A guy getting out of prison figures he needs two things right away: a drink and a dame. I’d made that mistake the last time I walked out the gate. This time I had it figured.
I was already thirty-eight and had been in prison more than half those years, from reform school to the state penitentiary. The parole board would take an unfavorable attitude if I came back again. Besides, my last fall was a bum rap.
I’d been in a bar and Chicago Harry, who had done time in five states, offered me a ride home. I was drunk enough not to notice how drunk he was. I fell asleep as soon as I climbed into the car and didn’t come to until sirens were screaming around us. Harry had stopped and held up a gas station. The attendant set off a hidden alarm, and we were caught before we got six blocks. At the trial, the kid swore I was in the car with the motor running while Harry pulled the job. I got two to ten.
When I got out, I wanted to stay out. I was getting too old to keep starting over at the bottom. If I went back to my old life it would only be a matter of time. I figured if I stayed away from drinking and women, I’d have a chance. So I came up with my plan.
Rule one was no drinking in bars. I’d buy a pint and have a few when I got home from the lousy job my parole officer had lined up for me. With only a pint I couldn’t get into any trouble. By staying away from bars, I also would not meet any broads to lead me to more booze and more trouble. This only half-solved the problem, since I didn’t really want to stay away from women. That’s where the second part of my plan came in. I ran an ad in the personal column of the newspaper. I spent a long time getting it just right:
Middle-aged male, wrongfully convicted, just released after five years, desires to meet liberal-minded female with means $$$$. Contact by phone. 555–3214. Ask for Big John.
When the paper came out, the hall phone in the boarding house rang twice. The first time, the dame was young, drunk and sounded like trouble even over a few miles of wire. I got rid of her fast.
The second call was from Bunco Bill, who wanted to know what I was up to, how much the take would be, what his share was, and when I got out –- in that order. He laughed when I said I was going legit. We’d known each other nearly twenty years. Bill knew more about me than the police blotter, and his information could put me away where the parole board would never find me, but Bill played the percentages and kept his eye and hand out for the easy buck. The fact that his hand was always in someone else’s bag showed just how shrewd he was. He didn’t risk his neck or freedom by pulling jobs. He was content with his cut for brainwork.
I still owed him a bundle for his help on the job I pulled twelve years ago. He wasn’t happy when I got picked up before I could pay off, and he was even less happy when the take vanished with the broad in whose apartment I had hidden it. Bill’s memory was long when it came to money, and the five years I’d just done hadn’t dimmed it. I stalled him by promising to stop by in a couple of days.
It was almost noon when the phone rang again.
"Hello?" It was gruffer than I meant it to be. I was edgy from waiting.
"Hello. Is Big John there?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Amy Valdish."
I felt a stir of excitement. My tone softened. "This is him."
"I’m calling… I saw your ad in the personals."
Phase two of my plan called for a slow and easy buildup. Amy Valdish…she sounded middle-aged and lonely.
"I’d like to talk to you," she said.
I reviewed the steps of phase two. "Do you want to talk on the phone, Miss Valdish, or should we meet somewhere?"
"I think we should meet." She didn’t correct my use of Miss.
"How about the Armand Hotel coffee shop? You pick a time. Then if you change your mind you don’t have to show."
"I wouldn’t do that." She sounded pretty sure of herself. "Is two o’clock too soon?"
"It’s fine."
"How will I know you?"
"I’ll tell the hostess I’m waiting for you. She can point me out and you can make up your mind. I’ll wait until two-thirty."
"I’ll be there at two," she said.
At the Armand, I sat by the window with my back to the door. She’d see my best angle first. No one had ever accused me of being handsome, but I had a rugged quality that seemed to appeal to women. I’d picked up fifteen extra pounds sitting in a cell, but the cut of the blue sport coat hid them. My angular face could be called strong instead of tough, and the streaks of gray the last five years had given my hair added a touch dignity. At least I liked to think so.
I studied the reflections in the glass. I made out the doorway and the girl in yellow who was seating people. A gray blur joined her and I concentrated on it as they came toward me. The hostess pulled out the other chair. I looked up.
