What's in It for Me? (34 page)

I spun around quickly.

“I'm sorry, Doctor,” I said in a lower voice. “I didn't mean to—How is she?”

He shrugged and shook his head.

“The clot has lodged in—” He stopped and shrugged again, a little quicker this time. “There's no telling, Mr. Bogen. I'm calling the hospital and asking them to send an—”

“Listen, Doctor. I've got to get out of here. I've got to—”

He raised his eyebrows slightly.

“At a time like this, Mr. Bogen, you're—?”

I shook my head at him.

“Listen, Doctor. I've got to get out of here. I've got to—to get—” I clutched at his arm. “Listen, Doctor, I'll explain everything some other time. Right now I've got to get out of here. There are things I can't—I've got to get out. I must. You'll take care of her, won't you? You'll see that—?”

He looked at me coldly.

“Of course I will. But please lower your voice, Mr. Bogen. This is no time—”

“I'm sorry.” I lowered my voice. “Please, Doctor, see that she's taken care of. Here.” I took out my wallet. But there was only the seven dollars. I shoved it back into my pocket. “I haven't got the—I'll send you a check, Doctor. I'll send you—”

He waved his hand in front of me. A delicate little wave.

“Please, Mr. Bogen, don't be silly. Of
course
I'll—”

“I know, Doctor, but I want you to—”

Murray tugged at my sleeve. I turned to him.

“Don't worry about that, Harry,” he said quietly. “I'll take care of that. Don't worry about the money. I'll see that—”

I nodded curtly and turned away. The bastard. Even
that
I had to owe him.

“Thanks,” I said shortly. “Good-by, everybody. Please see—”

They nodded. All four of them.

“We will.”

I opened the door and went out. I was down three steps when I heard footsteps behind me. I stopped and looked back. It was Ruthie.

“Harry!”

“What—?”

I turned and came back up two steps. There were tears in her eyes.

“Harry, I'm—I'm sorry I—”

“For what?”

“On the phone. I'm sorry if I said anything that—”

Now she was sorry.

“Forget it. It isn't your fault.”

If I let things get the best of me so that I didn't have sense enough to answer the phone myself, it was my fault.

“But Harry, I—”

“Look, Ruthie. I'm sorry I yelled like that before. I didn't mean it. I was—”

She bit her lip to hold it steady for a moment.

“I know, Harry.”

“Ruthie. Do me a favor, will you?”

“Of course.”

I took her hand from the banister.

“Stay with her, Ruthie. Stay in the house. I'll call you up later, I'll call you tonight, from wherever I am. I'll call you up to find out how she is. You be here to answer. You tell me, Ruthie. Nobody else. All right?”

She nodded quickly.

“I'll be here, Harry.”

I held her hand and hesitated.

“Ruthie.”

“Yes, Harry?”

I figured frig that little jerk upstairs. He had his diploma. He had the district attorney. And he'd have her the rest of his life. He had enough.

“Ruthie.” I came up the third step and pulled her toward me, hard. “Good-by, Ruthie,” I said, and I kissed her.

“Good-by, Harry.”

I heard her crying softly as I ran down the stairs.

I
TOOK THE SUBWAY
downtown and got out at Thirty-fourth Street. I hurried through the tunnel to Penn Station, went into a phone booth, and called the Montevideo.

“Hello, Charlie. This is Mr. Bogen.”

“Mr. Bogen? Oh, say!” His voice rose excitedly. “There's been an awful lot of calls and people looking for—”

“I know, I know, I know. Listen, Charlie, connect me—”

“But, Mr. Bogen! A Mr. Nissem. He was here a lot and he—”

“Charlie, I—”

“And about a dozen calls, honest, about a dozen from a Mr. Yaz—wait a minute—yeah, a Mr. Yazdab—”

I scowled quickly. On top of everything else, he had to come back early, too?

“What did Mr. Yaz—? Aah, the hell with it. Listen, Charlie, I want—”

“And wait, Mr. Bogen! The most important! A few hours ago, your mother, she came in here and she—”

“I know all that. I know all about everything. Just connect me with—”

“But Mr. Bogen! Your mother! She collapsed in the lobby here and we had to—”

“Listen, jerk!”

“Whah?”

“Listen, dope!” I yelled into the phone. “You wanna shut up just for ten seconds? Just long enough so I can—?”

“Yes, sir,” he said quickly. “Sorry, I didn't—”

“Don't be sorry; be quiet.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Miss Mills. Connect me with Miss Mills.”

“Sorry, Mr. Bogen. She's not in.”

“How do you know?”

“She went out a little while ago.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She say anything to you?”

“No, sir. But—”

“But what?”

