Harry Duke shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter with the Clarion?’ He looked at Clare.
Clare lifted her shoulder. ‘I’m afraid it’s like Fairview. A little tired and scared of a fight.’
‘A live newspaper could do a lot for that town,’ Duke said. ‘I’d like to take the Clarion over.’
Clare suddenly felt angry. ‘It is already practically controlled by one of your gambling friends,’ she said, sharply. ‘That’s the reason why it doesn’t fight.’
Duke laughed. ‘You’ve got me wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m as keen to clean up Bentonville as you are. You ask Pete, he’ll tell you.’
Peter finished his drink. ‘He’s quite right,’ he said. ‘Harry’s a natural gambler, he doesn’t approve of this mass invasion. I shouldn’t be surprised if, one of these days, he doesn’t start a crusade himself.’
Clare looked a little blank. ‘But, why don’t you?’ she demanded. ‘If you feel like that?’
Duke put his glass gently on the polished bar. ‘It’s not so easy,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to find an excuse to start. You know how strong this organization is. It’ll want a lot of busting. The only way is to isolate the ringleaders, get rid of them first and then move in on the smaller fry. But, getting the men who count will be a tough job. A lot of guys will get shot before it’s done.’
‘I believe you could do it by appealing to the people. If you get rid of this political group, the town could be swept clean. Violence will never get you anything except into trouble.’
Duke shrugged. ‘I favour my idea,’ he said. ‘Every election has been rigged up to now and they’ll go on rigging it.’ He glanced at the wall clock. ‘It’s getting late. Let’s eat!’
When they had found their table and sat down, Clare said, ‘Do you know a man called Timson, Mr. Duke?’
Peter broke in, ‘Now, for the love of Mike, Clare, call him Harry.’
‘Leave her alone,’ Duke said, sensing Clare’s embarrassment. ‘She can call me what she likes.’
Peter groaned. ‘Oh, heck! I believe you two hate each other,’ he said, in mock despair.
‘No, we don’t,’ Duke returned. ‘Do we, Clare?’ Again he felt the slight thickening in his throat as he looked at her.
She shook her head, avoiding his eyes.
‘You were asking about Timson?’ Duke went on. ‘He’s Bellman’s manager. Why? Do you know him?’
‘Is he?’ Clare looked over at Peter. ‘Then if he’s bought Pinder’s End, it would be for Bellman?’
‘But you don’t know that he has bought it,’ Peter pointed out.
Duke shifted forward in his chair, but before he could speak the waiter came for their order. When he had gone away, Duke said, ‘What’s this about Pinder’s End?’
Clare told him briefly.
Duke half closed his eyes. ‘That’s interesting,’ he said. ‘Do you know anything about Fairview’s land. I mean there’d be no chance of a silver mine or anything like that?’
Clare looked startled. It was an angle she hadn’t thought of. ‘I don’t think so, but I could find out, of course.’
‘I wish you two wouldn’t go on as if there’s a mystery in this. We don’t know that Timson has bought anything yet,’ Peter said again.
Duke ignored him. ‘Do me a favour, will you?’ he said to Clare. ‘You’re out there. If you hear anything, give me a ring. I’m interested.’
‘All right,’ Clare said. ‘What do you think’s going on?’
Duke shook his head. ‘I don’t know yet, but I’ve got an angle.’ He took out his wallet, found a scrap of paper and scribbled his telephone number on it. ‘You’ll find me any time at this number.’
She took the scrap of paper, glanced at it and put it in her bag. ‘I won’t forget,’ she said.
Peter watched this with mixed feelings. Then he said without thinking. ‘That’s pretty smooth. He’s given you his telephone number right under my nose. What are you trying to do, Harry? Steal her from me?’
Clare flushed scarlet.
Duke looked at her and then at Peter. His eyes had gone frosty. ‘That sounded like a cheap crack, Peter,’ he said, gently.
A sudden feeling of jealousy swamped Peter’s better judgment. ‘Oh, rot!’ he said, angrily. ‘I was kidding. But, you two needn’t look so damned guilty about it.’ He gave Clare a sharp look. ‘What are you blushing for, anyway?’
