Transcript

Chapter 8 · Bullet Proof

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Chapter eight of bullet Proof by Frank Kane. The Slibrivox recordings in the public
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domain read by Ben Tucker. Chapter eight, Lidell doused the light in the
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room, walked over to the window, slid it up. The fire escape
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landing was about four feet from the window opening into the adjoining room. He
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slid one leg over the sill, found a tiny cornice, leaned his weight
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on it experimentally, then carefully hooking the toe of his left foot inside the
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window jam, he leaned slowly toward the fire escape. After what seemed an
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eternity, he felt the cold metal touch his finger tips, wiggled farther forward
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until he could grab the landing with both hands. Then releasing his foot from
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the window, his body swung dizzily toward the fire escape. A minute later,
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he sat panting on the landing. He dried the palms of his hands
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along the side of his thighs, looked down into the alley below. As
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he watched, he saw the guard's cigarette redden to a bright dot and fade.
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He strained his eyes against the darkdarkness, failed to make out the shape
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of the man below. Hoped he was equally invisible, keeping as close to
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the wall as possible. Lidel felt his way down the stairs to the third
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floor landing. The window was dark. Carefully, he tried it, breathed
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a sigh of relief as it slid quietly up. He threw a leg over
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the sill, followed it into the room, closed the window behind him.
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The room was apparently used as an office of sorts. A large desk took
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up most of the room. The walls were lined with what appeared to be
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filing cabinets. Lidel felt his way carefully around the desk toward the door,
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opened at a crack, applied his eye to it. The hallway was empty,
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but at the far end, commanding a view of it, he could
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see the guard sitting his chair tilted back against the wall. Lydell swore under
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his breath. Closed the door noiselessly. He felt through his pockets, came
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up with a paper package of matches, scratched one. Looked around. On
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the far side of the desk was a door. He held the match,
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walked to the door, burnt his finger dropped the match at the door.
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He placed against it, listened. There was no sound from the room beyond.
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He caught the door knob, turned it carefully, pulled the door open
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a crack. A man was sitting in a large, over stuffed chair,
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facing away from him. He held a phone against his ear. A cigar
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clinched between his teeth waggled when he talked. Lidell had a clear view of
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the pouting lips, the fat neck that bulged over the tight collar. He
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pulled the forty five from its holster, waited until the fat man had knotted
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into the phone, dropped it back on its hook with a grunt. Cupola
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was holding a match to the cigar when Lidel stepped into the room. His
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forty five pointed at the fat man's stomach. Hello, Frankie Lydell, greeted
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him. The fat man turned his head laboriously. The cigar that had been
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standing at right angles to his pouting lips suddenly drooped. The rolls of fat
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around his neck bellowed as his jaw dropped. His pig like little eyes receated
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behind their discolored pouches flashed a combination of hate and fear. Where is this?
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He growled? His voice was heavy, blubbery, as though choked by
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the fat around his neck. Is that a nice way? To talk to
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a guy who went through all the trouble I've gone through to see you,
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Frankie, The fat Man started a sneer. You don't even know what trouble
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is yet, Lydell kept the muzzle of the forty five pointed at the fat
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Man's belt, circled in front of him, took up a position with his
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back to the wall near the hall door. You're scaring me to death,
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The fat man squinted at him, scowled. Who are you? And what's
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the idea? My name's Lidell mean anything to you? Not a thing?
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Lydel grinned tightly. It must have. The other night you tried to part
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my hair with a Tommy gun. I kept Skota as a souvenir. Remember.
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The fat Man's face drooped, his lower lips sagged, showing the discolored
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stumps of his bottom teeth. The pinkness left his face, leaving the sacking
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jaws of muddy white. I know what you're talking about, you will,
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Lydell promised, we'll take a little ride to clear your head. Coppola said
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nothing, rolled his cigar between thumb and forefinger, stared fixedly at Lidel.
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First, we call your boy in from the hall. The fat Man continued
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to regard Lydel with sinister eyes, his eyelids drooping until the eyes themselves were
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mere slits. He made no move Lydel grinned frostily. Course, I don't
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have to talk to you. I could just blast you where you're sitting.
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I get out the same way I got in, but you wouldn't be going
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any place. Capola's face sprouted a crop of globules of sweat that gleamed wetly
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in the light. He looked down at his pudgy white hands, played with
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a diamond ring on his fourth finger. Okay, suppose I do go along,
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then what depends. I've got a lot of questions I want answered.
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You tell me the answers, and that's all I want with you. How
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do I know you're not gonna blast me as soon as I tell you what
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you want to know? Lydel shrugged. You don't, but you're sure of
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getting it if you make me do it the heart hard way. Ask them
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here too many distractions. Lydel shook his head motioned with the forty five get
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the gunzel in here, as the fat Man's pudgy hand moved toward a button
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on the wall. Lydel stopped him. Don't forget Frankie if you tip him
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in any way. If he comes in shooting, you won't be around to
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get the score. Cupola wiped the red smear of his mouth, nodded,
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jabbed at the button. He returned his hands to his lap, crossed them
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across his stomach, settled back to wait. Lydell flattened back against the wall.
