Don't Scare Easy by Hank Janson: Epilogue.

EPILOGUE

They were gathered around me, lots of faces all staring down at me.  The guy who was nearest to looked up from his notebook and in a business-like voice asked: "Is there anything else you can remember?  Is that everything?"

"Sure," I croaked.  "That's everything."  I'd been talking a long time.  It had sapped a lot of my strength and my voice was dry.

"Sign here," said the guy with the notebook.

I signed.  They had to guide my hand because I hadn't the strength.

"I wanna drink," I said.

Two of the guys had white coats.  One was holding my wrist and the other was staring straight into my face.  The one staring straight into my face shook his head slowly.  "It won't do no good, fella," he said.  "Drinking will make it worse."

"What will be worse?" I asked.  Something was going wrong with my eyes.  Everything was so swimmy. 

"The pain," he said softly.  "Drinking will make the pain worse."

He was crazy.  He didn't know what he was talking about.  "I've got no pain," I told him.  There must have been something wrong with his hearing, because he had to lean close to catch the words.  I repeated them.  "I haven't got any pain."

The guy in the white jacket shrugged his shoulders and said loudly:  "Queer thing that.  The bullet in the head has affected his nerve impulses.  He's not getting any pain reaction.  Peculiar what a head injury can do."

"I wanna drink," I croaked.

"Let the poor devil have a drink," said somebody.

The guy in the white jacket looked doubtful. Then he shrugged.  "Might as well.  It won't make any difference, anyway.  He must used himself up.  I don't know how he had the strength to go on talking like that."

In a dim kinda way I understood then that what had been happening was all written down.  All that had happened to me was recorded on paper.

Somebody held my head, somebody else held a drinking cup to my lips.  It wasn't any good.  The whisky didn't make me any less thirsty.  It ran down my throat like beads of mercury rolling across a dusty floor.  No moisture, no soothing quality.

No soothing quality!  A great sob rolled up from inside me.  Without knowing how, I knew I'd lost the one important thing in my life.

There was no more Nick!

I would never again hear his soft, soothing voice telling me to take it easy.  There was a great hole where my heart had been.  The world was empty, and I was full of misery.  There could never be happiness for me again.  Only this unbearable loneliness and intolerable misery.  I wanted Nick.  I needed Nick.  I wanted him and he could never soothe me again.

"He's crying," said somebody.

Imagine that!  Somebody else feeling sad, too, crying the way I wanted to cry.  Hell, I needed Nick!  The words choked in my throat.  "Nick," I pleaded, "I want Nick!"

They were bending over close to me.  "He's asking for somebody," a voice said.

"Nick," I croaked.  "I want Nick."

"Can you beat that?" somebody said.  "The guy's crying for the fella he bumped off."

The white-jacketed guy said softly:  "Leave him alone.  He's not himself.  He hasn't been for a long while.  He's not got long…"  His voice tailed off before I could hear what it was I hadn't got long for.

"About that dame," said a different voice.  "She still keeps asking.  We've got all we want from her now.  Can we let her see him - get it over with?"

There was confusion, people moving around, faces swooping down, looming large, peering at me and receding rapidly.  Suddenly one of the faces was hers;  soft, tender eyes filled with tears.  Her soft voice said: "Joey, Joey!  Look at me, Joey!"

"I want Big Nick," I croaked.

"Joey!" she said again, and all her voice was a sob.

I felt warmed and comforted.  It wasn't like it was with Big Nick, a warm softness inside me that swelled whenever he spoke to me, making me feel good through and through.  It was not the same.  But it helped.

"Say it again," I whispered.

"Joey," she whispered with a break in her voice.

I could see the tears streaming down her cheeks.  But the softness of her voice warmed me so that I was almost happy.

"Say it again," I pleaded.  "Say it again, say it again."

"Joey," she said.

"You'd better go now," a voice whispered softly.  "He's going to sleep."

"The dopes!"  I thought vaguely.  "The dumb-bells!  They think I'm sleeping!"

I closed my eyes.  I felt good now.  It was crazy to talk of being in pain.  Why should I feel pain?

I wasn't worried any more.  I knew Nick was gonna be around.  I'd had a bad dream.  I thought I'd lost Nick.  But that was crazy.  Nick and me was gonna be around together quite a deal from now on.

Don't Scare Easy by Hank Janson: Chapter Eleven

I was pleased Nick got married.  It made him happy and anything that made Nick happy made me happy, too.

Sheila was happy also.  You only had to look at her sparkling eyes and see the tender look on her face when she looked at Nick to know how happy she was.

None of us saw so much of Nick these days.  Most of the time spent going around with Sheila.  Maxie and Whitey began to complain he wasn't paying enough attention to business.  Business was getting more and more difficult, too.  Collecting the takings became a weary job.  All the guys we collected from beefed like hell about the way the papers were campaigning against vice and the way the Feds were making themselves a nuisance.

The news-sheets said the Government were taking a stern view of conditions in our town.  Another dozen Feds had arrived recently to widen the search for the murderer of Bannister.  They didn't seem to be getting anywhere, and I figured they must be wasting their time, because a couple of them were hanging around outside the night club day and night, doing nothing except following Nick wherever he went.

Those Feds were determined to cause trouble, and finally they did.  The newspapers came out with the news first.  A little later Nick's phone was ringing continuously and guys were calling.

Nick said it was serious.  Washington had decided to hold a Congressional investigation into the affairs of our town.  Imagine that!  The whole of America to monkey with and they had to choose our town!

Nick was angry.  But he was quiet and efficient as he answered telephone calls, interviewed collectors; sent me, Maxie and Whitey around to all our usual agencies, telling them to drop everything.

"It's gonna cost us dough," he told us.  "But everything's gonna stop right from now.  Let them send their investigators.  They won't find a thing.  They can investigate to their hearts' content and turn the town inside out.  They won't find a thing and will have to give us a whitewash certificate.  We'll lie low for a while and start up again later."

A coupla days later the Congressional committee arrived with an army of Government agents.  They didn't scare anyone.  You couldn't buy a numbers ticket in town if you wanted to.  Madame had a "Private Hotel" board stuck up outside her joint and the girls were talking a well-earned holiday in Florida.  The pool rooms along the main street were just pool rooms, and we had a coupla warehouses stuffed with one-arm bandits, oiled and greased and stacked ready for use at a later date.

There was still the night club.  Nick claimed he ran on the level.  There were no worries there.  And to celebrate the arrival of the Congressmen, Nick threw a dinner for all of us that evening in his own night club, even invited me.

It was a swell dinner, good food and good music.  Maybe I wasn't quite so happy as I could have been on account Nick said I wasn't to drink champagne.  But it was good, just the same.  It was good just to see Sheila and Nick looking so happy.

And then, halfway through the dinner, everything changed.  I have a way of knowing these things.  I could tell there was tension in the air.  They were talking about the Congressional enquiry, Nick making jokes about it.  Sheila asked suddenly:  "I suppose all this started on account of that policeman that was killed?"

There was a kinda frozen silence.  Nick said quickly:  "Have some more champagne."

She accepted it, smiled prettily and added laughingly: "I don't like policemen."

Maxie said with feeling: "Me neither."

