Behind him, McGovern said: “Get your hat and coat and don’t try any funny business.”
Ken moved up to the checking stand. A girl with a beautiful face flashed him a smile that was meant to be dazzling, but was only mechanical, took the square of pasteboard which he handed her and pushed Ken’s hat out over the counter.
The man who wore the white carnation in his dinner coat had evidently found some people he knew. He was chatting with them, a young man of about thirty, and a red-haired woman who could not have been over twenty-three. As he chatted, he reached up and plucked the white carnation from the dinner jacket, dropped it to the floor and stepped on it.
Ken said to McGovern: “Can I talk with you? Will you listen to reason?”
McGovern said: “Sure, I’ll listen to any guy who wants to talk; only remember that anything you say will be used against you.”
Ken lured him over to the far corner of the checking counter and said: “All right now, listen. I told you that this thing was a frame-up because I was a witness in the Parks case. You don’t seem to be interested.”
McGovern said. “Why should I be interested? That’s a state case, I’m a Federal. You tell me where you got this counterfeit money from and where the plates are and I’ll sit here and listen to you until daylight. But if you’ve got anything to say on the Parks case you can tell it to the state authorities—I’m not interested.”
Ken fixed his eyes on McGovern and said: “Listen, suppose that I could show you that this man Parks had something on the administration and was going to keep Dike from accepting the position of Superintendent of the Water Department? Suppose I could show you that Carl Dwight is mixed up with Dike; that, in place of being enemies, those two fellows are working hand in glove regardless of all this newspaper talk about Dike wanting to clean up the graft… .”
McGovern took his arm above the elbow and gave him a push.
“Listen, guy, I told you I wasn’t interested in all that stuff. Are you going to tell me where you got the plates or where you’ve got the rest of this queer cached?”
Ken Corning’s eyes narrowed.
“Okey,” he said, “I tried to give you the breaks and you wouldn’t listen. Now I’ll take a look at your credentials before I leave this place.”
McGovern grinned easily and dropped his right hand to the side pocket.
“Gee,” he said, “you sure are full of alibis and stalls. Come on and let’s get going. This is all in the day’s work with me and I want to get home and get my beauty sleep. You can stall all night, but you can’t keep me from taking you to jail and booking you on a charge of possession of counterfeit money. If you want my authority, here it is.”
Ken felt something hard prodding against his ribs. He glanced down to where the right hand of McGovern was holding the gun concealed by the right-hand side pocket of his coat. He said: “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
McGovern said: “Yes, guy, it’s like that. You’re going to take it and like it. Get started out of here. You’ve got counterfeit money in your possession and there are witnesses that you tried to pass if. You can either go quietly or you can get your insides blown out right here. Which is it going to be?”
Ken grinned and said: “Under the circumstances, I guess I’ll go quietly.”
McGovern said: “Now you’re talking sense. You can’t gain anything by talking any other way. I’m on the square and I’m going to take you in, but I ain’t going to stand here all night and listen to a lot of hooey and I ain’t going to have you pull any smart aleck stuff on me. Get started!”
Corning moved towards the door. He noticed that the man who had worn the white carnation was moving towards the door also and that the man who had been with the red-haired girl was walking with him. The red-haired girl moved off towards the left and went into the women’s dressing room. The man who had worn the white carnation lit a cigarette. He seemed in no hurry. Ken Corning went out of the door painfully conscious of the pressure of the gun which was held against his ribs. The doorman looked at them and said: “Taxicab?”
McGovern shook his head and said: “No, I’ve got a car.”
The big limousine which had been parked near the curb with motor running slid smoothly up to the front of the cabaret and stopped. The doorman started to open the door and McGovern spoke sharply: “That’s all right,” he said, “I’m a Federal dick and this man is a prisoner. He’s desperate and may try to start something. Keep back, I’ll handle this!”
He reached out and opened the door. His gun prodded Ken in the ribs. “Get in,” he said.
Ken put his right foot on the running-board of the limousine. He could see two men seated in the back seat. They were grinning. Ken swung his body in a pivot, grabbing with his left hand at the gun which McGovern was holding against his ribs and pushing down with all his strength.
McGovern fired twice before Ken’s fist connected with his jaw. Neither shot hit. Somebody shot from the interior of the limousine but the bullet hit the plate-glass window, shattered it into a thousand fragments and deflected. McGovern went down like a sack of cement. Ken swung himself on him and reached for the gun. Over his shoulder he could see the swirl of motion from the interior of the limousine. A man jumped to the running-board while Ken was still struggling for the possession of the gun. Ken heard him say: “All right, guy, take a load of this!”
Two shots roared out as though they had been one explosion. The man who had stood on the running-board of the limousine pitched forward and struck on his face. Ken jerked the gun from the pocket of McGovern and saw that the man in the dinner jacket was standing on the steps of the cabaret, an automatic in his hand. The man who had been with the red-haired girl was standing on the sidewalk a little bit to one side with a double-action revolver spouting fire. The doorman was miming heavily, his gold-braided coat flapping grotesquely behind him. The limousine had lurched into motion. Somebody was rolling down the back window, which had not been shattered. Guns blazed over Ken’s head. A bullet whistled past his cheek. The two men standing in the front of the cabaret answered the fire.
