Kane hauled out a pair of handcuffs and slapped them on. I helped him by raising both hands and holding them poised to receive the circles of steel. I wanted those cuffs on me because there wasn't much more time. Through the shocked audience Mrs. Brindley was pushing her way toward me.
I said, "Is this an arrest, Captain?"
"Of course it's a pinch. One I've been aching to make for months."
"And the charge is theft of Mrs. Brindley's necklace?"
"Stop asking silly questions. Okay, Sloan, come on and I’ll give you your first taste of a jail cell. I don't doubt you'll be bailed out in no time, only you're going into a cell first, no matter what."
He grabbed my elbow and shoved me toward the door. That was when Mrs. Brindley got in his way. Kane tipped his hat. A real gent.
"What's the meaning of this?" she demanded.
Kane gave a delighted chuckle. "Feel of your neck, Mrs. Brindley. Your pearls are gone. That's how we work. Show you the missing stuff before you realize it's gone."
"I know it's gone," she said angrily. "I gave that necklace to Mr. Sloan a few minutes ago because it needed repairing. Did you accuse him of stealing it?"
Kane's face went dead. Then he looked at me, and it came back into fiery life.
I said, "You made a little mistake, Captain Kane. It may be a very costly mistake. Take off these cuffs. I'm no criminal."
Kane turned to Mrs. Brindley. "What kind of a racket is this? He swiped that necklace and you know he did. He's been planning it for weeks."
Mrs. Brindley threw sparks. "I have done business with Mr. Sloan for several years. I respect him as an honest and capable man. This is not a racket, and I think I shall convince you of that very soon. I gave Mr. Sloan the necklace. It needs repairing. Would a thief offer to make such repairs? Especially when I know him so well? Take off those handcuffs, you imbecile. You . . . you . . . whoever you are."
I said, gently, "Mrs. Brindley, this is Captain Kane of the Police. He's suffering under the delusion that I'm some sort of thief. A mistake I'm planning to sue him for."
"He called me a racketeer," Mrs. Brindley fumed. "I'll sue him too. Will you remove those handcuffs?"
Kane fumbled for his keys and unlocked the cuffs, and I massaged my wrists as though they'd been wounded. Mrs. Brindley snatched the pearls out of Kane's hand and gave them to me. I dropped them into the same pocket.
I was enjoying myself. This couldn't have come off any better. Kane knew I'd planned it, and there wasn't a thing he could do. That's what I thought, but he suddenly grabbed me again, pushed me back against the wall and went through every pocket. I didn't know what I might have that he wanted. I thought the guy had simply gone off his rocker with embarrassment and chagrin. But the search was thorough, and he showed keen disappointment in not finding what he'd been after.
I brushed my tuxedo and looked very mortified. "Would you tell me what that was about, Captain? Did you think I'd perhaps looted this house of silverware?"
Somebody in the crowd laughed, and it spread like fire. They were all laughing while Kane got redder and redder. I almost felt sorry for the guy.
I said, "Mrs. Brindley, I'll attend to that little matter now. After I have a drink. This has been a most unnerving experience."
"Meet me at my lawyer's office tomorrow," she said loudly. "I'll tell you who he is when you bring the necklace back. Of all the insufferable people I have ever encountered . . ."
She glared at Kane and turned her back on him. I walked away acting as if I felt a little dizzy over the whole affair. I pushed open the door to the butler's pantry. Sheila was there, along with several kitchen helpers. As I passed Sheila, without glancing at her, I pressed the pearls into her hand.
I said, "Will someone please get me a drink of cold water?"
Sheila elbowed her way clear and went after it. I walked to a corner of the kitchen and leaned against the wall. She brought me the water. While the glass was raised to my lips, I whispered to her.
"My car is parked outside. Meet me there. I'll be awhile."
She didn't even nod, but I knew she understood what I said. I thanked her, handed back the glass and marched out through the dining room and into the reception hall. Kane was gone; the dancing had resumed. There were a few discreet stares in my direction. I walked out to the big porch. Things were too quiet. The excitement had died away too fast.
