and went to the liquor store on his block. If she looks around, he thought, she’ll find laundry, that’s all.

When he came back with the bottle she was standing and dressed as before, holding the purse against her belly. When Jordan had closed the door and put the liquor bottle next to the bed, she was still standing and holding the purse as before. She clicked the catch and the purse jumped open. So did her smile.

Jordan put money into her purse and she snapped it shut again.

He sat down on a chair near the bed and picked up the bottle, holding it in his lap. He worked the cap off the bottle while the woman undressed. “You been out of town, Sammy?”

“Yes.”

“You just come back?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m flattered,” she said and laughed. She sat down on the bed which made metal sounds under the mattress.

“You’re sitting on your hat,” he told her.

She pulled it out from under her and said, “Damn it to hell. Damn it to hell, will you look at that!”

“I—you want me to buy you a new one?”

“What’s the matter? You don’t like me to curse?”

“I ask you, if you want me to buy you a new one, I’d buy you a new one.”

“Don’t talk crap,” she said.

He did not answer and watched her roll down her stocking. She rolled down one but not the other. The other one she pulled off, making it look like a skin hanging down.

When she was naked she lay down on the bed and made a long, end-of-the-day sigh. Then she held out her hand.

“So give it here,” she said.

He gave her the full bottle, and she put the neck into her mouth. After the first swallow she gave a little shudder, but none after that. She took a rest and then drank more every so often.

“Sammy?”

“Yes?”

“What you looking at?”

He had been looking at the window. He could not see anything there because it was night outside but the position had been easy on his neck.

“Just that way,” he said.

“That way? You can’t see out, that way.”

“You ever ride in trains much, Ruth?”

“No,” she said. She said nothing else and drank.

Jordan took out a cigarette and held it in his teeth. He did not know what else to say either.

“What you looking at, Sammy?”

“I was looking at your feet.”

“Jeesisgawd.” Then she said he should start taking his clothes off.

He held the cigarette in his mouth and watched her drink. The bottle gave a spark every so often, depending on how she moved it in the light. The spark from the glass was the brightest thing in the room. Then she put the bottle on top of the night stand, doing this just with her arm and without moving anything else. Her eyes were closed now and she lay still.

He got up, took his jacket off, pulled the shirt out of his pants. He unbuttoned the shirt. “How you feeling?” he asked her.

“Just fine, Sammy.”

“Tell me something.”

“What?”

“Why come here?”

“Why not?”

“That’s it?” he asked her.

“Huh?”

“Why you come here, is what I asked you.”

“Because nobody wants me either.” And then she laughed hard again, without opening her eyes.