Invitation to Violence (4 page)

    

    

    Vince Dunne never was quite sure what had happened.

    He'd been at the door waiting when the sedan swung around and stopped in front of the place. Jake was in the driver's seat and Jake had waved to him as he'd cut the lights.

    Vince had to fumble to find the catch on the jewelry store's door and it had taken a second or two and then he had the door open and was starting out when he looked up and saw that Jake was frantically waving him back. It was only then that he spotted the squad car.

    It wasn't that he panicked. It was only that he realized if he went back inside he'd be cooked. Wouldn't have a chance. He had to get to the car, cops or no cops. Holding the bag which held the jewels tight and close to his chest, he started across the wide sidewalk to reach the sedan. He was climbing into the back when the fireworks started.

    The minute Vince looked up and saw Jake slipping to the sidewalk and heard the staccato rattle of the gunfire, he went into action. He reached for his own gun as he climbed over to the front seat and slipped under the wheel. It wasn't until he shoved his foot down on the pedal and rammed the car into gear that he knew the engine was dead. He never did realize that the first slug from Hardy's gun had smashed into the distributor, shattering it into a thousand parts. All he knew was that when he pushed the starter button, nothing happened.

    Frantically he leaped to the street, still clutching the bag and with his own .38 held tight in his other hand.

    He hesitated only long enough to fire twice, aiming directly at the prone body of Patrolman Hardy. The body jerked as the bullets smashed into it. Then Vince looked up.

    That's when he saw the Chevvie convertible drawn up opposite the sedan, a man behind the wheel with his eyes staring and his mouth wide open.

    

    

    Probationary Patrolman Hardy was unconscious for less than a full minute and once he came to, it took several seconds to orient himself. His outstretched hand found the gun lying next to him on the pavement. He was dying, even then, but of this he wasn't aware.

    He still had time to fire the two remaining shots from his service revolver. He couldn't be sure about it at all, later on when he was making his deathbed statement to the inspector in the emergency ward at the hospital, but he felt pretty positive that at least nine of the shots had gotten the third gunman who was escaping in the second getaway car. He was also pretty sure the second shot had hit the car.

    The shattered windshield glass which they found on the road afterward would seem to bear him out on this.

    One thing he was sure about. The second car had been a late model Chevvie, a two-tone convertible, black and yellow, and the license plate was a New York issue. The last number on the plate was a "3."

    

    

    It was the sound of the gunfire which brought Gerald Hanna to. He had no idea at all of what was happening, but instinctively pulled to a stop, his eyes wide with shocked surprise and horror as he saw the bodies lying in the street in front of him. He watched as Vince Dunne pumped two shots into the body of the already fallen patrolman.

    A moment later the man in the goggles and the cap and black leather jacket jerked open the door of his car and climbed in beside him. Gerald Hanna didn't have to be told what was being shoved into his ribs.

    "Get going! Fast!"

    He wasn't more than normally quick-witted and he didn't have a great deal of imagination, but for once in his life he didn't need a lot.

    Gerald rammed his foot down on the accelerator and the Chevvie shot forward. As it did, there was a burst of gunfire and the windshield in front of his face cracked and splintered.

    Gerald Hanna's life had ceased being dull.

    The man's voice was a mumbled whisper when he spoke. The pressure of the gun in his side had lessened, but Gerald knew it was still there. He half turned his head.

    "Take the next right."

    He slowed the car, surprised that no one was following him. He made the turn, just north of Roslyn.

    It was a little used road and Gerald wasn't familiar with it. They passed a few scattered houses and then there was nothing.

    Gerald was about to speak, when he heard the man at his side groan and then a moment later there was no longer any pressure at all from the gun and he heard the thud as it fell to the floor.

    He stole a quick glance at his companion as they passed under one of the widely separated street lights. The man's cap had fallen off and the goggles had dropped down on his thin, white face and his eyes were closed. He was slumped low in the seat.

    Gerald took a chance and made a right turn at the next intersection. His passenger said nothing. Five minutes later he pulled to a stop in a lonely place in the road.

    The map light illuminated the interior of the car as he reached quickly for the fallen gun. A moment later he knew that he wouldn't need it.

    The man was dead.

    It wasn't, however, the body at his side which held Gerald Hanna in frozen fascination. It was the half-opened bag which lay on the floor of the car. Cascading out of it and lying at his feet was a glittering mass of diamonds and rubies and emeralds. Necklaces, bracelets, earrings and one or two watches.

    

    

    Sue Dunne clicked off the television set at eleven-fifteen, as soon as the late news was over. She was tired and decided to go to bed, although it was actually very early for her. Friday nights were always like this; the one night of the week when she didn't work and had free time, but the one night when she really enjoyed getting to bed early.

    That was the trouble with the job at the cafeteria. Or at least, one of the troubles. There were others, of course. Somehow or other, during the past year while she had worked as a night cashier in the place, her whole life had seemed all topsy-turvy. She still couldn't get used to sleeping during the day and working at night; six nights a week, from six in the evening until three in the morning.

    Not that it was hard work. Just tedious. Standing there at the cash register and going through the same inane motions hour after hour, night after night. It was a dull, uninteresting job, but it was a job and the pay wasn't bad.

    It wasn't the pay, however, which kept her interested. It was the part about having the afternoons free. Free at least to allow her to go on with her studies. Sue was bound and determined to become a singer and she had few illusions about her potential career. She knew it would take a lot of studying and a lot of practice, along with a certain number of breaks. Having those afternoons free gave her the time for studying and practice. There was no one around in the afternoons to complain about her singing and for this she was grateful.

