by J. T. Edson
Alice managed to twist herself around and hit the wall with her back, keeping her feet, but the plump girl who threw her already sprang forward as did the veiled shape. The third attacker’s fist lashed out, catching Alice just under the right eye. Pain ripped into Alice as she felt leather and under the glove a large ring. She saw that all her attackers wore gloves and knew why. A ring would cut into flesh and gather minute, but identifiable, fragments of the victim's flesh and blood. Nobody who attacked a peace officer wanted to carry away evidence which might lead to their detection.
Ignoring the pain, Alice brought up her left hand, fingers extended and together, thumb bent over the palm, in the tegatana, the hand-sword of karate. She chopped savagely, driving the edge of her hand into the plump girl’s throat and causing her to halt. Again the second woman hit her, striking at her face. Alice gasped, twisted and hit back, shooting out her fist to collide with the veiled face. Even as the third attacker staggered back holding her face, Alice tried to see where her bag fell. Inside it lay salvation in the shape of the Colt Cobra, but only if Alice could reach it.
The biggest girl came in again. Thuds, gasps, squeals and curses rang out as the three women attacked the desperately fighting Alice. She gave all her efforts to preventing them getting close and to keeping her feet. Once she went down, she would be completely at their mercy.
Among its other amenities, the Chadwick Building boasted a pretty effective sound-proofing system which prevented any noise filtering into or out of its rooms. With a couple of neighbors who often gave late and rowdy parties, Alice always regarded the sound killing as commendable—until that moment. With the three women raining kicks, slaps and punches at her, she wished that she lived in some thin-walled building where a cough could be heard three apartments away.
Just as she landed a right which knocked the veiled woman reeling, a thought struck Alice. In her room was the answer to her problem. Joan Hilton, that tough, capable woman deputy, shared Alice’s apartment and slept on the divan in the sitting room. With Joan’s able backing, Alice reckoned she could handle the three attackers. The trouble being how could she alert Joan?
Ducking under a roundhouse swing aimed by the biggest of the trio, Alice ripped a punch into a big breast. She hit hard and the big woman croaked in pain, stumbling back. That left the way clear and Alice sprang along the wall, her fingers reaching out to jab home the bell push by her door. The plump girl came in, grabbing Alice’s hair again, tearing at it, sending fire shooting through the deputy’s head. Pain forced Alice to move her finger, then thought returned and she delivered a stamping kick which ripped the edge of her shoe’s inner-sole down the plump shin. Screeching, the girl released her hold of Alice’s hair. Once again Alice jabbed the bell.
Mouthing curses, the plump girl sprang forward, fingers reaching out. Alice left the bell, jumping forward and letting the plump girl shoot by her. The biggest girl dived forward, locking her arms around Alice’s waist and the weight brought both of them crashing to the ground.
At that moment the apartment door opened, light flooding out, as Joan—a robe draped over her pajama-clad shoulders— appeared. The blonde took one look and started forward. Lunging in, the plump girl’s fist caught Joan on the cheek and sent her crashing into the doorjamb. Freshly woken from sleep though she might be, Joan still knew how to handle that kind of treatment. Pivoting, she sank her left hand almost wrist-deep in her attacker’s plump belly. Joan knew how to hit, in fact she could handle herself as well as many a boxer. Caught by a hard punch, the plump girl gave a croaking gasp, clutched at her middle and folded over. Before she could go to her knees, retching in nausea, Joan hit her again, ripping another blow that landed on the girl’s jaw and pitched her across the passage. Hitting the other wall headfirst, the plump girl went limp and dropped to the floor.
Also on the floor, thrashing over and over with the biggest girl, Alice saw the third figure turn and dart away. In fact the last of the trio started to run the moment the door opened. Rolling the big girl on to her back, Alice knelt astride her and smashed a punch to her jaw.
‘Get the—!’ Alice began to yell, but the big girl’s back arched in an attempt to roll the burden from her.
