The Cockeyed Corpse (The Shell Scott Mysteries)

by Richard S. Prather

  I had discovered that my tail felt almost as obsolete as my head, as if I had tried to make both ends meet and succeeded beyond my wildest expectations, and Russ explained how that had happened. I had landed on my hind end, he told me, not my head — which surprised me a lot — and then flopped back slamming my head. It was practically one movement, Russ said.

  How in He’ll did Finch get Diablo over to the ring? I asked him.

  I thought he was bringing Vixen. But Diablos O.K. as long as he’s just led around. If you dont try to get up on him he’s not especially violent.

  Except he bites. He goes CLOP at you, and if youre not pretty speedy, zip, there goes a finger. Zop, there goes a hand —

  Shell, you want me to get the doctor?

  — zap — no, he’d just want to stick that great big ugly —

  You really should have him look at your head.

  What good will it do him to look at it? He’ll say, Yes, it’s out of place. Here, take a squirt of this —

  Do you feel all right, Shell? He did sound concerned.

  He’ll, no, I dont feel all right, I said. My head hurts. Not to mention my aching — by the way, hows Diablo?

  He’s fine.

  He . . . didn’t bite me anywhere, did he?

  No. He started to, but a couple of the hands got to him before he could really get going.

  Started to, huh? Yeah. Either that horse hates me, or likes me an awful lot. I think you should tuck him away somewhere, Russ. As he grows old and crotchety, he might get mean. I stopped as a thought struck me. Oh, boy, I guess Finch won the little cup. Where is he, Russ? I smiled, and my teeth felt sharp and pointed. I want to — make sure his cup runneth under.

  Oh, he left right after you got hurt. Him and them four actresses.

  How long ago was that? I mean, how long was I out?

  About an hour. They left maybe forty-five minutes ago.

  Yeah, I suppose they . . . I let it trail off as the depressing thought struck me. I dont imagine they said where they were going.

  Russ shook his head. No, they just climbed in that station wagon, and headed off over the desert. Like they do every morning. Seemed they had a little argument first, but then they all drove off.

  Uh-huh. I stood up gingerly, tried everything out. My legs were a little weak, and of course my head was splendid, but otherwise I felt in fair condition. I sat down on the bed again. Please bring me, I said, the aspirins.

  Down went the standard four. Then I got up, made sure I had all my keen clothes — and guns — on, mixed a drink and sat down on the bed. I liked that bed.

  You going somewhere? Russ asked.

  I havent quite made up my mind, what there is left of it. I’m considering the question.

  I was considering it. Probably Finch and the girls were about through shooting that stupendously important last scene by now. Ben Hur meets Cleopatra in the Nudist Camp. Colossal Spectacle, with a cast of dozens. My mind was wandering. One thing was sure; Ed Finch and the girls had been at their location for nearly an hour by now, and if anything horrible was going to happen to them it would have happened by this time — but I wasn’t going to let Finch wander out of here until I’d massacred him. And I probably should get going if I hoped to catch him.

  Any calls for me, Russ? While I was exploring my unconscious?

  Nope. You expecting a call?

  One. From Los Angeles. A mighty important call. I looked at my watch; it was only one-forty-five. But it wont come in for at least another couple of hours. If a call does come in for me from a Captain Samson —

  Captain Samson? Oh, he called, Shell — but it wasn’t for you.

  Wasn’t for me? What . . . did he leave a message for me?

  No, he just wanted to know how you were. I told him you were unconscious again.

  Ah — fine. Fine.

  Naturally he wanted to talk to Doctor Brown.

  Grand. He’ll sure put in a good word for me.

  I was sitting there stewing when Russ said, almost hesitantly, Shell, the rest of the guests, about a hundred or so — well, theyve already started driving over to the Running M. I really should be there when they start the program.

  Good Lord, I hope to shout you should — youre only the owner of this spread. I didn’t even think about the barbecue and all, so get going.

  Will you be all right?

  Of course. Youve stuck around here too damn long as it is.

