by Robert Bloch
I gave her two dollars. She turned away and busied herself at the stove. The tea came from a cabinet. I noticed that the better Gypsies were doing their tea leaf readings with Salada nowadays.
She put the pot on, then came over and planted herself in a chair across the table from me. A lamp switched on.
“Let me have your palm,” she said. “Give you a readin’ while you wait.”
“Look,” I said. “I’m in a hurry. I don’t need a regular reading. It’s something else.”
Her eyes narrowed. She watched me as I put my hand in my pocket.
“What?”
“Do you have any experience locating missing articles?”
“Lost somethin’, eh? What was it?”
“It wasn’t a something. It was a someone. A man named Joe Dean lived here a few years ago. I’m looking for a friend of his, a girl named Estrellita Juarez.”
She stood up. “Who sent you?”
“Nobody. I just thought you might be able to help.”
“Don’t know the name, mister. I just moved in here last year.”
“But I thought you might be able to use your divination—”
“Crap!” She stood up. “You a copper?”
“No. I’m an agent. I used to work for the same studio as Miss Juarez. She’s got some money coming to her for a bit she did some while ago. They asked me to find her. All we had on file was Dean’s old address.”
“I wouldn’t know nothin’ about it.” She started to get up.
I took my hand out of my pocket. “Maybe if you concentrate on this it might help,” I told her.
She stared at the twenty I held in my palm, then sat down again.
“You on the level about having money for her?”
I nodded. “I’m no cop, you ought to know that. If I was, I’d have put the cuffs on you the minute I came in and took a sniff. That tea on the stove isn’t the only kind you serve here.”
“You’re crazy.” Her upper lip was wet.
I held out the bill. “Knock it off,” I said. “I’m just interested in saving time. All I really have to do is start rapping on doors. But like I said, I’m in a hurry.”
She reached for the money. “Yeah. But if there’s any trouble.”
“There won’t be. I’m not even going to say where I found out.”
“Crap.” It must have been an old Gypsy expression of some sort, and I wondered what it meant.
“Well, if you won’t tell me where to find her, at least you might be able to tell me something about her. What she’s doing nowadays, and—”
“Oh, ast her yourself!” she sighed. “Number eight. Second floor rear.”
I stood up and made for the door.
“You won’t say nothin’ about who told you?”
“No. How could I? I’ve never been here. Let’s both try to remember that, shall we?”
I went out and closed the door on the mustiness behind me. Then I walked upstairs.
Number eight was easy to find. I knocked. There was no answer. I knocked again. Still nothing. I tried the door gently, turning the knob and pushing. It was locked, all right.
Well, there was only one thing to do—wait, sit it out. And perhaps it would be safer downstairs, across the street.
I turned and walked down the hall, started down the stairs. Somebody was coming up. There was the clatter of heels, the swish of skirt, a glimpse of a broad olive face with high cheekbones surmounted by dark curls. This was type casting if I’d ever seen it. She started to brush by me. I stuck out my arm.
“Miss Juarez,” I said.
“Yaiss?”
“I’ve been looking for you. My name’s Clayburn, Mark Clayburn.”
“So?”
“Can’t we go somewhere and talk?”
“I do not onnerstand. Why for we talk?”
“We’ve got mutual friends to discuss. Such as Joe Dean.”
“You know heem?”
“He sent me.”
She hesitated, then turned. “We go to my place, eh?”
I followed her up the stairs. The view was a distinct improvement over the pink posterior of my downstairs hostess.
Estrellita Juarez unlocked her door. “Come een,” she invited.
Her parlor was a cut above the average for a joint like this: new furniture, and in fairly good taste. I noted the door to a closet and a bedroom, both shut. There was a kitchen and a bath in back.
“Seet down.” She put her purse and gloves on the table, then turned. “Now, what ees all thees?”
“Friend of Joe’s, like I say. He told me about you.”
“How ees Joe? I ’ave not seen heem for long time.”
“Funny. He talked like he’d been in touch with you regular. As if you’d know all about me.”
“No. Heem I ’ave not seen for months.”
“Quarrel?”
She didn’t answer.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” I said. “Main thing is, he told me you’re the one to contact about the stuff.”
“Stoff? What you talk about?”
I tried my hands-in-pocket routine again, but this time I came out with a fifty.
“What’ll this buy?” I asked.
“I doan know what you talk about.”
“Business must be better than I thought, if you can turn down this kind of money.” I grinned and kept my hand extended. “All right, if you don’t want to help me out, there’s other places I can go. Right downstairs, for instance. She pushes a pretty good brand of weed, I hear. Or does she get her supply from you?”
Estrellita Juarez licked her lips. Then she took the money and put it in her pocket. She walked over to the closet door, opened it, and took out an upright vacuum cleaner. I watched her unfasten the dust bag attachment. She began to shake packages out on the floor.
“That’s enough,” I said. “This is all I need.” I stooped and picked up the manila-wrapped carton of muggles.
“Bot for feefty dollair—”
“This is all I need,” I repeated. “One package. So when I walk in and tell them where I got it, they’ll have evidence.”