Joan sprang to help Alice, for she had not seen the fleeing woman. With a heave, the big girl threw Alice off balance just as the deputy tried to rise. Coming to her knees, the big girl saw her own danger a moment too late. Joan halted and drew off a right hand blow that would have made any boxing trainer’s heart bound in admiration. Round and up it came, catching the big girl under her chin, lifting her erect and throwing her backwards to land across the body of her friend.
Coming to her feet, Alice staggered to where her bag lay. ‘H-hold them, Joan!’ she gasped. ‘I’m going after—other!’
Before Joan could answer, Alice bent, scooped up her bag and ran along the passage towards the stairs. Joan watched her friend go, then walked to where the two girls lay. Bending, she took a firm hold of each girl’s hair and hauled them after her into the apartment, closing the door behind her.
Pain knifed through Alice as she started down the stairs. Her right eye throbbed and seemed puffed-up from the blow; blood clogged her nostrils and her top lip seemed twice its normal size; her body ached and stung where fists landed and each leg appeared to be vying with the other in pain from kicks. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to run down the stairs, but already the footfalls of the fleeing woman had faded off.
On reaching the ground floor, Alice halted for a moment then ran towards the front doors. She stepped out on to the street and looked around, but could see no sign of her attacker. Turning, she went through the building and out at the rear but with no success. She could see or hear nothing to tell her which way her attacker fled. As usual the rear entrance had been unfastened so that gave her no clue.
Swinging on her heel, Alice returned to the elevator. She rode to the first floor and went to her room, letting herself in with her key.
‘Are you all right, Alice?’ Joan asked.
‘I’ve felt better,’ Alice replied and went to the telephone. ‘The other one got away, but I’ll put a call out.’
After contacting Central Control and arranging for a call to be put out to all cars in her vicinity to be on the lookout for a lone woman on foot or in a car and showing signs of an injured eye, Alice turned her attention to the two attackers she and Joan managed to capture.
They lay side by side on the floor, groaning their way to consciousness. The bigger woman was a Mexican, black-haired, beautiful—or would be when not mussed up—with a magnificent body that her open coat and black sheath dress did nothing to hide. While good-looking, the other did not come up to the Mexican’s standard, but was pleasant, red-haired, shapely and wore a rumpled two-piece. One reason that they lay so close together was that after dragging them into the room, Joan secured them with her handcuffs.
‘Recognize them?’ Joan asked.
‘Inez Herrero and Kathie O’Neil,’ Alice replied. ‘But I never gave either of them a reason to want to jump me.’
However she had given another woman cause to want revenge earlier that day, Alice remembered. Yet it did not seem likely that Marla Blumfeld would know how to contact Inez Herrero and Kathie O’Neil.
‘We’ll ask them about it at the office,’ Joan suggested. ‘Say, you’ll have quite an eye in the morning.’
‘Thank you for the concern,’ Alice answered. ‘I’ll go change.’
By the time Alice had repaired as much of the damage as possible, and changed into her uniform, she found Joan also dressed in khaki slacks and shirt. The two prisoners now sat sullenly scowling about them, but not talking.
‘Did you see the other one?’ Alice asked, putting on her stadium coat.
‘No,’ Joan answered and picked her coat and bag up. ‘She must have lammed as soon as I opened the door. Reckon this has anything to do with Tom’s death?’
‘I don’t know. On your feet, girls, we’re taking a little ride.’
The sheriff’s office was empty when Alice and Joan arrived with their prisoners. After booking the girls on the desk blotter, the official log of arrests and arrested persons, the deputies took them upstairs and into the interrogation room.
To prevent abuses or false accusations, the room had been built in two sections, separated from each other by a glass, soundproof door. The first section was small, with a couple of chairs in which witnesses could sit and watch the interview, even though unable to hear anything said.
Neither of the girls asked for a witness, so they were seated in the second room and the questioning started.
‘All right,’ Alice began. ‘Who was she?’
‘Who?’ Inez replied.
‘The third woman.’
‘What third woman?’ countered Kathie, her accent Irish.
‘Don’t play games with me!’ Alice snapped. ‘There were three of you!’
‘Maybe it’s you can’t count, Alice,’ sneered Kathie.
