Invitation to Violence (19 page)

    "But why…"

    "Look," he said, "dear God, just promise to do what I ask."

    For a long moment she looked into his face, this time almost without expression. She half nodded her head.

    "And you," she said. "Just what are you going to get out of it?"

    For a moment he stared back into her eyes and then he quickly leaned forward on the bed and his lips barely brushed her forehead.

    "Me?" he said. "Why I'm going to marry you and live happily ever after."

    He stood up, watching her seriously as her mouth fell open in surprise.

    "That's right," he said. "And I want you to know that I realize you wouldn't marry a thief or a crook."

    Staring at him, she suddenly realized that he was dead serious.

    "Why," she said, "why you don't even know me! You must be a little crazy. We don't…"

    His finger went to his lips and he moved toward the door silently.

    "I don't even know myself," he said. "But I'm not crazy. Not a bit. I'm completely and beautifully sane-probably for the first time in my life."

    He opened the door slightly and called out.

    "O.K., Slaughter, we're all through."

    

    

    He made the reservation over the telephone, using a public booth in the rear of a midtown tavern. He hit the right combination on his third try. The desk clerk at the Metropole had exactly what he wanted-two rooms, separated by a bath. He explained that he would be using the suite overnight, sharing it with a business acquaintance. Room 508 he reserved for himself, giving his correct name and address. Room 510 he reserved under the name of Fred Slaughter.

    "Mr. Slaughter," Gerald said, "will arrive sometime early this evening. However, I'll stop by within an hour and will pay for both rooms at that time. I'd appreciate it if the maid can have them made up as I'd like an opportunity to arrange my samples."

    He wanted to leave the impression with the clerk that he was a salesman.

    He took a cab from the tavern to Grand Central. He was vaguely worried by the possibility of being picked up. There was a chance that the police could have found out about his leaving the office and he guessed that the moment he was reported missing, the pickup order would go out.

    He hurried into the station and found the checkroom where he had left the brief case and the zipper bag on Saturday. It only took a minute or so to retrive them.

    The next stop was at a luggage shop in the arcade. Here he purchased a fairly large leather suitcase. He had the clerk remove the price tag and he opened the bag and put both of his other burdens in it.

    A door or two away was a haberdashery and he went in and bought several shirts, some socks and underwear. One more stop and he had added a shaving and toilet kit to his luggage. And then he took a cab to the Metropole.

    It was a rather small, very respectable semiresidential hotel in the Murray Hill section. The clerk greeted him with a smile when he identified himself. After Gerald had signed the register, he started to reach for his wallet.

    "You can take care of it when you are ready to sign out," the desk clerk said.

    Gerald nodded and thanked him.

    "I'll go on up now," he said, "but I'd like to leave Mr. Slaughter's key for him to pick up himself when he comes in. I'll probably be in and out of my room and I want to be sure…"

    "Certainly. We'll be looking for him."

    The bellhop doubled as elevator boy and he stopped the cage at the fifth floor. Gerald followed him down the carpeted hallway to room 508, and stood by as the boy put the bag on the floor while he opened the door. He entered the room and after dropping the bag, opened the closet door and then went to the window and made an unnecessary adjustment to the air-condition unit.

    As Gerald was reaching in his pocket for a dollar bill, the boy opened the bathroom door.

    "I understand you've reserved both rooms," he said. "This door goes into the other part of the suite and you can lock either bathroom door from either side."

    Gerald thanked him and handed him the dollar. He shook his head when the boy asked if he wanted ice water.

    "Nothing just yet," he said. "Perhaps later. By the way, is there stationery and envelopes?"

    "In the drawer over there," the boy said, indicating a writing desk on which the telephone sat. "You want I should come up and get your mail in a while, maybe?"

    "It won't be necessary, but thanks," Gerald said.

    He waited until he was alone before he carefully inspected the suite. The rooms were exactly what he had wished for. The windows were closed on the air-conditioning units and they were covered by Venetian blinds and heavy drapes. Neither room was large, but they were adequate.

    The bathroom was an old-fashioned and overlarge room. Doors led into each room and they could be locked from the inside to insure privacy. Going into 510, the room he had reserved for Slaughter, Gerald walked over to the radio and turned it on, fairly loud. Then he returned to his own room, carefully closing both bathroom doors.

    He nodded his head in satisfaction. No sound from the radio penetrated.

    "Perfect," he said, half aloud. It would take the sound of a gunshot to penetrate the double walls.

    He opened the suitcase and took out the brief case and the zipper bag and once more returned to Room 510. He opened the bottom bureau drawer and placed the bags in it. And then once more he returned to his own room. Sitting at the desk, he found the stationery.

    For the next half hour he was busy composing the two letters. Finishing them, he addressed the envelopes and sealed them. Then he placed the letters in his inside breast pocket and left the room, turning the key in the lock.

    Passing through the lobby, he ignored the postal drop. Once more he took a cab, this time directing the driver to the post office on Lexington Avenue, just north of Grand Central Station. He had the driver wait while he went inside and registered each letter before entrusting it to the mails.

    When he returned to the Metropole, he stopped by the newsstand in the lobby and bought the afternoon newspapers and a couple of magazines. He had a little time to kill.

    This time, when he returned upstairs, he told the combination elevator boy and bellhop to bring him up a drink from the bar.

    "Make it a double Scotch and soda," he said. "In fact, make it two of them."

    He might just as well do the thing right. Might just as well relax while he had the opportunity. Another few hours would tell the story. In another few hours, all decisions would have been taken out of his hands. He would either be a wealthy man with the world at his feet, or he would be in jail. There was, also, a fair chance that he might be dead.

    Thinking about it as he waited for the whiskey to arrive, he smiled a little wistfully. At least he would not be bored.

