Ross gave out a low, breathy cackle that had more animal than man about it. Tom flinched and got the gun barrel jabbed still more painfully in his neck. ‘I told you not to move. Now, do not make me pull this trigger. Do not make me.’ In silence, he patted Tom down and immediately found the little automatic in his waistband.
‘What’s this? A peashooter to take me down?’
Again the low cackle. Tom had the impression now that Ross was hopped up to the eyeballs, so jittery, so breathy, so agitated in his movements. As he shuffled round him to finish the frisk, Tom saw, in the dull yellow light from the window, Ross’s face close up for the first time in years. He was shocked by how wasted and aged he looked, the skin on his face a slack, sickly gray that even darkness couldn’t disguise, the tendons in his neck taut like cables, his veined eyes black and empty at the center.
‘I guess we won’t be needing this no more,’ Ross said, making to throw the automatic out into the darkness, then pulling back. ‘Or maybe not.’ He laughed. ‘It’s a gun for a lady, right? So maybe I should use it on one. Or on the both of you. Make a nice story for the papers. “Killer takes own life and movie player lover’s”, eh? Al can have some fun setting up the evidence for that one. I bet it makes the front page.’
Ross slipped the gun into the pocket of his black overcoat, motioning Tom forward with his own long-nose Colt. ‘But that’s for later. Let’s go visit your lady friend inside. That’s what you came all the way out here for, no? Move now.’
Heading for the door, Tom wondered why Ross hadn’t called out to any of his cronies or stood them down. Could he be alone here with Fay, the others out on the prowl? He sneaked a look at his wristwatch to get a fix on how much time had passed. Ten minutes since he left Sullivan. Add another five for worry time, and five at most to get here in the auto. He had to make it through till then.
The expression on Fay’s face when she saw him coming through the door pulled his heart to pieces. A surge of hope, then a crash of disappointment when she realized Ross was shuffling in behind, gun in hand and in control.
‘Oh Tom, what’s happening?’
Instinctively, she rose from the chair, but was jerked back by the cuff securing her wrist to the leg of the heavy table beside her, and her eyes filled with pain. Ignoring Ross’s threats, Tom ran over to her, held her, assuring her everything would be all right. She was too smart to believe it, but he also knew she would be too proud to let Ross see the fear she was feeling.
‘Help’s coming,’ he whispered as he pressed her to him. ‘Did he hurt you?’ He pulled back, enough to see her shake her head. ‘Is anybody else here?’ Again, a negative.
‘Shut your trap and get away from her.’ Ross grabbed his collar from behind and pulled them roughly apart. ‘Get that chair over there, put it by hers where I can see you both, and don’t get any ideas. This is the end of the road for you two, so get used to it.’
He should have been scared by that threat, or at least as scared as when Ross first got the drop on him outside. But if the plan had been simply to kill him, it would have been done by now. Ross was a creature without compunction, but never the sharpest card in the pack. He’d already let slip that he was in it with Devlin, acting on his orders. That had to allow for some leeway. A cold and remorseless clarity descended on Tom, like some kind of absolution. This was all his doing. If he hadn’t lost his job, he’d never have been at Sennett’s beck and call, never got himself drawn into this ungodly mess. Now his past in New York was rising up before him like a demon from hellfire, dragging Fay into the conflagration. But she had done nothing. She was blameless. Whatever it took, no matter what he had to do, all that mattered to him now was ensuring she came to no harm.
‘Let Fay go, Ross,’ Tom said. ‘You took her to get hold of me. She’s got nothing to do with this.’
‘Yeah, like that would be a real smart thing for me to do.’
‘C’mon, you’ve got me now. What do you need her for?’
Ross cackled as though Tom was the best gagman in the business. ‘Yeah, right. And I’m guessing she’ll promise never to mention any of this to nobody never again. I’ll say one thing for you, Collins: you’re still as big a dope as you were back East, and that’s saying some.’
‘Take the cuff off at least. You can see it’s hurting her.’
Fay leaned across and squeezed his arm with her free hand. ‘It’s OK, Tom. I’m all right,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t rile him; he’ll turn on you.’