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As forty five trained on the man in the chair, A strange smile
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paceded on his face. They both started. When the rap came on the
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door. The fat Man's eyes rolled to Lidel, who nodded, come in.
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Cupola ordered the door opened. The man in the camel's hair coat and
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gray Fedora walked in, closed the door behind him. When he saw Lydell,
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his hand streaked for his right lapel froze with his fingertips inches from the
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butt of his gun. How'd you get in here? He growled. I
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borrowed a pair of wings from that ferry in the lobby and flew in.
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Lydell grunted, turn around and keep those hands up where I can watch him.
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The guard turned around, faced the wall, gave no resistance when Lydel
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fanned him, relieved him of a snub nose thirty eight. Now what,
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Frankie, Capola demanded, You and I go for a ride. Frankie the
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Fat Man sneered, that's what you think. There's a guard down in the
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lobby and there's no way I can call him up here, and there's another
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one down in the alley. So how do we get out? Hang around,
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Frankie and I'll show you, Lydell told him. With one motion,
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he knocked the fedora from the guard's head, chopped the barrel of the forty
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five above his right ear, stood back as the man slid to the floor.
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Now on your feet, fat boy. The Fat Man looked at the
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unconscious guard with disbelieving eyes, pulled himself out of the chair. He permitted
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Lydell to get behind him relieve him of a luger, which Lydell transferred to
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his own pocket. Two bad hoes in that chair and couldn't get at it,
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Capola growled. Lydell was unimpressed. If you couldn't do any better with
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this than you can do with a tommy gun, it wouldn't have done you
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much good. He jammed the snout of the forty five into the fat Man's
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side, propelled him to the door. Stand there, face on the wall,
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Frankie, it might help your memory. He leaned down, stripped the
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camel's hair coat from the guard, picked up the gray fedora, set it
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on the top of his head, the brim parallel to his eyes. Let's
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get going, Frankie. Where down the hall to the third door from the
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end. We'll use the escape hatch. He could feel the fat man stiffened.
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Yeah, the one you use for raids. The fat Man's shoulders drooped
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as the fight seeped out of him. Okay, shame I here hold the
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aces. The concealed stairway leading from the third floor of the hotel Sert came
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out in a courtyard that opened on forty sixth Street and the yard. A
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large black sedan was parked, whose car. Lydell wanted to know mine,
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get into it. The fat man hesitated, the forty five, boring into
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his side, prodded him forward. He slid in behind the wheel. Lydell
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slid in beside him. The forty five jabbed into the fat man's side.
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Where are we going? He breathed, noisily. Your place. The fat
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Man's face gleamed wetly in the dim light as he turned to face lydel my
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place. It'll be the last place they'll think of looking for you when your
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boy comes to life and tells them you've been snatched. That way, we
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won't be interrupted. I o' live a load. I've got a shack up
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deal, Ladil, grunted, Lucky girl. He jabbed the snout of the
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gun deeper into the fat man's side, brought a gasp from the pouting lips.
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You'll be able to persuade her to leave us alone. I'm bet you're
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a hard man with the ladies. Get this heap moving. Cupola kicked the
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motor to life, eased the big car up the alley out to forty six.
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He swung left on forty six to six, turned north to Central Park
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South, pulled the car up in front of a modern apartment house facing on
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the park. Is it, he gurgled Lydell nodded, pull the car up
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a block or two. We don't want to advertise where you are. Besides,
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the exercise will do you good, put you in the right mood to
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do some talking. Don't count on it, Lidell. They fitted the big
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sedan between two other black cars and a row of parked cars a block east
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of Capola's apartment house. Walked back. Lydell stayed a pace behind the fat
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man. The forty five pointed unwaveringly at the small of his back. They
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took the automatic elevator to the fourth floor, walked down a carpeted corridor to
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a door marked four seat. The name on the bell was Claire Rhodes.
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Lydell looked at the fat man, inquiringly. It's the broad's name, Capola
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growled. He started to go for the keys in his pocket, groaned when
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the lydel jabbed the snout of the gun into his already tender back. Stay
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away from the pockets, the fat man glared, I'm gettin my keys.
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Knock. The fat Man's jowls quivered their indignation, but he did as he
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was told. Inside they could hear the sound of a woman's high heels tapping
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across the floor. Then, who's there? Who are you? Expected?
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Opened it up? Cupola growled. The door swung open. A tall brunette
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with a vacuously pretty face stood in the doorway. Why didn't you use your
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key, Frankie? I her Hazel eyes flowed past. Cupola fastened on Lidell.
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That's not Mickey, what's wrong, Frankie. The fat man put his
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hand against the woman's shoulder, shoved, sent her reeling into the room.
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You talk too much, he growled. Lidell followed them into the living room,
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closed the door behind them. He pulled the forty five from his pocket,
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held it in full view. Anybody else in the place, he asked.
