The Paul Cain Omnibus: Every Crime Story and the Novel Fast One as Originally Published (Black Mask)

by Paul Cain

  Luke McCary was a thin little man with a pinched red face, bushy white hair. He sat in a big armchair on the other side of the table, his head and neck and wild white hair sticking up out of the folds of a heavy blue bathrobe.

  He looked at me sharply. He said: “I don’t want any part of it.”

  “Then I’ll have to act on the best offer.”

  Stokes grinned.

  The old man stood up. He said: “Why—damn you and your guts… .” He opened a humidor on the table and took out a small automatic. “I can shoot the buttons off your vest, young fella … I can shoot you for a yegg right now, and no one’ll ever know the difference… .”

  I said: “You’ll know the difference—for not having taken advantage of talent, when you had the chance.”

  He put the automatic back in the box and sat down and smiled gently at Stokes.

  Stokes was looking at the floor. He said: “Five grand if you wipe out the whole outfit. Run ’em out of town, stick ’em in jail, poison ’em… . Anything.”

  “Wouldn’t you like a new railroad station too?”

  They didn’t say anything for a minute. They looked at me.

  I went on: “No sale. I’ll take care of Ben for that—but busting up the organization would mean sending for a few friends—would cost a hell of a lot more than five… .”

  The old man looked the least bit scared for a second—then he said: “Ben’ll do.”

  “How about laying something on the line?”

  Stokes said, “Don’t be silly.” The old man cackled. “Well I never saw such guts,” he said. I said: “All right, gentlemen. Maybe I’ll call you later.” Stokes went downstairs with me. He smiled in a strange way. “I never knew the old man to go for anything that looks as tricky as this. I guess it looks good because Ben thinks you’re working for him.”

  I nodded. I said: “Uh-huh—Ben’s a swell guy. He’ll probably blast me on sight.”

  “I don’t think you’ll find him at his joint.”

  I waited and Stokes leaned against the door, said: “There’s a big outfit downstate that’s been running twelve trucks a week through here from the Border. They’ve paid off for this division of the highway for years—to the old man. The last two convoys have been hijacked at Four-mile Creek, north of town—a couple drivers were killed… .”

  He paused, looked wise a minute, went on: “That was Ben. There was a convoy due through last night—they run in bunches of four, or six—it didn’t show up. It’s a cinch for tonight—and that’s where Ben’ll be.”

  I said: “That’s fine. How do I get there?”

  Stokes told me to follow the main highway north, and where to take the cutoff that crossed Four-mile. I thanked him and went out.

  I walked down to a drugstore on the corner and called a cab. When it came, I got in and had the driver jockey around until he was parked in a spot where I could watch the front door of the McCary house.

  After a while, Stokes came out and got into a roadster and snorted up past us and turned down the side street. I told the driver to follow him. I don’t think the driver knew who it was. It didn’t matter a hell of a lot anyway.

  I got out and told the driver to wait and walked on down Dell Street, keeping close to the fence. It was raining pretty hard again. I passed the place where Lowry had come up to me, and I went on to the corner; and then went back the same way until I came to the narrow gate I had missed in the darkness.

  It was more a door than a gate, set flush with the high fence. I finagled with the latch for a while and then pushed the gate open slowly and went into a yard. It was a big yard, full of old lumber and old boxcar trucks—stuff like that. There was a long shed along one side, and a small two-story building on the far side.

  I stumbled along as quietly as I could towards the building and then I went around the corner of a big pile of tires, and Stokes’ roadster was sitting there very dark and quiet in the rain. I went past it and up to the building and along the wall until I saw the lighted window.

  I had to rustle around quietly and find a box and stand on it to see through the little square window. The panes were dirty; the inside looked like a time office; Stokes and Ben McCary and another man were there. They were arguing about something. McCary was walking around waving his arms; Stokes and the other man were sitting down. I couldn’t hear a word they said. The rain was roaring on the tin roof of the shed and all I could hear was a buzz of voices.

