“I see they are.”
“I guess Sol’s not in any real danger.”
“How you figure that out?”
“If they really mean it, why don’t they put a real reporter on it? What’s the idea of sending Dick Delany, that stumblebum that don’t hardly know right from left? To me, that looks quite a lot like a coat of whitewash.”
“To me it looks different.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“What you say, that would be O.K. if Solly had it doped right. If Delany was back of this stuff that’s being sprung by the Jansen people, and especially that girl, then sending Dick over would be about the dumbest play they could think up, because it would just be helping him cover up. But if Solly’s got it wrong, and Delany’s a little sore, and wants to shoot off his mouth, then Dick would just be the perfect guy for him to talk to, wouldn’t it? To me—of course nobody pays any attention to what I say around here any more, and it’s just one mug’s opinion—but to me it looks like they straightened Solly up for the old one-two and no bell to save him. First they send Bresnahan over here and get him to shoot off his face, and you’ll notice Dick’s got that paper in his hand even while he’s having his picture taken. If Bill needed anything more to open him up, that would do it.”
Carefully, Lefty read the Pioneer’s write-up of Mr. Bill Delany; of his start as a hostler in the Jardine stables; of his rise to riding instructor, to exhibitor of mounts at local horse shows; of his acquisition of various runners, particularly Golden Bough, a winner of purses some years before; of his reputed share in several tracks; of the rumors that connected him with organized gambling. As to this, however, the Pioneer was quite sketchy, and even jocular, as though nobody really believed the rumors, except perhaps Mr. Caspar. Then it went on to relate the strange relationship between Bill and his brother Dick; how the older brother self-effacingly kept behind the scenes, letting the younger brother do the family manners; how this last “tall, handsome, hard-riding man-about-town” had quite captured Lake City’s imagination; how he entered horses at the leading tracks, played in local polo games, belonged to several clubs, including the Lakeside Country Club, and had been reported engaged to several of the younger members of the social set. As to his brains, or lack of them, the paper had nothing to say, unless something was to be inferred from the paragraph: “Yet it is an open secret that the man behind the silks is not Dick, but Bill. Not that Dick is merely a ‘front’ for his quite active brother. On the contrary, he leads a pretty full life on his own account. And yet it is Bill, not Dick, who captains the ship, buys the gee-gees, decides where they are to be entered.”
Lefty shook his head. “You got it wrong, Ben. If the Pioneer was all, they mean it plenty.”
“What do you mean, if the Pioneer was all?”
“I told you, we’re taking steps.”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot.”
“Maybe one too many.”
Pioneer Park, the local baseball grounds, was in striking contrast with John Dewey High School, just a few nights before. There the crowd had been small, quiet, and dispirited. Here, as a result of the sensational revelations of the last day or two, thousands of people were gathered, in a tense, excited mood. They overflowed from the space back of home plate, where seats had been placed, into the stand itself. On the speakers’ stand that had been erected over the plate floodlights glared down, and as the loudspeakers carried every word that was said to the far corners of the grounds, loud cheers went up, with occasional calls for June, the mystery girl of the campaign.
Mr. Caspar arrived around eight, riding between Goose and Bugs on the back seat of the big armored sedan, with Ben at the wheel and Lefty beside Ben. Just what he was doing there, to judge from what was being said, was a puzzle to everybody in the car, and an unwelcome one, at that. His own explanation was: “It’s time I had a look at that dame”; and this, coupled with his compulsion to show his power wherever he could, seemed to be about the only reason. His power was evident at once. The car no sooner arrived than a sergeant waved it past the turnstiles, where lesser folks entered to the vehicle gate, which he ordered open. There a motorcycle patrolman picked it up, and led it past the rear of the grandstand to a point where the bleachers ended, and from there to a dark spot just back of the coaching lines. Several other cars were parked on the infield. Bugs jumped out, to look them over, and keep an eye on things behind. But Sol paid no attention, and made remarks at the expense of the speakers. One of them, soliciting money, said that three $1,000 contributions had been received in the last twenty-four hours, and to this Sol said: “Three thousand bucks! Wha ya know about that! Gee, they don’t look out they’re gonna have enough to pay for a coupla funerals.”
