Witch Rhymes With ...

by Larry Kent

  I took a few backward steps.

  Dillon laughed. “Look at him. He’s trying to crawl under the wallpaper.”

  “Wrong,” I said. “I’m just getting myself close to the window.”

  “Try something and I’ll shoot,” Greg said.

  “So shoot,” I said. “I’ll take a bullet. And if I don’t get a bullet I’ll dive right through that window. Where will that leave you guys? Want to call me on it, Greg?”

  “No,” Greg said.

  “Want to listen to what I have to say?”

  “Yes.”

  Dillon gave a short, mirthless laugh. “This beats the hell out of me! We’ve got the guns and he’s making the calls!”

  “Shut up,” Greg said. “I know this guy. I’ve heard all about him.”

  “Newspaper talk.”

  “No, Dillon. I got it straight from the mouths of guys who faced him. Our job is to get that letter.”

  “If you don’t get it,” I said, “then Earl Salem goes down to Virginia. Do they hang killers in Virginia?”

  “What’s your deal?” Greg asked.

  “I’ll take you to the letter.”

  “Where.”

  “I’ll tell you that when we’re on the way.”

  “He just wants to get outside,” Dillon said. “He figures he can yell for a cop or something.”

  “While your guns are pointed at my back? Silenced guns at that? What I want in return for the letter is my life. And Daisy’s life.”

  “You’re in no position to make bargains,” Dillon said.

  “If I’m going to be killed,” I said, “then you’re not going to get the letter.” I looked at Greg. “Why don’t you phone Earl Salem? He’s the one who stands to lose if you don’t deliver. Tell him my proposition. If he okays it—”

  “How do we know you’ll keep your mouth shut later on?” Greg asked.

  Smart boy. He was making it look good, making it seem as though he was seriously considering my deal.

  “Why wouldn’t I keep my mouth shut?” I said. “What’s to stop Salem from siccing you guys onto me, or someone like you, if I go back on my word?”

  “How about the girl here?”

  “I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Daisy blurted out. “I swear it.”

  “That’s not the story you gave Salem tonight,” Greg said. “You told him you’d send a letter to the Virginia cops about him if he didn’t come across with five thousand.”

  “I’ll handle her,” I said. “Just let me talk to her for a minute.”

  “Go ahead,” Greg said.

  I looked at Daisy, shook my head. “How stupid can you get? You sold me the letter for five hundred, then you tried to shake Salem down for five thousand. Did you really think he’d come across and go on his way? Come here.”

  “She stays where she is,” Dillon said.

  I gave him a disgusted look. “What the hell do you expect me to do, fly out the window with her?” I turned to Greg. “All I want to do is show you I can handle her.”

  “All right,” Greg said. “But don’t try anything smart.”

  “Come here,” I repeated.

  Daisy walked to me, slowly, her eyes puzzled. I shoved her face, hard. She brought a hand to her face, almost fell.

  “That’s for getting me in a corner like this,” I said. “I don’t like being forced into a corner, especially by a stupid broad. You can’t do anything right, can you?”

  “I’m ... sorry,” she sobbed.

  “You’re sorry. That makes everything just fine and dandy. A while ago I put our friend Dillon here out of the way. All you had to do was keep Greg occupied for a few seconds. You could have picked up a bottle and thrown it at him. But all you did was stand there and let him club me over the head.”

  I laughed. “These guys are worried about you? If you step out of line just once more, honey, I’ll spread you all over the landscape.”

  “It’s just an act, that’s what it is,” Dillon said. “All he’s trying to do—”

  “Can’t you shut your stupid mouth!” Greg said, sharply.

  They exchanged a glance. It was a quick thing, but I saw what Greg’s eyes were saying. Greg was telling Dillon to play along. I saw this out of the corner of my eye. As far as Greg was concerned, I was looking at Daisy. I didn’t want to give him a chance to see that I knew he had no intention of letting either of us remain alive once he had the letter.

  “You’ll be a nice girl from now on, won’t you?” I said.

