The Erection Set

His room was on the west side of the third floor at the far end of a corridor lit by two hanging bulbs. I stayed close to the wall trying to be as quiet as possible, reached the door and stood there listening for any sounds inside. All I heard was the rats scratching inside the wall. I waited another minute and tried the knob, letting it twist slowly and gently under my fingers. When the latch was all the way free I pushed the door in gently, waiting to feel the bite of a chain, but it went past the distance a chain would have held it and I didn’t bother waiting anymore. I shoved it open all the way and it clattered back against some barrier and stayed there.

The hammer going back on the .45 was enough for any body to hear. I said, “Markham,” and waited. I could see almost one-half the room in the dull light from the corridor, the dresser and chair with the pants thrown over the back, even one corner of the bed that nestled out of my line of sight. I said, “Markham,” again, then rolled inside in a tight ball, spun on my stomach with the gun ready to cut loose and nothing happened at all.

But I could see Markham. He was on the bed with one arm dangling over the side and there was just enough light to see that his eyes were open. I found the switch on the lamp beside the bed and flipped it on.

My strong-arm friend was out to lunch. Somebody had retired him from the land of the living with a single tiny puncture square in the middle of his forehead halfway between his hairline and the bridge of his nose. There had been no fuss and no mess. There was a half-empty bottle of codeine tablets on the night table and Markham had bought his ticket in the middle of a deep sleep he needed to deaden the pain from his smashed face.

I went over and took a look at the door. The lock was old-fashioned and simple, easy to open with a skeleton key or a pick. There was a chain lock too, but it dangled free because whoever installed it put the catch too close to the edge of the door and there was enough play for it to be opened by reaching in from the outside and flipping it back.

Markham had made too many other people hurt without knowing the bite of pain himself. He forgot that it could make you careless about the things that could get you dead fast.

I went back to the body, felt the clammy skin and lifted the arm that dangled so stiffly, then went out, closed the door and went back downstairs. The clerk looked at me over his scratch sheet and said, “Find him?”

I nodded. “He get any other visitors?”

“Nope.”

“Anybody check in the last twelve hours?”

“We don’t get much trade, feller. Like I’m only here to see nobody tears the place up. In this neighborhood ...”

“I didn’t ask you that,” I said.

He faked a smile, waiting to see another bill in my fingers, but he saw what was in my face and the smile turned sour. “One guy comes in. So I give him a room.”

“He there now?”

“Nah. I figured he needed it for a broad. He went out maybe a half hour later to get one. He ain’t shown yet.”

“Luggage?”

“When they pay in advance, they don’t need it. Besides, you think we got fancy trade yet? Here they come in with paper bags. This guy was looking for a quick shack, that’s all. The way he was dressed he could do better uptown.”

“Describe him.”

“Mister, I don’t look at my customers. You I’ll remember from talking. You want that?”

“I don’t give a shit, buddy. Where’s your register?”

“Hell, I’ll tell you his name. Peterson, that’s what. New-ark, New Jersey. Look, what’s ...”

“Give me your phone.”

“Pay phone’s on the wall.”

I looked at him for about three seconds and he handed me the phone. I had to go through the police emergency number, but I finally raised Tobano and said, “I found Markham, Sergeant. He’s nice and dead.”

For a minute I listened, then said into the mouthpiece, “Ease off. He’s cold and rigor’s set in. I’m covered for every minute of the day. If I were you I’d get to the Greek. He might have been a little luckier.”

Tobano finally calmed down, but the annoyance was still there. “You stay put until we get there, understand?”

“Unh-uh, pal. Consider this call from an anonymous source. I’ll check in with you later. By the way, did you get a report on those prints?”

His voice was quiet and hard. “I did,” he said, and hung up.

The night clerk had put down his paper and was trying to light a cigarette. I handed his phone back and held a match under the butt in his lips. “Don’t bother going upstairs, mister. Just stay here until a squad car shows. After that tell them anything you know.”

He sucked in a lungful of smoke, coughed and nodded. “If that guy comes back ...”

“He won’t,” I told him.