  Well, if youre sure youre O.K., Shell. He turned and started toward the door, saying, I’ll stop in when I get back.

  Right. And — thanks, Russ.

  He showed me his crooked teeth in a grin, and went out.

  I got up, stretched my muscles around a little, went into the bathroom and washed my face and hands in cold water, then walked back into the living room. And, finally, I was as normal as I was going to get. For a while there I’d been sort of disconnected, but all the connections were made now and I was wired for action. Despite the battering around I’d had I was in pretty good shape — surprisingly good shape. The only thing really bothering me was the pain, in my head, hind end, bones. But I didn’t feel weak; I felt strong enough, reasonably clear-headed, and perhaps not unreasonably angry. I was starting to get mad.

  Pretty quick I was going to win a round. It was time; it was past time.

  So the first thing was to phone Samson and find out what the score was there. Then I was going to find Ed Finch before he got away. That, I decided, was what I would do.

  Only that’s not what I did.

  I was at the phone, just starting to dial, when I heard a sound behind me. I hadn’t locked the front door, and the guy just opened it and stepped inside. I knew him. I also knew the gun in his right hand, an unusual gun, a Beretta Brigadier, 9 mm. Luger.

  The Brigadier is an automatic pistol which fires nine shots. In the right place, one would be enough. And he had it aimed at one of the right places.

  But more surprising, even than the sight of the gun was the sight of the guy.

  You, too, huh? I said. Youre one I missed, you bastard.

  chapter seventeen

  The guy holding the gun on me was the saloons tall, thin, sad-faced bartender — Clyde, I’d heard Pete call him.

  Well, this explained a thing or two. When I’d been talking to April at the bar, it probably wasn’t what Pete had heard — but what Clyde had heard that put April on the spot.

  I said, So you were bending an ear when April said she was in the room Saturday night, when some guy picked Jeanne Blair up. And when April suddenly remembered out loud that it was Hal Calvvin’s voice she heard — in fact, youd just brought our drinks back then.

  Right you are, Scott, he said cheerfully, now that there was no point in hiding it.

  He was good; he knew what he was doing. He had already locked the door behind him without taking his eyes off me, and now he made me assume the posture against the wall — hands spread, legs way back — and took my guns. Both guns. Except for that brief time he stayed well away from me, well out of reach.

  O.K., Scott, you can relax, he said. A little, just a little.

  I said, That’s why April had to be killed, huh? Because she was the only person — until she told me — who knew Hal Calvin was with Jeanne that last night.

  I didn’t really expect him to answer. But he did. And that bothered me. But a lot of things were bothering me. I couldnt understand why he hadn’t just stepped in here and shot me. There had to be a reason.

  Clyde said, You got it again. Hal didn’t know there was anybody else in Jeannes room when he picked her up. He thought he was clean. Naturally when I passed on what I heard this April chick saying, it meant she had to be taken care of.

  Naturally. And you couldnt wait to pass that right on to Hal.

  Not Hal — Jules.

  It almost made my knees buckle. Jules — you admit he’s alive?

  Clyde grinned. Why not? You already know it, dont you?

  I started getting
it then. Not much of it, but enough so it scared He’ll out of me. I said slowly, You know about my call to . . .

  To the fuzz. Samson in L.A. Sure.

  Wheres the bug? In here?

  Dont be silly. On the main switchboard, every line tapped. For the last year Farmers been checking the tapes of every call in and out of here — how do you suppose we knew you were coming up yesterday? He grinned again. Except I had to check the tapes today, myself, since Farmer and all the other boys took off — no trouble about my staying, of course. When I told Jules about that call you made to the fuzz, he like to evacuated in his cowboy pants. He paused. Jules tells me youre smarter than you look, Scott.

  So?

  So he figures youll have sense enough to cooperate. I guess, if youre so all-fired smart, you know whats next.

  I thought I knew what; but so would an imbecile have known what. You tell me, I said.

  Why, you make another call to the fuzz, what else? You tell your old buddy Samson you take it all back, when you talked to him this morning you were drunk, or out of your mind — anything you want to, just so you convince him. Convince him only a damn fool would open Jules grave when everybody knows Jules is in it.

