Scarlet Night (26 page)

Under Romano’s eye, O’Grady had composed a note to leave with the boys for Ginni: it said he had to go to the clinic at six-thirty for a treatment. (Disease unspecified, but painful.) They were not to worry. He had a first-floor lookout on the street and he’d be there in plenty of time. Whether or not she believed him was not greatly important once Rubinoff was on the road. He had kept faith with his client, to the best of his knowledge: Ginni had no idea who or where the client was. She had no choice but to wait.

On the estate grounds, Julie’s only assignment was to pacify the dog. And to obey Michael in an emergency. Michael and O’Grady had gone out that morning for a walk in the woods: they watched the whole Campbell staff depart at noon, a mini-bus load of them dressed in their Sunday best.

Michael’s plan called for O’Grady to take over the wheel of the Pontiac at the golf-range parking area where they would leave the Mustang and all go on in the one car. O’Grady would wait with the car outside Campbell’s main gate, careful to stop short of the electronic eye, while Julie, Michael, and Alberto walked along the fence and entered the estate from the park. He calculated that it would take them twelve to fifteen minutes to get inside the house.

Campbell would have deactivated the alarm on one door, likely the front one, to admit Rubinoff: they would know that from where Rubinoff parked his car. It wouldn’t matter that Campbell could reactivate it, for Michael proposed to enter the building himself by an entry not on the system: the dog door. (He had given a fascinating demonstration of what looked like a collapse of his shoulders, and Romano had to restrain him from recounting the spectacular entries he had made in his day.) Once inside, he would deactivate and unlock the kitchen door for Alberto and whatever other door or doors the operation required.

He planned to handcuff Rubinoff and Campbell together, back to back…Romano, sensitive to Julie’s presence, had suggested that only Michael and Alberto needed to know precise details. The vault was bound to be off the alarm system until such time as Campbell closed it for the night and the signal went through to police headquarters. If the information became necessary, Alberto knew the desk drawer where Campbell had gone in his presence to refresh his memory of the vault combination. He had had it changed within the week.

An intercom box and a release button for the main gate were in a lovely antique cabinet on the wall of the front vestibule. When they were ready for O’Grady, Alberto would open the gate to him. It would close itself when he had driven through. They planned to leave by way of the park and drop off Julie and Alberto to pick up the Mustang.

Julie decided to phone Jeff at midafternoon to be sure he would not call while Rubinoff was there. Or to be sure he wasn’t on his way home. Then she decided not to. She was too nervous to sound natural. Besides, she ought not to tie up the phone in case Romano tried to reach her.

O
’GRADY WONDERED FOR A
long time what in hell the boys were doing in the bedroom. Not that he wasn’t glad to be out of their sight for a while. His nerves were not a working team at the moment. He had shaved a second time that day; his face was raw. He was carving anchors and chains in the kitchen table with the thin blade of his knife, having, before that, whittled his fingernails to the quick.

The phone rang in the living room and he raced Tommy for it. They’d taken to answering the phone on him. They were learning English a lot faster than he would ever learn Italian. As though ever again in his life he would want to learn it.

Tommy got to the phone first. “Ginni,” he announced. “For me.”

And welcome to each other. The palaver began in Italian. O’Grady started back to the kitchen and then stopped in his tracks when he heard Tommy say, “Plaza. Hotel Plaza…”

O’Grady strode to the bedroom door and looked in on Steph. They were packing, their suitcases open on Ma’s bed. Of course they were! With the money coming in, they were going to move to the Plaza. A suite, no doubt the bridal suite, and Ginni astride the both of them.

With an hour and a half to wait, he left the house. He had a beer at McGowan’s, having made sure the old lady wasn’t there ahead of him. He walked down Forty-fourth Street toward Julie’s shop although he knew she was at home nursing nerves as unraveled as his own. And there coming toward him was the Rodriguez family, the mother and daughter hand in hand and the little bantam cock of a man strutting a pace ahead of them. He was so puffed up with vanity, he wouldn’t know horns from a halo.

O’Grady crossed the street to avoid them and at the corner turned up Eighth Avenue. It was Sunday. He went to the five o’clock Mass at St. Malachy’s.

T
HE DOORBELL RANG AT
twenty minutes to six, which gave Julie a start. It was not that she wasn’t ready, but she wondered if everybody else was.