  I didn’t stay there very long. It didn’t mean anything. I got down and put the box back and wandered around until I found McCary’s car. Anyway, I guessed it was his car. It was a big touring car and it was parked near the gate on the opposite side of the block from Dell Street, where Stokes had come in.

  I got in and sat in the back seat. The side curtains were drawn and it was nice to get out of the rain for a while.

  In about ten minutes, the light went out and I could hear voices coming towards the car. I sat down on the floor. The three of them stood outside for a minute talking about “a call from Harry”—then Stokes and the other man went off towards Stokes’ car, and McCary squeezed into the front seat and stepped on the starter.

  I waited till we had burned through the gate and were halfway up the block, and then I put a gun against the back of McCary’s neck. He straightened out in the seat and eased the brake on. I told him to go on to the old man’s house.

  We sat in the big room upstairs. The old man sat in the big armchair by the table, and Ben sat across from him. I was half lying down in another chair out of the circle of light and I had the gun on my lap.

  The old man was fit to be tied. He was green with hate and he kept glaring at Ben out of his little red-rimmed eyes. I said: “Well, gran’pa—if you’ll make out that check now, we’ll finish this business.”

  The old man swallowed.

  “You can give me your twenty-five hundred in cash,” I went on to Ben. “Then I’ll put the chill on both of you—and everybody’ll be happy.”

  They must have thought I meant it. Ben got rigid, and the old man cleared his throat and made a slow pass at the humidor.

  I fiddled with the gun. I threw a pack of cigarettes on the table and said: “Smoke?”

  The old man looked at the cigarettes and at the gun in my hand, and relaxed.

  I said: “Still and all—it don’t quite square with my weakness for efficiency, yet. Maybe you boys’ll get together and make me an offer for Stokes. He’s the star—he’s been framing both of you.”

  I don’t think Ben was very surprised—but the old man looked like he’d swallowed a mouse.

  “He’s been in with Ben on the truck heistings,” I went on. “He’s been waiting for a good spot to dump you—working on your connections.”

  The old man said: “That’s a goddamned lie.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I went on to Ben: “He made the five-grand offer for your hide, in Luke’s name, tonight—and he gave me the Four-mile steer… .” I hesitated a moment. “Only you wouldn’t try three in the same spot, would you?”

  Ben finally got his smile working. He started to say something but I interrupted him: “Stokes told me you rubbed the two boys on the trucks, too.”

  Ben’s smile went out like a light. He said: “Stokes shot both those men himself—and there wasn’t any need for it. They were lined up alongside the road… .”

  Something in the soft way he said it made it sound good.

  I said: “He’ll be around your place—no?”

  “He went home.”

  Ben gave me the number and I called up, but there wasn’t any answer.

  We sat there without saying anything for several minutes, and then the door downstairs opened and closed and somebody came up.

  I said to Ben: “What’ll you bet?”

  The door opened and Stokes came in.
He had a long gray raincoat on and it made him look even taller and thinner than he was. He stood in the doorway looking mostly at the old man; then he came in and sat down on a corner of the table.

  I said: “Now that the class is all here, you can start bidding.”

  The old man laughed deep in his throat. Stokes was watching me expressionlessly, and Ben sat smiling stupidly at his hands.

  “I’m auctioning off the best little town in the state, gentlemen,” I went on. “Best schools, sewage system, post office… . Best streetlighting, water supply… .”

  I was having a swell time.

  The old man was staring malevolently at Stokes. “I’ll give you twenty-five thousand dollars,” he said to me, “to give me that pistol and get out of here.”

  If I’d thought there was any chance of collecting, I might have talked to him. Things happen that way sometimes.

  I looked at my watch and put the gun down on the arm of the chair where it looked best and picked up the phone.

  I asked Ben: “Where’s the business going to be pulled off tonight?”