  Uh-huh. All I have to do is convince Sam that the guy I saw, and thought was Garbin — well, I saw him again a while ago and it turns out to be a tall, thin girl.

  Something like that. He wont have any paper so he can open up the grave yet — even if he could maybe get it. So you just call him and tell him not to bother.

  I grinned slowly, starting to feel better than I had in quite a while, certainly since Clyde had poked that gun at me.

  Whats so damned funny? he said.

  I’ve kind of got you — and Jules — over a barrel, havent I?

  He blinked. Huh?

  Except for you hoods, I’m the only person who knows Jules is alive, right? He didn’t answer. I went on, So, I’ve got to be killed. But I’ve told the fuzz, Captain Samson, and in a few hours he may be peering into Garbin’s casket, in which Garbin is not. Who is in it, by the way?

  Knock it off. Whats this over-the-barrel?

  Yeah. O.K., I’ve got to be killed, but if Sam opens that grave and a couple million people learn Garbin’s alive, well, Jules can’t kill all two million of them. And he can’t kill me either — not until I call off the fuzz. I grinned. Go ahead, Clyde. Shoot me.

  He grinned back, and I did not like the grin. Guess whos over the barrel, Scott, he said. I told you, Jules figures you for a pretty good head. But Jules himself is a brain, and dont forget it — he fooled everybody in the country, didn’t he? Including all the L.A. fuzz, and you?

  This time I didn’t say anything.

  Jules told me youd probably come up with something like this. He knew, unless he had a lever, youd probably tell him to go jump. So he got a lever he thinks will move you — since he knows how you are about babes. If his covers blowed, if it’s found out he’s alive, they can’t do anything else to him for knocking off four more twists — he’s already set for the gas chamber. But the fact is, he dont want to go to the gas chamber, and he’s so anxious not to He’ll let the girls go and even let you off scot-free, he says, if youll call off the cops and the heat.

  Let the girls go? What —

  He grinned that unpleasant grin again. Didn’t I tell you yet? He had Farmer and Pete grab them there at the lake. Saw them coming, and grabbed them before they even got started taking pictures.

  How could he see them coming? See from where?

  Everybodys up at the cabin, the old Cordiner cabin. Jules couldnt take off across country, you know. He had to stick around till you were — till you cooperated.

  Till I was killed, he’d started to say, no doubt. Once I was killed, and the police were called off the scent, then of course Jules wouldnt have to take off across country. He could continue sitting around here in the desert.

  I said, Dont con me. You can’t see the lake from the Cordiner cabin.

  Clyde shook his head. Look, you know we got them or we wouldnt say so. And Jules is ready to prove it anyway — I’m coming to that. He paused. Sure, you can’t see the lake there, but you can see a hunk of the desert, and they was spotted in their wagon coming toward the lake. Jules says, There’s the answer, go grab them four bitches, something like that.

  It sounds just like Jules, I said, but I wasn’t feeling very flip. I believed Clyde now. I said, What about Finch?

  He tried to be brave this time. Clyde shrugged. He’s dead.

  And I believed that too. Oddly, knowing Finch was dead, suddenly knowing it, I found it difficult to remember I’d been griped at him, ready to beat He’ll out of him, I just felt very sorry, and a little sick.

  The girls are all right, Clyde said. So far. But they wont be if you dont make that call.

  How do I know they arent already dead? I hope you dont expect me to take your word for it.

  I dont. That is, Jules dont. Look, why do you think I’m telling you all this — that Jules is alive, everybodys at the cabin, we got the girls and so on? Because Jules told me to. He says that’s the only way to handle you. Youd know, if I told you to call off Samson, that nobodyd be worried about the fuzz cracking open his casket if Jules was in it. And you wouldnt believe the girls was alive and O.K., right, unless he proved it. If they were dead already, you wouldnt have no reason to phone, would you? So he can prove it.

  How?