    There were, of course, other ways to pursue her career. It had not taken a girl as good looking as Sue Dunne long to find out these ways. There were the offers of night-club work and there were the other offers. Offers which had been made to her by various men who would have been only too glad to have helped further her career.

    Once or twice, coming home in the early morning dead tired from standing on her feet for hours, discouraged with the little money she was making and the high cost of her music lessons, she had been almost tempted to take up one of those offers. But it had only been a passing thought. Quickly she had smiled, wryly, and dismissed such thoughts from her mind. She'd do it the hard way, no matter how long it took. At least she had plenty of time. At nineteen, you always have plenty of time.

    She left the light on in the hallway and checked to see that the door was locked and then she went into the bedroom and closed the door. There was no telling what time Vince would be getting in. Vince slept on a pulled-out couch in the living room of the small apartment and he was always quiet when he came in.

    That was one of the things she worried about with Vince. He was too quiet.

    She took a warm shower after undressing and then climbed into a pair of men's pajamas and went to the window and raised it wide. For several moments she stood there, looking out over the fire escape at the long row of silhouetted apartment houses which lay to the west. At last she sighed and turned and went to the bed. Before pulling the sheet over her, she reached up and set the alarm clock on the side table. She wanted to be up early, before Vince had a chance to leave the house. She'd made up her mind; she would just have to talk to him in the morning. He wouldn't like it, but she was going to talk to him anyway.

    It seemed incredible to her that Vince, who was himself nineteen years old, could be such a baby, such a complete child. You'd think, after the trouble he'd already been in, that he would have learned something. That he'd know enough to stay away from bad companions.

    Sue had met Dommie and Jack Riddle and one or two others whom Vince had been running around with. Dommie was bad enough, but at least he was only a boy himself. But Riddle. That was hard to understand. She didn't actually know anything about the older man, but she didn't have to. What was a man of his age hanging around with a kid like Vince for anyway. It couldn't be for anything good.

    Riddle was one of the men who hung around the cafeteria in the late evenings. He and a half a dozen others. Bookies and loan sharks. She knew the type all right. You can't be a cashier in an all-night restaurant for a year without picking up a lot of stray information about the types who hang around such places.

    Slaughter himself had told her about Riddle and some of the others who patronized the place. He knew them all. He'd warned her not to have anything to do with them.

    "No good bums," he had told her. "Operators. Stay clear of them."

    The odd thing was that in spite of his advice, Slaughter himself hung around with the very worst of them. In fact, he held a sort of court each night at one of the back tables and they would drift in and sit down and then there would be the whispered conversations, the occasional exchange of money.

    Fred Slaughter owned the cafeteria, as well as the bar next door and Lord only knows what else. He was a man of many and varied interests.

    Well, it was probably one of the reasons he was able to warn her about men like Riddle. He knew them and did some sort of business with them.

    At first she had thought that it was only because Slaughter liked her and had a sort of fatherly interest in her. He'd been nice about giving her the job, had seemed to take an interest in both her and Vince, whom he knew all about. But she'd soon learned that his interest was anything but fatherly.

    Not that he'd been insistent or anything. Just made his pass, the way most men did sooner or later. Tried to take her out and when she had made her position very clear to him, had been a little nasty. But he hadn't tired her and after a while he'd left her alone.

    Slaughter had plenty of women and she guessed that he just hadn't wanted to bother. She was a good cashier, so he left her alone and had gone on about his business.

    By this time she had begun to realize that whatever Slaughter's business was, it involved a lot more than just owning a bar and cafeteria.

    Thinking about it. her mind once more went back to Vince. It had been very tough after their mother died. She and Vince were seventeen at the time and Vince was in reform school. They'd picked him up in a stolen car and sent him away, and Sue was living alone with her mother at the time. She'd already had to leave school herself and was working.

    The authorities had investigated, after the funeral, but when they found that she had a job and was able to support herself they had lost interest and had left her alone.

    That job had ended after a year when a new boss came in and made things difficult. She'd quit and that was when she got the job in the cafeteria. Slaughter had learned about Vince
and
he must have had excellent connections because he'd been able to get him out on parole.

    Vince was supposed to go to work as a bus boy in Slaughter's place, but he hadn't lasted long. He'd had a fight with a waiter and the manager had fired him. Slaughter heard about it, but he'd merely shrugged his shoulders.

    "The kid will get another job," he said. "In the meantime, don't worry about it. I'll tell the parole officer he's still working here, until "he finds something else."

    The trouble was, Vince hadn't found anything else. It had been a couple of months now, and Sue slowly began to realize that Vince wasn't even looking. Instead, he was hanging around with Jake and with Dommie and some of the others.

    Sue leaned up on her elbow and snapped on the table light. She found a pack of cigarettes and hunched a pillow under her shoulders so that she was half sitting up in bed.

    Yes, she would have to talk with Vince in the morning. Vince wasn't the brightest boy in the world, but Sue knew that he wasn't really bad. He had sworn he hadn't known the car was stolen, but the judge hadn't believed him and they'd sent him away. In a sense, it was a tragedy. He'd been a different boy when he'd come back.

    She finished the cigarette and stubbed it out and once more turned off the light and settled down in the bed. She was determined to get some sleep. She wanted to talk with Vince the first thing in the morning and she had a date at eleven o'clock at the television station for a commercial tryout. She wanted to be fresh and rested when she got there.

    She'd just stop thinking about Vince and worrying about him-at least for the time being. He'd listen to her. There was no use worrying about it now. She just wished, though, that he'd get home. It was dangerous for him to be running around this late at night. If the parole board should find out…