Death Comes Early

by William R. Cox

  A throaty voice said, “Don’t talk like that, Rose Marie!” Jack whirled. Danny Horgan had come into the kitchen from the front, without a sound. He stood in the doorway, glaring at Rose Marie. He was six feet three in his moccasins, thick-muscled, young, covered with reddish hair. His eyes were green. He balanced like a professional athlete on the balls of his feet.

  “You’re drunk again, Rose Marie.”

  “Go turn blue,” she said.

  He started across the room, ignoring Jack. He reached for the bottle of brandy.

  Jack got to it first. He poured himself some, set it at his elbow. He said mildly, “Take it easy, Horgan.”

  The man’s eyes went back and forth between them. There was meanness in them and purpose and probably jealousy. Jack felt a mounting warmth inside him. He would have to give this bucko a few pounds and a few years, but it wasn’t like being attacked in the dark by two accomplished musclemen from the mobs.

  Horgan said, “Up to your tricks again, Rose Marie? Makin’ trouble again?”

  She said, “Ask him. This is Jack Ware. Ted’s friend.”

  “Screw Ted. The jerk. Alvin owned this place. Nobody searches nothin’ without a warrant.”

  “I just wanted to look around and see if I could find anything relating to the murders.” Jack kept his voice down, watching the burly body, the thick arms. He decided to insert the needle. “You see, I represent the heiress to the lodge.”

  “You mean… her?” A thick hand pointed at Rose Marie. “You’re workin’ for that bitch?”

  “Nice fella, isn’t he?” Rose Marie was smiling. “He took lessons from Alvin.”

  “You shut up about Alvin. I been hearin’ enough from you about him.” Horgan turned on Jack. “I don’t care if she did hire you. I’ll have the sheriff in here. You can’t come up here and pull that city crap on us.”

  Jack said, “And what are you going to do about it, junior?”

  The heavy fist swung. Jack was waiting for it. He slid off the chair, taking the brandy bottle with him. He handed it to Rose Marie and said, “Just stay out of it, will you, please?”

  He let Horgan make his charge. The rusty head went by him and Jack reached out. The edge of his hand cut down and drove Horgan to his knees.

  He deliberately refrained from kicking the exposed jaw. He let the man up. It was unfair, he supposed, but he needed to let off steam.

  He made Horgan miss with another wild swing. He allowed him to close and grab. Then he lifted a knee. Horgan went back in pain. Jack hit him in the hard belly, realized that this was bad tactics, moved again and dealt a slash at the bridge of the nose. Blood spouted.

  Horgan yelled then. The sight of his own blood seemed to drive him berserk. He dived in, clutched at the knees. Jack was caught off balance by the incredible speed of the attack. They went down, rolled over.

  Horgan came up on top. Jack turned his head to avoid stabbing fingers aimed at his eyes. He drew up one knee and kicked. Horgan roared again, but his weight was immovable for the moment. Jack started to roll.

  Horgan gave one more loud groan, then fell apart. Jack tossed him into a corner, came to his feet.

  Rose Marie held the bottle by the neck, straddling with feet apart. Horgan lay quite still.

  Jack said, “I told you to stay out of it.”

  “He’s too strong.”

  “In a pig’s eye. I had him.” He was red with rage. “I’d have turned him and finished him.”

  She said, “So I clipped him and saved you the trouble. You’re not very nice, are you?”

  He saw Izzy in the doorway, clad only in his pants. He saw the girl, regarding him with round eyes. He rubbed his hand over his face.

  He said, “We’ll have to get some rope or something and tie him up. He’ll wake up like a lion.”

  “Oh, he’s an animal, all right. More like a rat, but an animal,” she said. “He tried to rape me last night.”

  “He couldn’t have tried very hard. You’re not bruised.”

  She pulled up her dress. There were black and blue marks on her shapely thighs. She said, “I kicked him and then I ran. I got the meat cleaver.” She took another swig from the neck of the bottle.

  Jack said, “Izzy, put all your clothes on. We’re going to search this place, then move out.”