I had not intended to pass that necklace to Sheila, but something had warned me not to carry that fortune in pearls. First of all, there was Mona to remember—and what she had said about getting the necklace. I'd half expected to find her present at the party. When she didn't put in an appearance, my suspicions became aroused. Besting Kane might only be a preliminary. If I had Mona to contend with, I didn't want to be caught with the pearls on me. Anyway, since my arrival I had known I'd be an idiot to try to steal them.
The Fairweather estate was out of the city, covered a good many acres of ground and had a big driveway circling the front of the house. As I started to cross it, a man in a chauffeur's cap stepped out from between two cars and touched his forehead in what was supposed to be a salute.
"Mrs. Brindley has ordered me to drive you, sir," he said.
"Thanks," I told him. "I'll use my own car."
He moved up beside me very fast and poked me in the ribs with a gun. "Mrs. Brindley don't like it if I disobey orders, chum. Start walking. That black sedan straight ahead."
"What the hell is this?" I demanded.
"That all depends on you," he replied. We were beside the car and he opened the rear door. "Get in, friend."
I hesitated, turning my back to the open car door. "Now look here . . ." I started to say.
A pair of enormous hands came out of the car, grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back. I lost my balance, but those hands held me up. I was dragged into the car and thrown onto the seat. The man with the persuasive methods was a real brute. He could have torn me apart if he wanted to.
“Sit still and keep your goddamn yap shut," he told me. I decided it would be wise to obey him. He glanced at the other man. "Come on, Paul, get this crate outta here. We ain't got all night."
Paul, the man in the chauffeur's cap, grinned, removed the cap and tossed it under the nearest car. He got behind the wheel, backed out and made a fast turn. In a moment we were rolling down the driveway. Nobody said anything. We turned onto the highway, but I noticed it was to the left and not back toward the city.
"May I ask a question?" I said.
The big guy grinned. "Sure, pal. Why not?"
"Where are you taking me?"
"That's a reasonable question," he said. "You want an answer? Okay, so you get it."
I wasn't prepared for the punch that landed high on my stomach. It was short but powerful, and it sent pain shooting all through my middle. I bent over, grabbing at my stomach. The big guy clipped me on the back of the neck, and I fell over and landed wedged between the back seat and the front He grabbed a handful of hair and hauled me up into a sitting position.
"Any more questions?" he asked.
I wondered if I could get in one good sucker punch, but I decided against it. I was already reduced to about half strength, thanks to those blows, and this guy looked as if a sledge hammer wouldn't make much of an impression on him.
He cuffed me across the mouth. Just a light, gentle tap. It sent a rivulet of blood between my teeth and knocked me dizzy.
"Now I'll ask one," he said. "Where is it?"
"Do you mean the necklace?" I said tightly.
"What else? Hand it over."
"I haven't got it."
"Aw now, you seem to like trouble, Sloan." He walloped me on my already sore belly, doubled me up and slammed me again on the back of the neck. This time I almost blacked out. He hauled me back and started searching me. He had a quaint way of doing it. His hands were very big and my pockets were not, so he simply ripped them open. After I looked like a scarecrow in a corn field, he settled back.
"Well, what do y' know? Hey, Paul—he ain't got it on him. What now?"
"Wait until we come to a good place," Paul said, without turning his head. "If he ain't got it, he knows where it is. I wouldn't put it past him to have shoved it down behind the car seat."
The big guy liked that idea too. He grabbed my chin in one hand and squeezed. I could feel teeth move under the pressure.
"Are you playin' games with me, boy? Come on—is Paul right?"
"No," I said. "I gave the damned thing back."
The big guy relaxed a hit. "Imagine—he gave it back. I thought you was a big shot crook, Sloan. I ain't never heard of no crook giving the haul back."
"There were cops in the house. I never stole the necklace. Who sent you guys, anyway?"
"He's lying," Paul opined. "We’ll see."