I haven't had much to do with them."  said Sheila.  "There was that nasty man the other day, the Federal agent.  He was dreadful.  Then there was that other policeman.  The one who was arresting me; the one you took me away from."

There was again a kinda paralysed silence.  Nick said quickly: "D'you want to dance, honey?"

Whitey asked equally quickly: "the cop we got you away from?"  There was disbelief in his voice and sudden realisation, too.

"Surely you remember?" she said.  "He was taking me to the police station when Nick came along and stopped him."  She smiled at Nick gratefully.  "I think I fell in love with you right then, Nick," she told him.

Nick's face was white.  It took and effort to give her a reassuring smile, pat her hand.

Whitey said in a kinda cracked voice: "You remember that cop, Sheila?"

"I'll never forget it," she told him.  "It was a dreadful experience.  I thought I'd die."

Whitey asked cunningly: "Have you seen him around lately?"

"I never want to see him again," she shuddered.  "Once was enough."

Whitey persisted: "Would you recognise him again if you saw him?  Saw a photograph of him, for example?"

"I expect so," she said.  "It wouldn't be easy to forget him."  Then she crinkled her brow.  "Why all this interest?"

Whitey sat back in his chair and gave his mean, twisted grin.  "Nothing to it," he drawled.  "Just idle curiosity."  But when she wasn't looking he gave Nick a glance that was evil and calculating.

From that time onwards there was tension in the atmosphere.  It spoiled the party.  It made me unhappy.  Then when the cabaret was finished and we all went upstairs to bed, Whitey grabbed me by the shoulder and rasped into my ear: "I wanna see you, Joey."

Nick said goodnight and escorted Sheila into his apartment.  The rest of us walked to our rooms farther along the corridor.

Whitey bundled me into his room, Maxie followed behind.  Whitey snarled at me: "Did you know about that?"

"About what?"

"Don't play dumb!" he rasped.

Maxie interjected: "Let me handle this."

I liked the way Maxie spoke then.  It was soft and gentle.

Maxie said: "Did you know Sheila was the dame Bannister arrested?"

I thought about it.  I wasn't sure.  "I think so," I said cautiously.  Then I remembered Nick had told me I wasn't to say anything about it.  I tried to gulp back the words.  "No," I said.  "I didn't know.  She didn't know Bannister.  I know she didn't know Bannister.  She wasn't the dame Bannister was arresting.  I remember it all now.  She wasn't the one at all."

Maxie looked at Whitey meaningly. "Nick knew about it all the time," he said, "He must known.  He's warned Dumbo to keep quiet about it."

Whitey said with a rasp of hated in his voice: "I wanna talk to that guy."

"You can talk to me right now," said Nick from behind us.  He'd opened the door quietly just as Whitey spoke.  In the silence that followed he closed the door, leaned his shoulders against it. "Well?" he asked.  "Who's gonna start?"

Whitey got to his feet.  He said angrily: "That dame knows about Bannister.  She knows we were the last to see him.  She can hang us.  Are you crazy or something, Nick?  Don't you know you're putting our heads in a noose?"

Nick said easily: "You guys don't think.  Of course I knew about her.  Why d'you think I married her?"

There was a long silence.  Maxie asked cautiously: "You married her.  So what?"

"Use your brain," said Nick.  "A wife can't give evidence against her husband in a court.  You oughta know that.  No wife is obliged to give testimony against her husband."

Whitey roared loudly: "She's not married to me.  It's you she's married to.  Me and Maxie are wide open."

Nick said quietly: "I was the guy who killed Bannister."

Maxie roared: "They'll hang it on all of us.  We were accessories.  We were in this together.  The dame saw all of us that night.  She might not give testimony against you, Nick.  But she'll give testimony against us.  She's that kinda dame.  She's so honest she's too good to live."

Nick was looking cool and unperturbed.  But I knew he was worried, could sense the anxiety, frustration and fear inside him.  "You guys have gotta see this the right way," he said.  "She ain't gonna cause us no trouble.  You can rely on me for that."

Whitey said harshly: "I rely on no one when my neck's at stake."

"I'll take her away," said Nick.  "It'll take her away some other State.  You won't have anything to worry about."

Maxie demanded angrily: "Are you going crazy, Nick? There's just that dame between us and the chair.  After what we've been through together, d'ya mean to say you're gonna let a dame hold our lives in the palm of her hand?"

Nick was worried now.  Desperately worried.  "Look, fellas," he said.  "We've been together a long time.  We've made a good thing of it.  Let's call it a day now.  You can have the night club. We'll split the dough.  I'll clear out, take the dame with me."

Whitey edged over alongside Nick.  "You're nuts about that dame," he accused.  "You've gone crazy.  You can't even think straight any more."  He took a deep breath, added with significance: "But we can still think straight.  And we're telling you, Nick.  That dame's too dangerous.  Something's gotta be done about her."

The fear was in Nick's eyes.  Not fear for himself, but fear for Sheila.  "Now wait a minute, fellas," he begged.  "We can find a way out of this."

"Sure we can," said Maxie ominously.  "I've already figured one."

Nick looked at him hopefully.  "What's your idea?"

Maxie said slowly: "There's a coupla Feds outside.  They're on our tail the time.  So what's done has to be done with their knowledge."  He paused, looking towards me meaningly.  "What's the matter, Joey?" he asked.  "Aren't you ears working properly?"

"Sure," I said.  "I can hear what you say."

Maxie's eyes returned to Nick's, slowly, meaningly.  "We've always known we might want to use him for the last time.  This is it.  It's a pity, but it's gotta be done.  It's gonna save our necks.  The Feds can follow us, Dumbo can blow his top and the dame doesn't talk any more."

Nick's face was white as he listened.  I didn't know if he could make sense of what Maxie said.  I couldn't.  But I sensed it had something to do with me.

"Sure, Nick," urged Whitey.  "That's the way to do it.  Straight and clean.  The Feds will be trailing us and they'll see it happen.  They may have their suspicions about Lola.  But they can't prove anything.  This way you'll be right in the clear and the Feds will be eye-witnesses."

I've never seen such a desperate look as that in Nick's eyes.  He swallowed uneasily, faltered weakly: "I'd like to think about it, fellas."

"There's nothing to think about," said Maxie easily.  "It solves everything.  There ain't no other way."

"I'd like to think about it," repeated Nick huskily.

Whitey's eyes narrowed.  "There's gonna be no more thinking, Nick," he said.  "That dame's hot.  The Feds are liable to get working on her at any time.  Even if she wanted she couldn't keep quiet.  She'd shoot her mouth off under pressure."

Nick pleaded: "Let it sweat awhile, fellas.  Let it sweat…."

Maxie said with savage menace in his voice: "It's not gonna sweat, Nick.  It's gotta be done.  And it's gotta be done now.  Go get the Judy, rouse her out of bed, tell her we've got a little trip to take."

I could see Nick wanted to fight against them.  But there was nothing he could do.  Maxie and Whitey were determined.

Nick's shoulders drooped.  "Okay, fellas," he said.  "I'll go get her."

*   *   *

Sheila was irritable at being got up out of bed again.  She was sleepy, too.  We climbed into the car, Maxie was driving.  Whitey looked out through the back window.  I knew what he was watching for.  I looked myself and saw the two Feds signal a waiting police car, climb into it and follow along behind.

