by Craig Rice
Malone nodded. “Of course,” he said, “if it burned down, or blew up, or was robbed, or someone threw bricks through the windows, you do have insurance.”
“Sure,” Jake said. He grinned wryly. “Only that isn’t the angle. Nothing quite that crude.”
“Begin at the beginning,” Malone said. “It’s customary.”
“It began with a telephone call,” Jake said. “Salesman for a protection agency. You know the routine. One grand a month, and nobody will drop stink bombs down your chimney. I told him to go to hell. Two days later a couple of guys came to call. They”—again he grinned wryly—“quote, urged me to reconsider my decision, unquote. I kicked them out. Then one of the bartenders—George, you know him, the fat guy with the bushy eyebrows—was caught selling liquor to a minor.”
Malone pursed his lips, laid down his cigar, and sat up straight. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Turned out I didn’t need to,” Jake said. “George swore he didn’t know the kid was under twenty-one, and I still believe him. I paid the fine and thought I’d be stuck with a threat of having the license revoked. But the whole thing was settled, slick as a whistle. Then comes another call, telling me that was just a warning. The price had gone up to two grand a month. I lost my temper and said a bad word over the phone. Two days later one of my waiters was picked up for selling reefers in the Casino.”
He paused, lit a new cigarette, and said, “That time, I damn near did call you. Because I’d never hired that waiter. He was a plant.”
“I’d guessed that,” Malone said. “Only you couldn’t have proved it in court. In a pinch you couldn’t have proved that you didn’t know all about it.”
“And—” Jake began.
“Shut up,” the little lawyer said crossly. “I can tell the rest of it. If you hadn’t paid protection money, there would be more arrests. Finally, an injunction closing the Casino, and you thrown in the jug. After that, you’d be approached—sell the Casino for a small sum, the injunction would be lifted, and you’d be sprung from the can. After which, you’d go back to being a press agent, and someone would own a gold mine.”
Jake crushed out his cigarette and said, “How the hell do you know all this?”
“Because,” Malone said, “the Casino isn’t the only night club in Chicago, and you aren’t my only client. And this isn’t the first time this racket has been worked. It’s a damn slick trick. I wish I’d thought of it myself. Somebody owns a lot of saloons by now, and has a tidy sum of money tucked away. How much did you pay, and who to, and where?”
A dull red color crept into Jake’s cheeks. “Damn it, Malone. What else could I do?”
“Nothing,” the lawyer told him, “and answer my question.”
“Two grand a month,” Jake said. “I’ve had to go into debt. I paid off to a guy named Ambersley, who met me at The Happy Days bar. A white-haired guy with a broken-down face. Looked familiar to me, but I never could figure where I’d met him.”
“The Happy Days bar,” Malone said thoughtfully, “is where Big Joe Childers was killed.”
“And I was there,” Jake said. “I was sitting in a booth, waiting for Ambersley. I saw the man in the corridor—I know now it was Ike Malloy. I heard the shot. I—Malone!” He ran his lean brown fingers through his unruly red hair.
“Never mind,” Malone said. “I’d have done the same thing myself.” He poured a little more gin in Jake’s glass. “In your place, I’d have ducked out quick before the cops broke in, because you couldn’t be caught in a joint like The Happy Days on a pay-off trip. What’s more, I’d probably have kept my mouth shut afterwards. So stop worrying.”
“I’m not worrying,” Jake said. “Only you see; afterward Ambersley talked to me. He said the whole thing was fixed up, and I didn’t need to worry. After that girl was convicted, I was warned to go on keeping my mouth shut. I had to. Because, you see, there’s Helene—”
“Yes, yes, yes, I know,” Malone said quickly. “Helene, and the Casino, and all the rest of it. You don’t need to go on. You don’t even need to tell me that if you hadn’t believed, right up to the last, that Anna Marie St. Clair would be saved, you’d have told your story, warnings or no warnings.”
Jake looked at the floor and said, “Well you see—well, yes, that’s it. But then at the last—when it began to look as though the girl was really headed for the chair—I couldn’t stand it, Casino or no Casino. Something had to be done.”
“You could have gone to the police,” Malone said quietly.