  Izzy was staring at him. “You are a regular Mister Moto, huh? With the judo cuts and all. I bet you harden your hand on a board, huh? Hitting on a board?” He illustrated with the edge of his pudgy hand. “Making calluses?”

  “Making nothing.” His hand hurt. He was far out of practice. “Get some wire or clothesline or something.”

  Izzy said, “It’s illegal, tying a man up.”

  “It’s illegal what will happen to you if you don’t get dressed,” said Jack. His second looey voice was returning to full power. He looked around, finally went out back and found a garage. There was a coil of electric wire on a hook. He took it down and went back into the kitchen.

  Rose Marie had not moved, but the level of brandy in the bottle had lowered. Horgan was trying to get up. Jack went to him.

  “You want some more?”

  Horgan muttered something. Jack wrenched his hands behind him and tied them with the wire. He asked Rose Marie, “Where’s a good place for this one?”

  She said absently, “One of the rooms, I expect. He may have called the sheriff, you know.”

  “That would be just dandy.” He rousted Horgan into the hallway, kicked open a door. The rooms were elaborately furnished, with deep, comfortable mattresses, large closets, drawer space in chests, semi-western like the decor of the entire Lodge. It could be a profitable enterprise, Jack thought, even as he tripped Horgan, threw him on the bed and tied his ankles.

  Horgan said, “You’ll be goddam sorry.”

  “You’re sorry now,” Jack pointed out.

  Horgan said, “The hell with you. I ain’t sorry for anything except I didn’t beat off your can.”

  “If you’d get it into your thick skull that I want to find the killer of both Alvin and Ted…” He broke off, seeing the hatred in the shallow eyes. The man was ignorant and prejudiced, there was nothing to gain by talking with him.

  In the kitchen Rose Marie had thrust the bottle away, corked. She sat up straight and said, “There’s no use searching the place. I’ve already done that.”

  “Maybe I can do a better job.”

  “Maybe I’ve got what you want.”

  She was far from a fool. He thought a moment, said, “What’s the deal?”

  “If it’s what you want, will you take me to New York?”

  “Certainly not.”

  She made an effort to be sober and serious and what is more, Jack saw, she was succeeding. There was no doubt of her earnestness. “Look, my family practically threw me out. I’ve got no place to go, except New York. You can help me. I need a stake. I’ll need a job. I can make it if I have some backing from a guy like you.”

  He said, “I can’t be responsible for you.”

  She looked a bit surprised. “I’ll say one thing. You’re the first man I ever propositioned and you turn me down. Hell, I’m used to having it the other way around.”

  “I’ve got reasons.” He’d already had Ted’s girl. Now Alvin’s ex-love was offering herself. The leavings of the Colyer brothers—it made him shudder. He said, “What is it you found?”

  “No,” she said. “No and no and no. I’m desperate. Why do you think I’ve been staying here, fighting off Danny Horgan? Look, I’ve been over this place with a fine tooth comb. You couldn’t possibly find anything more in the short time you’ve got. You can’t stay here with Horgan tied up, with the sheriff maybe getting nosy, maybe already on his way. You’ve got to get going, and you know it. I’m going with you.”

  It began to sound reasonable. He had the apartment at Waltham Gardens. He could put her in there and stay at the restaurant. He would not stay at Lila’s any more, he knew that now.

  He said, “Wh
at have you got?”

  “You’ll take me?” She stood up, leaning toward him. Her eyes were clear and completely sober now.

  “Yes.”

  She said, “Promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. I’ve got a letter. It’s in my purse. And my purse is in the safe and I know the combination. Alvin left this letter for Ted. I could have destroyed it. I read it.”

  “All right. Let’s go, then.”

  Izzy was dressed. The girl led the way into the reception hall. She opened a wall safe behind the desk. She took out a huge purse. She extracted a letter from it and extended it to Jack. Her face was naked, pleading. “You won’t cross me? Please don’t.”

  Jack said, “Izzy, bring the car around.”

  “You gonna leave him in there? Tied up? It’ll get us in trouble.”

  Jack said, “Stop whimpering and get the car ready.”

  Rose Marie said, “I’ve got two suitcases. All right?”