“She didn't say anything, Mr. Bogen. But she was carrying a small bag.”

I grinned quickly.

“She was, Charlie?”

“Yes, sir. She was carrying a small bag. And she seemed in a hurry, too.”

Good old Martha! She had a chest like a pouter pigeon, a brain like a Capone partner, a voice like a motorcycle exhaust, and she thought she was the Countess di Frasso. But when it came to a pinch, she was all there.

“Listen, Charlie. You know what I think you are?”

“What?”

“The best damn switchboard operator in the whole world. Anything I ever said in the past to the contrary, you just forget. When I come back from Europe, you know what I'm gonna bring you?”

“What?”

“A new set of plugs.”

What he said next sounded like “Whunnhh.” But I was moving too quickly to investigate or ask for a translation. It was twenty minutes to six. Trains for Philadelphia left on the hour. If Martha had walked out of the Montevideo a short while ago, carrying a bag, that meant she would be making the next six o'clock train. I was whistling cheerfully as I hurried over to the ticket window.

“One way to Philadelphia.”

“Coach or chair car?”

I hesitated. Martha wouldn't be traveling in a coach. That was sure. But she was carrying the dough. I was carrying seven bucks.

“Coach.”

With the ticket in my pocket I went parading through the waiting room, looking for her. Near the telegraph desk I saw a man that looked like Nissem and the whistle died on my lips. I had forgotten how much he might know about my movements and where he might be getting his information. I ducked behind a bench and looked out carefully. It wasn't Nissem. But I had learned my lesson. I had eighteen minutes to train time. They didn't have to be spent in sticking out my neck. I hurried into the toilet and went into one of the ten cent crappers. I sat there until four minutes to six. Then I got up, turned up my collar, pulled down my hat, and hurried out to the train. I got a seat in the smoker and kept my eyes to the window until we reached Newark. Then I got up and started going through the train. I did it systematically and carefully. Before I went into each car, I looked it over quickly through the glass door from the platform. Then I walked through fast, watching the seats as I went. But I didn't find her. I did the whole thing twice, smoker, coaches, Pullmans, even the diner. But she wasn't on the train.

I went back to my seat in the smoker.

First I worried about Martha. I had spoken to Charlie about five-thirty. He said she had left with her little bag some time before that. She might have left long enough before five to make the five o'clock train. She would be in Philadelphia an hour ahead of me. She would be waiting at the Ben Franklin.

Then I worried about Nissem and Yazdabian. They could both drop dead. Once I got my hands on the money that Martha was bringing and we got out of the country, they could cry on each other's shoulder. Yazdabian was too old to worry about; and, anyway, he had his beads. As for Nissem, he had plenty more money. He'd bled enough Seventh Avenue slobs dry with his hock shop and his service charges. It wouldn't kill him if he lost a little blood himself for a change.

The other thing I didn't even want to think about.

Suddenly I realized I was hungry. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. But I couldn't afford a meal in the diner. My shoes cost thirty dollars, my suit had set me back a hundred and sixty-five, my shirt was custom made, and my hat had a label in it that would have brought a whistle from anybody in the car who could read English. But I couldn't afford a meal in the diner.

I steered my mind away from Honeywell Avenue by concentrating on the little belches that my empty stomach kept sending up. Finally, the colored boy came through with his coffee can and his basket. I bought three sandwiches, a container of coffee, and a piece of apple pie. But in the middle of the second sandwich I was suddenly back on Honeywell Avenue and I wasn't hungry any more. I knew one thing I was going to do before I left the country with that money.

I was going to hire a couple of the biggest specialists afloat, I was going to fly them to New York from wherever the hell they were if they weren't in New York, and I was going to see to it that she was—

“Philadelphia!
Thirtieth
Street Station. Philadelphia! Broad Street next stop.”

From the Broad Street Station I took a taxi to the Benjamin Franklin. I hurried into the lobby and looked around. I didn't see Martha. I walked over to the desk and waited until one of the clerks was free. When he caught my eye he smiled graciously, the lips growing very thin and spreading out an inch on either side and the corners going up a half inch. He shoved a registry card in front of me and handed me a fountain pen. “Harold Boardman,” I wrote, “152 W. 42nd St., New York, N. Y.” He swung it around and started to make notations on a new ledger card. I leaned over and tapped his arm.

“Yes, sir?” he said, looking up.

“You mind seeing if there's any messages for me?”

The gracious smile slipped into place at once.

“Certainly, sir. Just a moment, please.” He stepped across the small space to another section further down and I heard his voice. “Any mail or messages for Mr. Harold Boardman of New York? Boardman? B, o, a, r, d, m, a, n?” In a few moments he was back with a telegram. “That's all there was, sir.”