The gray suit was perfectly tailored, no rack job. The sparkling pin on the lapel was real diamonds. She wore a sheer scarf at her throat, but under it I could see the wrinkles time had drawn. She was past forty and probably had been pretty once. She still wasn’t bad, but her face was set in hard lines. Her hair was gray enough to look frosted. Her eyes were lavender in the reflected light from the street, or maybe it was the scarf.
I smiled. She sat, putting her hands on the table palms down, like a teacher waiting for the class to come to attention. Her fingers were long and thin and a huge diamond ring looked top heavy. She seemed unaware of it or my quick appraisal.
"Miss Valdish?"
"Yes. I told you I would come."
"I’m glad you did." I kept my voice low. "My name is John Collins."
"How do you do?"
I laughed softly at her automatic politeness, and it got a twitch of a smile from her. I began to feel a little confident, but not enough to forget phase two. "You’re wondering what my ad is all about, aren’t you?"
She looked right at me. "Yes."
I waited while the girl poured her coffee and refilled my cup. Amy shook her head when the waitress offered a menu.
"I’ll explain," I said. "Don’t say anything until I finish."
She sat back and waited. Slowly, in a voice that didn’t carry past the table, I told her my story. When I finished, I lifted my hands in a gesture of defeat. "I got two to ten and served five years in the state pen." I glanced out the window and then back at her. "I’m going to level with you. I have the feeling you’re the kind of woman who appreciates complete honesty. This wasn’t my first rap."
She never even blinked.
"I did six years, three months and eighteen days on a burglary rap twelve years ago." I frowned. "That’s why I didn’t have a chance this time. A guy can prove he was someplace else and have ten witnesses to back his story, but it doesn’t cut ice with the judge or jury. Once you have a record, you’re guilty, no matter what."
The diamond on her finger sent arrows of light across the table. "You were with the holdup man," she said.
I nodded. "But I wasn’t in on the job. I told the truth at the trial, for all the good it did."
"Didn’t the other man tell the police you were innocent?"
"The word of an ex-con caught red-handed in a heist?" I laughed. "I was violating my parole just being with him." I traced a pattern on the tablecloth. "That’s the hard part of getting out. You’re not supposed to have anything to do with other ex-cons, the honest Johns on the street won’t have anything to do with you." I looked up. "That’s why I put the ad in the paper."
"To meet someone who was not an ex-convict?"
"Right. I can make a few bucks as a dishwasher or dock loader, but that’s not how I want to spend he rest of my life. Last time I got out I worked at the crummy jobs people are willing to give ex-cons and all I met were other ex-cons." I shrugged. "How could I meet anyone else? When I went up for parole this time, I knew if I went back to slopping dishes I’ve be in trouble before I knew it." My voice dropped. "I can’t take being locked up again."
She leaned forward. "Why did you advertise for a woman of means?" The words were little chips of ice floating in the silence. At least she didn’t beat around the bush.
I didn’t either. "I want a woman who can help me financially until I get on my feet." We both weighed the statement and each other. "In return I’ll escort her wherever she wants to go, be on call for anything she needs. When I make it, I’ll pay back every penny she’s invested in me -- with interest." I paused. "I just need someone to believe in me."
She looked at me. "I believe in you, Mr. Collins."
I smiled. "It was lucky for me you saw my ad, Miss Valdish… Amy. I don’t want you to make a hasty decision. Think about it."
She set down her cup. "I already have. I wouldn’t have called otherwise. Everyone is entitled to a second chance. To make mistakes is human, John. I’ve made some too, and as a result I’m lonely." Her gaze didn’t waiver. "I was married for short time, but it didn’t work out. Since then I’ve had companions and housekeepers, but they were very dull. The company of a man as an escort should be far more satisfactory."
It seemed odd that she had to buy friends, but I wasn’t going to argue. She was exactly what I had described in my ad.
The next day I moved into the huge house two miles outside of town. It was a relic, full of crystal and silver, Oriental rugs and antiques. Except for a woman who came in every day but Thursday to cook and clean, we were alone. If Amy worried about gossip, it didn’t show.