Clare pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said, and left them She crossed the restaurant and went into the Ladies’ room.
Peter stared after her blankly.
‘You were flat footed there,’ Duke said quietly, toying with his glass.
Peter ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What’s the matter with the girl? I’ve never seen her like that before.’ He looked at Duke, anger in his eyes. ‘I think I’ve made a mistake introducing…’
‘Shut up!’ Duke said, curtly. ‘That kid’s tired. She’s nervy and she doesn’t want a lot of funny stuff from hick comedians. Look after her, can’t you? You’ve got someone worthwhile.’
‘Where do you get all that stuff from?’ Peter said, furiously, his temper getting the better of him. ‘I’ve known her a damn sight longer than you. Until you barged in we’ve never had any trouble.’
‘Take it easy,’ Duke said, with a hard little smile. ‘I didn’t ask to barge in, you know. Just treat her right, will you, and tell her I’ve been called away.’
Peter got hastily to his feet. ‘Now look, Harry, I’m sorry for what I said. I was just rattled. Sit down and forget it.’
Duke shook his head. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve just remembered a date with Bellman. See you tomorrow, Pete, and watch out.’
He went away before Peter could protest and walked into the lounge. He picked out a short thickset man who was standing at the bottom of the wide staircase that led to the roulette room and went over.
‘Where’s Bellman?’ he said.
The short thickset man eyed him coldly. ‘Who shall I say?’
‘Tell him it’s his mother,’ Duke said.
The short thickset man shrugged and moved up the stairs. Duke followed him and at the end of the corridor the man paused outside a door. ‘Don’t let’s have any funny stuff,’ he said. ‘What name shall I give him?’
Duke put out a hand, took the man by the front of his coat and shoved him against the wall. ‘Go jump down a well,’ he said.
Bellman was sitting behind a big desk. A number of papers were scattered in front of him and he was writing rapidly. He looked up with a frown as Duke kicked the door shut. When he saw who it was, his heavy, florid face lit up and he got to his feet. ‘Well, well,’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Just the fella I wanted to see.’
Duke ignored the outstretched hand. He pulled a chair towards him with his foot and sat down.
Bellman glanced at his hand with an amused smile, raised his eyebrows and sat down again. He wasn’t as tall as Duke, but he was much heavier built. His hair was dark, parted in the middle and ran back from his forehead in a V. He was handsome in a flashy way.
‘I’ve been thinking about you for some time, Duke,’ he said, picking up a long paper knife and tapping with it on the white blotter. ‘Isn’t it time you and me got together?’
Duke pushed his hat to the back of his head. He stroked his square jaw thoughtfully. ‘Is it?’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t know. From the look of this joint, you ain’t doing too badly. Why worry about me?’
Bellman touched a buzzer. ‘Let’s have something to drink,’ he said. ‘I want to have a straight talk with you.’
The thickset man came into the room quickly. His left hand was hidden in his pocket. A child could see that he was fingering a gun.
Bellman said sharply, ‘Have some Scotch sent up.’
When the man had gone, Bellman went on, ‘You’ve got a big reputation as a gambler in the district. Your name stands pretty high. Everyone knows you’re lucky. You stake b
ig and you win big. When you lose, which isn’t often, you pay up and try again.
The crowd that comes here are snobs. They like to feel that they’ve got something that other people haven’t got. That’s why I want you here. I want to put in lights that Duke, the famous gambler, is right inside, looking after my wheels. You’re as free as the air, just look in nights, have a wander round, then if you want to, blow. Do you get the idea?’
Duke reached inside his coat, took out his flat cigar case and selected a cigar. He didn’t offer the case to Bellman. ‘Go on,’ he said.
The thickset man came in with the drinks. Bellman told him to put them down and get out.
When he had gone, Bellman mixed the drinks silently, gave a glass to Duke and lit a cigarette.
‘You being here will do my business a lot of good,’ he said. ‘I’m ready to pay you. What do you say?’
‘Kells came in tonight. He said you were offering five hundred bucks. I laughed at him’
Bellman flushed. ‘I told the punk you could make your own terms. Listen, Duke, I need you and I’m not going to haggle. The point to be settled is, will you come?’