“Rubinoff…” The name floated musically over the house phone.

Julie pushed the buzzer and went into the hall. There wasn’t much hair on his head seen from the top. Oh, God. As though she cared where his hair grew. Or whether he sprouted lilies in his navel.

“You’re early,” she said.

“I hope you don’t mind. After all, you suggested five.”

“It’s fine.” She preceded him into the foyer. “I’ll get some wrapping paper and string.” That could take time.

“Not necessary. It isn’t raining and I don’t have far to go tonight. What a lovely apartment! I’d hoped to meet your husband. I greatly admire him.”

“I’ll tell him,” Julie said.

Scarlet Night
was leaning against the frame of the dining arcade just off the foyer. Rubinoff gazed at it and then said, “Well, it hasn’t changed much, has it?”

“Would you like a drink—or a cup of tea?”

“That’s very kind of you, but I mustn’t stop. I made the check out to Julie Hayes.” He spelled the first name aloud.

“That’s it.”

He gave her the check. “You’ve been very gracious in an awkward situation.”

“If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll go downstairs with you.” Julie got her purse and stuck the check into it. She turned on a light to leave burning in Jeff’s study, stretching time by seconds. “Let me make sure I turned off the gas. I am absent-minded.”

Rubinoff was standing in the hall,
Scarlet Night
under his arm.

“Thank you for waiting.” She got out her keys and had deliberate trouble with the second lock. “The light’s not very good out here.”

She had just put her keys into her purse when the doorbell rang within the apartment—one long ring and two short. Jesus Christ. “That’s Jeff now,” she said, and galloped past Rubinoff to be down the stairs before Jeff could make it up. “How nice. You’ll get to meet him.”

They all converged in the downstairs hallway.

“Jeff, this is Mr. Rubinoff. I may have spoken to you about him.”

“How do you do?” Jeff put down his bag.

Rubinoff shifted
Scarlet Night
so that he could shake hands. “It’s an honor, sir. I’ve just told your wife how much I admire your column.”

“Thank you. Well! Are you two going some place or can you come back upstairs for a drink?”

Rubinoff blinked his eyes and said regretfully, “I wish I could, but I have a cab waiting.” A cab. Not a dark red Buick station wagon, license D-A-S 320. He offered Julie his hand. “Good-bye, Mrs. Hayes.”

And out he went like a sloe-eyed bat.

“Jeff…” Julie finally kissed him. “Call Tony. He’ll explain. I’ll be back sometime tonight.”

She waited in the outside vestibule until the cab pulled away. Jeff waited with her, either stumped for the right questions or having the sense not to ask them. She kissed him again and ran down the steps when Alberto pulled up in the white Mustang. Just before she got in she called back to Jeff: “There’s cold chicken in the refrigerator.”

Alberto said aloud the license number of the cab. Julie repeated it while she got out a pencil and wrote it down. “What does it mean?”

“He’s parked somewhere else, that’s all. Michael will pick him up there.”

“He’s early,” Julie said.

“Not much. The trouble is O’Grady may be late.”

Traffic was light. They were making much too good time. They had supposed, counting on the station wagon, that Rubinoff might go on to Twelfth Street and along beneath the highway to the next ramp. He turned up Eleventh. Alberto did not turn. “It’s better that we let him go in case he saw us. The last thing we want to do is scare him off.”

“Hey, you’re good at this.”

Alberto glanced at her. “I don’t think I’m going to make it my life’s work.”

There was no sign of O’Grady as they approached the diner. But when they got there he emerged from the red Volkswagen parked in the corner. “Jesus,” he said. “I just saw Rubin in a cab.”

“Did he see you?”

“It wouldn’t matter if he did. It’s where I keep the little car.”

“But from now on it will matter,” Alberto said. “You’d better both get in the back.” The rear window was strongly tinted.

As they drove up the ramp O’Grady said, “Do you know what the two acrobats are doing back in my apartment? They’re packing their clothes to move to the Plaza.”

“My favorite hotel,” Julie said.

“Hers too.” He could not bring himself to say Ginni’s name. He took the metal cutter from his pocket and laid it on the seat between them. “I’d better not forget this,” he said.

Or drop it, Julie almost said but didn’t. “Are you sure it will work?”