  “Bring them here.” He opened the letter. He walked to the light. It was addressed to Ted, and it was in Alvin’s tight, small, remarkably clear calligraphy, half-printed, half-written.

  Dear Ted:

  The way it goes, something is liable to happen to me any day. I got to say, you been damn good to me. I been lousy to you since we was kids and you fought my battles for me and I hated it, not you, but because I was so little I couldn’t fight my own battles. Maybe when I got older then I had to fight my own battles and being little like I am, I fought them my way, which ain’t your way.

  But the hell with that. What I am mixed up in, it is more than the horses. It is Pete Cancelli. I got a bad feeling Pete is too tough for me.

  It is also Cy Camp. He is not too tough for me, and his wife sure saw the day she was my mouse, but Cy’s money is too much for me. A millionaire is much. Funny, Pete and Cy, they both hire their muscles.

  What I want to tell you, if Pete gives you a hard time, is that you should look for the alky. This is a big secret that not even the cops know. Nor the Feds. He has got the rights from Frankie Yarbo and the Syndicate because he found the place, the old Camp Coal Company that even Camp don’t know about, ha, ha! This is a lease deal, very legit. You can figure out the rest for yourself, with what you know. It is very large. If you know about it, you can handle Pete. You can’t muscle Pete, but he can be handled. Cy Camp can’t be handled or muscled, but his wife is a kook, and through her you might get some place, only you wouldn’t, on account of you don’t do things like that. Maybe your pal, that crap artist Jack Ware, could handle it for you. He is strictly for the birds, but kind of tough and mean.

  This is all I got to leave you except maybe a tab here and there I forgot to pay. It will take care of Pete if you know what to do. Pete don’t like you, on account of Lila. He has got a funny thing about her, he don’t want her, but he don’t want anybody else to have her and won’t divorce her. He is an oddball. I know him good.

  Ted, I’m sorry about a lot of stuff. I had some drinks, as you know, or wouldn’t be able to write this. I’m real sorry…

  Al

  The last lines were a bit uneven—as the liquor had begun to take hold. Still, the signature was clear and firm. Alvin had followed through his impulse.

  Jack folded the paper, put it back in the envelope. He picked up two heavy suitcases, nodded to Rose Marie. “It’ll help. I’ll ask you later what else you found.”

  She shrugged. “A will, leaving everything to me. I’m hanging onto that.”

  “Sure.”

  They went toward the door. Izzy honked the horn. She said, “A lot of bills, receipted. Ted paid them, I suppose.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s it. Honest. Oh, some pictures, family stuff. It’s all in the safe.”

  He said, “Okay, let’s go.” They went out and he put the bags in the luggage compartment of the Chevy. Izzy was squirming behind the wheel.

  “You can’t leave him like that.”

  Jack went back into the house without answering. He opened one of the closet doors, examined the lock. It might do, he thought.

  He unwound the wire from the limbs of Danny Horgan. He hauled the fellow to his feet. Circulation had been impeded, Horgan was wobbly.

  Jack shoved him into the closet. Horgan cursed him. “It might take you a half hour to get out of there… You might call the law. I figure they won’t be able to do much. Maybe they’ll stop us, maybe not. If they do, I’ll be back and try you again. If you lay off, I may have Alvin’s killer lined up in a few days.”

  Horgan told him what he could do.

  Jack said, “Think it over. If I come back, you and me’ll have a real go-around and I can lick you and you know it. So long, Horgan.”

  He closed the closet door and locked it, leaving the key in place. He went out and got in the back of the car with Rose Marie. He might be able to learn something from her—a hell of a thing, he thought, riding with all that woman and looking only for information. Life sometimes throws a curve.

  His nostrils quivered and he sat bolt upright in the back of the car. Izzy wheeled around a curve and he was thrown close to the large girl at his side. He sniffed hard, then the motion of the car tossed him away from her.

  For a moment he thought he had detected the scent of the person who had knocked him down in the alley when Alvin was killed. He must be a bit wheely, he thought, from the fast action of his visit in the country.

  nine

  Pete Cancelli wakened early that morning. He spun around in the silk sheets, but the girl was gone. He lay back, sighing, remembering.