“Would you mind letting me tell this in my own way?” Jake said. “I went to The Happy Days saloon and sat there in a booth nursing a beer and hoping someone would come and contact me. Eventually, Ambersley showed up. Maybe he just dropped by, or maybe someone there sent for him to come and talk to me. Anyway, he told me two things. One, that Anna Marie St. Clair was scheduled for a reprieve and a new trial. Two, that if I didn’t keep my mouth shut in the meantime I was just as likely as not to be a widower.”
“They threatened Helene,” Malone said, chewing on his cigar, “and you fell for it.”
“They did, and I did,” Jake said grimly. “Those boys don’t play.”
Malone said, “Neither does Helene. God help them if they ever mix up with her.”
“Yesterday,” Jake said in a low voice, “I went to the D. A.’s office. They laughed at me. They called me a liar. And when they asked me how I happened to be on the scene and why I hadn’t come forward before, I couldn’t tell them. Because”—he paused, gulped—“if anything ever happened to Helene—”
Malone said, “Never mind. And you’re still paying off.”
“At this rate,” Jake said, “I’ll be broke in six months. But that isn’t the reason. After last night—” he paused, gulped. “That girl was murdered. I’d like to lay hands on her murderer. I’d like to know who’s running this racket. I thought it was Big Joe Childers, but he’s dead, and I’m still paying.”
“Are you suggesting,” Malone said, “that you’d like to engage my services?”
“Look, Malone—” Jake began.
“I hate to bust up a good racket,” Malone said, “because for all I know, I may be getting income from it, through one source or another. But since it’s you,” he added coyly, “my services can be had, for a small sum, of course.”
“Helene mustn’t know about it,” Jake said. “She’s got to be kept out of it.”
“Naturally,” Malone said. “Or else she’ll do the job herself and I’ll lose a fee. Now tell me about this guy Ambersley—”
The door opened. Maggie said helplessly, “Mr. Malone—” A small woman in black, with a green-feathered hat, marched imperiously into the room. She nodded to Maggie, said, “Thank you, my dear.” Then, to Malone, “I’m sure you don’t mind my coming right in. It’s really quite urgent that I see you immediately.” She gave Jake a glance indicating that he was as welcome as a stepchild with scarlet fever.
Malone rose. “Glad to see you, Mrs. Childers. You know Mr. Justus?”
She raked him over with a glance and said, “Delighted.”
“Delighted to meet you,” Jake said. “Have a drink?” He absent-mindedly held out his own glass.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t drink.”
“Suit yourself,” Jake said. “Do you smoke, swear, spit, or what do you do?”
Eva Childers looked away and said, “Mr. Malone—”
The little lawyer cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, Jake—”
There was a slight commotion behind the door, and it opened again. Maggie said in a despairing voice, “Mr. Malone, I simply couldn’t—” Malone said wearily, “You’re fired,” as Helene walked leisurely into the room, peeling off her gloves.
She stood there, a tall, lovely, slender figure. For a moment Malone forgot all his problems and gazed at her. He observed that there was a faint pink in her cheeks and that she was slightly out of breath. He braced himself for trouble.
<
br /> Helene said, “Jake darling, I’m so sorry I was late. I waited in that bar for an hour. It’s my fault, my watch had stopped.”
Jake opened his mouth to say, “Huh,” caught a signaling wink from her, and shut it again.
“Mrs. Childers!” Helene beamed. “How nice to see you again! We met at Mrs. McClane’s garden party, remember?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course,” Eva Childers said. She certainly did remember that garden party. It had taken a lot of doing to wangle an invitation to it. Her dark eyes narrowed. Maybe she’d been mistaken in her suspicions of Helene. After all, she’d been Helene Brand, heiress, only daughter of one of the families. Eva Childers concentrated on looking friendly, charming, and, of course, ladylike.
“I’ve wanted so many times to call you,” Helene gushed on, “but I’d lost your phone number. Wasn’t that silly of me? I’d simply adore to have lunch with you some day soon.”
