by Larry Kent
Benny touched an ash tray on the table. His stubby fingers turned it around. “Maybe I should spend the night in a cell,” he said.
I slid the ash tray away from him. He looked into my eyes. “Explain that,” I said.
He held my gaze for a while, then his eyes blinked, fell away. “I ...” He gave a little cough. “I think I killed her, Mr. Kent.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Eve Delmar?”
“I think I shot her.”
“Who’s been talking to you, Benny?”
“Nobody.”
“Peller? Did he—”
“No. I figured it out for myself. I know Mr. Delmar didn’t kill her. He wouldn’t do an awful thing like that. And the other man—he wasn’t there—”
“Earl Salem?”
“Yeah. I saw him drive his car out of the parking lot ten minutes or so after you went to see Mrs. Delmar. So it had to be me. I—”
“Quiet,” I said.
The waiter placed our order on the table, went away.
I lit a cigarette, watched Benny bite into the hamburger, chew. I salted my hamburger, added ketchup.
“It had to be—” Benny started to say.
“Finish your hamburger,” I said. “Then we’ll talk over coffee.”
The hamburger tasted like sawdust, but I ate all of it. Benny finished his, too. My heart went out to the guy. He patted his lips with a paper napkin. Every move he made had gentleness in it.
“You’re no killer,” I said, putting my thoughts into words.
“I killed maybe twenty men,” he said tonelessly.
“That was war.”
“Sometimes I think I’m still in the war, Mr. Kent. Sometimes there’s like a fog in front of me ... When the fog lifts, I see the enemy ... and then one of them throws a grenade and my head explodes and I ... I black out.”
“Sometimes I see things, too, Benny. War is a nightmare that stays with you.”
“But it’s different with you, Mr. Kent. You don’t have a sick head. You know what you’re doing.”
“You didn’t kill her, Benny. You wouldn’t kill a woman.”
“She was no good. She was giving Mr. Delmar a hard time. When you kill a woman like that, you’re doing the world a favor.”
“Tell me how you killed her, Benny.”
“I ... I went in to see her after you left. Right after you left.”
“Why?”
“Well, I wanted to ask her to give Mr. Delmar a break.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this when I saw you this morning?”
“My head was hurting ... I wasn’t thinking too good ...”
“All right, Benny; tell me the rest of it.”
“I ... well, like I said, I asked her to give Mr. Delmar a break. For a while she talked real nice to me. She said she wanted to be my friend like Mr. Delmar was my friend. She was smiling all the time, but it was a nasty kind of a smile. She poured some whisky into a glass and said we should have a drink together. I told her I don’t do any drinking much these days, and she said I wasn’t being sociable, and how could she help me if I wouldn’t at least have a drink with her. She kept on talking like that—kept on talking and talking and talking—so in the end I drank the whisky to make her stop.”
Benny’s words had the ring of truth. He didn’t have the imagination to invent a story like this.
I asked. “Did anyone see you enter Eve Delmar’s suite?”
“Sure. Peller did. He’s always snooping around. He sees everything.”
“Did Peller tell the police he saw you go into her suite?”
“If he did. I haven’t heard anything about it from the cops.”
“Did Peller see you leave her suite?”
“I don’t know.”
“Keep talking, Benny.”
“Well, after I drank the whisky she started to laugh at me. She said I was crazy. She said she was gonna tell the hotel manager to fire me because I was too dangerous to have around. Then all of a sudden my head was pounding. The room started to spin around.”
“How much whisky was in the glass you drank?”
“A lot.”
“Enough to make you drunk?”
“I don’t know if I was drunk or—I don’t know what happened. All I know is she kept laughing and laughing and calling me names and I had to stop her! ... Well, she stopped. I didn’t hear any more from her.”
“You mean you passed out.”
“I must have killed her.”
“No, Benny. You said you went to see her right after I left. But what about Jack Delmar? He went to see her, too.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. I remember staggering around. I saw a door and pushed it open and fell down.”
“Sure. You left her suite.”
“There are other doors, Mr. Kent. Maybe I fell into the bedroom.”
“Eve wouldn’t have let you stay there.”
“Maybe she didn’t have a chance to get rid of me. Maybe that was just when Mr. Delmar came. I ... I’ve been thinking about this. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about it. I guess I did pass out in the bedroom because I heard her talking and then she was yelling and the door slammed. That must have been when Mr. Delmar left. Things got all mixed up after that—but I heard the shot. I did hear the shot! And it was close—it was so close that I must have had the gun in my hand. Then I must have dropped it and got out of there.”
“Where’d you get the gun?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I found it in the bedroom.”
“There would have been your prints on it.”
“I could have wrapped my handkerchief around the butt.” Benny’s eyes drifted away, came back suddenly to meet my gaze, dropped. “Yeah. I remember that part of it. My handkerchief. I remember using it to pick up the gun.”
“You’re lying, Benny.”
“No—it’s the truth, Mr. Kent. I did go in to see her. Peller can tell you that.”
“I believe that part of it. But you did not shoot her.”
“I did!”
“Look into my eyes and say you shot her.”
His eyes came up. “I killed her.”