The streets were deserted at this hour of the morning.  Maxie said he knew of a little place that was just right for us.  It would still be open.

Sheila said she didn't know why we had to get up in the middle of the night when we could have gone there any time.

Nick said there was an important customer we had to meet.

Whitey pulled a flask from his hip pocket, handed it across to me.  "Take a slug of this, Joey," he invited.

I looked hopefully at Nick.

He said, tonelessly: "It's up to you, Joey.  If you want it, you have it."

I wanted it and I had it.  While I drank, Whitey was pressed up close against me.  He kept moving around.  Looking back on it, I guess he was trying to get my gun.  I didn't notice it then, though.

It was a dowdy little bar in the centre of town with an all-night licence.  When Maxie pulled into the kerb, the police car pulled up on the opposite side of the road.  We stumbled down the steep steps to the basement and a few moments after we got inside the two Feds sauntered in, sat at the far end of the room and ordered beer.

Nick, Maxie and Whitey had beer.  Sheila said she didn't want anything except lemonade, and, without asking me, Whitey bought me another whisky.  It sure was good.  It warmed me right down to my toes.  I felt my blood getting hotter and hotter, beginning to boil until it was molten and tight in my brain.

Whitey said: "Better get it over."

Nick said quickly: "Wait a minute.  Hold it."

He crossed over to Sheila, took her hand.  "Listen, honey," he said.  Then he broke off.

They stood that way for maybe a minute or so, looked into each other's eyes.  Nick had that kinda holy look again like he wanted to be tender and loving.  She stared at him, and as though she sensed something was wrong she clutch his hand, held it tightly.  "Something's wrong, Nick," she said.  "You're trembling.  Something's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong, honey,"  he soothed.  "There's nothing wrong.  It's just that I want you to know…"  He broke off, licked his lips.

"Yes, Nick?" she said wistfully.

He looked at Whitey, he looked at Maxie.  He scowled as thought wishing them to hell.  Then he said slowly and deliberately: "I want you to know that I love you, honey.  I want you to know that maybe I haven't been all I coulda been.  But there's been one good thing in my life.  That was you.  I want you to remember that, honey."

She was staring at him, wide-eyed.  "There's something the matte, Nick," she said urgently, worried.  "There's something wrong."

"There's nothing wrong, honey," he told her soothingly.  "There's nothing wrong at all."

Whitey was watching with a sneering, contemptuous twist to his lips.  Nick looked at him meaningly and Whitey said to me: "You drunk that whisky yet, dope?"

"Sure," I said.  "It was fine.  It made me feel good inside and…"

"You dumb-bell!" he sneered.  "You big dope!  You dummy!"

It was starting again, the hammering in my head and the red mist rising before my eyes.

"You dummy!" jeered Maxie.  "You great dope!  Joey, the great dumb dope!"

It was happening.  I couldn't stop it.  The sweat springing out on me, drenching me through and through, and that great fear leaping inside me like a great shadow, paralysing me with it's impact, making me shudder with the awful fear that I'd been robbed of it.  I stood there, trembling, sweating and the hammering echoing in my brain.  Then it snapped.  It had to snap.  The paralysis melted from my limbs, and I dived frantically for the revolver, afraid it wasn't there, scared I was gonna die on account it wasn't there.

The relief was wonderful as my hand closed around the butt.  I drew it out, easily and swiftly.

"The dame," yelled Whitey warningly.  "Watch out the dame."

His words echoed and hammered in my head.  "The dame.  The dame.  The dame."

I got my revolver lined up, her eyes between the sights and the fear in her eyes making me feel wonderful, making me feel I was master of the world.  I asked quickly:  Can I kill him now, boss?"

I wasn't looking at Nick.  Yet I could see him in my mind.  He was standing there, white-faced, trembling and licking his lips, trying to find the strength to say something.

"Sure you can," said Maxie.  "Sure you can."

I didn't take any notice of Maxie.  It was Nick I depended upon.  "Can I kill him now, boss?" I asked pleadingly.

As he spoke there was a swift decision in his voice and command: "Look at me, Joey," he ordered.  "Look at me.  Look at me, I tell you! Damn it, Joey, look at me!"

I had to look at him.  It meant swivelling the gun sights away from her face.  Nick's brown eyes stared at me levelly.  I could see his forehead lined up between the sights.  There was that wonderful feeling of exultation inside me.  I had only to press the trigger and I should be fulfilled.

"Can I kill him now, boss?" I pleaded.

There was a long pause.  It was an exceptionally long pause.

Then Nick spoke, and his voice was soft and smooth as it always was, giving me that wonderful feeling of pleasure and warmth.  It was like black velvet, rich and wonderful.

"Me first, Joey," he said.  "Then Whitey and Maxie.  You can shoot now."

I know things other people don't know.  Even though I wasn't looking at the Feds behind me I knew they were on their feet, rushing towards me.  One of them was pulling a gun from his pocket as I pulled the trigger.

It was strange.  I didn't get that wonderful feeling of exultation after all.  Instead, as the red hole appeared between Nick's eyes and his head smashed backwards, there was sudden intense grief and a terrible sense of loss.  It was so intense I wanted to scream aloud as the gun bucked again in my hand and Whitey's mean lips parted in an agonised roar of pain.

A split second later another shot rang out from behind me.  Something hammered into my side,  knocked me sideways, threw me across the room.  I found myself lying on the floor with sawdust in my nostrils, a red mist before my eyes, that intolerable hammering in my head and pain burning deep down inside me.

The red mist was getting darker and darker.  The darker it got the better I liked it.  I waded into it, so that it enveloped me completely.  It was black then.  Rich, peaceful, smooth and black.

Black velvet like Nick's voice.

THE END

Don't Scare Easy by Hank Janson: Chapter Ten.

Big Nick had changed.  At last even the other guys noticed it.  As the week went past, Maxie and Whitey talked between themselves.

"That pansy, innocent-looking Judy did it," complained Maxie.  "She's so good she scares the pants off me.  I'm scared she'll get the boss that way.  Make him soft and goody-goody, maybe Bible-punching."

Whitey said with a scowl: "She's playing him like a fish.  He hasn't made first base with her yet.  Just a goodnight kiss.  That's all."  He gave a harsh chuckle that didn't show humour.  "Can you believe that?  A guy with Nick's experience falling for a dame who thinks it a crime when a guy mentions the word 'legs'!" 

It got me mad them talking that way about the boss.  I said fiercely: "Nick knows what he's doing.  He's clever.  He knows more than anybody."

Whitey growled.  "Shut your mouth, you dumb-bell" he rasped.  "Why, you…"

Maxie interrupted him fiercely.  "Cut it out, will ya, Whitey?  You'll overdo it one day.  Cut it out, will ya?  For crissakes, cut it out!"

The hammering was in my head.  It was starting again.

Maxie said softly, soothingly: "Take it easy, Joey.  Take it easy now, boy."

The word were something to hold on to.  I reached out, held them tightly.  I felt the hammering slowly die away, and found I could breathe easily.

"You can overdo it," Maxie told Whitey grimly.

"Aw!" said Whitey.  But that was all.  He kept his lips pressed tightly together then, like he was fighting hard not to say anything.

