Read Online The Big Kiss-Off of 1944: A Jack LeVine Mystery by Andrew Bergman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew Bergman
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hair with open palms and try and keep his hands still enough to light up a cigarette.
The kettle let loose with a sharp whistle and I turned it off before Mrs. Freundlich upstairs got concerned and started sticking her head next to the steam pipe for a listen. I filled the top of my “Dripmaster” with enough water for eight cups. It might be a long time before the sun came up and Rubine and I had finished.
“How do you like your coffee?” I called from the kitchen. “Light or dark, Rubine?”
“Black, no sugar. Call me Al.”
“Al it is.” I methodically set up two cups and saucers, trying to work myself awake before I started talking with this prince. Just to keep Rubine on his toes, I chucked him a question.
“Who’s chasing you, Al?”
Rubine started and looked toward the kitchen. He ran his hands through his pockets a couple of times, like a mechanical man.
“Jack—mind if I call you Jack?” and he flashed an uncertain grin that started out a smile and ended up a grimace. “I can’t talk this way, you in there and me out here perched like a goddamn canary. You come in here, Jack, we can talk, whaddya say?”
I grunted and sat down on a stool in the kitchen, listening to the coffee drip and looking out of the open window. It was still pretty warm and there was a full moon that cast rays of pale, thin light on the roofs of Sunnyside. No cars were moving, the street lamps were all alone, and the block was so still and sweet that it was almost worth being up. Almost. I guess I couldn’t kick. If I lived in London, I’d look out my window and see nothing but ruins. All I had to worry about was a nervous blackmailer playing with his cuffs in my living room. I waited, jiggled the top part of the coffee pot and filled two cups with steaming java, putting a little sugar in mine. By the time I paraded out to the living room like a good host, I was almost awake.
“I’m here. So who’s chasing you, Al, and why’d you come to me?” I put the cups on the coffee table, sat down in an overstuffed chair to the right of the couch and lit up a Lucky.
“Second part first, okay Jack?” The smile was fast and thin, like a neon sign on the skids. “I came to you because there’s a poor lady lives next door to me in Smithtown. When I pull out the other night, I tell her to let me know if I get visitors and who they are. I give her a number where she can reach me and fifteen bucks.”
“I only gave her five.”
The smile lasted a little longer this time. Rubine’s teeth were as big and yellow as Seabiscuit’s. “That’s why she told on you.”
I shrugged, a good loser. “Must be. I can’t blame her, she looked like she hadn’t seen much dough lately, if ever.”
“I’m with you all the way on that.” Rubine lifted his cup and let the steam fill his broken nose. “Prosit, Jack.” He sipped the coffee very delicately. “Delicious, my compliments to the chef.”
I yawned a little more sleep out of my system and swallowed some coffee. It was excellent. “You still haven’t told me who’s chasing you, Al.”
“Everybody.”
“I was supposed to meet you yesterday—rather, I was supposed to meet somebody called ‘Friend of the Arts’ yesterday—and pick up some stag films. All I found was a picture of Dewey and a banker.”
He was going to take another sip, but his hands got a little shaky and he put his cup down. “Sounds interesting.”
“Fascinating, in fact. But where the hell were you?”
“At a place you can be in a couple of hours, if you’ll take me. I’d like to go and you’d like those films.”
“You stashed the films in another hideout? Why?”
Rubine tried the coffee again but his hands didn’t work and it spilled onto his pants.
“Jack, let me tell you straight,” the words came out in a rush. “All I want is to get my ass into Canada before I get croaked. The films are yours, I don’t give a shit. See, this pal of mine and me got in a blackmail scheme and
The kettle let loose with a sharp whistle and I turned it off before Mrs. Freundlich upstairs got concerned and started sticking her head next to the steam pipe for a listen. I filled the top of my “Dripmaster” with enough water for eight cups. It might be a long time before the sun came up and Rubine and I had finished.
“How do you like your coffee?” I called from the kitchen. “Light or dark, Rubine?”
“Black, no sugar. Call me Al.”
“Al it is.” I methodically set up two cups and saucers, trying to work myself awake before I started talking with this prince. Just to keep Rubine on his toes, I chucked him a question.
“Who’s chasing you, Al?”
Rubine started and looked toward the kitchen. He ran his hands through his pockets a couple of times, like a mechanical man.
“Jack—mind if I call you Jack?” and he flashed an uncertain grin that started out a smile and ended up a grimace. “I can’t talk this way, you in there and me out here perched like a goddamn canary. You come in here, Jack, we can talk, whaddya say?”
I grunted and sat down on a stool in the kitchen, listening to the coffee drip and looking out of the open window. It was still pretty warm and there was a full moon that cast rays of pale, thin light on the roofs of Sunnyside. No cars were moving, the street lamps were all alone, and the block was so still and sweet that it was almost worth being up. Almost. I guess I couldn’t kick. If I lived in London, I’d look out my window and see nothing but ruins. All I had to worry about was a nervous blackmailer playing with his cuffs in my living room. I waited, jiggled the top part of the coffee pot and filled two cups with steaming java, putting a little sugar in mine. By the time I paraded out to the living room like a good host, I was almost awake.
“I’m here. So who’s chasing you, Al, and why’d you come to me?” I put the cups on the coffee table, sat down in an overstuffed chair to the right of the couch and lit up a Lucky.
“Second part first, okay Jack?” The smile was fast and thin, like a neon sign on the skids. “I came to you because there’s a poor lady lives next door to me in Smithtown. When I pull out the other night, I tell her to let me know if I get visitors and who they are. I give her a number where she can reach me and fifteen bucks.”
“I only gave her five.”
The smile lasted a little longer this time. Rubine’s teeth were as big and yellow as Seabiscuit’s. “That’s why she told on you.”
I shrugged, a good loser. “Must be. I can’t blame her, she looked like she hadn’t seen much dough lately, if ever.”
“I’m with you all the way on that.” Rubine lifted his cup and let the steam fill his broken nose. “Prosit, Jack.” He sipped the coffee very delicately. “Delicious, my compliments to the chef.”
I yawned a little more sleep out of my system and swallowed some coffee. It was excellent. “You still haven’t told me who’s chasing you, Al.”
“Everybody.”
“I was supposed to meet you yesterday—rather, I was supposed to meet somebody called ‘Friend of the Arts’ yesterday—and pick up some stag films. All I found was a picture of Dewey and a banker.”
He was going to take another sip, but his hands got a little shaky and he put his cup down. “Sounds interesting.”
“Fascinating, in fact. But where the hell were you?”
“At a place you can be in a couple of hours, if you’ll take me. I’d like to go and you’d like those films.”
“You stashed the films in another hideout? Why?”
Rubine tried the coffee again but his hands didn’t work and it spilled onto his pants.
“Jack, let me tell you straight,” the words came out in a rush. “All I want is to get my ass into Canada before I get croaked. The films are yours, I don’t give a shit. See, this pal of mine and me got in a blackmail scheme and
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