“Hey, Solly, cut it out.”
“Three funerals, grand apiece.”
“I said cut it out.”
Lefty, as Sol made no effort to muffle his jibes, was growing increasingly nervous. Presently, after the crowd had been lashed to a frenzy by several speakers, by excerpts from the day’s newspapers, by a brief speech from Jansen, June was introduced, and stepped into view, under the lights. The ensuing demonstration lasted five minutes, and Sol paid his respects to her clothes, her figure, and her general appearance, laughing loudly at his not very delicate sallies. But when she began to speak he fell as silent as he might have if he had been hit with an axe. “Mr. Chairman, honorable candidates, fellow citizens, Mr. Caspar.”
“There it goes.”
Lefty, perhaps with reason, obviously blamed the jocosity of the last half hour for June’s knowledge of their presence. Sol froze into a small, compact ball as she lifted the mike, turned it around, and faced him, her back to the major portion of the crowd. “I’m glad you’ve seen fit to honor us with your presence, Mr. Caspar, because I’ve information that will interest you as a hotel owner. You were correctly quoted, I assume, in Mr. Bresnahan’s article in today’s Pioneer, in which you said that nobody by the name of Rossi, so far as you know, is staying at the Columbus Hotel. I must regretfully report that you don’t know everything that goes on at the Columbus. Mr. Arch Rossi is at the Columbus, this very minute. He must be there, because I myself talked with him, less than an hour ago. Of course I had some difficulty getting him on the line. I had to put the call through Castleton police headquarters, and make it appear as though Bob Herndon was trying to talk to his old pal, and tell him things that might be of interest—”
There was a warning shout from Bugs, watching behind. Then lights flashed all around the car. The photographers, who were out in force, had probably started together, as soon as June started to speak. At any rate they had the car surrounded, and were snapping furiously to get pictures. Caspar began pounding Ben on the back, ordering him to get out of there. Ben spun his motor, fast. The outfield floodlights came on, as the crowd gave a roaring laugh. Ben, his head twisted backwards, caught the horn with his elbow, and it brayed grotesquely. The crowd gave a cheer. It seemed minutes before they cleared the bleachers, and were whirling away.
“Boy, you ought to hear them. I don’t know where that dame came from, but she’s going to cost Maddux the election if something’s not done. Sol, he better look out.”
Bugs, left in the ball park by the circumstance that cars have no running boards any more for lookout men to jump on, climbed in beside Ben, who was parked in the areaway back of the Columbus. “She’s stirring ’em up, hey?”
“It’s just murder. After you left she cut it loose and what she don’t know about this outfit ain’t hardly worth knowing. Where’s Sol?”
“Inside.”
“Goose and Lefty with him?”
“Yeah, but he said wait. We’re going somewhere.”
“Sure, with Arch Rossi.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“He’s got to get rid of the kid, hasn’t he? Boy, after what that dame told them out there tonight he can’t have him here any more. Not in the Columbus, he can’t.”
“What do you mean, get ri
d of him?”
“Ben, if I knew I wouldn’t say.”
When Sol came out of the hotel, however, he was alone. He climbed in the car and sat smoking, as though waiting for something. Presently, from the street, came the sound of police sirens. From where they were sitting they could see several cars pull up in front on the street, and spew officers all over the sidewalk. These disappeared, and Sol tiptoed to the rear of the hotel to listen. Bugs nodded at Ben, whispered that Solly was on the job, all right, and probably had the thing under control. This raid meant that Rossi was already out of the hotel, and the cops would find nothing. Even before the police cars had pulled away Sol was back in the car, and told Ben to drive to Memorial Boulevard. Bugs moved to the back seat with him, and they started out.