Her mouth opened. “Why, you lousy, double-crossing stoolie!”
She came at me, trying to grab the refers. I got her arm and twisted it back.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “You forgot the accent.”
“Never mind the accent,” she panted. “Give me that before I—”
“Before you what? Call the police? Or try to kill me?” I shook my head. “Better not. You’re mixed up in enough killing so far.”
“Who told you that? Joe?”
“No. He didn’t tell me. I lied to you. Joe hates my guts.” I let her arm go. “But I’m not lying to you now. And if you don’t lie to me, I’ll forget about going to the cops.”
“So that’s it, huh? Shakedown. I might of known.”
“No shakedown. All I want from you is a little information, information you should have given to the law a long time ago. You’ll have to sooner or later anyway, you know. They’re looking for you right now, Estrellita, or whatever your real name is.”
“Never mind about my real name. Suppose you tell me who you are, instead.”
“I already did. My name’s Mark Clayburn. Didn’t Joe tell you about me?”
“I haven’t seen Joe, honest I haven’t. Not since—”
“Not since Ryan was murdered?” I nodded. “That’s what I’m really here to talk about.”
“I don’t have anything to tell you. I already talked to the D.A.’s office.”
“Sure you did. But where were you when they tried to find you after Polly Foster’s death?”
“I had nothing to do with that setup.”
“Nevertheless, they wanted to question you, and you hid out here, in Joe Dean’s old apartment.”
“That’s no crime.”
“You’re sure you haven’t seen him?”
She shook her head. “I tell you, not since Ryan died.”
/> “He didn’t die. He was murdered.” I had to keep reminding people of that, it seemed. “Was that the reason for the quarrel? Were you afraid of Dean because you knew too much about what happened?”
“I didn’t know anything.”
“Yes you did. And you’re still getting information from some place. Enough information so that you called Tom Trent the night he was murdered, warning him to get out of town.”
“Who told you that?”
“His sister.” I pushed her back into a chair. “It’s bound to come out sooner or later, just like I told you. All you’ve got to decide is whether you want to talk to me or to headquarters.”
“What’s your angle?”
“I want to solve this case, that’s all. I’ve got no axe to grind, nothing against anyone except the killer. Which means you’re safe, as far as I’m concerned, unless you happen to be the guilty party.”
Her hand went to her mouth. “No. I’m not. Honest.”
“That’s the way I want it,” I said. “Honest. All right, let’s get on with it. How long have you been pushing this stuff?”
“Two years.”
“You work for a syndicate?”
“I don’t know.”
“Quit that talk.”
“I said I don’t know. I get it from a guy. I pay him when I make delivery. He tells me where to take it.”
“You’re a runner, in other words.”
“That’s all. I don’t have anything to do with the stuff, where it comes from. They wouldn’t be fools enough to tell me.”
“What about Dean? Does he push, too?”
“No, but he knew about it. He saw me pass some to Dick Ryan.”
“Ryan was one of your customers?”
“No. He only bought once. Said he was getting it for a friend.”
“How did he know you could supply him?”
“I asked, but he wouldn’t tell me. He could have heard talk, though. I had a lot of customers in the industry.”
“You’re sure Ryan wasn’t a viper?”
“Positive.”
I nodded. That’s what I’d started out to clear up, a long time ago. That’s what I’d wanted: a plain statement clearing Ryan of addiction, from somebody who knew.
But I felt no satisfaction in hearing it now. Even if I could get her to put it in writing, that wouldn’t help. Too much had happened since I began my search, too many murders.
“All right,” I said. “So he bought some for a friend. Who was it? Polly Foster?”
“No.”
“Didn’t she use tea?”
“Sometimes. But she knew where to get it. Right from me.”
“What about Trent?”
“He dealt with me, too. And Ryan wouldn’t be buying for him.”
“Well, somebody was smoking at Ryan’s trailer. You were all there that night.”
“Nobody took anything when I was around.”
“Kolmar?”
“I don’t know about Kolmar.”
“Joe Dean works for him now.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, either. I told you I haven’t seen Joe since.”
“But you left Ryan’s trailer with Dean the night of the murder. You spent the rest of the night with him in a motel, didn’t you?”
“Yes. The little rat! He was always after me, and when he caught me slipping the stuff to Ryan, he made me promise to go with him or else he’d squeal.”
“That’s how it was, eh?”
“That’s how it was.” She scowled. “In the morning I kicked him out and told him to go peddle his papers. I haven’t seen the little fink since, and I don’t want to.”
“But you’re sure Ryan didn’t take weed. And you’re sure Dean didn’t kill him.”
“Positive. Somebody else must have come to Ryan’s trailer after we left. Somebody he expected, somebody who liked kicks.”
“So Polly Foster said.”
“She did?” Estrellita Juarez clenched her fists.
“I talked to her the night she died. In fact, I found her body. You must have read about that. She told me over the phone that she’d gone back to the trailer later that evening. She’d seen someone there. Whether or not she could identify the party, I don’t know. But if she could, somebody made sure of getting to her before I did. So maybe your idea is right. Why didn’t you tell the police about it when Ryan died?”