  The ceiling was high, with cornices of carved cherubs. The house had been designed by Stanford White and built to stand forever. It belonged, without mortgage, to Pete Cancelli. His mind soared back, savoring the time he had bought the place.

  The clock radio, Fm-Am, suddenly emitted soft music. It fitted perfectly into his mood. The amazingly agile and wanton girl, the house in a discreet neighborhood, knowledge of all he had working for him, it all added up to peace and contentment. He did not want to think of stern realities this hour, only of his success.

  Women were fine, particularly last night’s visitor from Nympholand, but they were not enough. He hoped he never saw that one again. Excess was good only once in a while, a siren like her would drain him. There were plenty others available.

  Even Lila, if he wanted her. He put the thought of Lila sternly from his mind. It was an unfinished story and he liked to toy with manufactured endings, but not now. In due time he would make a finish to that business.

  But the harm was done. He thought of Jack Ware, of Hal Damon, of the treacherous hat check girl at the Greystone. He tried all the mental tricks suggested by the psychiatrist, but he could not get back to that single moment of blissful dreaming. He had paid a fortune to that head shrinker, but it never worked for him.

  He tried to reassure himself with another cliché advanced by the doc, that a strong personality needed a hair shirt, a goad to keep him in trim to face his responsibilities, Well, he was tough enough. He could survive a night like the previous one, he could wake up without regrets or fears, he could handle the day’s problems with a clear mind.

  A stab of loneliness, of frustration, pierced him. He struggled in the entangling sheets, reached for the telephone, dialed.

  “Frankie?” he said into the instrument.

  “How are ya this mornin’, sweetheart?”

  “Had a night. There was this broad. She had class, she was lookin’ for it.”

  “It was nice, sweetheart?”

  “It wasn’t chicken liver.”

  “Fix it for me?”

  “You wouldn’t believe. I didn’t even get her name.”

  “One of those, huh?”

  “Yeah. One in a million.”

  “What else is on your mind?”

  “Frankie, the way it’s goin’, I figure to need another drop. Maybe even another plant.”

  “That good, is it
?”

  “Perfect. Also, I am buying three joints in Jersey from the Natachka brothers.”

  “You are buying? With real money?”

  “Frankie, I said in Jersey. You want war over there?”

  “That’s right. It ain’t the old days. So we’ll keep it in mind, what you’ll need.”

  “The usual cut to your outfit, of course.”

  “Sweetheart, you always come up with the cut. That’s why you’re our boy. That’s why you can’t go wrong.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Don’t be sensitive. You scratch our back, we scratch yours. We need each other. Only you need us a little more, so what’s the disgrace? You’d be surprised the big shots need us even more’n you.”

  Pete said, “Who’s sensitive? It’s a business proposition.”

  “We do you some favors. Like Jack Ware, he’s back from the Colyer farm. With the broad, the big broad, you know.”

  “Alvin’s dame.”

  “Yeah. He put her in his apartment.”

  “Thanks. That’s good to know.”

  “He slept at the restaurant.”

  “Oh.”

  “Disappointed? You were hopin’ he slept with the country mouse? Maybe he would not go back to Lila?”

  Pete took a deep breath, then spoke in a low, dangerous voice. “Frankie, look. I told you before. Ixnay on Lila. Frankie, I am a peaceable guy, huh? I want to be happy. Leave me be happy, Frankie.”

  There was a long, loud laugh on the wire. “You oughta see the doc about that, sweetheart. You ought to get that, now, block cleared up for you.”

  Pete said steadily, “All right, I said my piece. Now, anything on Damon?”

  “Only what I told you. Him and that Nola broad. She spent the night. You know, this is costin’ a pretty penny, coverin’ these people, I got half the private eyes in town workin’.”

  “Who’s paying?”

  “You’re payin’, sweetheart.”

  “Anything on Somerwell?”

  “We haven’t been covering him close. He is a money kid. I figure any time we want Somerwell, we lay out some more dough, he’s ours.”