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The girl made an ineffectual attempt to pull her negligee around her shook her
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head. The blood had drained from her face, leaving in a transparent ivory,
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her make up standing out like blotches on her skin. Her hand was
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at her throat, as though to stifle the scream that was rising. There
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no noise, Baby Liedel told her, nobody's gonna get hurt. The fat
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boy here and I have some business to talk over, private business. He's
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going to tie you in the bedroom until we're finished. I'm damned if i
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you. Capola's jowls quivered light elk grinned tightly and double damned if you don't
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make it easy on yourself, fatso, and don't keep reminding me that you
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tried to use me for a shooting gallery. Capola tried to stare him down.
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Then his eyes wavered and fell. Come here, you, he snarled
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at the girl. The girl stood her ground, a faint flush of color
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returning to her cheeks. Don't let him push us around like this, Frankie,
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you're always telling me how tough you are. The fat man lashed out,
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caught her across the cheek with a sharp crack. The girl fell back,
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hand to face. Lay off the rough stuff. Copola light el growled
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for a fraction of a second, he took his eyes off. The fat
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Man was unprepared cad for the speed with which Cupola caught the girl by the
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arm, spun her into position between him and Lydel, and threw her forward.
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The girl's body caught Lydell a glancing below, throwing a momentarily off balance.
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Cupola was on top of him. Before he could regain his balance,
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lashed out with a foot at Lydell's groin, missed by inches. Lydel chopped
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at the leg with the barrel of the gun, drew a yelp of pain
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from the fat Man. He regained his balance, braced himself was ready for
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the fat Man's next lunge slammed him across the mouth with the flat of the
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barrel, smashing the pouting lips like an over ripe tomato. Cupola, howling
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with pain, lowered his head charged again. Lydell side stepped, chopped at
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the back of the fat neck caupolea hit the floor, face first, lay
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there moaning. Lydell stood over the quivering hulk on the floor, breathing hard.
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He looked over to where the brunette stood, rubbing the side of her
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face. You all right, Claire, Lydell asked. The girl nodded no,
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thanks to him. He didn't care if you shot me when he pushed
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me at you, She glared at Cupola, looked up at lilydel You won't
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have to tie me, mister. I won't make any trouble. I've waited
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too long to see someone work him over, She indicated the prostrate gunman with
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a contemptuous toss of her head. I've had to wait a long time,
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but it was worth waiting to see it done right. She leaped toward the
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bedroom door. I'll put the key on the outside. You can lock me
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in if you want to. Lydell satisfied himself that there was no extension to
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the telephone in the bedroom, no exit via a fire escape. He put
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the girl in, locked the door behind him, returned to the living room.
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Frankie Coppola was still sprawled out on the floor, face down. Okay,
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tough guy, now for the conversation. Lydell stirred him with the tip
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of his toe. When the fat Man made no move to get up,
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he caught him by the collar, dragged him to his feet, pushed him
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to a chair. The fat Man was still having trouble and focusing his eyes.
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There was a welt on the side of his face and a stream of
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blood had cascaded from the smashed lips. Who put me on that spot the
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other night? Frankie Cupola managed to arrange his battered lips in a sneer.
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I don't know what you're talking about, Lydell sighed. Don't make me do
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it the hard way, Frankie, not that I wouldn't enjoy it, but
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I haven't got the time right now. I'll ask you just once more.
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Who told you to burn me down on that corner? The fat Man ignored
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him, looked down at his white hands, played with the diamond ring on
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his finger, Lydel growled, reached over, caught a handful of fat Man's
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hair, yanked his head up until he was looking light l in the eye.
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Don't go hard to reach on me, Frankie, Lydell told him in
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a low voice. I'm gonna get the answers I want. How I get
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them depends on you. Make it easy on yourself. Capola's breath whistled between
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his smashed lips. I don't know a thing. Not very smart, are
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you, Frankie? You think you are being here, You're not getting a
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thing out, O me, Lydell grinned, bleakly. That's what makes horse
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racing fatso difference of opinion. I think you're gonna sing like a stage struck
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canary. He reversed the gun, held it by the barrel for one thing.
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If you don't talk, I'm gonna feed you this rod, but first,
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so help me. I'll leave you as toothless as the day you were
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born. Capola squeezed back against the cushions. I don't know why you were
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on the spot. Look quarters from Skoto on that one go on. The
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fat Man wiped the perspiration off his upper lip with the back of his hand.
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I just went along to give him cover. He had the contract to
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blast you who from The fat Man shook his head, agitating the rows of
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fat that wringed his neck. Oh no, what about Ricci? The fat
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man shruck so violently his chin seemed about to overflow his collar. I wasn't
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in on that one. That was Riccie's job, not mine. What's it
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all about, Frankie? Why am I on the spot? Maybe you make
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too many people hate your guts, like me for instance, Lidel snorted for
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maybe because the word is out to keep me from reopening the mat Merrit killing.
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A stubborn look of fear washed all other expression from the fat face.
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I don't know anything about it. Scota was in charge of that job.
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I just went along to give him cover. Where's Jean Merritt? Frankie,
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how do I go? Lydel put his face close to Cupola's until he could
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smell the foulness of the fat Man's breath. Because Scota took her out of
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the Hotel Westmore just before you opened up on me. Where did he take
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her? The fat man managed to smile, but the apprehension in his eyes
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persisted. Ask him, I don't know how to work ouigia boards. End
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of chapter eight,