Duke shook his head. ‘I guess not,’ he said.
Bellman said, ‘We’ll split fifty-fifty on the wheels. They’re worth about eight grand a week. With you here, they ought to go to twelve. Six thousand dollars a week. Now will you come?’
Duke took a long pull at his glass. His eyes were very intent. ‘That’s a hell of a lot of dough,’ he said.
Bellman drained his glass and immediately refilled it. His hand shook a trifle. ‘It’s worth that to me,’ he said. ‘How about it?’
Duke blew dark oily smoke across the room. ‘Spade wouldn’t like it,’ he said, gently.
Bellman dropped the paper knife he was fooling with. His face went livid. ‘Spade?’ he said, leaning forward. ‘What do you mean - Spade?’
‘Suppose you talk. You don’t want me here to bring you trade. You want me here because of my rod. Why are you scared of Spade?’
Bellman kicked back his chair. ‘You’re crazy,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I ain’t scared of Spade. I’ve offered you a proposition. Will you take it or won’t you?’
Duke was just saying no when the door opened silently and a little guy in a black suit slid into the room. Duke caught a glimpse of a blunt-nose automatic in his hand. It happened so quickly that Bellman didn’t seem to understand what it was all about until it was over.
The little guy began to fire as Duke tossed the contents of his glass in his face. The whisky hit the little guy and got in his eyes.
Two bullets ploughed up the smooth top of Bellman’s desk and brought down plaster from the opposite wall. Then the door slammed again and the little guy was gone.
Duke put his gun back into his holster regretfully. ‘Seemed in a hurry, didn’t he?’ he said, casually, refilling his glass. ‘Was he a friend of yours?’
Bellman looked as if he were going to faint. He sat limply in his chair, his face white and shiny with sweat. ‘No . . . I’ve never seen him before,’ he said, in a low voice.
‘Seemed almost as if he wanted to knock you off,’ Duke said, enjoying Bellman’s shakes. ‘Did you get the same impression?’
Kells came in quickly and shut the door. He seemed surprised to see Bellman alive.
Duke said, ‘Did you see him?’
Kells shook his head. ‘Who was it?’
Bellman was greedily drinking a big whisky. ‘Some crazy guy,’ he stammered. ‘Maybe someone losing on the wheels.’
Duke was watching Kells closely and saw him sneer. ‘I got his car number,’ Kells said and scribbled down the number on the blotter. Duke glanced at it. As he thought, it was the same number as the car that had followed him.
‘That’s Spade’s car,’ he said. ‘It followed me half way here before I shook it. I had the number checked.’
Bellman looked over at Kells. He’d gone a little green. ‘Spade?’ he repeated stupidly. ‘But Spade wouldn’t do a thing like that.’
Kells moved restlessly. ‘Well, what do you want me to do?’ he said.
‘Find out how he got up here,’ Bellman snarled, his colour coming back a trifle. ‘What the hell do you think I’m paying a bunch of toughs for if they’re asleep all the time?’
Kells said, ‘Okay,’ and went to the door. ‘You stickin’?’ he asked Duke as he was leaving.
‘I don’t think it’s safe,’ Duke said, and laughed.
Kells went away.
Bellman poured more whisky into his glass. ‘You saved my life,’ he said, soberly. ‘That was the smartest thing I’ve ever seen. You didn’t let him rattle you, did you?’
‘Why should he rattle me? You were the guy he was after.’ Duke finished his whisky and stood up. ‘Well, I’ll come to your funeral,’ he said, lightly. ‘The proposition doesn’t interest me. I like a more peaceful life.’
Bellman said, ‘Wait, you don’t know what you’re turning down.’
Duke smiled at him. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I don’t beat up trouble. If I’ve got to fight, I’ll fight for myself, not for anyone else. I don’t like you, Bellman, and I wouldn’t try very hard. It’d be a bad bargain.’ He went to the door. ‘So long,’ he said, and went
out.
He met Kells in the hall. ‘Let me know when he’s killed,’ he said. ‘I’d like him to have a wreath of buttercups.’
Kells grinned. ‘So you’re not interested?’ He said it as if he had expected it.
Duke shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t talk,’ he said. ‘I like to know where I am.’