Then the Feds called again.

There were three of them this time, including Jake.  They waited downstairs in ominous silence until Nick was ready for them.  Then they all came up to his lounge, refused cigarettes and drinks and wouldn't even sit down.

"Okay," said Nick.  "What's on your mind?"

"Lola Gray," said Jake.  "The dame that used to live here."

Nick raised his eyebrows.  "Lola?"  He shrugged.  "What about her?"

"She was fished out of the river twenty miles downstream," said Jake, and the fury was trembling in his voice.  "Musta been in the river weeks.  How come you didn't report her missing?"

"But, fellas," said Nick smoothly, "I haven't seen Lola for weeks.  Not since she got mad and walked out on me."

The Feds looked at each other.  Jake said gruffly, with narrowed eyes: "That's one more thing we're gonna get you for, Fenner.  You big guys at the top figure you can jump the rap and leave the little guys to hold the bag.  Well, it may have worked in the past.  It may work in the future.  But it's not gonna work all the time.  Some day, Fenner, you're gonna…"

Nick said easily: "You bore me, fellas.  Haven't you got some other angle you can play up?"

"Yeah," said Jake.  "We have.  The new dame you've installed.  We wanna see her."

Nick lost his composure.  His face became hard, kinda mottled.  He said in a brittle voice: "Now listen, you guys.  You leave that dame outta this!  If you worry her, I'll crucify you.  If you start talking to her and…."

"You'll crucify her," mocked Jake.  "The same way Lola got crucified."

Nick's clenched fists showed how hard he was trying to keep his temper in check.  "Get out of here!" he snarled.  "Get out of here!"

Jake said firmly: "We wanna see that dame, Fenner, I wanna see her now.  Here or down at headquarters."

It was the Feds' lucky day.  It was as though they whistled and got what they wanted.  Sheila had been out shopping and close that moment to walk into Nick's lounge.  She hovered in the doorway, looked around with wide, startled eyes.

Nick said quickly: "I'm busy, honey.  Would you be good enough to leave us?"

"Of course, Nick…" she began.

Jake interrupted.  His voice steely and ringing with command: "Just a moment, lady," he called.  "We wanna talk to you.  We're Federal agents."  As he spoke he produced his badge from his wallet, held it so she could see the Government seal.

Sheila stared at Jake uncertainly, not sure what she should do.

"You leave us, honey," said Nick.  His voice was soft, the way it always was when he spoke to her.

"And I'm telling you to stay right here," rasped Jake.

"Do what I say, honey," Nick said gently.

"But, Nick," she protested.  "If these gentlemen are from the police I can't very well…."

Nick sighed.  "Okay," he said.  He got up and offered her his chair.   "But remember, honey," he told her.  "These guys are looking for trouble.  Be careful what you say.  They'll twist your words, make you a liar."

She settled herself comfortably in the chair, said smilingly: "Don't be silly, Nick.  The police wouldn't do anything like that."

Maxie and Whitey stared.  The Feds raised their eyebrows and only just managed to maintain their poker faces.  Nick shrugged.  "Have it your own way, honey," he sighed.

Sheila straightened her skirt demurely, clasped her hands on her lap, and looked straight at Jake.  "What is it you want to ask me?" she said innocently.

"How long have you been around this joint?" he asked bluntly.

She thought.  "Just a few weeks," she said.

"You look a nice dame," he said.

She blushed.

"What's your position here?" he asked bluntly.  "You're his lay, aren't you?  Get paid for services rendered?"

She stared at him, perplexed, didn't understand him.

He swallowed, repeated with emphasis: "You're his mistress, aren't you?"

The scarlet spread upwards from her neck until her cheeks flamed.  She was almost trembling with anger, her eyes flashing.  "How dare you!" she said.

If Jake had been standing, her reply would have rocked him back on his heels.  He gaped, then gulped.  Then he eyed Nick apprehensively as Nick swayed over towards him, both fists bunched into hard knuckles.

"Take that back!" rasped Nick.  "Take it back or I'll knock it down your throat!"

Jake looked from him to Sheila.  He swallowed some more.  Licked his lips.  "Listen, lady." he said more softly.  "If I'm on the wrong angle, I'll take it back.  But seeing the kinda company you keep you can't blame me for drawing wrong conclusions."

Sheila was still furious.  "And what's the matter with Nick?" she demanded.  "There's nothing wrong with him that I can see."

"Of course not," sneered Jake.  "There's nothing wrong with Nick.  There's nothing wrong with prostitution, nothing wrong with gambling saloons, or crooked race meetings."  His eyes narrowed.  "There's nothing wrong with any of them, lady.  And there's nothing wrong with killing, deliberate cold-blooded killing.  You're in favour all of them, I guess."

He didn't ring any bells with Sheila.  She looked at him like he was crazy.  Then she looked at Nick as if he was a saviour.  "What's he talking about, Nick?" she asked.  "Why is he acting this way?"

"It's like I told you, baby," said Nick.  "Cops are all the same.  They've got swollen feet and swollen heads.  You've seen the way they act, so now be a good girl, step outside and leave me to handle them."

"I will, too," said Sheila, flushed with indignation.  She climbed to her feet, glared angrily.  "I don't see why I should stay here and be insulted."

Maxie followed her to the door and closed it behind her.  Jake looked at Nick.  He said smoothly: "Either that dame really doesn't know anything or she's a damned fine actress."

Nick said levelly: "She doesn't know anything, not a thing."  He shrugged.  "I guess if she did she wouldn't be here."

Jake eyed him keenly.  "For a real hard case like you it's interesting to see you getting soft about a dame."

Nick snorted.  "I'm not interested in your opinions.  If there's nothing else you want, you can go."

Jake lounged to his feet slowly.  "I guess there's nothing else we want right now," he said.  He put his hands into his pockets, strolled across to the door.  "We'll be around again, though, Fenner.  You might be uncertain about a lotta things.  But you can be sure of that."

"Maxie, Whitey," ordered Nick crisply.  "Go downstairs and see these monkeys off the premises.  Don't let 'em in again unless they've got a search warrant.  D'you understand?"

Jake eyed him keenly.  "For a real hard case like you it's interesting to see you getting soft about a dame."

Nick snorted.  "I'm not interested in your opinions.  If there's nothing else you want, you can go."

Jake lounged to his feet slowly.  "I guess there's nothing else we want right now," he said.  He put his hands into his pockets, strolled across to the door.  "We'll be around again, thought, Fenner.  You might be uncertain about a lotta things.  But you can be sure of that."

"Maxie, Whitey," ordered Nick crisply.  "Go downstairs and see these monkeys off the premises.  Don't let 'em in again unless they've got a search warrant.  D'you understand?"

Jake said: "Don't worry, Fenner.  The next time we come we'll have that search warrant."

Nick was sweating after they'd gone.  He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief.  "Get me a drink, will ya, Joey?" he said.

I got him a drink, poured three fingers the way he liked and added just a splashed of soda.

"The nerve of them guys!" he told me.  "Speaking to Sheila that way.  I coulda killed them!"

"Feds always mean trouble," I told him, remembering the very words he'd used himself.

"Yeah," he said thoughtfully.  He was wrapped up in himself, miles away.