“You’re a bad liar, Benny. You went to see her and she got bitchy and made you drink some whisky. The whisky went to your head and you left her suite. I believe you that far, but no further.”
“You’ve gotta believe me!” Benny urged, desperately. “If you don’t, how are we gonna save Mr. Delmar?”
“By finding the real killer.”
“But Mr. Delmar must ha—” Benny stopped himself.
“So that’s it. You think Jack did kill her.”
“I ...” Benny took a deep breath. “Look, Mr. Kent, why should Mr. Delmar spend the rest of his life in jail because of a woman like that! It doesn’t matter so much with me. Everybody knows about the plate in my head. They’d probably send me away for a while, that’s all. I’ve got nobody. I’m all alone.”
“You’re not all alone, Benny.”
His eyes filled. He turned away.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “You’ll spend the night in my place. In the morning I’ll see to it that you get on a bus to Oceanview.”
My phone was ringing as Benny and I entered my apartment. Anne was at the other end.
“I took a chance on finding you home,” she said. “Earl just got back to the club.”
“Fine. I’ll be there in about thirty minutes. Are the other two with him?”
“No. Larry, he’s upset about something. He’s a lot more upset than when he left the club.”
“Keep your eye out for me.”
“Yes, darling. ’Bye.”
I put the phone down, lit a cigarette. Benny was looking around the apartment.
“Nice place you got here, Mr. Kent. Where do you want me to sleep?”
“The bedroom. That door over there.”
“What about you?”
“No arguments, Benny.” I walked across the room, took down the pict
ure in front of the wall safe, moved the dial.
“Pretty neat,” Benny said. “Just like in the movies.”
I opened the safe door, tossed in the letter Daisy Ransom had sold to me, slammed the door shut and put the picture back in place.
“Make yourself comfortable,” I said. “Look at TV if you want. Plenty of stuff in the fridge. The phone’s jangle cut me short. I lifted the phone, said my name.
“This is Daisy,” said the voice at the other end.
“How’d you get my home number?” I asked.
“Eve gave it to me when she gave me the letter to hold.”
“What do you want, Daisy?”
“Another five hundred dollars.”
“Sorry, honey. I’ve already got the merchandise. You’re supposed to raise the price before the sale, not after.”
“But this time I’ve got something else to sell, Larry. Actually, I should ask for more money. If you think that letter of Eve’s is something, wait’ll you see this. Can you come right over to my place?”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
A pause, then: “I can wait until tomorrow, but if you knew what it is I have I’m sure you wouldn’t want to wait.”
“What is it?”
“Photographs and another letter. That’s all I’m going to tell you now.”
“I don’t have five hundred in cash.”
Another pause. “Bring your checkbook, darling. I think I can trust you. How long will it take you to get here?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
I cradled the phone, swore under my breath. She had divided her stock, figuring she could get more money that way.
“Something wrong?” Benny asked.
“No,” I said, “the world’s the same as it ever was. Hold the fort, will you, Benny?”
“Right.”
“If the phone rings, don’t answer it. My answering service picks up the calls after six rings. If I want to get in touch with you by phone I’ll dial this number, let it ring twice, hang up and then I’ll dial again. Have you got that?”
“Yeah. Two rings, then you’ll dial again.”
“Right.”
“Mr. Kent—”
“Yes?”
“Is there some way I can help you?”
“Not right now, Benny. But I might need you before the night is over—that’s why I explained about the phone. But, there’s one next to the bed and it makes enough racket to wake up an army. So get some sleep. Good night, Benny.”
I drove to the West Side, parked the car on Ninth Avenue, walked down to Daisy Ransom’s apartment building. I got the same smells as I climbed the stairs.
I rapped on Daisy’s door. The door opened a few inches. I saw the night chain, the big brown eye. The door closed, the chain rattled against it, then the door opened again and I entered her apartment.
I knew something was wrong the moment I saw the bruise on Daisy’s cheek and the fear that pinched at her face. But by then it was much too late.
“No heroics,” said a gruff voice behind me.
“Ditto,” said another voice.
Daisy wet her dry lips. Her eyes seemed to be trying to tell me she was sorry.
“There are two of us,” the first voice said. “That means at least two bullets in you before you can turn around and lift out your gun, if that’s what’s on your mind.”
“Staying alive is what’s on my mind,” I said.
“Then you’ll let my friend Dillon take your gun.”
I lifted my hands straight above my head. “Help yourself, Dillon.”
“Not like that,” Dillon said. “Walk to the wall, stand about three feet from it and then lean towards it and stick your hands out, palms against the wall.”
I did what he told me, heard his steps on the linoleum-covered floor. Dillon was good. His frisking hand didn’t miss an inch of me. He felt my gun but left it in the holster while he finished the frisk. When he was sure I had only one weapon he slipped my .45 from the holster. Then the other fellow said;
“You can turn around now, Kent.”
I turned, saw Joe Greg, the thug Anne had seen with her husband. The other fellow wasn’t as big as Greg and his mouth was blubbery while Greg’s was like a coin slit in a vending machine, but they shared the same lack of feeling in their eyes.
“Well,” I said.
