Figure it Out For Yourself

by James Hadley Chase

'Why, for a hundred bucks that guy would drown his mother in a quart of beer.'

  I said I didn't want him to drown his mother in a quart of beer. All I wanted was the lowdown on Souki.

  'Consider it done. I'll have some dope for you in a couple of days. Will that do?'

  'I'll make it a hundred and fifty if I can get it by tomorrow morning and if the dope's worth having.'

  'You'll get it,' Martha said, climbing to her feet. That guy's a genius at stirring up dirt. That all?'

  'Yeah. Well, thanks, Martha, you're always helpful. I don't know what I'd do without you.'

  Martha grinned.

  'Tell me something, Vic. When are you marrying that dark-eyed lovely you keep in frustration in your office?'

  'If you mean Paula, I'm not marrying her. I wish you wouldn't keep harping on that subject whenever we meet. Haven't I told you she isn't the marrying type?'

  She gave me a nudge that nearly dislocated my spine, and let off a laugh that rattled the windows.

  'You ask her and see,' she said. 'There's no such animal as a non-marrying woman. Those who aren't married haven't been asked.'

  V

  I parked the Buick in the forecourt of the apartment house on Jefferson Avenue and walked into the quiet of the lobby.

  A girl, not the foxy-faced Gracie, was sitting behind the counter, the telephone harness hitched to her chest. She was chewing gum and reading the funnies, and from the bored expression on her face I concluded they were no funnier than those Gracie had been reading the first time I had come in here.

  Maxie, the bowler-hatted bouncer, popped out from behind his pillar and scowled at me.

  'Hello,' I said, and gave him the teeth. 'Where do we talk?' His small eyes, set deep in the fat-veined face, showed suspicion and surprise.

  'What do we want to talk for?' he growled, his moustache bristling. 'I haven't anything to say to you. Besides, I'm busy.'

  That seemed to be the cue for the mercenary theme, so I took out my bill-fold and hoisted a ten-dollar bill into sight.

  'Let's go somewhere quiet and talk,' I said.

  He studied the ten-dollar note thoughtfully, groped with a thick, dirty finger amongst his back molars, fished out a slab of something and deposited it on the seat of his trousers. Then he looked at the girl behind the counter.

  'Hey! I'll be downstairs if you want me. Don't let anyone up.'

  She didn't bother to drag her eyes away from the funnies, but she did manage to incline her head a couple of inches to show she heard and understood.

  Maxie plodded off towards the elevator.

  We stood side by side, breathing over each other as the elevator took us down to the basement.

  He led the way along a white-tiled passage, lit by lamps in wire baskets to a small office that consisted of a desk, two chairs and a signed photograph of Jack Dempsey over a soot-filled fireplace.

  He sat down behind the desk, pushed his bowler hat to the back of his head and relaxed, breathing gently through his thick, fat nose. His eyes never left the ten-dollar bill for a second.

  I gave it to him. I knew he wouldn't concentrate on anything else until he had it. Fat, nicotined fingers closed on it and stowed it away in a pocket somewhere in his rear.

  'Perelli,' I said.

  He wiped the end of his nose on his coat-sleeve, puffed out a small quantity of garlic and beer fumes and sighed.

  'Aw, hell! Not him again?'

  'Certainly. Why not?'

  'Every cop in the City has been talking to me about Perelli. I've got nothing to tell you I haven't told them.'

  'That doesn't mean a thing, since I don't know what you told them. Suppose you answer a few questions: questions I bet the police didn't ask you.'

  'Well all right,' he said with no enthusiasm. 'So long as you pay for my time I don't care.'

  I rolled a cigarette across the desk to show him this wasn't going to be a hurried session, and he wasn't to get any false ideas about the value of his time, and lit one for myself.

  'Do you think Perelli kidnapped Dedrick?'

  The small eyes blinked. He hadn't been expecting that one.

  'What's it matter what I think?'

  'Plenty. And, look, don't let's waste time. If you don't want to answer questions, just hand back my dough and I'll find someone who will.'

  We stared at each other across the desk, and he decided I meant business.

  'Beer?' he asked. 'Might as well make ourselves comfortable.'

  He produced two cans of beer, levered off the caps with a jack-knife and handed me one.

  'Happy days.'

  'Happier nights.'

  We drank, sighed as men will, and set the cans on the desk.

  'I don't reckon he did it. It wasn't in his line.'

  'That's what he told me.' I leaned forward and began to make patterns on the desk with the wet bottom of the can. 'I want to help him if I can. Anything you might tell me could turn the trick.'

  Maxie started to explore his back molars again, changed his mind and poked about inside his ear instead.

  'Not a bad guy. A free-spender. No trouble. Nice girl friend. You seen her?'

  I said I had seen her.

  He closed one small eye, then opened it again.