  “I’ll do whatever you say,” Daisy promised. “I won’t let you down.”

  I won’t let you down ... Were her eyes telling me something else?

  “She’ll play along,” I said, turning to Greg.

  “We’ll have to see what Earl Salem has to say about it,” Greg said. “Where’d you say the letter was?”

  “In a safe place.”

  Greg shrugged. “Cover them, Dillon.”

  “Right.”

  Greg placed his gun on the telephone table, lifted the phone, dialed. A moment later he said, “Put Mr. Salem on. Tell him Greg is calling and it’s important.” A short wait, then Greg was talking to Salem, telling him about my proposition. I could hear Salem’s voice, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Greg’s closing words were carefully put together. I had no doubt that Salem was talking just as carefully at the other end.

  Finally Greg cradled the phone and nodded to me. “He says okay.”

  Like hell, I thought. But I said, “He’s got no choice.”

  “Let me give you some advice,” Greg said.

  “I always listen to advice when a man is holding a gun on me.”

  “This is very good advice, Kent. Keep your bargain with Salem, if you don’t, you’ll be dead.”

  “I know when I’m licked,” I said.

  “Keep thinking like that and maybe you’ll die of old age, though I doubt it.”

  He was good. He knew just what to say. I threw a glance at Dillon. His blubbery lips were set in a secret smile. Secret? Hell, he might just as well have put his thoughts on a billboard: I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, KENT.

  I said, “I guess you fellows have a car?”

  “What about the girl?” Dillon asked. “Maybe you should take Kent down. I’ll tie and gag her.”

  “She comes with us.” I said.

  “All right,” Greg said.

  We left the apartment in two groups. I went first, with Greg just behind me, his gun under the raincoat over his arm. Then came Daisy and Dillon.

  Their car was a dark blue Buick sedan, a new model. Now we switched partners. Dillon got in the back with me, after making me move along the seat as far as I could go. He took out his gun and pointed it at my belly. Greg and Daisy got in the front, Greg behind the wheel.

  “Where to?” Greg asked.

  “Downtown. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

  “Careful,” Greg said. “I know this town. Don’t try to guide us past a police station.”

  Greg drove to Eighth Avenue, turned south. As we passed Forty-Sixth Street, I told him to turn at the next corner.

  “I happen to know your address,” Greg said.

  “That’s where we’re going,” I said.

  He turned the car. My apartment was only two blocks away. About a hundred feet short of the next corner were wooden barricades around a hole in the street. Red warning lamps flickered. It was dark here. Con Edison, the company that provided New York City with electricity, was working on some cables. The car was moving at about thirty. We had a green light. The light switched to amber. Greg hit the gas pedal rather than stop for a red light.

  Daisy didn’t let me down. We were almost to the wooden barricades when she reached out suddenly, grabbed the wheel and pulled. The tires screeched. Greg yelled. The front of the car hit one of the barricades, went through. I reached for Dillon. His left hand bunched into a fist and caught me on the jaw. I fell to the floor of the car just before we plunged into the hole. There was a migh
ty crash. I was thrown up, hit the roof, bounced down, shaken up. I shook my head to clear it. Dillon was half over the back of the front seat, cursing. Daisy screamed. Dillon’s gun popped and Daisy’s scream died. I dived blindly at Dillon. He twisted in my grasp. We fell back. His gun popped again, the bullet plucking at my coat. I grasped his right wrist, turned it. His gun popped for the third time and I felt the impact as the bullet entered his chest. He went limp. I got my .45 from his coat, pushed the gun at Greg. He was unconscious. I looked at Daisy. The first bullet from Dillon’s gun had made a mess of her face.

  The front doors of the car were jammed in the hole, but I was able to open the back door on my side. I pulled Greg halfway over the seat, didn’t bother to pull him any further. Part of the steering wheel was in the center of his chest. He was still alive, but he wouldn’t be for long.

  I climbed from the hole. Windows were opening in the buildings all around me. I walked away, fast. Two blocks from there I caught a cab and told the driver to take me to Ninth and Forty-Sixth, where my car was parked.