“That would be—”
Before Eva Childers could think of a synonym for “wonderful” Helene had gone on. “How about tomorrow noon? One o’clock? Pierre’s? Oh, grand. I’m so glad I ran into you here. Is Mr. Malone your lawyer, too?”
“Well—” Eva Childers began.
“Aren’t you lucky! He’s simply marvelous! Oh Mrs. Childers, I’m insane about your hat! You must have had it made specially for you. It’s the most becoming thing—”
Malone said, “If you please—”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Helene gasped. “I’m keeping you from talking business. Jake, angel, did Mr. Malone settle that point about Uncle Arthur’s will?”
Jake swallowed hard and said grimly, “Yes, dear. We can’t break it. The Associated Dog and Cat Clinic get every penny of it.”
“What a shame,” Eva Childers said sympathetically.
“Mrs. Justus,” Malone said. He was fighting off a conviction that in thirty more seconds he was going to lose his mind.
“I do wish we could all dash out for a drink or something,” Helene said, oblivious of interruptions, “but Jake and I are simply hours and hours late—remember, darling, Lady Leiber’s tea—”
“Oh, yes,” Jake said. He drank the last drop of gin in his glass. “Mustn’t disappoint Lady Leiber.”
“By all means, don’t,” Malone said. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more helpful about Uncle Arthur’s will.”
“Don’t forget, Mrs. Childers,” Helene cooed, at the door. “One o’clock, at Pierre’s.”
Jake resisted an impulse to bang the door shut. He grabbed Helene’s arm. “What’s the idea, or do you know?”
“Sssh! I want to hear what she has to say to Malone, and so do you.” Helene punched the elevator button. “That’s just so she’ll think we did go downstairs. In case she’s listening, and she will be, she’ll hear the elevator come up and go down.” She led the way down the hall. “Malone can’t afford a dictograph, so the office next to him is vacant, in case he wants Maggie to take down a conversation unobserved.” She opened the door.
“How did you know it was unlocked,” Jake whispered, “and how did you know you could hear—”
“Because,” she whispered back, “I caught the tag end of your conversation with Malone. Just what is it I’ve got to be kept out of? Whatever it is, I’m in it already. And,” she added sternly, “I think you were very, very rude to poor Mrs. Childers.”
Chapter Ten
Eva childers sat straight up in the big chair. Her tiny feet just touched the floor. She accepted a cigarette from Malone like a little girl accepting a lollipop from a stranger, and held it delicately between her fingers as though, Malone thought, she was about to pick up a hammer and drive it into the wall. She glanced toward the door Helene had closed behind her and said, “Lovely girl, isn’t she?”
“Very lovely,” Malone said, striking a match for her. His sharp ears had caught the faint sound of a door closing, and he had a good idea who was in the “listening office.” He cleared his throat and said loudly, “Lovely, but quite crazy, unfortunately. Too bad. Beautiful girl, if you like that washed-out blonde type. Should have been committed years ago. But you know how it is. Influence. Sad, sad affair. Just between us, and I know you won’t tell a soul, she’s a pyromaniac.”
“What a shame!” Mrs. Childers clucked sympathetically. “She has such pretty white teeth, too. I suppose she’ll have to have them all pulled. And her husband?”
“Oh, he’s just a petty crook,” Malone said, raising his voice a little. “Nice guy, in his way, but just a good-for-nothing drunk, gambler, and woman chaser. Runs a high-class saloon for a living. Believe me, if his wife knew one-half of what I know about him!”
That ought to hold Jake and Helene for a while, he told himself. He concentrated his attention on Mrs. Childers. If she was consulting him as client, there might be a fat fee. And he’d seen a bracelet Anna Marie would love to have.
“Now, my clear Mrs. Childers. What’s troubling you?” Even if there wasn’t a fee, he was interested in what Eva Childers had to say.
“My conscience,” Eva Childers said. “I feel as if I’d murdered that girl.”
Malone let that hang in the air for a moment. Then he looked sympathetic and said, “Come, come.”
“I told the truth,” she said simply. “I thought it was right at the time. And it was so kind of the lawyers not to ask me to testify. I just had to testify at the inquest, and, of course, he had been—what’s the word—keeping her.” She reached for a lace-edged handkerchief.
