Larry Kent 750 Sidewalk Empire by Don Haring

Author:Don Haring [Haring, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: detective fiction, blackmailer, fiction ebooks, piccadilly publishing, noir crime fiction, don haring, crime and mystery ebook, cubra libra
Publisher: Piccadilly
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Spanish music blared out from a juke box in the Cuba Libre, situated on the edge of Spanish Harlem. I walked past the place and looked down the alley. At the other end was a high fence. A lower fence made up one side of the alley, but neither fence was low enough to scale. Against the wall of the building housing the Cuba Libre was a pile of boxes and some garbage cans.

I walked to the end of the block. Autumn darkness had closed in. It was chilly. Then it began to drizzle. Good. The rain and the cold would keep people off the streets. I looked around and saw only a young man hurrying along the opposite sidewalk. I walked back towards the Cuba Libre and ducked into the alley. Luckily, I was wearing a raincoat. I went down to the pile of boxes and forced some away from the wall. I squeezed in and arranged the boxes so I could look towards the mouth of the alley without being seen.

Eight o’clock. An hour to wait. I rubbed my hands together but there was nothing I could do about my cold feet.

Time dragged. A man stopped in the mouth of the alley. Short and blocky, he was hunched in a raincoat. The brim of his hat was pulled down over his face, but there was just enough light coming from the streetlamp and the lights of the Cuba Libre to make out that he was swarthy-skinned. A Cuban or a Puerto Rican, I guessed. He looked down the alley and then he walked on.

Eight-twenty-five. The same man stopped in the alley mouth and had another look.

They were getting ready for the pick-up, I figured, and they wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be any trouble. But there would be—I’d see to that.

I yearned for a cigarette but didn’t dare light one. The smoke would hang in the drizzle. My teeth began to chatter. I hugged myself but it didn’t do any good.

Eight-fifty. The blocky man in the raincoat appeared again in the alley mouth. He stopped for only a moment and walked on.

Finally it was nine. There were footsteps, then I saw the big, hunched figure of William Grand. He stepped into the alley, his pale face standing out, his eyes like holes punched into his head. He stopped and leaned against the building wall.

“Keep coming,” I whispered.

He gasped as he heard my voice.

“Take another six or seven steps,” I said. “Give me a chance to get to the man who picks up the money.”

He paced out seven steps.

A minute or so passed and then the blocky man was in the alley.

“Mr. Grand?” he said in a heavily accented voice.

“Yes, I’m William Grand.”

Swarthy Face walked slowly towards Grand. “You have the money?”

Grand held out an envelope. “Yes.”

“Good. I will relieve you of it.” He snatched the envelope from Grand’s hand.

I made my move, squeezed out from behind the boxes, my .45 in my hand. “Hold it!” I called.

The man with the money spun around and went down on one knee, a gun in his right hand.

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