He turned down a dark, narrow road, followed it a mile and then stopped. The big guy opened the door, stepped out and then reached inside. He wound an arm around my neck and dragged me out. I'd seen wrestlers apply this hold, but the best of them couldn't have equaled this guy. He threw me to the ground, and I bounced when I landed.
Paul said, "You treat him too rough. Help the gent up, for God's sake. When I ask a man questions, I want to see his face."
I was dutifully hauled to my feet, and I stood there, knees shaking—not so much from fear as from weakness. I'd been tossed around too much. Suddenly the big one grabbed both my wrists, yanked them behind me and stuck a knee into the small of my back. Paul punched me low, said, "Where is it?" didn't even wait for an answer and punched again. He kept this up for a couple of minutes. The big guy was laughing.
"Hey, Paul," he said, "lemme take him. You ain't got no more steam than a gnat's whisker."
"No," Paul shouted. "I don't want him killed. I'll wear him down.”
He started the punching again. I knew I couldn't take too much of this. No matter what the big guy thought, those were not the blows of a gnat's whisker I was getting. My stomach heaved over once. I got sick, and they both laughed. In a couple of minutes it all started again. I just went slack, my knees buckling under me. If they were going to kill me, let them get it over with. I was done—finished.
The big man let go of me and I crumpled. I could have moved, but I didn't want them to know it. Paul put his foot against my chest and toppled me over backwards. Then he stood on my chest for a couple of seconds, jumped up and down once and asked me what I'd done with the necklace. I didn't utter a sound, although I felt like screaming.
The big man went over to the car, hauled out the back seat and flung it to the ground. Paul got sore.
"You big ox, I paid better'n two grand for that car. Whaddya wanta do, bust it up on me?"
I turned my head. From where I lay, I could see the back of the car and the license plate was brightly illuminated. I memorized those numbers, although I didn't have much hope that I'd ever be able to use this information. The more I'd seen this big goon work, the more I pegged him as the brutal killer of Marty Carroll and that jewel thief they'd found a couple of days later. I thought I must look something like Marty had when I found him. My ribs ached; there was pain shooting all around my stomach. The taste of bile gagged me, and my head hurt as if it had been in a vise.
Paul came back and kicked me experimentally in the ribs a few times. "Well, he ain't no use to us any more. Y'know, it would be funny if he had given that necklace back to the dame. Imagine, making us work like this for nothing."
The big guy said, "I dunno—maybe I should fix him for keeps."
"She didn't give us any orders like that," Paul objected. "Maybe she wouldn't want it that way."
She! Instantly Mona flashed into my tortured mind. This was her way of getting back at me. The rotten little—
Paul said, "Let him lay. What the hell's the difference? It'll be hours before he hits town if he ever does. Come on, we're getting outta here."
They were leaving me. Relief flooded my brain, but I anticipated something good just a trifle too quickly. Paul drew back his foot and kicked me under the chin. That was all I needed. The stars staring down at me went into a tailspin and then blotted out.
I was considerably surprised to find them still in the sky when I opened my eyes again. Insects were chirping. Each chirp felt like the blow of a hammer against an anvil. I shouted something, and the racket was cut off as if a sound track had broken.
I pulled myself into a sitting position and wondered how a man could ache this much and still want to be alive. I rolled over on my side, got a knee under me and tried to get up. I couldn't make it. I fell back, spread myself out and just lay there until I could feel the strength flowing back into my muscles.
It had been quite a night
CHAPTER TEN
It took me half an hour to thumb a ride to town. A couple of cars slowed down, but the drivers took one look at me and stepped on it. Finally an old lady in a rickety sedan pulled up. Maybe she couldn't see well; maybe she figured she was so ancient nothing could harm her. At any rate, she rode me all the way to the river and kept up an incessant chatter about such things as night traffic, her grandchildren's Hoola Hoops, and a man she had known who drunk himself to death. She harped on that last matter so much I thought she had noticed what I looked like, all right, and was trying to give me an object lesson. I thanked her, headed for the subway, but decided I might get pinched before I got very far and called a taxi. Those goons hadn't taken my money, though I couldn't think why.