It took a while to settle into the new life I’d found. At first I kept being surprised by Amy’s easy acceptance of things I’d only dreamed existed. We ate in the long dining room by candlelight, used sterling silver and bone china. After dinner, we sat in front of the fireplace drinking brandy from snifters the size of flowerpots. I smoked hand-rolled cigars she bought me, wore the brocaded smoking jacket she’d chosen. When she decided, we went upstairs, and when she said so, I spent an hour or two in her room before I went to sleep in my own. It was as if she had waited a long time for me. She was a demanding lover, but I didn’t object. At forty-odd, she wasn’t bad; and at thirty-eight, I finally had it made.
Amy may have been lonely before I came along, but it didn’t take me long to realize that she wasn’t weak. She knew what she wanted and she got it. She organized my life completely, filling the hours with the things she wanted to do. She didn’t refer to my past. The question of finding me a job never came up, and I didn’t mention it.
I drove her to town in the sleek black sedan a couple of times a week; she shopped often and she wasn’t stingy. She bought me suits, coats and shoes to fill a closet. She watched my diet and my waistline began to slim down. We went to concerts, art showrooms, the Garden Club meetings. She really liked having me near her. She had a way of curling her fingers on my arm as though I were part of her. Once I pulled away and the quick flash of anger in her eyes showed me she didn’t like it. Her fingers seemed tighter after that, and I never pulled away again. Living with her was a lot better than a cell or that lousy boardinghouse. I could put up with her possessiveness in exchange for my new role as gentleman of leisure.
The only work I did was to putter in the garden or greenhouse. Amy was proud of her flowers and very fussy about them. A regular gardening service came in once a week and kept everything in top shape, but I liked to breathe the fresh air and feel the sun on my back. Also, it was the only time I ever got away from Amy for more than a minute or two.
I’d been there about two months when Bunco Bill called. Amy handed me the receiver with a scowl. Nobody had phoned me before, and she didn’t like the change in pattern.
"Hello?"
"Long time no see, Big John. How’s it going?" Bunco’s gravelly voice was cool but firm.
I glanced through the archway to the living room to make sure Amy was out of ear shot. "Okay, Bill. What can I do for you?" As if I had ask.
"There’s a little matter we should talk over," he said.
"I don’t think that’s a good idea," I answered quickly.
He laughed. "I do. I was thinking maybe I should come over and introduce myself to your lady friend. From what I hear she’s got quite a place there, and you ain’t hurtin’ none."
I lowered my voice to a whisper. "It’s not what you think, Bill. I’m playing it straight."
He snorted. "So am I, Big John. I want my dough and I want it now."
"I can’t –"
"Think about it, Big John. With your smarts, you’ll find a way. Suppose I come out there to see you– say tomorrow morning about ten?"
"I can’t do anything that fast!"
"Find a way," he said coldly, "or I’ll find it for you." The phone clicked.
It was several minutes before I replaced the receiver and returned to the living room. I avoided Amy’s eyes.
"Who was that?" she demanded.
I had trouble getting the words out. "A guy I used to know."
"Obviously. What ‘guy.’ As you so crudely put it?"
I poured the brandy and handed her a glass. My hand shook a little and my brain was on overtime trying to come up with an answer that would satisfy her without cutting my own throat. "He helped me out once, and I owe him some money."
The silence was harder than her look. I tried again. "I’m sorry, Amy, but it’s the truth. I didn’t make any excuses for the kind of life I led before I met you. Bunco Bill was part of that life, and he thinks I should pay off my debt."
"You have a new life now, John. I won’t tolerate any ties with your old one."
I frowned. "Bill sees things differently."
Her eyes glittered. "How much do you owe him?"
I sipped the brandy, swirling the glass slowly between my palms. "He figures ten grand." I kept my eyes on the dark liquid in my glass. I heard her soft indrawn breath and waited.
"And how do you figure?" There was a tight band of anger in her tone.
I looked up and shrugged. "In cash, he only put up a couple of hundred bucks. But he considered it an investment – one that should have paid off. It wasn’t his fault the deal fell through."
A log fell in the grate and a shower of sparks flared against the fire screen. The tiny lights reflected in her eyes. She stared at me for a long time. Then she put the brandy glass on the table and went to the desk. She took out the steel box where she kept the household money, unlocked it and came back to me with some bills.