    At six-thirty he checked his watch for the dozenth time and got up from the chair under the reading light and carefully folded the newspaper he had been reading. He slipped into his jacket and then went to the door and carefully checked to see that it was locked.

    He looked around the room for a final time and then opened the door into the bathroom. He closed the door between the bathroom and Room 508, not locking it, before entering Room 510. This time he was careful to see that the door between the bath and Slaughter's room was locked, putting the key in his pocket after twisting it.

    He had an almost irresistible desire to open the dresser drawer and take out the brief case and have one last look at the jewels, but he resisted it. Time was pressing now and he had things to do.

    Gerald rechecked his watch and then sighed and went to the door of Room 510. Everything was going to hinge on what took place within the next few minutes.

    When he left the room this time, he pressed the catch so that the door between the room and the outside hallway remained unlocked.

    Back in the lobby, Gerald was pleased to see that the day desk clerk had been replaced by the night man. He went over to the counter and took out the key to Room 508.

    "I'm Mr. Hanna," he said. "Expecting a call shortly, but I have to be out for a while. I'd appreciate it if you'd tell the party I'll be back around seven-thirty." He left his key on the desk.

    The man nodded.

    "Certainly, sir."

    The telephone booths were in the mezzanine and Gerald walked up the short flight of stairs. He was glad that they were out of sight of the hotel's desk.

    Putting the coin into the slot, he was unable to resist the sudden chill which overcame him. Everything would depend on the success of this call. If his party should fail to answer…

    He shuddered, not wanting to think about it.

    The number answered on the second ring and he asked for his party. The voice at the other end requested his name.

    "The name doesn't matter," Gerald said. "It's a personal matter. But very important."

    "I'm sorry, but we have to know who is calling. We can't disturb…"

    "This is about Gerald Hanna and concerns the Gorden-Frost jewel robbery," Gerald said, speaking fast and distinct. "I'll call back in exactly fifteen minutes."

    He hung up fast. He couldn't take a chance on the call being traced.

    It was the longest fifteen minutes in his life.

    He made the second call from a different booth and this time when he asked for his party, he added, "and if he isn't on the phone within less than half a minute I am hanging up."

    He didn't have to wait a half minute. And he recognized the second voice the moment it spoke.

    "If you are interested in the whereabouts of Gerald Hanna," he said, "he has checked into the Metropole Hotel in New York City. Got that-the Metropole. Room 508. The Metropole-Room 508."

    He slammed the receiver back on the telephone as the voice spluttered at the other end of the wire.

    Returning to the booth from which he had placed his original telephone call, Gerald once more closed the door after himself and placed a coin in the slot.

    He could detect the nervousness in Slaughter's gravel voice the moment the other man picked up the receiver and spoke.

    "You're late," Slaughter said. "Is everything…"

    "Everything is fine," Gerald said. "Now listen. I want you to be at the Metropole Hotel in exactly one hour. Not before and no later. You are registered in Room 510. Under your own name. Get your key at the desk and come directly upstairs. You must have Miss Dunne with you and no one else. You must be prepared to consummate our deal. You have the…"

    "I'll have what I need," Slaughter said. "But wouldn't it be just as well if the lady…"

    "It would not," Gerald said. "She must be with you. In exactly one hour."

    Again he didn't wait for an answer, but quickly replaced the receiver on the hook and left the booth.

    When he returned to the staircase, instead of going down to the lobby, he turned and started up. He climbed the five flights of stairs and the sweat was soaking his shirt by the time he reached the fifth floor.

    This time, walking down the long carpeted hallway, he ignored Room 508 and passed on to 510. He entered through the unlocked door, but was careful to snap the catch so that it clicked behind him. He rechecked the bathroom door to be sure that it was still locked.

    Opening the bottom bureau drawer, he removed the zippered bag-the bag in which he had placed the fragments from his broken windshield and the gun which young Vince Dunne had dropped on the floor of his car. He took out only the gun and then reclosed the bag. He used his handkerchief to remove any possible fingerprints from the weapon. When he was finished, he placed the gun on the bed while he hauled the heavy upholstered chair around so that it half faced the door leading into the room.

    Then he picked up the gun, still using the handkerchief, and tucked it down between the cushion and the seat of the chair. The handkerchief remained loosely twisted around the checkered grip.

    He was kneeling at the door of the room, some thirty-five minutes later, his ear pressed to the keyhole, when he heard the elevator come to a stop at the end of the hallway.

    It wasn't until the footsteps were almost opposite the door that he heard them, softened as they were by the thick carpet. They died out and a moment later he heard the small click of a key in the lock of what he knew must be the door of Room 508. He waited only until he heard the door close and then swiftly got to his feet and crossed to the bathroom door. Once more he knelt, putting his ear to the crack.

    There were several moments of silence and then he heard someone enter the bathroom. He heard the sound of voices but was unable to distinguish the words.

    A hand tried the knob of the door against which he was standing and it turned but failed to open.

    And then all was quiet.

    Gerald half smiled, a nervous smile. He looked at his wrist watch and nodded with satisfaction.

    

    

    He tried to remain oblivious of the time, tried to blank his mind, knowing that it would be futile to worry. The die was cast and there was nothing more to be done. It would happen the way he planned it or it wouldn't happen and there was nothing more to do now but sit here in the big leather upholstered chair facing the doorway of the room and wait.

    Once, after endless minutes had passed, he became conscious of the ticking of his wrist watch as his right elbow rested on the arm of the chair and his head rested against his hand. He began to count the ticks, counting up to sixty, and checking the minutes on the fingers of his hands-until he suddenly realized that the individual ticks of the watch didn't mark off the seconds but marked off the half seconds.