"Sheila's pretty," I said.  "I don't think it right them Feds should talk to her that way."

"You're right, Joey," he said absently.  "You're right."

"The police never did treat her proper," I told him.  "That Bannister guy wasn't treating her right, either."

"Sure, sure," said Nick.  He was still thinking.

"I was sure glad you knocked off that Bannister guy,"  I told him.  "He had no right treating her that way, hurting her arm, squeezing it that way…"  I broke off.

There was a kinda tension.  I could feel it in the room as distinctly as if it was a sharp splinter of ice that pierced from Nick to me.  He was staring at me with eyes frozen in horrible intensity.

"What was that you said about Bannister, Joey"  His voice was so low I could hardly hear him.

"He's the cop," I explained to Nick.  "He's the cop that got killed.  You remember him.  He's the guy that the Feds are worried about."

I could see the veins standing out on his forehead.  He was forcing himself to speak calmly, smoothly.  His voice was nice.  Just like black velvet.  "What did you say about Sheila and the cop?"

I wasn't sure now.  I frowned, thought about it.  Now I was thinking about it, my memory kept eluding me.

"Think, Joey," urged Nick.  "You've gotta think, Joey.  Try hard.  You've got to!"

It was important to Nick.  I'd do anything for Nick.  I tried hard and I remembered.

"The dame and Bannister," I said excitedly.  "Bannister was the cop who arrested her.  You remember, Nick?  It was that night when…."

It happened so quickly.  I was up against the wall with Nick's hands twisted in my collar and choking me before I realised it.  I tugged at my collar, half-choked as Nick squeezed it tighter.

"What are you trying to tell me?" he rasped frantically.  "That dame Sheila.  Is she the dame Bannister arrested that night?"

I tried to suck in breath, managed it with difficulty, nodded and croaked: "That's what I was trying to tell you, boss."

His face was so contorted with anger I thought he was gonna throw me across the room.  He was shaking all over like he had the ague.  Then slowly, ever so slowly, he calmed down.  I hardly recognised his voice when he flared at me: "Don't you realise what you've done by bringing her here?  She was the one person in the world who knew we'd seen Bannister!  Don't you realise what it means, Joey?  She knows enough to have us all dangling at the end of a rope!"

I didn't understand half what he was saying.  But I knew he was angry.  Scared, too.  And it was something to do with Sheila.  He was afraid of her.

I managed to work his fingers away from my neck.  "I'll do anything boss," I said.  I was almost crying.  "I don't wanna get you mad like this.  I'll do anything you want, anything to make you happy."

He'd calmed down so much now he was almost sagging.  He walked across to the settee, sank down into it, buried his face in his hands.  For a time his shoulders shook like he was sobbing.

I went over to him, stood beside him, said humbly: "I'll do anything you want, Nick.  You just tell me.  I'll do it."

He looked up then.  I'd made a mistake.  He wasn't crying.  But there was a kinda haunted indecision in his eyes.  "You poor sucker, Joey," he said.  "You don't understand anything, do you?  It happens all around you and you only get half of it."

"I understand a lot of things, boss," I told him proudly.

"Look.  Do you understand this, Joey?"  He seemed terribly determined I should understand it, emphasised it again and again.  "You've got to understand this, Joey.  You must never tell anyone what you've just told me.  About Bannister and Sheila, I mean.  You must never let Whitey know.  You must never tell Maxie.  Do you understand that?  You must hang on to that thought, get it deep down in your head."

"Sure, boss," I said.  "I can do what."

"Fine," he said.  "Now keep thinking of what I've told you, Joey.  Don't ever forget it."

"No, boss.  I won't forget it."

He gnawed his thumb.  I waited.  He kept thinking.  Finally he said: "Go get her, Joey."

"Who?"

He sighed.  "Sheila," he said.  "Tell her I want her."

She came redly enough, anxious to hear what had happened to the Feds.  As soon as she was in the room she started.  "Nick.  Who are those men?  What right have they to…?

"Forget them, honey," he said.  "There's something more important; something we've gotta do right away."

"What's that, Nick?"

"We're getting married, honey," he said.  "We're getting married tonight."

She stared at him, eyes wide and misty.  "Nick," she said, like it was the happiest moment of her life, "you don't really mean it?  You really want to marry me?"

"Sure, honey," he said.  "It's been on my mind all the time.  I know now it's the thing I want more than anything else.  And now I've made the decision I just can't wait.  Is it a go, honey?"

"Is it a go?" she repeated, her voice thrilling with excitement.  "Nick!  How can you ask?"

Nick winked at me.  "You're standing on your foot, Joey,"  he said.  And this time he wasn't mad.  He said it as a joke.

I gaped at him.

"Scram!" he said.

I looked at Sheila.  Her eyes were sparkling, her mouth rippling with laughter.  "Nick means he wants you to leave us alone," she explained.

"Okay, boss," I said.

I wandered out glumly.  It beat me.  Why did dames always wanna be alone with guys?  It just didn't make sense.

Don't Scare Easy by Hank Janson: Chapter Nine

A few days later Nick said I had to drive Lola into town.  I hated those trips.  Lola always looked at me with those ice-cold, contemptuous eyes of hers, instructed me to wait and kept me waiting hours while she visited a beauty salon or a dress designer.  And she complained to Nick if I wandered away to look at the shop windows and wasn't waiting for her in the car when she got back.

But Nick wanted me to drive her and he was such a good guy I'd do anything for him.  As it happened it was a good job I was with Lola.  I was able to tell Nick exactly what happened.

It was a hairdresser she visited.  I waited outside for a coupla hours before she finally clip-clopped through the door with a smiling, wavy-haired, womanish-looking guy bowing her out like she'd spent a fortune.  Maybe she had at that.

I opened the door of the car, held it that way while she climbed in.  A couple of those Feds drifted along out of nowhere.  "Keep holding the door that way," said one Fed, the one called Jake.

Nick had told me we weren't ever to make trouble with Feds.  Not ever.  I did what the guy told me, held the door open so he and the other Fed could climb in alongside Lola.

She let out a squawk that sounded like she was being kidnapped.  The squawk cut short when they flashed their badges.

"Tell the trained monkey to climb in front and keep quiet," said Jake.

Lola glared at him venomously, gulped, said to me: "You heard him, Joey.  Climb in up front and keep your ears flapping."

We sat there in the car with all the window shut while ordinary folks were passing up and down outside on their private business.

Jake said: "We've been waiting around a long time for a chance to talk with you."

Lola said: "I'm saying nothing until I see my mouthpiece."

"You don't need a mouthpiece, lady," said Jake.  "We're not charging you with anything.  We're just asking questions.  You're Nick's special, aren't you?  Live over the night club with him?"

She bristled.  "What's it to you, flatfoot?  It's my life, ain't it?  It's my business how I choose to live."

"Sure," he said.  His eyes narrowed.  "But a smart dame like you knows the kinda company she keeps.  Big Nick's in trouble, real trouble.  That means it's likely you'll be in trouble, too."

She stared at him.  There was concern in those blue eyes.  She asked suspiciously: "What kinda trouble?"

"Murder," said the other Fed.

"You're crazy," Lola said doubtfully.  "You don't know what you're talking about."  But she was just a little scared.