They drove out Memorial into a black, bleary waste of suburbs not yet become open country. Then Sol said to stop. When they were at a standstill, he told Ben to wink his lights. At once they got a wink in return from a side road, some distance ahead. Then Sol told Ben to keep the lights dark, and run to the other car. Cautiously Ben rolled ahead in the dark, but stopped at the sound of running footsteps. The footsteps drew nearer, while all three of them sat silent Then Lefty was beside the car, his voice lifted in a quavering wail: “They’ve plugged him, Solly, they’ve plugged him—they’ve plugged him!”
Sol got out, followed by Bugs, and with apparent concern inquired: “Where they at?” But Lefty, as he turned to point, hit the ground in a sprawl, and the breath left his body in a grunting sob. Sol jumped on him, jammed his knee in his stomach, and slapped him eight, ten, or a dozen times. Then he told Bugs to give him a gun, and when Bugs drew one from an armpit holster, jammed it at Lefty’s mouth. Lefty clenched his teeth, striking at Sol with his fists. Bugs seized his arms and held them against the ground. Sol pulled his cheek away from his teeth, and shoved the gun muzzle inside of it. Then he began to whisper, obscene, psychopathic threats as to what would happen if Lefty didn’t “snap out of it.” Presently he removed the gun and asked: “Wha ya say now, soldier?”
“O.K., Sol, O.K.”
“Get up.”
“O.K., now I’m O.K.”
Sol, Bugs, and Lefty walked to the other car, leaving Ben alone. He sat there at the wheel of the car, his lights out, his motor always running, for perhaps ten minutes. Then Sol came back and told him to drive over to Rich Street. At Rich Street they headed out into another drab suburb, and at Reservoir Street Sol said stop. They sat in the dark car a long time now, Sol on the back seat smoking cigars, Ben up front, constantly checking that his motor was running. Some distance away, there was occasionally audible a low mutter, as well as a recurrent scraping noise. The only sign of the strain they were under came when Ben lit a cigarette. Sol savagely ordered him to put it out, not bothering to explain why he could smoke, Ben not. Presently Lefty appeared and got in, and Sol said drive to Ike’s, and step on it.
At Ike’s Lefty sat alone, in the shadows, drinking beer, and gave no sign that Ben should join him. Ben played pinball, having a small run of luck. Sol sat with Ike and two girls. He was very noisy, very gay.
The sun was coming up as Ben got to his hotel room and dialed the outside phone. “O.K., June, get up. Sorry to rout you out this time of morning, but we got work to do.”
“What is it?”
“They’ve knocked off Arch Rossi and we got to find him.”
C H A P T E R
4
It was after seven, though, before she climbed into his car at Wilkins and Hillcrest; the guard that Ben had insisted on was proving more of a nuisance than a boon, and she had to telephone Jansen before she could shake clear without being followed. They drove first out Memorial, to the spot where Sol had disciplined Lefty, but the only thing in sight was a small toolshed, and it told them nothing. Next they cut over to Rich Street, and drove out to Reservoir, but by daylight, this was just as unpromising. However, across a car track a road construction gang was preparing for work, and she insisted that this must have something to do with their quest. “What makes you think so, June?”
“Why would they come way out here, Caspar and those gunmen of his? There’s nothing else to account for it. Whatever they did with him, it had something to do with that road work.”
“Such as?”
“Dumping him in that fill, maybe.”
“Dumping him—where?”
“In that low place there, where they’ve been filling up to make the road level. They could have driven over there, dropped him off, and then pulled loose dirt over him, anyway enough to cover him up.”
“That’s no good.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just not hot, that’s all.”
“If we could only go over there and look, before that gasoline shovel starts piling more dirt on top of him.”
The shovel was already warming up, giving a quite passable imitation of a battle tank. Ben pulled in his gear, but she touched his arm. “You stay here. I’m going over there to see what I can see.”
“Look—be careful.”
“Don’t be so jumpy. Can’t I be a naughty little thing? That was parked here last night with my boy friend? And lost my nice wrist watch? Can’t I ask them to let me look before they— ”
“O.K., but be careful.”