  Ben wanted to be nice. He said: “A coffee joint about six miles north of town.” He glanced at Stokes. “This bastard tried to swing it back to Four-mile when he thought you’d be there sniping for me.”

  “The boys are there now?”

  He nodded. “The trucks have been stopping there to eat lately.”

  I asked the operator for long distance, and asked for the Bristol Hotel in Talley, the first town north. The connection went right through. I asked for Mister Cobb.

  When he answered, I told him about the coffee place, and that I wasn’t sure about it; and told him he’d find the stuff that had been heisted in the sheds of the yard on Dell Street. I wasn’t sure of that either, but I watched Ben and Stokes when I said it and it looked all right. Cobb told me that he’d gotten into Talley with the convoy about midnight and had been waiting for my call since then.

  I hung up. “There’ll be some swell fireworks out there,” I said. “There’s a sub-machinegun on every truck—double crews. And it don’t matter much,” I went on to Ben, “how good your steer is. They’ll be watching out all the way.”

  Stokes stood up.

  I picked up the gun. “Don’t move so far, Skinny,” I said. “It makes me nervous.”

  He stood there staring at the gun. The water was running off his raincoat and it had formed into a little dark pool at his feet.

  He said: “What the hell do you want?”

  “I wanted you to know that one of the kids you shot up last week at Four-mile was my boss’ brother. He went along for the ride.”

  I don’t think Stokes could move. I think he tried to move sidewise or get his hand into his pocket, or something, but all he could do was take a deep breath. Then I shot him in the middle of the body where he shot the kid, and he sank down on the floor with his legs crossed under him, like a tailor.

  The old man didn’t get up. He sat a little deeper in his chair and stared at Stokes. Ben moved very fast for a fat man. He was up and out the door like a bat out of hell. That was OK with me—he couldn’t get to the coffee place before the trucks got there. I had the keys to his car, and it was too far away anyway.

  I got up and put the rod away and went over to the table and picked up my cigarettes. I looked down at the old man, said: “Things’ll be a little quieter now, maybe. You’ll get the dough for haulage through your territory, as usual. See that it gets through.”

  He didn’t answer.

  I started for the door and then there was a shot out in front of the house. I ran on down to the front door. It was open and Ben was flat on the threshold—had fallen smack on his face, half through the door.

  I ducked back through the hall and tried a couple locked doors. When I came up through the hall again, the old man was on his knees beside Ben, and was rocking back and forth, moaning a little.

  I went through another room and into the kitchen and on through, out the back door. I crossed the backyard and jumped a low fence and walked through another yard to a gate that led into an alley. I sloshed along through the mud until I came to a cross street, and went on down to the corner that was diagonally across the block from the McCary house.

  A cab came down the street and I waited until it was almost to the corner, stepped out in front of it. The driver swerved and stepped on the gas, but he had slowed enough to give me time to jump on the running board.

  I stuck my head in to the light from the meter. That turned out to be my best hunch of the evening because in another second, the driver would have opened up my chest with one of the dirtiest looking .45s I ever saw, at about two feet. It was the kid who had picked Lowry and me up. He hesitated just long enough when he saw who I was.

  We nearly ran into a tree and I had time to reach in and knock that cannon out of his hand. He stepped on the brake, and reached for the gun, but I beat him to it by a hair and stuck it in my overcoat pocket and got in beside him.

  I said: “Shame on you—almost crashing an old pal like me.”

  He sat tight in the seat and got a weak grin working and said: “Where to?”

  “Just away.”

  We went on through the mud and rain, and turned into a slightly better lighted street.

  I said: “How did you know Ben shot Lowry?”

  The kid kept his head down, his eyes ahead. “Lowry and me have lived together for two years,” he said. “He used to be in the hack racket too, till he got mixed up with McCary… .”