"I assume your ‘friend’ made some arrangements to collect his money. Give him this." She fanned the money and I saw there were five century notes. "Tell him it pays your actual debt and some interest. It’s all he’s going to get. He’d better be satisfied with it. Make sure he knows this is the only pay off. I want him to leave you alone. He’s not to call or contact you again in any way. You have no ties at all with your past anymore. See that he understands it." She dropped the bills in my lap and walked out. She paused in the doorway and looked over her shoulder. "I’ll wait for you upstairs."
I pocketed the dough. I was surprised at how easily she’d given to me. Maybe her idea would work; maybe Bill would settle for the cash. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try. Besides, I didn’t have any choice. I finished my brandy and poked the logs to the back of the fireplace before I turned out the lights and went up to her.
In the morning I was up early. I watched at the front window, hoping Amy wouldn’t come down before Bill got there. I spotted him walking up the drive and went out to intercept him. He looked a little surprised when I steered him into the greenhouse. He kept looking over my shoulder toward the kitchen door.
"You got my ten gee’s?" he asked.
I shook my head. "There’s no way, Bill. You’re asking the impossible."
His experienced eye took in the rows of plants, the air-conditioning unit in the corner, the garden beyond the glass walls. He was adding their value to that of the house and the cost of its upkeep. I wasn’t conning him. He'd probably checked and knew more about Amy’s bank account than I did.
I tried to fast-talk my way out. "Look, Bill, all my life I’ve wanted a sweet spot like this. Hell, for the first time I’m on easy street." I dug into my pocket and pulled out the five hundreds and waved them under his nose. "Here, take this. There’s no way I can come up with the dough that stupid broad ran off with. She’s got that spent long ago. And I ain’t pulling any more jobs and risking more time." I avoided his cold glance. "I like the set up here, but if you push too hard, I’ll have to move on."
"I’ll find you wherever you go, Big John."
I tried to look unconcerned. "What good will it do if I’m broke? I haven’t got the dough, and there’s no way I can get it."
Bill’s eyes swept around the layout. I knew what he was thinking.
"That won’t work either," I said quickly. "When she gave me the five hundred, she said that was it."
He looked at the expensive slacks and the monogrammed sport shirt I was wearing.
"She handles all the money," I added.
He reached for a cigar from his pocket and spat the end toward a shelf of seedlings. "Listen, Big John, and listen good. You have found yourself a gold mine and you’d better start working it. I’ll be back in two weeks for the next installment. You should be able to come across with a grand every couple of weeks."
"Two weeks! I can't do anything that fast!"
"You’ll think of something," he said with a cold smile. "Your lady friend has plenty of jewelry. She wouldn’t miss a few pieces. Otherwise, the cops may uncover a few facts they’ve overlooked before and you could wind up back in the joint." He clamped the cigar between his teeth and his hand snaked out for the five hundred. "I’ll be back two weeks from Monday." He walked out.
I watched until he was out of sight beyond the high hedge. I jumped at a small sound behind me, but there was nothing. The kitchen door was closed tight and the garden was empty. My nerves were jumpy.
They didn’t get any better the next two weeks. Every time I walked past the silver coffee service on the buffet, my palms began to sweat. When Amy dressed to go out, I could hardly take my eyes off the diamond earrings and rings she put on; but there was no way I could meet Bill’s demand. Amy had been just as positive in hers, and I was caught between them. Even if I had found the nerve to try to take something from the house, I was never alone long the enough to try it.
Amy didn’t mention Bill again. It was as though the matter were settled and wiped from her mind. However, she watched me with a new kind of possessiveness that made me uneasy.
Then the deadline Bill had set passed and I began to relax a little. He hadn’t phoned or come back. Maybe I had convinced him after all. Maybe the long shot was paying off.
On Thursday I was whistling as I walked into the greenhouse. Amy was standing at the sink washing her hands. Her gloves and a basket of pink and white peonies lay on the counter. She looked up. "I thought some flowers would brighten the house."
I’d have cut them if you’d asked."