‘Listen to the lady, Collins. It’s good advice. And don’t worry, I got enough cuffs to go round. I got a friend in the business, remember.’
Ross threw his head back at this inimitable wit. Kicking a chair out from the table, he told Tom to sit. His own agitation kept him on the move, shuffling from one wall to the other, over and again, the peculiarity of his gait emphasized still more by his left shoulder rising in response to a nervous tic of the neck. Something had to be going on behind the blankness of his eyes to account for such absorption.
‘So what you been saying to that cop pal’a yours?’ he eventually asked, barely breaking stride.
For a moment Tom wasn’t sure what he meant. He thought of maybe playing the innocent, playing for time. Then it struck him clear. Whatever Devlin’s plans might be, Ross was not fully in the know. That could buy him an edge when the time came, as it had to, soon. Tom shared a glance with Fay, which he hoped said Go with me on this.
‘I told him the truth, Ross. I told him, as God is my witness, I saw you shooting Shorty Madden dead on the street, out on Virgil, from the back seat of that Packard parked out front here, and that your old puppet-master Devlin was dumb enough to try and put me in the frame for it.’
He felt Fay stiffen beside him. But Ross’s reaction was the one he was waiting for: stopping in his tracks, eyes locking on to Tom’s, jolted into anger.
‘The hell you did.’
That he might have been officially identified in the case was evidently a concept new to Ross. He strode over to the stove, held his hands out above it, rubbing them hard, thinking harder. His pretence of calm betrayed by the flicker in his gaze when he looked back at them over his shoulder.
‘Nobody’ll believe that,’ Ross said. ‘You’re the only suspect they got. You ain’t around no more to deny it, that’ll be it. They got nothing on me.’
‘You’re wrong, Ross. Didn’t Devlin tell you? I spoke to Sullivan less than an hour ago and he said they got the goods on you. There’s a citywide call out. They’re coming for you. And not only over Madden.’
Ross rounded on him now. ‘What the hell you talking about?’
Tom felt something close to pleasure course through his veins. He had him on the run now. Surely Sullivan must be here any second.
‘The Taylor murder,’ Tom said. ‘What else? They’re on to you for that, too. A witness identified you threatening Taylor in Griffith Park. Not so far from here, now I think on it. Said he’d never forget that crooked walk of yours. Had it off to a tee, he did. Even saw it for myself. Devlin must’ve said he’ll cover for you, but you know how far that goes. If it’s a question of you or him, he’ll throw you to the wolves. And right now every cop in Los Angeles is getting in line to kick your ass straight into Old Sparky, make no mistake about it.’
It was stretching a point, but there was nobody there to contradict him. And it was having the desired effect on Ross whose gray pallor was now invigorated by a carmine flush of rage. Fay was tugging gently with her free hand at Tom’s sleeve, urging caution. He covered her hand with his and squeezed a silent plea for trust.
But Ross responded only with a laugh. ‘Oh, very good, Collins, you almost got me going there.’
Tom knew he had to keep him on edge, to find another way to keep the man distracted. ‘You think it makes no odds, Mikey? Am I right? One way or another, despite those banjaxed legs of yours, you’ll always outrun the law. Is that it?’
Ross’s brows knitted together at another mention of
his legs. Tom managed a glimpse at his wristwatch. Where the hell was Sullivan? There was no going back on this. He had to go for it while Ross’s guard was down.
‘I know one thing for sure. You’ll never outrun Tony Cornero.’ Tom waited a beat, to be certain the name hit home.
It did.
‘I gave you up to Cornero, too, Ross. Straight after I told Sullivan, I called Cornero and told him you were the one killed his boy Madden. And do you know what I enjoyed most when I did that? Hearing him say how he was going to rip your stupid head off your neck with his bare hands.’
Ross might as well have been hit with a bullwhip. His chin shot up, shoulders rearing back. The room went absolutely still for a second. Then he flipped. Gun up, he ran at Tom and slammed it sideways into his temple. Only the grip caught him a glancing blow as he ducked, but it was enough to knock him to the floor.