“You recognize me, eh?” Greg said.
“We’ve seen each other around,” I said. “But your friend is new to me.”
“Dillon’s a Chicago man. But he’s heard of you in Chicago—right, Dillon?”
“We get all kinds of oddball information in Chicago,” Dillon said. He had my .45 in his left hand; in his right was a .38 revolver with a chipped black muffler on the end. Greg had the same gun, same silencer.
“Can I bring my hands down?” I asked.
“Sure,” Greg said.
“There’s no reason why we can’t get along,” I said.
“I like your attitude.” Greg said.
“I’m in the prime of life,” I said. “My best years are ahead.”
Dillon pressed the end of my .45 against Daisy’s arm. She shrank back and Dillon laughed and said, “Tell us about Kent, doll. Is he really in the prime of life? What kind of a mark do you give him as a lover?”
“You’ve got her scared half to death,” I said, keeping my voice quiet.
“About halfway,” Dillon agreed. “That’s not far. Plenty of room left.”
Now there was a glint in Dillon’s eyes that told me what he was. Some men—like Greg, I thought—go in for violence because the money is quick and fat. But Dillon liked the work for what it was. I was sure that the bruise on Daisy’s cheek was his mark; and there were probably other marks that didn’t show. I threw a glance at Greg. There was a faint expression of distaste in his eyes.
I said, “All right, fellers, so Daisy and I had a few drinks together yesterday. What’s the matter?—somebody own her?”
“Come off it,” Greg said.
I looked at Daisy. “Maybe you can tell me what this is all about.”
“She’s already talked to us,” Dillon said. He turned to Greg. “I think Kent is starting to believe his press clippings. Want me to teach him a few little truths about himself?”
Greg’s left cheek twitched slightly. In my opinion, he wasn’t very happy with his partner. He said, “Let’s not make any more noise than we have to.”
Dillon was disappointed, and showed it. “I just want to get this over with.”
“So do I.” Greg waved his gun at me. “Start peeling, Kent.”
“Peeling?”
“You’ve got something we want.”
“If you’ll tell me what it is,” I said, “maybe we can—”
“You know damn well what it is,” Greg said. “This dame gave it to you.”
“They made me tell them,” Daisy said. Her voice began to wobble. “Please, Larry, give it to them. They’ll kill for it.”
“Okay,” I said to Greg. “Daisy gave me a letter, but I don’t have it on me.”
“We’ll see.”
“You don’t think I’d carry something like that around with me, do you? It’s in a safe place. The envelope it’s in has some writing on it. My writing. Want to know what it says?”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“It says: If something happens to me, Larry Kent, the contents of this envelope are to be delivered immediately to the district attorney.”
“This cat is just too, too cute,” Dillon rasped.
“Don’t sell him short,” Greg said.
“Thanks,” I said.
Greg moved fast. The back of his left hand hit me on the cheek. I felt a ring break the skin, felt blood running.
“Peel,” Greg said.
I look off my coat.
“Lay it over the chair and step back,” Greg said. He waited while I did. “Cover him.” he said to Dillon.
&nb
sp; “Like a rug,” Dillon said, pointing the silenced gun at my middle.
Greg looked through my coat, tossed it back on the chair, waved a hand. “Pants.”
I took off my trousers. Greg took them to the table, emptied the pockets, felt in the cuffs and belt, then he looked through my wallet. “All right, shoes,” he said finally.
He checked my shoes for a trick heel.
“I can make him tell us where it is,” Dillon said.
Greg took a breath. “You might have to. Put your clothes on, Kent.”
I got dressed, taking my time.
“Hurry it up,” Greg said.
I zipped up my trousers, stepped into my shoes, bent to tie the laces. A sob came out of Daisy. Dillon’s eyes flicked to her. I threw myself at him. He let out a cry and tried to club me with one of the guns, but I was too close to him by then and took his elbow on the back as my head got him in the midriff. He folded over me and we went to the wall together. The air went out of him and he dropped a gun. I was on my side on the floor and he was draped all over me. This was good. If Greg snapped a shot, Dillon’s body might take. it. I felt the .45 butt in my hand, lifted the gun. But a bomb went off in my head.
Chapter 9 ... a ride in a fast hearse ...
There were gargoyle faces and pinpoints and slivers of light. The bright lights went away but the faces remained. Dillon, Greg, Daisy.
“Get up.” Greg said.
I lifted myself from the floor.
“Try that again and they’ll be using tweezers to get the lead out of your liver,” Dillon said. His face was a little green. He looked like a man with bruised ulcers.
“We’re not playing games.” Greg said.
I felt the lump on the side of my head. My touch sent needles of pain into my brain, where they exploded.
“We want the letter,” Greg said.
“You’re not going about it the right way,” I said.
“Let me work on him,” Dillon pleaded.
“I’ll make you kill me,” I said.
“That’s fine, Kent. I’ll go real slow.”
“Earl Salem will like that,” I said. “Maybe I’ll be there, watching from the spirit world, when you tell him you killed me and you haven’t got Eve Delmar’s letter. If I am there, you’ll hear me laugh.”
Dillon gave an angry grunt and took a step towards me.