  I drove my car to the apartment, went upstairs. Benny was sitting in the living room, watching TV.

  “I want you to do something for me,” I said.

  “Sure, Mr. Kent. Anything.”

  “This may not be easy. I’d like you to get Peller and bring him back here to my apartment.”

  “I can handle it,” Benny said.

  “Good. You can use my car. But first take me somewhere.”

  Chapter 10 ... showdown ...

  Earl’s Court was jumping. The floor was jammed with dancers doing the frug. Three scantily clad girls in bird cages tossed their bodies around. A six-piece band made a hell of a racket.

  A dark, slick-haired fellow in evening clothes asked if I had a reservation. I told him I didn’t. He showed me the palms of his hands and said he was sorry. I told him I wanted to see Earl Salem. He asked for my name. I gave it to him and he took a phone from the wall and spoke to Salem. A moment later he led me around the twisting, jumping, gyrating dancers, knocked on a door that had PRIVATE on it.

  “Come in,” I heard Salem’s voice say.

  The maitre de opened the door and stood aside for me to enter, then he closed it behind me. The crazy jungle music all but died away.

  Salem sat behind his desk. Anne sat in a big leather chair, looking very small and fragile.

  “This is my wife,” Salem said. “Anne, Mr. Larry Kent.”

  He was as cool as can be. I took Anne’s hand and told her how glad I was to meet her. She replied in much the same vein.

  “I was hoping to see you alone,” I said to Salem.

  “Anne was just about to leave,” he said.

  Anne got to her feet. There was a question in her eyes. I smiled at her and she left.

  “Well?” Salem said.

  I slid the .45 from my holster. Salem put his hands on the desk blotter, palms down. There was a broad ring on the third finger of his left hand. Diamonds sparkled in it. A wedding band. I touched the cut on my cheek and said:

  “Greg was wearing a ring, too.”

  “A two-carat diamond,” Salem said.

  “Don’t you want to know what happened to him?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  “He’s dead. So is Dillon. So is the girl. I’m the only one left who knows about Eve’s letter.”

  Salem nodded, soberly. “Yes. The letter. Mr. Kent, do you really feel it’s necessary to point that gun at me?”

  “Not really.”

  “You don’t think I’d try to kill you here in my office, do you?”

  “It would be a pretty hard murder to get away with,” I agreed.

  “I’m not a killer.”

  “The cops in Virginia will give you an argument on that.”

  “That wasn’t murder.”

  “Then why are you wanted for murder?”

  “I ran. I should have stayed. It would have been self defense. But someone took Mason’s gun, someone who wanted to make it look like murder.”

  “Mason, I take it, was the man you killed.”

  “After he tried to kill me.” Salem took a long breath. “I panicked. That’s the worst thing a man can do.”

  “A matter of opinion, Mr. Salem. I think there are worse things.”

  A stiff smile pulled at his lips. “Are you going to preach morals to me? Please don’t. That gun in your hand would blunt your message.”

  I slid the .45 back in its holster. “Make you feel better?”

  “Now perhaps we can discuss this in a businesslike way.”

  I said, “Letting Eve know about the Virginia killing wasn’t very businesslike of you.”

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “You don’t think I told her about it, do you?”

  “How’d she find out?”

  “Six years ago, Eve Delmar—her maiden name was Romaine—at least, she claimed it was ... six years ago, Eve was a drink-hustler in Richmond, Virginia. Mason was one of her boyfriends.”

  “Were you?”

  “Not then. My relationship with Eve started when she saw me in this very nightclub. I had changed my hair style, lost thirty pounds, grown a moustache—but she recognized me. It was what you might call a captive friendship.”

  “She was blackmailing you.”

  Salem laughed, coldly. “Eve refused to call it that. She saw herself as my mistress. The money was to defray her living expenses.”

  “So you killed her.”

  “No.”

  “Then Greg killed her. Or Dillon.”

  His words snapped out: “I am not a murderer.”

  I laughed. “A girl named Daisy Ransom could give you an argument on that ... if she were still alive.”