“Thanks.”

He dipped down again to finish his notations on the ledger card. I ripped the telegram open. It was addressed to Harold Boardman and was signed Martha. I took those two things in first. Then I started to read:

THANKS FOR THE MONEY. I WAS WONDERING WHERE YOU WERE KEEPING IT. I DON'T LIKE PHILADELPHIA. I DON'T LIKE PEOPLE WHO TRY TO HOOK LEASHES TO ME. I DON'T LIKE PEOPLE WHO THINK THEY ARE SMARTER THAN I AM. I DON'T LIKE YOU. NO SENSE IN POSTPONING TRIP. FITS IN WITH MY PLANS PERFECTLY. KERMIT TERKEL SAYS I WILL ARRIVE ON COAST JUST IN TIME TO START WORK UNDER CONTRACT HE IS WRITING FOR ME. TEDDY SENDS HIS THANKS FOR THE CABIN. TEDDY'S SECOND NAME IS AST. TEDDY SAYS TO REMEMBER WHAT HE ONCE TOLD YOU ABOUT UMBRELLAS. I SAY YOU SHOULD REMEMBER WHAT I ONCE TOLD YOU ABOUT GUYS LIKE YOU AND SUICIDE. YOU DON'T HAVE TO TAKE ME LITERALLY, OF COURSE, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT I'M WISHING. IN CASE YOU DON'T TAKE ME LITERALLY, LOOK ME UP IN HOLLYWOOD SOME DAY AND I'LL BUY YOU A HOT DOG. WOULDN'T TRY TO STOP US FROM SAILING IF I WERE YOU, AS A GENTLEMAN BY THE NAME OF LEONARD NISSEM IS SEEING US OFF. HE IS VERY BORING COMPANY, LIKE ALL YOUR FRIENDS ARE. HE KEEPS SAYING OVER AND OVER THAT YOU ARE GOING UP FOR A STRETCH. IF THIS MEANS THEY ARE GOING TO HANG YOU, I AM ALL FOR IT. THIS IS THE LONGEST TELEGRAM I EVER SENT BUT I'M HAVING THE TIME OF MY LIFE SENDING IT AND I WOULDN'T SHORTEN IT BY A SENTENCE EVEN IF IT COST A DOLLAR A WORD. I WOULD SEND IT COLLECT IF I THOUGHT YOU HAD ENOUGH MONEY ON YOU TO PAY FOR IT, BUT I WANTED TO MAKE SURE YOU'D READ IT. I'VE BEEN SAVING IT UP FOR A LONG TIME. TEDDY IS PAYING FOR IT, ANYWAY, AND ASKS ME TO INCLUDE HIS REGARDS. TEDDY IS TAKING A VACATION FROM HIS BUSINESS AND IS CARRYING HIS CHECK BOOK AND FOUNTAIN PEN. TEDDY SAYS YOUR PRETTY LITTLE BLACK METAL BOX FROM UNDER YOUR SILK PAJAMAS IS ALL MINE. TEDDY SAYS HE DOESN'T WANT TO SEE ANYTHING YOU EVER TOUCHED. TEDDY IS BEING SILLY ABOUT THAT, I THINK, BUT I DON'T MIND. TEDDY SAYS NUTS TO YOU. I SAY SO TOO. NUTS TO YOU.       MARTHA

“Bad news, sir?”

“What?”

I started and looked down at the clerk,

“Bad news, sir?”

“No—uh—I—I—just a—”

“Sorry, sir.” Again the gracious smile. “I thought from your face that it was bad news.” He raised his head to look past me. “Front!” A bell hop came forward swiftly. “Your luggage, sir?”

“What?”

“Your lug—?”

“Oh. Uh, I haven't got any. I was just—”

A different kind of smile. The lips bunched up in a pout. The cheeks two high little peaks.

“Sorry, sir. We'll have to ask for payment in advance, then.”

The bell hop looked at me. The clerk looked at me.

“All right. I'll—” I started to reach for my wallet and then I remembered. “Wuh, uh, I'll tell you. Never mind. I've changed my—” I held up the telegram. “Bad news. I've gotta get back to New York right away.”

I walked through the lobby and out into the street. There was a slight breeze. It rustled the telegram in my hands and made it crackle. I looked down at it stupidly.

“Paper, mister?”

I shook my head at the kid and glanced up. I was facing a huge clock on a steel post in front of a jewelry store. The minute hand gave a warning click and jumped forward to twenty-four minutes after eight. I looked around quickly. There was a drugstore on the corner. I ran down the block, entered the store, and went into a phone booth. I called the operator.