  'The best figure I've ever seen on a woman. Think it's real?'

  'Could be. Did you see him bring that fishing-rod in here?'

  He shook his head.

  'No; and I know he never had a fishing-rod. I asked the girl who cleans his room. She's never seen one.'

  'Did she look under the bed?'

  'She cleans under it.'

  'The cops found it last night. Did she clean under the bed yesterday morning?'

  He nodded.

  'What time?'

  She was late. Perelli didn't leave the apartment until twelve thirty. She didn't start cleaning until one.'

  'What time did the police find it?'

  'Seven-thirty.'

  'So between one-thirty in the afternoon and seven-thirty in the evening someone planted it. That's right, isn't it?'

  'If anyone planted it.'

  'Well, we won't argue about that. Sometime between one-thirty and seven-thirty either Perelli or someone brought a fishing-rod into this building. That's right, isn't it?'

  He couldn't find any fault with that reasoning.

  'Yep.'

  'Are there any other entrances except the main one?'

  'There's a rear entrance to the basement.'

  'Can anyone get up to the apartments that way?'

  'No.'

  'Sure?'

  'Certainly, I'm sure. The way this place is built, you either come in the main entrance or up the stairs from the rear entrance. Either way you have to cross the lobby and you'd be seen.'

  'Where were you between one-thirty and seven-thirty last night?'

  'At the movies.'

  'You mean you weren't here yesterday afternoon and evening?'

  'I was at the movies.'

  'Your day off?'

  'My day off.'

  'Who was in charge of the lobby?'

  'Gracie Lehmann.' Maxie took another pull at his can of beer, added, 'It's her day off today.'

  'Have the police questioned her?'

  'Why should they?'

  'Didn't they want to know about the rod? I mean how it got into Perelli's room?'

  'Why should they?'

  I drank a little beer myself. He was right, of course. They had found the rod in Perelli's room, and that was good enough for them. They wouldn't bother to find out how it got there. It was there, and as far as they were concerned that was all that mattered.

  'She could have seen someone bring the rod in, then?'

  'If anyone brought it, she saw it.'

  'She might have gone out to wash her hands or something?'

  Maxie shook his head.

  'The lobby ain't to be left a second. That's the rule of the house. She has a retiring room behind the switchboard. If she goes in there
she turns down a switch connected with buzzers under the front and rear mats. Anyone coming in from the main entrance or up the stairs from the basement would sound the buzzer. It's foolproof. We had a lotta burglaries here one time. Now we really have to watch out. If anyone brought in the rod, she would have seen it.'

  'We've just proved either Perelli or someone did bring it in. So she must have seen it.'

  'That's right.'

  I drained the can of beer and lit another cigarette. I was faintly excited.

  'Want another?' Maxie asked, helping himself.

  I nodded, and watched him hoist two more cans into sight.

  'Well, I guess I'd better talk to Gracie,' I said as he knocked off the cap of the can. 'She could be my star witness.'

  'She'll be in tomorrow. Watch her. She'll come a mite expensive.'

  'Where does she live?'

  He brooded over this, then shook his head.

  'Can't give you her address. It's against the rules.'

  I nursed the can of beer and stared past him at the photograph of Jack Dempsey.

  'It's my bet Jeff Barratt brought in that rod.'

  He was drinking from his can, and the beer went down the wrong way. I had to get up and thump him on the back or he would have choked. I thumped him a little harder than necessary. I thought I might as well get something for my money.

  'Barratt?' he wheezed when he could speak. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Barratt hates Perelli's guts. The guy who planted the rod hates Perelli's guts. Barratt lives opposite Perelli. Barratt's a first-prize rat. Not evidence in court, but evidence to me.'

  He chewed this over and finally nodded his head.

  'Could be.'

  I drank some more beer.

  'Don't waste your time on Gracie if you expect her to squeal on Barratt,' he said, lowering his voice. 'She's very, very strong for him.'

  Now, perhaps, I was going to get value for my money.

  'What gives?' I asked. 'Why should Barratt want to bother himself with a girl like that?'

  The guy who owns this building tries to keep it respectable. Don't ask me why. He's funny that way. We've got instruc-tions that all women visitors are to check out before one o'clock or it has to be reported. Gracie works a night shift every other week. Barratt's women visitors don't check out at one o'clock and don't get reported.'

  'So what does he do? Feed her five bucks a week? I'll pay for information.'

  Maxi finished his beer, dusted the ash off his trousers and stood up.

  'Well, I guess I gotta get back to work.'

  'Sit down and give. I haven't had anything like ten dollars' worth of information.'

  'At my rates you have. Make it another ten, and I'll tell you something that'll sit you on the edge of your can.'

  'Five.'

  'Ten.'

  'Seven and a half.'

  We closed at eight.

  I gave him the money and he sat down again.