"Nick killed that cop," said Jake.

"You're crazy,"  she repeated.  "Nick wouldn't kill a cop.  He's too smart for that."  Then as though she suddenly realised that despite herself she was talking, she added: "Aw, leave me alone, will ya?  You make me sick.  Scram, will ya?"

"That's okay, lady.  We're going.  But just one word of warning.  You're in with high-stepping company.  You've gotta step high yourself.  You've gotta be smart, too. Those who fly highest fall hardest.  When Nick falls he's gonna come down hard and he's gonna pull down everything else with him.  So I'm warning you, lady.  You've got just one chance.  Any time you wanna talk you know where to find us and we're always ready to listen.  Maybe a little talking at the right time will save your neck when the crash comes."

"You're crazy," she said.  "You don't know what you're talking about.  You don't know a thing."

"Think it over," said Jake.  "That's all, I'm warning you, lady.  Just think it over."

They climbed out of the car then, slammed the door, leaving Lola sitting bolt upright, angry and ruffed like a hen that's scampered across the road in front of a speeding car.  "What the hell!" she flared at me.  "Damned cops talking to me that way!  Trying to hang something on me!"

"Tell Nick," I suggested.  "He'll know what to do."

"Sure I'll tell him!" she flared.  "Nick will crucify them."

Lola seemed kinda scared, wanted me to be with her when she told Nick about it later.

"That's everything that happened, Nick," she said.  "Ask Joey.  He was there.  He heard every word."  She was afraid Nick might think she'd talked too much.

Nick scowled.  "Why d'you let them guys talk to you that way?" he demanded angrily.  "You shoulda ordered them out.  They've got nothing on you."

She looked at him anxiously.  "What did they mean, Nick?  What did they mean about murder?  You didn't kill that cop, did you?"

He stared at her steadily, narrowed his eyes.  "You ain't getting ideas?" he demanded.

"Why, no, Nick," she said quickly, just a little too quickly.  "I wouldn't think anything like that."  Her voice rose a little, got a little desperate.  "There's nothing for me to know, is there, Nick?  That was just their bluff, wasn't it?"  She became almost desperate, trying to convince him.  "Even if I did know anything, Nick, I wouldn't say a word, Nick.  You know that.  I wouldn't say a word."

He didn't say anything.  He just stared at her steadily.  The expression in his eyes frightened her.  She backed away from him, scared.  "You know me, Nick.  You don't think I'd say anything?  You mustn't believe that!"

"Get out!" he snarled.  "Get out!  Lose yourself for a coupla hours."

Nick gave me a job to do.  "Clear all these wardrobes out," he ordered.  "I want this room cleaned up and everything of Lola's packed in cases.  Don't waste time on it, get cracking!"

I liked doing that work.  Lola's clothes were so soft to touch.  There were dozens of dresses, all different materials, all different colours, and all of them feeling so soft and smooth.  They felt like Big Nick's voice, soft, silky and comforting like black velvet.  There were lots of other clothes, too.  Fragile, delicate underclothes that whispered in my fingers, so fine I could crush them in one hand, hold them without feeling they were in my hand.

I'd almost finished when Lola came back.  She stood poised in the doorway, glaring around as though she couldn't believe her eyes.  Then her eyes flamed, blue eyes burning with searing anger.  "What the hell are you doing?" she stormed.

I was holding a sky-blue dress that was light as a feather, soft like smooth skin.  Lola got me worried.  I dropped the dress on top of the others, thrust it hastily down in the case.

That little action seemed to drive Lola mad.  She had a big mouth.  She opened it wide, screeched in fury, dropped everything she was carrying and sprang at me with outspread fingers tipped with blood-red slashing nails.

Nick repeatedly told me I wasn't to get into fights.  I dodged away from her, dodged around the settee.  She came after me, screeching furiously, crazy enough to shred my face with those long nails, picking up anything she could lay her hands on and throwing it with savage force.

Maybe she'd have caught me if it had gone on long enough.  But it was Nick again.  He was always helping me, getting me out of trouble and making me feel good.

He came through from his own bedroom which was right next to Lola's room.  "Cut it out, Lola!" he roared.

His voice brought her to a stop.  But it didn't cool her anger.  "Look what that crazy dope's been doing to my clothes," she shrilled.  "Just look at what he's done…"

"He was doing what I told him," rasped Nick.

She gaped.  "You told him to!"

"That's right." said Nick.  His eyes were narrowed and he kinda squared his shoulders like he was ready for trouble.

"Are you out of your mind?" she demanded.

"No," he said softly.  "Just being smart.  You're a know-nothing dame and you're gonna stop that way.  You give me a pain in the neck.  You're all washed up, understand?  You're out!  You're out on your ear.  Understand?"

She understood.  But she didn't believe it.  She tried to laugh it off.  "You don't know what you're saying, Nick.  You're crazy to talk that way."

"Think so?"  He put his hand in his inside pocket, pulled out a wallet and peeled off century notes from the thick wad he always carried.  I thought he'd never stop counting.  Finally he did, rolled the money in a ball, threw it towards Lola.  "That'll keep you until you get another sucker to pay your expenses," he said.  "Your bags can be sent on.  Now get out, will ya?  Get out quick!  It gives me the creeps seeing you around."

He'd convinced her now.  She ran over to him, grabbed him by the coat lapels, desperately tried to shake understanding into him.  "I don't know what you're thinking, Nick.  But it's all wrong.  If I knew anything I wouldn't squeal to the cops.  I wanna stop with you, Nick.  I've been good to you.  You can't just turn me out this way."

"Have I gotta knock it into your head with a sledge-hammer?"  he demanded brutally.  "You're all washed up.  You're finished.  Understand?" He emphasised the last question by thrusting her away from him so she fell sideways, sprawled on the carpet with a thump.

She was crying now.  "Nick," she pleaded.  "Don't do it!  For God's sake, don't do it!  I wouldn't squeal…"

Nick was perfectly at ease.  He lifted his left arm elegantly, consulted his wrist watch.  "You've thirty seconds to scram," he said cooly.  "Thirty seconds to snatch the dough and scram.  That's if you're sensible.  Otherwise Maxie and Whitey will persuade you."

She believed him now right enough.  Her tearful eyes stared up at him piteously.  And Nick was really acting now.  You'd have thought he was a real hard guy the way he intoned softly: "Ten seconds - fifteen seconds - twenty seconds…"

She'd been with Nick long enough to know he meant what he said.  At twenty seconds she was on her feet.  At twenty-five seconds she'd gathered up the loose dough he'd flung on the floor and at thirty seconds with a look of hate written on her face she was out of the door, slamming it behind her.

Nick frowned at the closed door for several seconds.  Then he looked at me and a broad grin spread across his face.  He shrugged his shoulders like he'd just got rid of a dead weight.  "That's settled that little trouble.  Now get busy, will ya, Joey?  Get the cleaners up here.  Get this room cleaned up, get rid of all those bits of lipstick, curlers, cotton wool and stuff.  Get the whole lot cleaned out, huh?"

"Sure, Nick," I said, grinning happily, happy because Nick was happy.

"I want new sheets on the bed, too," he said.  "The best sheets you can get.  You go buy them yourself, Joey.  The finest silken sheets, hand-made and hand-embroidered.  Can you do it, Joey?"