“I am. I already used it on the back gate this morning.”

They rode on, all three in silence. The northbound traffic continued light. The southbound traffic was heavy. Delays at all the exits. “We’ll be coming back in traffic like that,” Alberto said.

“As long as it’s not in a basket,” O’Grady said cheerfully.

Alberto kept watching through both side mirrors. Suddenly he said, “He’s coming up on the left. Cover your faces.”

O’Grady threw his arm around Julie and kissed her cheek, his hand a shield between their faces and the traffic on the left.

“All clear,” Alberto said over his shoulder.

“I might never have such an opportunity again,” O’Grady said when Julie pulled away.

“Here’s Michael coming up on the other side,” Alberto said.

The green Pontiac wagon overtook and passed them. Michael looked right at them but gave no sign of recognition. In the left lane, the red wagon, D-A-S 320, was beginning to pick up speed.

Michael was waiting when they reached the driving range. He stood alongside the green wagon smoking impatiently. He climbed into the back. Julie followed him. Alberto rode in front with O’Grady now at the wheel. He had the gears screaming before they got out of the lot.

“I thought you said you could drive,” Michael roared at him.

“I’ll have the hang of it in a minute. I’m used to the foreign shift.” All the way back to the traffic light O’Grady talked to the Pontiac.

Michael said: “You get another job, Miss Julie. I want you to let the air out of Rubinoff’s front tires. Can you handle that?”

“You bet.”

They turned into Maiden’s End. People were playing croquet on a lawn and youngsters were riding bicycles, and a man and woman, jogging, waved at them, mistaking them for friends. Julie wanted to scream, “Let me out! Pick me up at…” She couldn’t even remember who it was Jeff and she had visited.

It was darker in the woods. Lights were beginning to come on in the houses. Twilight. They passed through the stone gates marked Private, and Michael ordered O’Grady to stop. They changed places and Michael himself drove up to within a couple of feet of the electronic eye. He wasn’t taking a chance now; one lurch of the car in front of the box would alert Campbell. “It’s in your hands now, Irishman. You know what to do when the gate opens.”

“Drive through in a hurry.”

“Drive through natural. And park on the lawn when you get near the house. Stay clear of Rubinoff’s car. Anybody coming by here while you’re waiting, speak nice to them like a chauffeur, waiting for your boss.”

“Godspeed,” O’Grady said.

They walked, Indian file, Michael ahead along the path into the woods. The fence was in sight all the way. They wore dark clothes, Julie a brown sweater and slacks, her purse under her left arm, the strap slung over her right shoulder. Sneakers. Coming from that direction, they reached the overgrown but passable drive and turned onto it before reaching the clearing. The moon was rising over Tarrytown, a tumult of clouds swelling around it. Michael slipped the chain from the gate. Alberto opened it wide.

“You first now,” Michael said to Julie.

The dog. Julie wasn’t sure she could get her lips together for a whistle.

The lights within the house, at this twilight hour, had the quality of candles. They burned softly throughout the building. Rubinoff’s station wagon was under the portico, blocking the drive as Michael had foreseen. They approached a roadway of fine gravel which led to the four-car garage some fifty yards from the house. Campbell’s assorted Jags and Cadillacs were at rest there.

They proceeded in the grass alongside the driveway until they were opposite the kitchen. At Michael’s signal they stopped. He removed his coat and gave it to Alberto, who had been instructed how to carry it, the pockets loaded.

Michael stepped onto the drive and scuffled his feet in the gravel. Out through the dog door came the setter. Julie whistled and opened her arms to him. He gave one brief rattle of barks before discovering Julie. Then he was all over her, a slobber of joy. She drew him away from the house, the dog prancing and tugging at the leather strap of her shoulder bag which she gave him to pull on. It was one thing to snatch a man’s money, but she hated to corrupt his dog.

Julie watched from the distance until she saw the kitchen door open and Alberto disappear. Then she moved back toward the house and around to the main entrance where the Buick wagon was parked.

She could see through window after window into an eerily empty house. The only room in which the draperies were drawn was the small study where, she felt, they must now be undressing
Scarlet Night.
She removed the cap on the tire valve of the wheel furthest from the house and pressed her thumbnail on the valve. The hiss sounded lethal. The dog licked her face. It kept him busy.