‘Call me Alice again and we’ll have a little talk alone. Who was she?’
‘There were only two of us,’ Kathie answered sullenly.
‘Why were you waiting for Deputy Fayde?’ Joan put in.
‘We weren't waiting for her,’ Inez replied. ‘We hadn’t made room-rent all night and thought we’d raise it by mugging some dame.’
‘Mugging!’ Joan scoffed. ‘That’s a laugh. You pair never did anything more serious than lifting a drunk’s wallet while he rolled in the hay with you.’
‘We all make a change some time,’ Inez said. ‘I’ve even heard about cops stopping taking.’
Joan smiled at Inez and started to remove her leather stadium coat. ‘Just take Kathie next door, Alice. I think Inez wants to talk with me alone.’
Which was one thing Inez did not want. Every hooker in town learned early that Joan Hilton was one female fuzz you did not fuss with.
‘Look. J—Miss Hilton,’ Inez yelped. ‘We’re leveling. Hell, do you think we’d try to mug Miss Fayde if we made her as a cop?’
‘Why were you waiting in the Chadwick?’ Alice put in.
‘At that hour we’d’ve attracted attention on the streets, and we knew that a lot of unattached dames live there. We didn’t chance hanging around on the ground floor and didn’t want to go too high in case we had to lam.’
‘How about the third woman?’ asked Alice.
‘Third woman?’ Kathie yelled. ‘What you keep bugging us with the third woman bit for?’
‘Was she a blonde?’ Alice went on, ignoring the outburst.
‘Who?’
‘How’d she know where to contact you?’ Alice continued.
‘We was just the two of us. T-w-o—Two!’ Inez shouted. ‘We was mugging, that’s all, just us two.’
On the face of it, the girls might be telling the truth about their reason for being at the Chadwick; that part sounded like crook thinking. For the other, the girls might be following the underworld tradition of not squealing on a friend who had been fortunate enough to escape.
Alice knew her suspicions against Marla Blumfeld were based more on dislike than actual knowledge. Wild Marla might have been, but she never associated with prostitutes and, even though married to a retired gambler, probably could not contact Inez and Kathie to arrange for their assistance.
Before anything more could be said, the door opened and the desk sergeant entered followed by a tall, slim, well-dressed man.
‘This’s Mr. Otis V. Caldicott, Alice. He’s come to see his clients.’
‘Huh?’ gasped Alice.
She knew Caldicott by reputation as a trial lawyer who skidded very close to the edge of the law and often represented big-time crooks who fell into trouble. Yet while the girls were good-class hookers, they did not have the kind of money needed to retain Caldicott’s services.
‘I wish to see my clients alone, please,’ Caldicott announced.
Much as Alice wanted to refuse, for she knew that she would never learn the third woman’s identity with Caldicott present, she could not. If she tried, Caldicott would have her charged under Article 1176 of the Penal Code, refusal to allow consultation with counsel.
’We’ll wait in the witnesses room,’ Joan said and Alice nodded.
’Don’t ask me,’ said the desk sergeant, reading Alice’s question before she asked it. ‘He just came in, said we were holding Inez and Kathie and wanted to see them. What could I do?’
’Only what you did,’ Alice answered, watching the lawyer talking with the girls beyond the door.
After a short time Caldicott came out. ’My clients wish to make statements admitting to assault with intent to rob. I want to be present for any further interviews you hold with them.’
Alice sucked in a long, angry breath. ’We’ll have a stenographer up here,’ she told the sergeant.
With the statements taken and signed, including a clause Alice insisted on—saying Inez and Kathie’s injuries were caused during the attempted mugging and while resisting arrest—the lawyer left. Alice and Joan escorted their prisoners to the detention cells on the top floor, leaving them in the care of the night duty woman deputy.
There would be no point in questioning the girls further, with Caldicott present and ready to counter any move at learning the identity of the third woman; for Alice guessed that he arrived to do just that. She wondered what inducement the man could have given to Inez and Kathie, causing them to sign statements to their guilt under Article 1163 which carried a penalty of from two to ten years’ imprisonment.