  'She's a reefer-smoker, see? Barratt keeps her in weeds. You ain't got a chance.'

  I thought this over, and decided perhaps I hadn't, but there was no harm trying.

  'Give me her address.'

  The extra money persuaded him to break the rules.

  '274 Felman Street: it's one of those rooming-houses.'

  I stood up.

  'Keep this under your bowler, Maxie. If anyone asks you, you've never seen me.'

  Maxie grunted, thumped himself on the chest and eyed me sourly. 'You don't have to worry. I'm fussy who I claim as a friend.'

  I left him sitting there, breathing gently and staring absently at the empty beer cans.

  VI

  The entrance to 274 Felman Street was sandwiched between a tobacconist's shop and a thirdrate cafe. There was a dirty brass plate on the door that read: Rooms for Business Women. No Service. No Animals. No Men. A card with several dirty thumb-prints on it was pinned above the brass plate and read: No Vacancies.

  The next-door café had four tables on the sidewalk. They were presided over by an elderly waiter whose long, lean face carried an expression of infinite sadness, and whose tail coat, in the hard sunlight, looked green with age. He watched me park the Buick before the entrance to the rooming-house and hopefully flicked at one of the tables with a soiled cloth, but the gesture didn't sell me anything.

  I climbed the three stone steps to the glass-panelled doors of 274, pushed one open and entered a dark, smelly lobby full of silence and neglect. Along the left-hand wall was a row of mail boxes. I went over and read the names mounted in grimy brass frames above each box. There was a surprising number of Eves, Lulus, Dawns and Belles among the three dozen names, and I wondered if the brass plate on the door was entirely truthful. The fourth frame from the right read: Miss Gracie Lehmann. Rm. 23. Flr. 2.

  Stairs, carpeted with coconut matting, faced me. I puffed gently up thirty of them before I reached the first-floor landing and a long corridor that went away into a quiet dimness surveyed on either side by numerous doors before which stood bottles of milk and newspapers. As the time was ten minutes past noon, it seemed to me the business women were neglecting their business, if they had a business, which on the evidence didn't seem very probable.

  As I began to mount the second flight, a lean, hard-faced man appeared at the head of the stairs. He wore a fawn flannel suit, a white felt hat and sun-glasses. He gave a nervous start when he saw me, hesitated as if in two minds whether to retreat or not, then came down the stairs with a studied air of nonchalance.

  I waited for him.

  He scratched his unshaven jaw with a thumb-nail as he passed me. I had an idea the eyes behind the sun-glasses were uneasy.

  'No animals and positively no men,' I said softly as he walked across the landing to the lower flight of stairs.

  He looked hastily over his shoulder, paused, said aggressively, 'Ug-huh?'

  I shook my head.

  'If you heard anything, it was probably the voice of your conscience.'

  I went on up the stairs, leaving him to stare after me, pivoting slowly on his heels until we lost sight of each other.

  The second floor was a replica of the lower floor, even to the bottles of milk and the newspapers. I walked along the corri- dor, treading softly, studying the numbers on the doors. Room 23 was half-way down and on the right-hand side. I paused before it, wondering what I was going to say to her. If what Maxie had told me was true, and it probably was, then the girl could clear Perelli if she wanted to. It now depended whether or not I could persuade her to throw Barratt to the wolves.

  As I raised my knuckles to knock on the door I heard a quiet cough behind me. I looked furtively over my shoulder. There was something in the atmosphere of the place that would have made an archbishop feel furtive.

  Behind and opposite me a door had opened. A tall, languorous redhead lolled against the doorway and surveyed me with a smile that was both inviting and suggestive. She wore a green silk wrap that outlined a nice, undulating hip, her legs were bare and her feet were in swan'sdown mules. She touched her red-gold hair with slender fingers that had never done a day's work in their lives, and her neat, fair eyebrows lifted in a signal that is as old as it is obvious.

  'Hello, Big Man,' she said. 'Looking for someone?'

  'Huh-uh,' I said. 'And I've found her. Don't let me keep you from your breakfast.'

  The smile widened.

  'Don't bother with her. She's not even up, but I am, and the safety catch's off too. I'm all ready to fire.'

  I raised my hat and gave her a courteous bow.

  'Madam, nothing would please me more than to pull the trigger, but I am committed elsewhere. Perhaps some other time? Regard me as food for your dreams, as I most certainly will regard you. Bear your disappointment as I am bearing mine, remembering that tomorrow is another day, and we too can have fun even if it is fun postponed.'

  The smile went away and the green eyes hardened.

  'Awe hell, just another nut,' she said, disgust
ed, and shut the door sharply in my face.

  I blew out a little air, rapped on Gracie's door and waited. A half a minute later I rapped again; this time much louder. Still nothing happened. No one opened the door.