  “A greedy little fool,” Salem snorted. “A drink-sodden little opportunist with an IQ of minus. Eve met her when she was alley-catting around the bars. Eve had to have men, all kinds of men, and Daisy Ransom was of the same breed. Daisy told me how she met Eve only tonight—”

  “When you kept an appointment with her.”

  “She wanted five thousand dollars. She thought she was being so very clever. Our meeting-place was a crowded drug store. She knew I wouldn’t dare try anything there. She told me about the letter, but she wouldn’t say where it was. I gave her some money. A thousand. I promised to get her the rest. I asked for her address. She laughed. She thought she had me. She would make all the arrangements, she said—I wasn’t going to maneuver her into a trap. I asked for a guarantee that she wouldn’t turn me in to the police. Gradually she got the impression that I was willing to pay any amount to keep her quiet. She saw me as an annuity; she would never have to worry about money again. I left the drugstore before she did. I know she watched me get into a cab. She was so sure of herself.”

  “Meanwhile,” I said, “Greg and Dillon were watching her.”

  “She got into a cab and went to her apartment. They followed.”

  Salem nodded, then he patted his pockets and started to open the middle drawer in his desk. I got up, my right hand going under my coat.

  “Cigarettes,” Salem said. He showed me a fresh pack of Marlboros.

  I watched him light up. His hands were steady.

  “That letter of Eve’s,” I said.

  “Yes?”

  “It was the one thing you didn’t count on.”

  Salem blew a thin stream of smoke. “It’s true that I didn’t know about the letter,” he said. “But I should have suspected something of the sort.”

  “Let’s take that a bit further, Mr. Salem. You figured that she had something hidden in the suite that would lead the cops to you if something happened to her. You killed her and looked around for it.”

  “There wasn’t time for that,” Salem said.

  “You mean Peller got there quickly and you had to run.”

  “No. I mean there wasn’t time for me to kill Eve, make a search, and get back to my apartment in less than thirty minutes.”

  “Thir
ty minutes?”

  “The shot that killed Eve was fired at ten to eleven. This is a matter of police record. I drove my car into the garage beneath my apartment building at twenty minutes after eleven.”

  “Can you prove this?”

  “Yes. I spoke to the garage attendant for a few minutes. While we were speaking, the announcer on his transistor radio gave the time as twenty minutes after eleven. He remembers this because I looked at my watch and remarked that it was running two minutes slow. The Oceanview police know all about this; they’ve already had a talk with the garage attendant. He’s a good witness. As you know, Mr. Kent, it would be impossible for me to have killed Eve within the time schedule.”

  “You could have paid Greg or Dillon to do it.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  “You’re not that kind of a guy, eh? Daisy, for instance.”

  Salem shrugged. “Getting rid of Daisy Ransom was a necessity.”

  “And me?”

  “You walked into it, Mr. Kent.” He seemed puzzled. “I can’t understand why you didn’t take Eve’s letter straight to the police.”

  “I often don’t do things like that. You see, I’m not terribly interested in the murder of a man in Virginia six or seven years ago. My immediate concern is to clear Jack Delmar.”

  Salem looked at the filter end of his cigarette. “You’re not doing very well on that score, are you?”

  I smiled at him. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Mr. Salem. I think I’m making pretty good progress.”

  His eyes met mine. “I’ll say it once more, Mr. Kent. I did not kill Eve, and I think you know I didn’t kill her.”

  “If you didn’t, who did?—And don’t tell me Jack Delmar did.”

  “I’m sure that if your friend is innocent, you’ll prove it,” he said caustically.

  “That means giving the police the real killer,” I said.

  “Not necessarily, Mr. Kent. It doesn’t follow that you have to produce the guilty person to prove the innocence of another person. This can be done with eyewitness evidence; someone who saw Delmar leave the hotel before the shot was fired, for example.”

  “Someone like Peller?”

  “Yes. The hotel detective. He’d make a good witness.”

  “But he’s already had a talk with the police,” I said. “He claims he saw nothing.”