‘Tell me, now – now, before I blow your brains out.’ Ross loomed above him, face flushed with rage, gun barrel bearing down. ‘What’s Tony goddamn Cornero got to do with anything?’
Tom heard Fay emit a low moan of fear as Ross pulled back the hammer and it was all he could do not to scream himself. Every instinct in him begged to prostrate himself at Ross’s feet, take it all back. Except for the iron-hard ball of fury in his gut that told him to keep on going, that he was on the right path. That this was the only way out. He screwed his eyes shut and forced himself to raise the stakes again. Sullivan, surely, had to be here any second. He had to find the right words. He had to keep Ross in a spin.
He had to go all in.
‘That’s the problem when you’re in a town you don’t know, isn’t it, Ross?’ he taunted, at last finding the air in his lungs to spit it out. ‘You don’t know the ground for yourself, do you? Or who owns it. Are you such a chump you didn’t know Madden was Cornero’s man? Did Devlin not tell you who he was sending you out to kill? Whose pips you were really squeezing? No? Well, the cops are looking for you, for sure. And you better hope they find you first. Because Cornero’s gonna rip you limb from limb – one crooked leg after the other. That’s the truth – and you better believe it.’
The gun was aimed at Tom’s forehead, but the hand that held it was shaking like a palsy now. The mind behind it apparently divorced, somewhere else entirely, a muck sweat breaking out on his brow. Tom didn’t dare move a muscle. A hair’s breadth lay between life and death, time itself suspended in the awfulness of possibility.
And then it came. Into the silence dropped the longed-for miracle. A rising rattle of engine noise approaching at speed, a vehicle kicking up dirt as it swept to a scraping handbrake stop outside.
Ross whipped round, his eyes wild. ‘One move and I’ll ice the both’a you.’
In a shambling run he made for the window. Ducking down on his haunches, peering out like a man already under fire, it was clear that he did not like what he saw outside. Which could only mean it was Sullivan. Tom glanced across at Fay, the closest to a smile he could raise to alleviate her fear, to communicate that help was at hand. But now more than ever he had to keep Ross on the run, too.
‘That’s probably Cornero and his boys,’ Tom said with vehemence.
Ross showed no sign of hearing him, but it had to be what he was thinking, too, as he crouched, shoulder to the wall, and checked the rounds in his revolver, sweat glistening on his gray face.
‘I don’t reckon Cornero’s boys’d drive a wreck like that,’ Ross said, glancing again through the clearing dust outside, a breathy confidence creeping back in his voice as he ranged the gun at the darkness. ‘I’m thinking maybe you told that dumb Irish bull of yours where you were heading, and here he is, hoping to take me in. Well, I got a welcome for him he ain’t expecting.’
Rummaging deep in his coat pocket, Ross drew out an apple-size black metal ball and, with a smirk of malice, held it up for them to see. From the pineapple grooves in its cast-iron casing, it was, all too clearly, an army-issue hand grenade.
‘See, Collins, you’re wrong. I make connections real quick. I got friends down Fort MacArthur pass me on beauties like this.’
Tom felt a bitterness of nausea flood his gut. Ross let loose a cackle as he clutched the lever to the grenade’s raised metal head, and with his right hand pulled on the pin. But then he stopped midway, pushed his face closer to the window pane, and a leer of pleasure lit up his features, followed by a grunt of surprise. With a twist of the thumb, he pushed the pin back in the grenade and returned it to his pocket. Shuffling the two strides to the door, he swung it open.
‘Where in hell’d you get that ride?’ Ross called out. ‘And who’s that you’ve got—’ He cut off the end of his sentence, replacing it with a long guttural laugh. ‘Aw, man, you ain’t serious.’
FORTY-FIVE
Unable to see beyond the door, Tom strained to hear as a creaking of auto springs and a scuffling in the dust outside was accompanied by an angry shout.
‘Would you come out from there, Mikey, and give me a hand with this almighty sack of shit, for Chrissakes.’
Whatever Tom’s gut had suffered before, a double edge of anguish twisted in sharp as he recognized the voice. High, breathy and whining, it was Devlin’s. There could be no doubt. But how?
