Build My Gallows High by Geoffrey Homes

were dirty brick structures, jammed close together. People sat on the fire escapes or on the stoops, trying to get cool. The East River was two blocks away but that didn’t help any because there wasn’t any breeze. Nobody paid any attention to the hockey players, even when they slammed each other across the shins.
    When Red’s cab appeared, crawling through the hot dusk, two boys were trying to murder each other in the middle of the street. The cab driver put his hand on the horn button and headed straight for them, so the boys stopped fighting and gave him their attention. They jumped on the running board and stuck their heads through the windows.
    ‘You bastid.’ one of the kids said.’You dirty bastid! Who do you think you’re running down?’
    ‘Go on,’ the driver said, giving the kid a shove. Something banged into the rear of the cab. The driver put on the brakes and opened the door. He grabbed the nearest kid, took his stick away from him and let him have one across the backside. ‘Who done that?’ he demanded.
    Red sat forward, grinning. New York, he decided, hadn’t changed much. It was just as dirty and just as hot. The kids were as tough as ever and the cab drivers had the same curious disinterest in staying alive or letting anyone else stay alive.
    ‘I done it,’ a thin voice yelled. A piece of asphalt rocketed past the cab driver’s head. The driver hurled the stick at his assailant, got in the car and started moving. Red looked back. The kids yelled curses after them, then went on with their game.
    ‘Nice kids,’ the driver said.
    ‘It’s the heat,’ Red said. ‘Makes them irritable. They don’t get their afternoon naps.’
    ‘You ain’t kiddin’,’ the driver said. ’Naps.’ He made a sound that might have been laughter and pulled the cab over to the curb in front of a remodeled tenement. Red gave him a dollar and got out.
    ‘Want me to wait?’
    Red shook his head. There was a garbage can at the right of the entrance and someone had kicked it over. The sight of it made him wonder why anyone lived in New York. He found Meta Carson’s name on the directory by the door and put a finger on the bell. He turned to watch the cab pull away. Down the street the kids were yelling as they played. It occurred to him that the sound wasn’t at all sad. In other places when you heard children’s voices in the dusk it filled you with loneliness, but not in New York. The lock gave off a buzz like an angry rattlesnake. He opened the door and went in.
    The hallway was dark and fairly cool. He went along to the back and heard a voice say, ‘Come in.’ He found himself in a big room that opened out on a small courtyard. A high brick wall surrounded the yard and at the back was what looked like a church.
    The occupant of the apartment was a tall blonde girl of twenty-eight. She wore slacks and a blue silk blouse. Apparently there was nothing under the blouse but Meta Carson. She said, ‘Sit down and I’ll get you a drink. I hope you like gin and tonic’
    A picture of a Negro woman nursing a baby hung on the wall back of the couch. Red didn’t like it. He sat down and watched the blonde. She opened a couple of doors at the other end of the room, revealing an icebox, a stove and a sink. ‘This your first trip to New York?’ she asked, mixing the drinks without the aid of a jigger.
    ‘I was born here,’ Red said.
    ‘How did they happen to ring you in on this?’
    ‘I was handy. And you?’
    ‘I was handy too.’ She put the glasses on the coffee table and sat down. Her legs were inordinately long, her feet bare. ‘Parker said you worked for Eels.’
    ‘I’m his secretary’
    ‘That’s cozy,’ Red said and sipped his drink. It was very cold. ‘Where do you fit in this mess?’
    ‘Here and there.’ She didn’t look at him. ‘What did Parker tell you?’
    ‘To phone you. I did and here I am.’
    A package of Kools was on the table. She put one in a holder and Red lit a match. His