"Sure, boss," I said, delighted that he'd given me a special job to do for him.

"That's the idea, Joey," he said.  "You do it for Nick, huh?"

"Sure, boss," I grinned.  "I'll do it just the way you want."

*   *   *

It was three days later when Nick told me the good news.

"Joey," he said.  "You like that little dame?  The one that sings?"

"Sure, boss," I said.  "She talks good to me.  She says nice things."

"That's fine, Joey," he said.  "That's real fine.  How would you like she has a better room, one that's more comfortable?  All the dresses she wants, too?

"Gee, boss," I said eagerly.  "She'd like that fine.  I'd like it for her."

"I tell you what to do, Joey," he said.  "Go get that dame.  Bring her up here."

She was awed, almost scared.  I brought her up to Nick's apartment and she sat on the edge of a chair, like she considered herself unworthy to sit on it properly.

Nick seated himself opposite her, nonchalantly, puffing a cigarette.  "I'm gonna give you a break, kid," he said.  "I'm gonna give you a better job."

Her eyes widened with delight.  "That's so kind of you, Mr. Fenner.  I must admit I've been very happy her and I've nothing to complain about."

"I'm gonna make you a singer," he said.  "You can do a couple numbers every evening."

Her eyes widened even more.  "But, Mr. Fenner, I've never sung to people before and…"

He hushed her with masterful hand motions.  "You haven't a thing to worry about, kid," he said.  "You don't sing until you really want to.  If you're not in the mood, well you don't do it."  He rushed on swiftly.  "You'll get a hundred bucks a week, board and lodging.  Does that suit you?"

It was too good to be true.  She just couldn't believe it.  She gasped, tried to find words.

"I don't want an argument about it," said Nick abruptly.  "Answer yes or no.  Is it a deal?  Yes or no?"

"I… yes."

"Good, that's settled then."  He said it with the air of a man who's completed a boring preliminary.  He got to his feet, jerked his head at Sheila for her to follow him.  "Come along, kid.  I'll show you your new quarters."

She was happy, excited, hardly able to believe her good fortune.  But I noticed a change in her as we passed from the lounge into his bedroom, through the communicating door into the room that Lola used to occupy.  Sheila's steps grew slower and slower, timid, almost reluctant.

Nick sure had fitted up that bedroom swell.  It'd been cleaned up real good, draped with brightly-coloured chintz curtains and drapes, spruced up like a college girl going to her first dance.

"Like it, kid?" asked Nick.  He was grinning happily like Father Christmas dishing out toys to the Dead End Kids.

She looked bewildered, a little afraid.  She said, "Yes, but…"

Nick was excited like a boy, showing her everything.  He interrupted. "These buttons above the bed.  You've got the names underneath.  This one for drinks, this one for the chambermaid, this one for a messenger.  Get the idea, honey?"  He rushed on, talking volubly.  "You've got your own radio and television built into the wall there.  Press this button, see?  The doors slide back and you can sit up in bed and watch the television in comfort."

He crossed the room to the built-in wardrobe, slid back the wide doors, displayed a rack of beautiful dresses.  He indicated them with a proud gesture.  "All your size, honey," he said.  "Everything you want from a morning dress to an evening gown.  How'd you like it?  Nice, huh?"

I didn't understand Sheila.  She'd been pleased enough when I gave her that dress.  Now she was getting a whole cupboardful she looked apprehensive, kinda scared.  "Mr. Fenner," she said.  "I couldn't.  You surely understand that.  I couldn't accept…"

He waved down her objections.  "Quit worrying about it, honey,"  he said.  "I've got plenty of dough."  He gestured to the dresses.  "Them's peanuts.  Have more any time you want.  Have anything you want."

"Please listen to me, Mr. Fenner," she interrupted.  "There's something you should…"

Nick had reached into the wardrobe, fished out a sky-blue dress that sounded like music as it swayed on its hanger.  "Put this on, honey," he said.  "That black dress gives me the creeps.  Put this on.  Let's see how it fits."

He thrust the dress into her hand and she stared at it, dominated by Nick.  "Gwan," he encouraged.  "Put it on.  It won't take a minute."

She looked at the dress longingly.  She was dying to try it on.  She looked at Nick.  Then she looked at me.  She moistened her lips.  "I'd like to try it on, Mr. Fenner," she said.  "But…" she looked at me and looked at him again meaningly.

"That's okay, honey," said Nick with another airy wave of his hands.  "You don't have to worry about Joey.  He don't know what time it is.  D'you get what I mean?"  He winked at her.

She looked at me.  She looked at him.  She looked at the dress.  She said in a slightly worried voice: "You don't mean I should change with you both here?"

He looked at her suspiciously.  "You kidding, honey?"

Her eyes were frank and innocent, her face questioning.  "Kidding?"

A suggestion of harshness entered his voice.  "Aw, honey.  Don't waste time.  Don't be childish.  You ain't got a thing to worry about."

"Well…" she said, doubtfully.  She stared at him, weighing him up.  Then, as though making a sudden resolution, she turned away from us, loosened buttons, bent, took the hem of her tawdry black frock between her fingers and straightened up, drawing it over her head.

Underneath she was wearing a frayed slip.  Like they were drawn by a magnet, Nick's eyes went to the smooth skin which showed above the tops of her black stockings.  "I've bought underclothes for you as well, honey," he said hoarsely.  "Everything you want.  Lots of black lace and transparent georgette.  Nice, huh?"

She was acutely self-conscious, struggled into the dress quickly, pulled it straight, turned around to face us with flushed cheeks. 

Nick surveyed her critically, nodded his head with satisfaction.  "You look swell, kid," he said.  "Really lovely.  With a hair-do, high-heeled shoes, some make-up and a manicure, you'd press for a film star."

Yeah, he was right.  Just changing her dress did make her look different.  I could see how, after going to a hairdresser, she wouldn't look mousy and insignificant any longer.  She's look pretty, real pretty. 

"That dress is fine, honey," said Nick.  "Now let's see how you look in those undies."

I didn't think anyone's face could go so red.  It was as though she'd been fighting a battle inside herself all the time and now had found the strength to make a stand.  She threw back her head, squared her shoulders.  "Mr. Fenner," she said firmly but clearly.  "I think you oughta understand.  I want to work.  But I don't want to…" She broke off. 

His eyes narrowed.  "Meaning what?"

She gestured around the room, towards the wardrobe, the bed and Nick's bedroom next door.  "You don't understand, Mr. Fenner.  This isn't the sort of thing I do.  I'm not that kind."  There were tears in her eyes now.  "It's not that i'm ungrateful.  But I'm not… that way.  I just couldn't do it."

Nick stared at her.  The way his brow puckered showed he was having difficulty in understanding her.  There was a note of incredulity in his voice.  "Whadya trying to say, honey?  Put it on the line.  Don't speak in riddles."

She took a deep breath.  Her cheeks were flaming.  "Mr. Fenner," she said clearly, "I don't want to feel that anybody's buying me.  I'd like to sing in your club.  I'd like a better job.  But…"  Once again she looked towards his bedroom.  "I couldn't do it, Mr. Fenner.  I'm just not… that kind."