The answer became painfully clear as, seconds later, the shuffling restarted and, with a grunt of exertion, Ross appeared again in the doorway. This time staggering under the weight of Thad Sullivan’s barely upright form. As they came through, Sullivan’s shoulder smacked against the doorframe and a moan escaped from lips that, like much of his massive face and head, were already streaked with blood. His eyes flickered open and took in the room, coming into focus on Tom’s face, his expression of shock transparent enough.
‘I’m sorry, lad,’ Sullivan said, exhausted from the effort. ‘I never thought it’d be—’
Whatever Sullivan said next was lost in Ross’s bellow at him to shut up. Tom turned and met Fay’s eyes, which were alive with horror.
‘Oh my Lord, is that …’
Tom nodded and put a hand out to comfort her. But she pulled away, lost in her fear as the implications hit home. In any case, he was barely able to control the confusion coursing through his own bloodstream, his own mental processes now. Especially when the corpulent figure of Aloysius Devlin, still in his Port Inspector’s uniform, squeezed in through the doorway behind them.
‘Dumb fuck thought I was his backup – until it was too late,’ Devlin said to Ross, a half laugh in the back of his throat. ‘Had to leave Billy on lookout in the Studebaker down there – though those two done him in good.’ He glared across at Tom and snarled, ‘You’ll get it back a hundred times, Collins. Any minute now.’
He emphasized his point by jabbing his fist into Sullivan’s unprotected lower back, with such force that Ross cursed and stumbled under the impact. Unable to bear the weight any longer, Ross lurched forward and unshouldered Sullivan on to the floor with a joist-cracking crash. Blood scattered across the dusty bare boards, but Sullivan just lay there, moaning, attempting to crawl away.
Tom inched over to see if he could do anything but was met with a thump in the chest from Ross which sent him reeling back.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Fay cried, caught between stepping back in horror and reaching out instinctively to help. ‘Stop it, you animals.’
‘You stay where you are, lady, unless you want some of the same,’ Ross scowled at her.
She gave him a defiant jut of her jaw. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘No? You just watch me.’ He reached a hand out, grabbed for her throat, the other arm raised to strike. Tom scrambled to his feet and got between them, forcing Ross back as the blow came down, enough to take its force. A second later, Ross wasn’t even there, pulled out of reach by a mighty tug from Devlin.
‘Leave it, Mikey, leave it,’ Devlin said, spinning him round and shaking him urgently by the shoulders. ‘We’ll have plenty of time for that later. We need to get out of here. Like I said, this one�
��s called in this place to Central. Least that’s what Billy says. They’ll not be much longer. So come on, let’s get the job done and get the hell out of here—’
As if the gods themselves had been listening, Devlin’s words were cut short by a sharp percussive crack echoing in from the distance outside.
‘What the fuck was that?’ Ross wheeled around.
But everyone in the room knew it was a gunshot. And where it had come from. Tom took advantage of the others’ distraction to check on Sullivan, who opened a fluttering eyelid and struggled to sit up, but, failing, slumped to the floor again.
‘It’s Billy,’ Devlin said. ‘He said he’ll do what he can to buy us some time. There’s another road out, down to the river, right?’
Ross nodded, wiping away the sweat breaking out on his brow. He jerked his head to where Tom was now crouched between Fay and Sullivan on the floor ‘So, what we gonna do with them, then?’
‘Like I said, we finish it here, now, then go. Like we planned. But we got to hurry. So get on with it, now.’
But Ross was not buying that. Thinking he heard another noise outside, he stiffened and turned, panic suffusing his features again. Pausing only to run a sleeve across his nose and mouth, he pulled the Colt from the pocket of his black coat again and ran to the window, peering intently out into the moonlit night outside.
‘Seein’ as you’re so keen, Al,’ he said, glancing back, over his shoulder, ‘why don’t you take care of it? I didn’t sign up for no cop killing.’
Devlin’s response contained more anger than surprise. ‘What dope-addled shit are you talking, Mikey?’ He took an anxious glance at his watch. ‘You been telling me for years how much you want to put these two in a hole.’
‘Yeah, and, like I said, I changed my mind. You do it.’
The Long Silence Page 26