“There, there,” Malone said, in what his friends, enemies, and grateful clients described as his best cell-side manner.
“It was a great mistake,” she murmured, “my marrying Mr. Childers. I was too young to realize what he was like. He had what seemed a great deal of money, and his attentions flattered me, and—oh, you know how it is—”
“Indeed I do,” Malone said. “You poor, poor little girl.”
Eva Childers managed a faint, tremulous smile. “He was always very kind to me. He gave me everything I wanted. He left me a—a—well, a fortune, Mr. Malone. But—oh, the ways he made his money—and—these other women—” She bowed her head in the lacy handkerchief.
Malone sighed, rose, walked around his desk and patted her thin, delicate shoulder. “You’ve had a bad, bad time, my dear, brave little woman. But you must put it all out of your mind. You must remember, you have a long, happy life ahead of you.”
“Oh, Mr. Malone,” she breathed, “you’re so understanding!”
He patted her on the other shoulder and said, “Now, what can I do to help you?”
“That girl,” she said. “I do feel so guilty. I want to do something. Not that I could bring her back. But—she must have a family somewhere. A father and mother, maybe, brothers and sisters. I’d like to find them. I’d like to provide for them. Not that I even dream mere money will make it up to them. But—that’s the only thing I can do. Oh, Mr. Malone—”
She clasped her hands and gazed up at him with tragic eyes. “If you’d only just drop everything you’re doing and devote yourself to finding her family! I’d pay you anything—anything!”
The little lawyer pulled a fresh cigar from his pocket, lit it, and began pacing up and down the room. He wondered how large a bill he could send for anything. He felt a slight stiffening along his spine and a prickling of the nerves. Something was going on here, something more than finding Anna Marie’s bereaved family. “Drop everything … devote yourself …” He began speculating about what he might be doing that Eva Childers wanted him to drop. Would, indeed, pay him anything to drop.
“My dear Mrs. Childers,” he said suavely. “Tell me. Why haven’t you gone to the young woman’s lawyer—Jesse Conway, I believe his name is. He might be able to give you the information without having to—conduct an expensive investigation.” He got that “expensive” in loud.
She looked hurt and said, “Naturally, I thought of that. But Mr. Conway has gone on a vacation. There doesn’t seem to
be any way of reaching him.”
“Oh, he’s gone on a vacation, eh?” Malone said. “H’m. Well, in that case—”
“Of course—you’ll want a retainer—” she began digging through her black moleskin purse. “I brought a thousand dollars. If that would be enough—”
“I’ll have to think about it,” Malone said. He sat down behind his desk again.
He owed a month’s office rent, and he owed Maggie two weeks’ salary. He was overdrawn at the bank again. And he’d promised to provide Anna Marie with whatever money she needed, to say nothing of a few comforts and luxuries he’d thought of himself. There was exactly eleven dollars and fifty-five cents on his person, and heaven only knew when any more would come in. He looked thoughtfully at Eva Childers for about fifteen seconds.
“A retainer won’t be necessary in a case like this,” he said smoothly. “If I succeed in finding the girl’s family, and arranging things the way you want them, I’ll send you a bill. I’d much rather do it that way.
“Oh, but please,” she said. She laid ten one hundred dollar bills on his desk.
“Please, no,” Malone said. His fingers ached as he pushed them away.
“If that isn’t enough,” Eva Childers said, “I could make it much more.” She opened the purse again.
“No, no, no, no,” Malone said. He added, “No!”
They argued about it delicately for a moment or so. Then she slid the bills back in her purse with a regretful gesture and rose.
“Believe me,” Malone said, holding her hand, “I’ll drop everything and devote myself—heart and soul—to this little problem of yours.”
He had, he reflected later, never spoken a truer word.
After she’d gone he sat for a few minutes, his forehead resting on his fists. Even after paying Maggie’s back salary, and a few other important debts, and a slight installment on the rent, he’d be able to provide for Anne Marie out of what was left from a thousand dollars. He’d promised her that he’d “manage.” His head sagged into his hands. He began humming absent-mindedly, “I wish I had never known sunshine—I wish I had never known rain—”