‘Who was the blonde, Alice?’ Joan asked.
‘Just a hunch that didn’t pay off,’ Alice replied, leading the way to the elevator doors.
At the fourth floor, the elevator stopped, its doors opening to admit a young woman wearing police uniform.
’Hi, Alice, Joan,’ she greeted. ‘Say, you called asking for a general for a dame with a shiner, didn’t you?’
‘Sure,’ Alice admitted.
‘Did she give you the mouse?’
‘Nope,’ Alice replied, gently fingering her swollen, discolored eye. ‘I had to fight her for it.’
‘How corny can you get?’ sniffed Joan, then looked at the policewoman, a dispatcher on Central Control. ‘Did you have anything on the general?’
‘Nothing. We had to re-direct all the Upton Heights R.P.s though. There was a gunfight outside the Beverly Arms on George Terrace.’
Letting out an involuntary gasp, Alice turned her face towards Joan. Both knew that Brad Counter lived at the Beverly Arms—but had he been involved in the gunfight?
Thirteen
After leaving Alice, Brad went to the Badge Diner and shared a table with Rafferty and Chu who had been answering a call. McCall joined them and over a meal the deputies kicked around Brad’s case then talked about things in general. At about the time Alice left the elevator at the Chadwick Building, Brad was climbing into his M.G. to drive home.
The Beverly Arms on George Street was a large, imposing building offering comfort and pleasant surroundings to its occupants. Decorative gardens surrounded by a low wall separated the building from the streets. From the main gates, wide, bush-lined concrete paths led to the main entrance and the doors to the basement garage.
Swinging the M.G. on to George Terrace, Brad looked ahead towards the building. A few lights still showed at windows, but for the most part the occupants appeared to be in bed. Brad noticed that the lamp which usually illuminated the garage doors was out, but thought nothing about it.
Even as the M.G. came on to George Terrace, Brad saw an R.P. car cruising towards him and approaching the main gates to the building. He gave the black and white patrol car hardly more than a glance. Upton Heights was a well-policed division, but Brad knew only a few of its officers and doubted if he would be acquainted with the car’s crew. Anyway, after the previous night’s work he did not feel like stopping to chat.
Just as it came level with the gates, the R.P. stopped, its right s
ide door opening and the patrolman riding shotgun leapt out. Drawing his revolver as he went, the shotgun advanced towards the gates.
Now Brad gave the car his full attention. He saw a spurt of flame stab from the bushes by the garage doors, recognizing it as the muzzle-blast of a firearm even though he heard no shot. Although Brad could not be sure at that distance, he thought he saw the R.P.’s driver suddenly jerk and flop sideways.
‘Not another!’ he breathed. ‘Not two in one week!’
Even as the words came, Brad gave a thought to assisting his fellow officers. Yet he was also aware of the danger he faced cutting in on the trouble without first notifying the policemen that he had the right as another peace officer. The patrolmen probably did not know him; his M.G. carried civilian license plates; he did not even wear his deputy’s uniform. So he must give some sign of his official position before butting in and helping.
Slowing the M.G., he reached into his inside pocket, drew out the ID wallet and extracted the deputy’s badge, slipping its hook into his buttonhole. From what Brad saw while doing this, he felt pleased that he took the precaution.
On the shot from the garage doors, the patrolman at the gate swiveled his head towards the R.P., then turned again. After that he moved fast and proved the wisdom Brad had shown in taking precautions. Swiftly the patrolman dropped into the braced kneeling position, right knee on the ground, left elbow on raised left knee as its hand supported the extended right arm. It was a position offering good support for the gun and a steady platform from which to take careful aim when shooting at distances of seventy or more yards. If Brad had joined the fight unannounced, a man so skilled in combat shooting was capable of making the deputy regret his hasty action.
Two more shots hammered from the bushes as the patrolman dropped into his position. Taking aim at the dark shape from which the shots came, he sent a bullet in return. Even as his heavy caliber revolver bucked in his palm, he saw the shape rock under the impact of lead, stagger and fall. Before he could take further action, the patrolman’s attention was drawn to further along the street.