The cab took me to my hotel and I had the driver wait I hurried upstairs. Kane's boys wouldn't be watching me now. He'd have called them off earlier having thought that right about this time I'd be peering out of a cell. I took off what was left of the tux and cleaned up a bit, though no manner of spit and polish could remove the bruises on my face. Then I went down to the street and had the cab driver take me to my office. Again I told him to wait.
I unlocked the lobby door, signed the lobby book, went to my office and opened the safe. From it, I took a .45 Colt automatic and shoved it into my hip pocket. Next I ran through several inexpensive cultured pearl necklaces I owned until I found one which vaguely resembled Mrs. Brindley's. Then I sat down at my desk, picked up the phone and dialed the Motor Vehicle Department.
I said, "This is Captain Jack Kane, Police. I want the owner of a black sedan, license plate 3XC4601. I want it right away. Hit and run case."
I wrote down the name and address as it was given to me. Paul Stoker, 2297 Camp Street, a downtown address which had seen better days. I had the same cab driver take me there. By then I'd run up a sizable bill. I paid him off with a good tip and he was a happy man. This one job paid enough to let him go home early. I was glad somebody was happy.
I wasn't. I found that Paul Stoker lived in a four-story walk-up apartment house. There was no mistake about it. His car was parked in front of the place.
I walked in, found his name on the rusty mail boxes and climbed four flights, damning each step. Partly because I was mad, mostly because I ached from head to foot and climbing stairs increased the pain. I pulled the big gun, held it in my right hand and used the knuckles of that same hand to rap on the door. Then I slanted the gun at just about where I figured Stoker's head would be when he opened up.
I heard him coming toward the door. He must have had an easy conscience because he opened right up. The gun was about an inch from his nose.
I said, "Step back and leave the door alone, you punk, or I'll blow the top of your goddamn head off."
He knew I meant it. He stepped back fast and raised his hands as high as his shoulders. He'd turned a chic gray-green.
"Now look, Mr. Sloan," he said. The 'mister' part got me. "I didn't mean no harm. Spike, he wanted to finish you off, but I wouldn't let him."
I swung the gun and smacked him over the mouth with it. Then I pushed him back until he fell against a cot and landed on it. I hit him again, drawing the muzzle of the gun down from the middle of his forehead, over his nose clear dow
n to the chin. It left a big red welt
"When I'm pushed around, I push back," I said. "You can have your choice of two things. Tell me who sent you or get your face plastered against the wall behind you. I don't care much which."
He held up one hand quickly, as if it could stave off another pistol whipping. "Now look, Mr. Sloan, you know how these things are."
"I know I'm a prospective killer," I said.
"You can't expect me to rat. You wouldn't if you were me. Now would you, Mr. Sloan?"
"I don't know. It might depend on the kind of treatment I got. Like this, for instance."
I smacked him with the gun again. This time the corner of his mouth cracked open, and blood ran down over his chin. He looked great to me.
"You'll kill me anyway!" he shouted. "You're crazy!"
"Okay, Stoker. We might as well get it over with."
I stepped back two paces, slanted the gun down at his heart region and started squeezing the trigger. He let out a howl of anguish.
"Don't shoot, for Christ's sake, Mr. Sloan. I'll talk."
"That's better, but you'd better hurry up."
"I don't know the name of the dame. I don't know where she came from neither, but she's some dish. You take just a look at her, and you'll say she's a beautiful lay and—"
"Skip the sex appeal," I said. "Where can I find her?"
"I don't know that either. You gotta believe me. I met her only once—in a fancy cafe. Listen, Sloan, just to prove I'm leveling, she's taking over the town. Yeah—every smart cookie in your racket has gotta work with her or . . . or . . ."
He stopped short, realizing he'd said too much.
"Or somebody will get killed—like Marty Carroll. Who killed him? Was it the big guy?"
"Yeah. Yeah, Spike don't know his own strength. He was told to go see Marty and make him understand he had to join up. Marty wouldn't and Spike got rough. I wasn't there."
“The hell you weren't. This woman—who told her about you?"
"I don't know . . ."
The Deadly Game Page 8