  “Lowry won a lot of jack in one of Ben’s crap games a couple days ago, and Ben wanted him to kick back with it—said everybody that worked for him was automatically a shill, and couldn’t play for keeps. But Lowry’s been dropping every nickel he made in the same game, for months. That was okay with Ben. It was all right to lose, but you mustn’t win.”

  I nodded, lighted a cigarette.

  “Ben shot Lowry tonight at the joint on Dell Street. I know it was him because Lowry’s been afraid of it—and that’s why he said ‘McCary’.”

  “Did you know it was Lowry when you picked us up?”

  “Not until I used the light. Then, when we got to Ben’s I saw him get out of his car and go in just ahead of you—then I was sure. I took Lowry up to his pa’s after you went in.”

  The kid drove me to the next town south. I forget the name. I got a break on a train—I only had to wait about ten minutes.

  Parlor Trick

  I knocked on the door at the end of the hall. It was cold in the hall, almost dark. I knocked again, and Bella’s voice said: “Come in,” faintly; then she said: “Oh—it’s locked.” The key scratched in the lock and the door opened and I went into the room.

  It was very hot in there. It was dark, with only a little light from a gas heater. There was a little more light that came through a short corridor from the kitchen, but it was pretty dark.

  Bella closed the door and went over to the davenport and sat down. She was near the heater and the yellow light flickered over the lower part of her face.

  I took off my coat and put it on a chair. Bella kept scraping her teeth lightly over her lower lip. Her teeth were like a little animal’s and she ran them over her soft lower lip rapidly, like an animal. The light from the heater was bright on the lower part of her face.

  I went through the short corridor to the kitchen. The bathroom door was open; I glanced in as I passed and Gus Schaeffer turned his head and looked over his shoulder at me. He was standing at the basin with his back to the door and when he turned his head to look at me his face was awful. His skin was damp and gray and his eyes had something leaden and dying in them.

  I said: “Hi, Gus,” and went in to the kitchen.

  There was a man sitting on one of the benches at one side of the narrow breakfast table. The table was set lengthwise into a niche, with a bench at e
ach side, and the man on one of the benches was sitting with his back in the corner of the niche, his knees drawn up, his feet on the outside end of the bench. His head was back against the wall and his eyes and mouth were open. There was a thin knife handle sticking out of one side of his throat.

  Gus came out of the bathroom and stood behind me in the doorway.

  There were several nearly empty glasses on the table. One had fallen to the floor, broken in to many glittering pieces.

  I looked at the glass and I looked up at the man again. I think I said: “Christ,” very softly.

  “I did it. I did it and I didn’t know it. I was blind… .” Gus was clawing at my arm.

  Bella came through the corridor and stood behind him. She looked very scared, very beautiful.

  She said huskily: “Gus was terribly drunk. Frank said something out of turn and Gus picked up the knife and stuck it in to his neck. He choked—I guess—”

  She looked at the dead man, and then her eyes turned up white in their sockets and she fainted. Gus turned around and almost fell down trying to catch her. He said: “Oh, baby—baby!” He took her up in his arms and carried her back into the living room.

  I followed him in and switched on the lights. He put Bella on the davenport. I watched him bend over her and flick ice water across her face with his fingers, from a pitcher; he rubbed her hands and wrists, and tried to force a little whiskey between her clenched pale lips. He kept saying: “Oh, baby—baby,” over and over. I sat down. He sat on the edge of the davenport and looked at me while he rubbed and patted Bella’s hands.

  “You better telephone,” he said. Then he looked at Bella a long time. “I did it—see—I did it; only I didn’t know about it. I was cockeyed—”

  I nodded. I said: “Sure, Gus,” and I leaned forward and picked up the telephone.

  Gus was looking at Bella’s white beautiful face. He bobbed his head up and down mechanically.

  I said: “What’s the best play—self-defense?”

  He turned suddenly. “I don’t care—no play at all.” He dropped her hand and stood up. “Only I did it myself. She didn’t have anything to do with it. She was in here.” He came towards me, shaking his finger at me, speaking very earnestly.