“Why get into trouble? Let them do their own figuring.”
“Even if they suspect you? That doesn’t make sense.” I sat down and leaned forward. “Because they do suspect you, now. This business of disappearing after Polly Foster’s death looks mighty suspicious. Everybody else showed for questioning and gave an alibi. Everybody but you. Why?”
“I got my orders to lay low. Changed my territory on me; I don’t work the studios any more.”
“You’re sure it isn’t because you know who killed Polly Foster?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“Then why did you phone Tom Trent and warn him to get out of town?”
“I—I was worried. I liked Tom. He was on the stuff, sure, and I used to get it for him. Then I was told to hide out here and that cut off his supply. From something he said to me after Ryan got killed, I got a hunch he might know who did it. I think he must have gone back that night, just like Polly Foster. Maybe he just guessed. But I figured he knew, and after Polly Foster died, I was scared for him. I called him up and told him maybe he’d better get out of town for a while. We figured maybe he’d be safe then.”
“We?”
“I mean, I figured.”
“Uh-uh. You were told to warn him, weren’t you?”
“You’re getting me all confused.”
“You’re confused plenty, if you ask me. You’re shielding somebody who’s put you on the spot.”
“I’m not on the spot.”
“Yes you are.” I talked right into her face. “Whoever this party is, he’s got you right where he wants you, the perfect suspect. You disappear the minute Foster gets murdered. You call Trent the night before he’s killed. Somebody came out to his place in a car and bumped him off—couldn’t that be you? The cops think so. They know about that call.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell them. Tell them when they come for you.”
“Nobody knows where I am. I’m safe. Unless you double cross me.”
“I’m not going to double cross you,” I answered. “I don’t have to. Because you’re not safe here. I found you in fifteen minutes. I used my head, and an old City Directory. Got your apartment number from that tea peddler downstairs. She sold you out for twenty bucks. I’ll bet you another twenty the police will be knocking on your door before tomorrow morning.”
“I won’t be here,” she said. “I’m getting out of town.”
“Suit yourself. But you’re a sucker if you keep on trying to protect somebody who’d line you up for a rap like this. Who is it, this guy you’re running for?”
She nodded. “That’s right.”
“Suppose you tell me his name?”
“No. I couldn’t do that—”
“Give you my word. I won’t say anything about it for twenty-four hours. You’ve got time to clear out of here.”
“I couldn’t.” She dug her fingers into the arm of the sofa. “He’d come after me.”
“I doubt that. Because if you ask me, he won’t have a chance. The police will grab him right away. Don’t you see? This guy’s the killer.”
Her fingers stopped clawing.
“Haven’t you figured that yet? It has to be that way. I’m not playing brilliant; it’s just simple elimination. He’s the only one left who’s linked to all three of the victims: Ryan, Foster and Trent.”
She stared at the wall behind me.
“Come on,” I said. “Is it Kolmar?”
“No.”
“Tell me his name.” I reached over and shook her. “Don’t be a fool. Do you want to end up like
the others did?”
Estrellita Juarez stared.
“All right,” she said, tonelessly. “It isn’t Kolmar. The name is Hastings. Edward Hastings. He works for—”
She wasn’t staring at the wall any more. I realized that now. She was staring at the door, because it was opening, fast. I turned in my seat, my hand searching for the gun Bannock had given me. I felt the butt in my fingers, started to tug it out as I tried to get up.
I never got the gun out, never reached my feet.
Joe Dean came in right behind my chair. “Here’s what I owe you,” he said.
What he owed me was something hard, something that cracked down to split my skull and leave me sprawling on a floor that went spinning and spinning around. It was like one of those outfits you ride in the Fun House of an amusement park, where centrifugal force finally throws you off to the edge. It was throwing me off now.
I hit the edge and dropped into darkness.
Chapter Fifteen
The rungs were slippery, but I kept climbing. That was the only way to get out of the darkness again. I had to keep on climbing. It took years.
Then I was up, back on the floor, lying there with my face pressed into the rug. My mouth was open and I wheezed.
The rug tasted awful, so I rolled over. Still the same taste. It wasn’t the rug after all; it was something else. Something that clung to my mouth no matter how I turned my head. A gag.
Now I could feel the pressure of the cords on my hands and legs. They’d trussed me up, too. I opened my eye, but there wasn’t much to see. Quite dark in the room now. Dark, and lonely.
My head throbbed. Those Dean brothers were great ones for rapping you over the skull. Did an efficient job, too. I wasn’t bleeding, but I could tell I had been hit hard. When I rolled over onto my side, the room spun for a moment, then steadied.
I stared in the dimness. They were gone, all right. The closet door was open, and there weren’t any clothes on the hangers. The vacuum cleaner was right there on the floor. Thoughtful of them to leave it. Maybe they thought I’d want to clean a few vacuums. Such as the one inside my skull.
They’d opened the dust bag, of course, and emptied it. And I knew they had taken the package of muggles from my pocket. Estrellita probably did it while Dean tied me up. I even knew what they’d used to tie me with. I could see the rumpled sheet in the corner from which the strips had been torn.