‘So do I.’
They exchanged glances.
‘It’s Spade, of course - but why?’ Duke asked.
Kells shook his head. ‘He’s after Bellman. Maybe he doesn’t like him or something.’
Duke nodded. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Yeah, maybe he doesn’t like him,’ and he went out into the dark, stifling street.
SIX
Schultz was putting on his hat when the telephone rang. He frowned, looked at the time, then pulled the telephone towards him. ‘Who is it?’ he asked, then his face showed interest. He sat down. ‘When? Tonight, eh? Is he dead?’ He frowned and squirmed his bulk further into his car. ‘Who shot him?’ he barked, suddenly. He listened to the rasping voice at the other end of the line, then interrupted the flow, ‘Okay, okay, you keep it until you see me. Come over to my place right away,’ and he hung up.
He sat for some minutes brooding, then he got up, turned out the light and left the office.
Downstairs they were still playing crap. He went past the table into the street.
A long black car slid up to him and he climbed into the back seat. The boy at the wheel didn’t look at him. He sat like a stone statue, staring ahead. He was very slight with angular shoulders and his peak cap, which was broken into a V, hid his face.
‘Home, Joe,’ Schultz whispered through the speaking tube and he groped for a cigar.
He sat in a heap, smoking, and staring with blank, hooded eyes at the street lights as they flashed past. His mind groped, made decisions, discarded them, groped some more and gave up. It was no use making plans until Cubitt had told him everything.
The car stopped outside Schultz’s small house and even before he got out of the car, he could smell the heavy scent of the flowers from his garden.
Schultz believed all men should have hobbies. He believed that it provided them with an antidote to boredom when they couldn’t go to business anymore. He had been a horticulturist all his life and his speciality was orchids. In a small, stuffy little glasshouse at the back of his house, he reared some of the finest specimens seen in the country. Besides the orchids, he grew every known flower in a mass of blazing colour that was the
envy of his neighbours.
He stepped out of the car and sniffed. ‘Smells good, doesn’t it, Joe?’ he said, smiling in the darkness.
The boy grunted. He had he
ard Schultz say the same thing every time he drove him home. He had no interest in flowers. He thought they were a waste of money.
‘Leave the car, Joe,’ Schultz said. ‘I may need it again tonight.’ He went up the path and sank his key. There was a light in the big sitting room.
Across the room, half lying, half sitting on the divan, Lorelli displayed her black silk legs. She glanced up as Schultz came in and her full lips curled into a smile.
Schultz stood just in the doorway and looked at her.
Lorelli was running to fat. Not too much, but just enough to give her figure a soft, full outline. She was not tall and most of her weight ran to her hips. Her face was heart-shaped and a little heavy. Her complexion was creamy with no colour, making her full, scarlet lips and heavy black eyebrows startling. She was still very young. Schultz had no idea how old she was, but he guessed she couldn’t be more than twenty. He thought regretfully that she would lose her attractions before she was thirty. She was developing too fast.
She looked back at him with her smiling mouth and her gleaming white teeth, seeing his gross body and hard little eyes and wondered how much longer she could stomach him.
‘Maestro,’ she said, holding out her small plump hand. ‘Come in because there’s a draught and you are not beautiful enough for a delayed entry.’
Schultz closed the door. ‘I don’t have to be beautiful,’ he said, evenly, moving over to her. ‘I have other things of value.’ He tapped his great dome of a head. Things in here, my pigeon, but you. . .’ he put his great perspiring hand on her thick hair. ‘You have nothing in there so you must be beautiful to live.’
She wriggled from under his hand. Her blue-black eyes were full of questions. ‘You don’t sound happy, Maestro. Has anything gone wrong?’
He almost struck her, but controlled himself. His slit of a mouth pursed and his saucer-like eyes were like granite. What could go wrong?’ he asked, putting his hand on her chin. He raised her face. They looked at each other. She saw the snarling anger in his eyes and flinched away, but his giant fingers crushed her chin.
Sneering at her, he lowered his great face down and crushed his lips over hers. He held her like that, bruising her chin, hurting her mouth.
1944 - Just the Way It Is Page 4