Ken got McGovern’s gun in his hand and took a couple of shots at the limousine. He heard the bullets give forth a clinking sound as they struck against the metal of the body. The limousine swung far over to one side as it rounded the comer to the accompaniment of screaming tires.
The man in the dinner coat ran towards Ken as McGovern, recovering from the daze of Ken’s blow, started to struggle to his feet.
Ken said: “Those men were trying to take me for a ride. This guy posed as a Federal agent …”
McGovern spoke up and said: “I am a Federal agent. This crook’s been shoving the queer. He’s got a wallet of phoney stuff on him right now.”
The man in the dinner coat laughed and said: “Federal, hell! I know you, you’re Jim Harper, and you’ve done time!”
A uniformed policeman, on beat, ran up. The man in the dinner coat spoke to him sharply: “All right, Bell. Get the crowd back. I’ll handle what’s left of this.”
A curious crowd was commencing to form a ring around the men, and the uniformed policeman started to herd them back.
The man in the dinner coat said: “That’s all right, buddy, I know this guy, he’s a crook. You’re a witness in the Parks case, huh?”
Ken Corning stared at him with round eyes and shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I’m not a witness, I’m attorney for Mrs. Parks and I came here to meet a witness but he didn’t show up.”
The man in the dinner jacket stared at Ken Corning for a long five seconds. Then his right eyelid slowly closed in a solemn wink: “So,” he said, “that’s your story, eh?”
Ken Corning kept his face perfectly straight and his eyes perfectly steady. “That,” he said, “is my story and I’m sticking to it. I’m not a witness, I’m a lawyer. I was to meet a witness here. These guys tried to keep me from meeting him, that’s all.”
The man in the dinner coat said: “Who wer
e they? Would you recognize any of them if you saw them again?”
Ken Corning shook his head.
“No,” he said, “the light wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t see them.”
The man in the dinner coat turned to the fake Federal agent. Ken Corning slipped away. No one tried to stop him. There was the sound of a police siren, approaching fast, as he turned the corner.
Ken Corning walked into his office.
The morning sun streamed in at the east window. Helen Vail stared at him with eyes that were dark with emotion, warm with pride.
“Got your name in the papers, didn’t you?”
He grinned at her.
“How about our client?” she asked.
He spread his hands, palm up, made a sweeping gesture.
“Gone. Case is closed, dismissed.”
“And all we get then is the hundred and fifty dollar retainer?”
Ken nodded.
“That’s all. The woman was driving the car. Her husband wasn’t with her. I figured that he must have been, but he wasn’t. Dike and Dwight had been having a secret meeting. They’d been out in the country at a road-house where they were safe. Coming back they were riding in the same car. Dike was driving and he was a little bit ‘lickered.’ The woman was driving the flivver and they had a smash. She was a little bit belligerent and insisted on taking down the license number of the automobile. They paid her for her damage but she acted a little suspicious so Dwight got the license number of her automobile and found out who she was. They knew that she was running a speak, and figured that she was too dumb to know what it was all about, but they wanted her out of the way, just the same. With the deal Dike was planning to pull, it would have been fatal if somebody had uncovered this woman as a witness, so Dwight decided that he’d get her convicted of a felony. That would have discredited her testimony if she’d ever been called as a witness.
“She probably was suspicious, because she told her husband about it. Nobody knows just how much she told him or how much he knew, but it’s a cinch that he knew enough to put two and two together when he saw Dike’s picture in the paper with the blurb about his taking over the Water Department and eliminating graft.”
Helen Vail watched him with wide eyes.
“Can we prove any of that?” she asked.
Ken Corning shook his head. “We can’t prove anything,” he said. “Wouldn’t do us any good if we could. They’ve dismissed the case against the woman, released her from custody and she’s gone. They probably made a deal with her, gave her some money and started her traveling.”
“Why would they do that?” asked Helen Vail. “Her testimony is just as damaging now as it ever was.”
Ken Corning smiled and motioned towards the morning paper.
“Read the news,” he said, “and you’ll notice that Dike has declined the appointment. He said that his private business was taking up too much of his time for him to make the sacrifice of accepting a public position.”
Helen Vail blinked her eyes thoughtfully and said: “How about the people in the automobile—don’t you know any of them?”
Ken Corning said: “You mean the ones who were trying to take me for a ride?”
She nodded her head.
Ken laughed and said: “Sure I do. Perkins was one of them. He was the detective who barged into the office here. He’s a cheap heel who does dirty work for the Dwight machine.”
“But,” she said, “you told the officers that you couldn’t recognize any of them.”
Ken Corning laughed mirthlessly and said: “Of course I did. I’d never get anywhere trying to pin anything on Perkins. He’d produce an alibi and get acquitted. Then they’d turn around and prosecute me for perjury. I’m bucking a machine in this town, and the machine is well entrenched with a lot of money back of It. I’m not a fool!”