"It’s such a lovely morning, I wanted some fresh air. By the way, I saw some aphids on the roses. We’d better not wait for the gardener. You’ll have to spray the bushes right away." She turned to inspect a shelf of cans and bottles. "Yes, I knew I still had it. There," she pointed, "use that. The directions are on the label."
I lifted down the can with the poison warning under the skull and crossbones. She picked up her basket and started for the house. "Do a good job, John. The roses are coming along so beautifully, I’d hate to lose them."
By the time I finished spraying, the sun was overhead and the day he had grown hot. I left my dirty shoes by the door and walked stocking-footed across the kitchen. I heard a murmur of voices, and when I walked into the living room, I stopped in my tracks. Sitting across from Amy, looking very comfortable in the gold velvet chair, was Bunco Bill.
He grinned and lifted his coffee cup with his little finger stuck straight out. "Hello, Big John. Nice to see you again."
I stared. I knew then that he had phoned, but Amy had taken the call. I looked at her.
"We’ve been having a chat," she said carefully. "Go change those gardening clothes and join us."
I was back in less than ten minutes.
"Anyone who’s done time knows the problems a man faces when he gets out," Bill was saying.
Amy frowned but looked interested. "And you think a halfway house is the solution?"
Bill lifted his shoulders. "There’s no quick cure, but if the men have a place where people understand them, they have a better chance. They need time to get on their feet and find work. If they're broke and lonely, they drift right back into crime."
"And you think ten thousand dollars is enough to set up the program?"
So that was it! He was trying to con her out of the money I owed him. He didn’t trust me to get it! For a minute I was mad, then the tension eased. If he got the dough, maybe he’d leave me alone–and Amy had plenty more. Maybe it was a way out. I couldn’t be responsible for what he did with the money once he left.
Bill sipped his coffee before he answered. "For a start."
Then I knew this was only the beginning. I could hear the wheels turning in his skull, counting the dollars he could milk from Amy. He’d never be content with a slice if he could grab the loaf.
Amy lifted a plate of iced cakes and held them out to him. "Try one of these. I made them myself." She glanced at me. "None for you, John. We don’t want to spoil your diet now that you’re doing so well on it."
I felt Bill’s quick glance of amusement, but he let it go. He bit off half the cake in one bite.
"What do you think about a halfway house, John?" "Amy asked.
I hid behind my coffee cup and tried to think. I was still thinking hard when Bill’s cup clattered from his hand and a dark stain of coffee trailed down the front of his coat. His face twisted horribly behind the flecks of cake crumbs clinging to his lips. He tried to get up but his body jerked forward and he fell to the floor. He doubled up and each breath squeezed from his lungs in a painful gasp. His eyes searched mine for a second, then closed. He twitched and was still.
Amy looked at me. "He won’t bother us anymore, John."
I was still looking at Bill.
"I think it would be wise to bury him in the garden. Near the roses, perhaps."
My mouth opened but no sound came out.
"Don’t dig too close to the Crimson Glories. They’re doing so well now." She glanced at my clothes. "You’ll have to change again."
I couldn’t move. She had murdered Bill in cold blood for a lousy ten grand! I stared at her. No, not for ten grand, to keep me! She’d heard Bill and me in the greenhouse that morning, and she wasn’t taking any chances on letting me slip away.
If I buried Bill I would be an accomplice to murder. A film of sweat coated my neck. Suddenly the easy life didn’t seem worth it. Robbery is one thing, but murder–
Amy’s eyes were like amethysts, hard and cold. "Do as I say, John. We wouldn’t want the police."
I wasn’t so sure.
"It might be difficult to explain how your friend died, especially with your fingerprints on that can of poison." Her mouth carved a smile across her face. "Go now, but don’t be long. We’re due at the Garden Club at two." Her eyes held mine. "It’s a pity he didn’t believe you really have a whole new life."
In the greenhouse I saw the can of poison was gone. I wondered about the Crimson Glories and the husband who hadn’t been around very long. I got a shovel from the tool shed and dragged Bill between the rows of potted plants. The sun slanting through the frames of the roof was as cold as it had ever been through steel bars.