She did look a bit like a naughty little thing as she went skipping across the track, in a black dress with a floppy straw hat, and one would have thought the foreman would bow her in with his hat off, wanting to know what he could do for her. He didn’t, though. He seemed to be out of humor, and let her stand around while he roared at various workmen. In a few minutes she was back. “What’s the matter with him, June?”
“Oh, somebody stole a barrel during the night, and half a sack of cement, and used one of his wheelbarrows for mixing, and— ”
At the way his eyes were opening she stopped, stared, and then started to laugh. “Ben! You don’t really mean they’d—put him in that barrel, and fill it up with concrete, and—”
“You think they got too much character?”
She got in, and they drove around, cudgeling their brains to think where the hypothetical barrel of concrete, with the just as hypothetical body in it, might have been hidden. She was inclined to minimize the necessity for finding it, but he quickly set her right. “Look, we got to find it, see?—that is, if we’re going to lick Caspar. Because he’s not licked yet, not the way things are now. You’ve done fine, you’ve stirred things up, but it’s not enough. Specially since you’ve made such a play over this kid Rossi. And it won’t do any good to say he’s dead. They say they never heard of him, and how do you prove your end of it? That’s how it is in a court of law, and that’s how it is in a political campaign—no body, no murder. We got to find him, see? There’s no other dirt that’ll do it. Maybe there is, but I don’t know any. This is it, or we lose.”
They got nowhere that day, though. Around ten o’clock she dropped off, to report to campaign headquarters, and around two Ben reported at the Columbus, as usual. And as usual, these last few days anyway, he and Lefty sat around the big room, reading newspapers, while another procession of visitors went through to the office beyond.
At six Lefty had sandwiches sent up, and at eight Sol came out, while Lefty tuned in the big radio on the speech that Maddux was making in the Civic Auditorium. It was, said the Mayor, the only speech he was making during the campaign, and he would not even have thought it necessary to make that if charges had not been made recently, vicious charges, serious charges, leaving him with no choice but to defend himself. He then reviewed events since the first charges made by “a speaker campaigning for my opponent,” with regard to the bandits in the Globe Hotel. But what, he wanted to know, could he have done about that? His opponent did not notify him. Instead, he had called the Castleton police, and these officers had staged one of the most high-handed acts that he, a man many years in public life, had ever heard of. They had come to Lake City, and without one word to Lake City
police, or one jot of warrant from a Lake City court, had seized three of the bandits and carried them off.
The fourth, according to the latest charges, had been secreted in the Columbus Hotel. But here again, his opponent, instead of acting in a manner to get lawful results, had preferred making political capital to serving the ends of justice. Instead of offering this information to the Lake City police, he had, through his campaign speaker, screamed it from the rooftops, so that while Lake City police had acted the instant this information came through their radios, they were already too late, the quarry having fled. That is, if there was any quarry. Where, the Mayor demanded to know, was this Arch Rossi? On whose word did they have it that an Arch Rossi was mixed up in the Castleton robbery? So far as he was concerned, he was beginning to doubt whether there was such a boy …
Nodding exultantly, Sol went back to his office. Lefty listened to the whole speech, then screwed up his face reflectively at the cheers which marked the end of it. “That does it, maybe.”
“Does what, Lefty?”
“Settles Jansen’s hash.”
“Why?”
“When you come right down to it, Arch Rossi was all that really meant trouble. With him out of the way, they can’t do much to Sol, or Maddux, or any of them. Well, he’s out of the way, boy. A fat chance they’ll find him now. And Maddux knows what that means, and so does Sol. He wrote that part of the speech, as a matter of fact. He copied it out this morning and phoned Maddux this afternoon. Oh, yeah—those three in Castleton can talk all they please, but the crime was committed in Castleton, you can’t laugh that off. Rossi, of course, he would have been different.”
“Looks like we’re in.”
“Looks like it. Four more years.”
Three by Cain Page 24