“How about the man who pretended to be a Federal officer?” she asked.
“He’s got to take the rap. They’ve got the goods on him. They might have managed to make some sort of stall there, only I knew it was coming. I had worked the wallet that the waiter had planted on me out of my pocket. When they opened the door of the limousine I tossed the wallet in with my left hand before I grabbed at this guy’s gun and socked him with my right.”
She shuddered and said: “Oh, Ken, I don’t like it.”
He stood with his feet planted far apart, his jaw thrust forward, hands thrust into the pocket of his coat.
“I like it,” he said, “and I’m going to make them like it. I’m going to bust this town wide open. They’re going to stop me if they can. They’ll try to frame me, try to take me for a ride, try to freeze me out. I’m going to stay! I’m going to be here after they’re gone.”
“But, Ken,” she objected, “you’ve done all this work and risked your life and we only get a hundred and fifty dollars out of it.”
Ken Corning nodded and laughed.
“A hundred and fifty dollars,” he said, “and it’s honest money.”
Then he walked into his private office and the door clicked shut.
Helen Vail could hear him moving around in the inner office. He was whistling cheerfully as though he didn’t have a care in the world.
She opened the drawer of her desk, took out a ledger which was innocent of entry, took a pen and wrote in a hand which trembled slightly: “People versus Parks—cash retainer $150.00.”
Honest Money, Black Mask, November 1932
The Top Comes Off
LAWYER KEN CORNING WAS READING a printed pamphlet which contained the advance decisions of the supreme court when his office door opened and Helen Vail, his secretary and only helper, came slipping into the room. Corning looked up and frowned. Helen Vail’s eyes were big.
“She’s a beauty, Ken!”
“Who is?” he asked.
“The jane that’s outside.”
“What’s her name?”
“I don’t know. She won’t give it.”
Ken Corning’s frown deepened. “Listen, kid,” he said, “this is a law office, and we’ve got to run it like one. I’m just getting started here, but that isn’t any reason we’re going to let anybody ritz us. Go back and get her name.”
Helen Vail stood with her back against the door, slim, straight and pretty. Her lips were pressed together. Her eyes showed concern.
“Listen, Ken, that’s why I came in. I tried to get her name. I told her if I didn’t get it she couldn’t see you. She said that she couldn’t see you then, and got up to go. I called her back and told her I’d see what I could do. She’s pretty, and she’s been crying.”
“How old?” asked Corning.
“Her face says twenty-five, her hands say thirty. You know, the backs of her hands.”
“Yes,” said Corning, “I know. What else?”
“She’s got trim ankles, a sport outfit that cost money, and there was a diamond ring on her engagement finger, but it’s gone. You can see where she’d been wearing it.”
“Maybe it was a wedding ring,” said Corning.
“No. She’s still got the wedding ring. She’d been wearing two. The diamond’s gone.”
Ken Corning put down the advance decision. “Okey,” he said, “shoot her in. But don’t leave that outer office no matter what happens. This may be a frame. After the way I dented the political ring that runs this burg, you can figure they’ll frame me if they get half a chance.”
Helen Vail nodded. Her eyes brightened.
“I’m glad you’re going to see her,” she said. “I like her, and I was afraid you were going to get obstinate and turn her away.”
Ken Corning grinned.
“Be your age, kid! Do you think I’d turn away a good-looking woman who’s been crying and who has just hocked a diamond ring? I’d be crazy. Send her in and I’ll find out how much she got for the ring.”
Helen Vail opened the door and said: “You may come in. Mr. Corning will see you now.”
Ken Corning heard swift, nervou
s steps. Then Helen Vail stood to one side, and he found himself looking into a pair of steady dark eyes, an oval face with skin that might have given inspiration to an artist painting an ad for a facial cream.
Her teeth showed as the lips twisted into a mechanical smile, but the eyes did not smile. There was no sign which Corning could observe which indicated that the woman had been weeping; but Ken Corning knew women well enough to know that Helen Vail would have been right about it.
He indicated a chair. “Sit down,” he said.
She sat down.
“You’re Ken Corning, and I’ve heard about you,” she observed.
He smiled.
“You’ve got a good ear for news, then. I haven’t been here very long, and I haven’t had very much business.”
She nodded, a quick little jerk of the head that seemed swiftly decisive, exactly the sort of a gesture of crisp affirmation which one would have expected from her.
“You handled that Parks case. I don’t suppose it was big business exactly, but you ran up against Boss Dwight, and you won out.”
Corning said: “Who told you Carl Dwight was interested in that case?”
She answered promptly and in a voice which held more than a trace of mockery. “A little bird,” she said.
Ken shrugged his shoulders. His face became a cold mask. “All right,” he said. “What did you want to see me about?” Her voice lost its mockery, her manner its assurance.
“About George Colton,” she said.
Ken Corning stared at her, then gestured towards the folded morning newspaper which lay on the desk. “You mean the man …”
“Yes,” she said. “I mean the man who’s smeared all over the front page of the newspaper, the one who’s accused of murdering Harry Ladue.”
Honest Money Page 4