  From out in the desert — with glasses I got in my car outside — you can look straight up at the cabin. Girls are upstairs in front of the big window, right up front, alive and O.K. Now heres the deal. We go take a look. When we do, Jules will see us down there at the same time. Then you got exactly a half-hour to make your call to the fuzz. A half-hour ticks off. If I havent told Jules by then everythings O.K., he kills every goddamn one of them.

  It felt as if my temperature dropped ten degrees. Everything would be, I felt sure, exactly as Clyde had just said; I didn’t have to take that look . . . and maybe not taking it would slow down Garbin’s schedule, a little. But, although the girls were undoubtedly alive now and probably would remain alive until I made that call to Samson, then they would almost surely be killed; certainly April would be. Why? Because by then I’d be dead. I knew if I called and convinced Sam I’d tried to send him on a wild goose chase, as soon as I hung up the phone Clyde would kill me. And Garbin would live — maybe not here at the Sun and Sage, but somewhere in the country — happily ever after.

  Now you understand the picture, Clyde said, lets go convince you the babes are O.K. and then —

  Skip it. I’m convinced.

  It surprised him. And, maybe that was good. They couldnt know what was happening here, and until Jules was sure, he might not harm those lovelies. I tried not to think of lovely, warm April, Delise, Choo Choo, Zia with guys like Green and Pete, or whoever was with them.

  So make the call, Clyde said.

  All right.

  I had to think of some way to tip Sam — without getting this bastard suspicious. And more important — much more important — at least a chance of getting to this guy before he could shoot me. Looking at the situation in the worst possible light, if I could somehow tip Samson to what was going on, even if I then got shot several times, at least Garbin’s goose would be cooked.

  And — there was a chance. I thought maybe I had it. A way to tip Samson, and just maybe a slim hope of catching Clyde off guard. Awfully slim; but even a fraction is better than zero.

  Clyde complicated things some more then. He knew there were two phones in the suite, and made me bring the other one from the bedroom and put it on the floor; then before picking it up, he waved me to the living room phone. That twenty-five-foot cord on his phone would reach from it’s outlet in the bedroom to the opposite living room wall here, so he’d have no trouble watching me and listening to the conversation at the same time.

  And he watched me with a kind of relaxed attention or coiled ease, just enough, just right �
�� keeping the gun correctly pointed, no lapses. As I moved, he moved too, keeping approximately the same distance from me all the time — far enough away so I couldnt possibly jump him, and close enough so he couldnt miss me if I tried. If I moved toward one wall he moved toward the opposite one, and if I had kept moving around the room we would undoubtedly have gone in a circle. That was good; I was counting on that.

  Then Clyde said, One more thing, Scott. You mentioned this over-the-barrel bit. Dont count on it too much. If you try to jump me, or get smart on the phone, I blast. Just like that. Believe me, Jules told me that, too.

  I didn’t doubt it a bit. I got long distance, placed the call to Homicide, person to person as Clyde instructed. He listened, receiver against his ear.

  You better convince him, Scott, he said. You better convince him.

  You can count on me, I said, and moved across the room, carrying the phone with me.

  Hey, stand still, he said.

  Shut up. I’m supposed to be alone in here.

  He started to speak, stopped. I kept walking, back and forth, as if nervous. I was nervous. Sam came on:

  Hello?

  Hi, Sam. This is Scott.

  Who?

  Scott, Shell Scott, you idiot. Something wrong with the connection?

  Oh, Shell. What is it this time.

  I almost groaned aloud. I could tell he’d missed it. It hadn’t worked. Sam never, absolutely never, calls me Scott, but when I’d said This is Scott he hadn’t picked it up. Sam is usually fast, too, very fast, but for some reason today wasn’t the day.

  It’s, uh, about that other call I made, Sam, I said, acutely conscious of the gun in Clydes right hand. Did you . . . have any luck with the authorization?

  Well, no. Shell. Now I know I told you I’d do some checking, and I did. I damn near got my head bitten off. You dont know how silly it sounds down here — and I wanted to ask you about that? How, uh, how are you feeling now? All right?