Nick stared at her so long I was afraid he'd gone dumb.  It was like a battle was going on inside him too, fear and rage, fighting with the ache to obtain possession of something.  Finally he said slowly, with a kinda false note in his voice: "I oughta be annoyed with you, kid.  You got me wrong right from the start.  You oughta think before you assume things."

Her eyes widened.

Nick dug down in his pocket, pulled out a yale key, tossed it across the room so it fell on the bed.  He thumbed towards his bedroom door.  "Better close that door," he told her.  "You keep that locked day and night.  Understand?"  He pointed towards another door.  "That door leads into the corridor.  That's your own door.  You go in and out as you want without interference."  He pointed towards the wardrobe.  "A singer in my nightclub has got to look right.  She's got to have the clothes to go with the job.  Call them stage props if you like."  He took a deep breath and stared at her until she dropped her eyes.  "Maybe my intentions could have been misunderstood.  But you can get those kinda ideas out of your head right now, lady."

The flush had drained from her cheeks so now she was pale.  All the fight had gone out of her.  She was pathetic and penitent.  "I'm so sorry, Mr. Fenner," she stammered.  "I didn't realise… I thought…I never meant…"

"Okay," he growled.  "Skip it.  You've got a phone.  Fix up for the hairdresser to work on those rat's tails.  This is your room from now on.  Somebody will bring you other things over later."  He jerked his head at me.  "Come along, Joey,"  he said as though I was the only friend he could rely on.  Then, as we reached the door of his bedroom, he said over his shoulder with a kinda bitterness: "Don't forget to lock the door after me."

Nick was in a temper.  Even though his face was calm and his voice smooth, he was flaming inside.  I could sense it the way I can sense these things.  We went through to his lounge where he got out a bottle of whisky, poured himself a generous dose.  He drained it in one gulp.  Then he looked at me steadily.  "What d'ya make of that, Joey?" he demanded.  "A dame that acts sweet and innocent - and really is!"

"She's pretty," I said stoutly.  "She's got a nice voice.  She makes me feel good."

Nick scowled.  "She makes me feel good, too."  He poured more whisky.  "Too good!"  He sighed.  "You wouldn't understand, though."

"She likes singing," I told him.  "She sings real good."

He held his glass up to the light, examined it carefully.  But his mind was far away.  "Remember one thing, Joey," he said.  "If you want a thing and you can't get it one way, there's always a dozen other ways."

"Yes, boss," I agreed enthusiastically.  I hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about.

"She likes you, doesn't she, Joey?'

"I like her, too.  I like her voice."

"Teach her to play gin rummy, Joey," he said.  "You like playing that, don't you, Joey?"

I nodded my head eagerly.

"That's right," Nick grinned.  "We'll play gin rummy every night.  Yeah, in my lounge.  Go tell her about it."

"Sure, Nick," I said.  "I'll like that fine."

*   *   *

I'm supposed to be slow, not to understand things quickly like other folks.  I guess it's true about some things.  But with other things I'm quicker than anyone else.  About people I like, for example. 

I noticed things about Nick no one else noticed.  I saw the change that took place in him during the next few days.  He did things that weren't like him.  Playing gin rummy, for instance.  Most nights, Nick was out, attending to business, or visiting the cat house, or on private business he didn't tell me about.

But during the next few days he changed completely, sat up after the night club had closed, playing gin rummy with me and Sheila.  And he played for peanuts, too, not the big money he usually played for.

Nick's character had changed, too.  He became quiet, wasn't so masterful, didn't talk so much and most of the time was watched Sheila intently and admiringly, doing little things for her, like getting a chair, opening a door, the talking to her real nice.  Things he's never done for any other dame.

I noticed Sheila, too.  It was like she was softening up.  She kept watching Nick with a kinda soft light in her eyes that was almost worship mingled with adoration.

When we'd been playing gin rummy for almost a week and had finished the last game for the evening, Nick and quietly: "You still don't trust me, do you?"

"Oh, but I do, Nick," she protested.  "I think you're one of the swellest guys…"

"You don't trust me," he insisted.

Her eyes were hurt.  She raised one eyebrow slightly more than the other.  "Why do you say that, Nick?"

"You hurt me," he said sincerely.  "Every night you rub it in.  Every night I hear that damned key turn in the lock."

There was a strange expression in her eyes as she stared at him.  "Do I really hurt you that bad, Nick?"

"You don't trust me," he said sullenly.

Later when she went to bed, behind her back Nick motioned to me to keep quiet.  Sheila said goodnight, and passed through Nick's bedroom into her own.  Nick was tensed and listening when she closed the door.  I listened, too.

It didn't happen tonight.  She didn't turn the key in the lock.

Nick heaved a sigh.  Then he nodded towards his cocktail cabinet.  "Give me a Scotch, Joey.  A large Scotch."

I sat there with him, watched as he drank and tried to understand what was going on in his mind.  He was sunk into himself, thinking deeply like he was figuring angles.  Suddenly he got up, went through to his bedroom.  A little later he came out wearing his dressing-gown.  "Stick around, Joey," he ordered.  "I may want you."

"Sure, boss," I said.

"I might have a little trouble," he told me.  "I may want your help keeping that dame quiet.  Understand?"

"Sure, Nick," I said.  I looked at him obediently, wondering what he had in mind.

He looked at me, shook his head sorrowfully.  "Poor Joey," he said.  "You don't understand it, fella.  Do you?"

I dropped my eyes, felt humble.  "No, boss," I admitted.

"Just stick around, anyway," he told me.

He went through to his bedroom, started pussyfooting around.  That got me curious.  I just had to know what he was up to.  I tiptoed across to his bedroom peered inside.  He wasn't there.  But the door at the far end which led into Sheila's bedroom was standing partly open.

I've often wondered why Nick and other guys spent so much time locked up with dames in rooms at the cat house.  This was my chance to find out.

But I was scared.  Nick might be mad at me.  I waited all of five minutes before I had the courage to tiptoe across to Sheila's door and watch through the crack of the door jamb.

Sheila was fast asleep, breathing softly, one white arm out flung across the pillows.  There was a sweet, innocent look on her face.  She looked so good, so childlike, she reminded me of the pictures they used to have in the Bible they tried to teach me to read at school.

It was strange the way Nick was standing there, staring down at her.  He was frozen, frightened to move in case he disturbed her.   There was something good about the expression on his face, too.  Nick always looked handsome.  But I'd never seen his face look quite this way before.  It was sad, almost … Yeah, the guys would rib me about this word…almost holy!

I stood watching him through the crack in the door until my bones ached.  Then he moved.  Slowly he bent over her, pressed his lips to her forehead.  He did it so gently she didn't even stir.  Then he straightened up quickly, turned away and began to tiptoe out of the room.

I was smart enough to be back in the lounge before he got there.  He hadn't got that holy look any more. He was scowling.

"Okay, Joey," he gritted.  "You can go now."

None of this made sense to me.  I didn't understand what kick guys got out of being in a room alone with a dame if that's all they did.

I got to the door, half-turned with my hand on the handle.  "Can I have a drink before I go to bed, boss?"

"No, Joey," he said gently.  "You lay off drink. And remember what I tell ya.  Lay off dames, too.  Understand?"

I turned away, closed the door quietly after me.