Chance Elson

by Ballard, Todhunter, 1903-1980

  Joe said, "I'm going to see the show from the kitchen door. Leon said I could."

  "Sure," said Chance. He knew what this show meant to Joe. As far as Joe was concerned, this was Judy's night. Joe had raised the girl. She had given his hfe purpose and meaning.

  Standing beside the reservation desk at the entrance to the dining room, he welcomed each arrival as the captain

  checked their names off the list and delegated an assistant to conduct them to their tables.

  There was a long queue of people stretching across the comer of the lobby and down the steps into the gambling room. Many of the arrivals he knew—local people, the mayor, the sheriff of Clark Coimty, state officials. The legislature was well represented, as was the film capital and Los Angeles in general.

  He glanced at his watch. Five after seven, and the dining room was aheady half filled. The orchestra was playing dance music. Waiters were taking orders and already some food had been served.

  And then he saw Pope coming toward him through the maze of tables and knew from the man's set expression that something was wrong.

  Chance went to meet him. They faced each other along the rear wall, out of the line of arriving guests.

  Pope said tightly, "You d better come backstage."

  '"What's the matter?"

  The man found the words hard to utter. "Miss Liller. She's ill."

  "Judy? What's wrong with her?"

  Pope hesitated. "You'd better see her." They followed the passage to the row of dressing rooms, paused before the one marked with a star.

  Chance knocked. He got no answer. He tried the door and found it unlocked and pushed it open.

  Judy sat on a couch banked by flowers at the far side of the room. Her hair was mussed, her mouth hung open a little as if she could not get air enough, and her eyes rolled at him.

  "Judy, what is it?" He was at her side, bending down. She stared at him wildly, but did not speak. He pivoted and picked up the house phone. "Find the doctor quick. Get him to Miss Liller's room on the double." He hung up and turned back to the girl, pushing her sleeve above her elbow. He knew now, but he had to ask. "TeU me, honey."

  "No fix. They wouldn't sell me any today. No fix. I've got to have it. Chance, got to, got to."

  Chance's flesh crawled. Judy. He had seen dope addicts. You could not live in the society in which he had moved without running into them. "When? How long?"

  She ran a tongue around her dry lips. "Too long. Thought I could handle it. Thought you would never know."

  Chance lifted his eyes and saw Elroy Pope. He had forgotten the man.

  "She can't go on tonight. Get a substitute. Get anyone, quick."

  Pope said slowly, "Martha Stewart's over here for a divorce. I ran into her on the street yesterday. She's at some guest ranch."

  "Get her. To hell with what it costs." Chance was beside himself. God, they had a room full of people out there, waiting for entertainment, expecting the best. They couldn't goof.

  And Judy. He'd had no time to think about Judy, what this meant to her, to him, to them all. Time to think about that later, after the damned hotel was open, after the show was over.

  Chance did not know who Martha Stewart was. He'd heard her name. Maybe she was an actress, a singer, even a toe dancer. He didn't care. At least her name was known.

  Chance picked up the phone. He called the kitchen, asking Leon if Joe was there. He was. "Send him to Judy's dressing room, fast."

  He called the gambling room and found Dutch in his office. "Get hold of Doc. Tell him to turn the pit over to somebody and get to the dining-room entrance and be host. Yeah, there's an emergency."

  Judy sat watching him. It was like slow motion. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kill herself. She thought that she was dying anyway. This was what she had dreaded all along, that Chance would find out before she could take the cure. She should have knov^Ti something like this would happen.

  Her pusher had been stalling her all the last week, supplying her with only enough heroin to carry her over a single day, claiming each time that there had been delays in his

  shipments, that he had to dole out the narcotic to all his customers to keep them going.

  And then, this morning, the ax had fallen. He had refused to sell her. He had told her bluntly that he had orders from Cellini, he had had those orders all week.

  Finally he gave her Cellini's unHsted number. He said her only hope of getting any narcotics in Vegas was to appeal to CeUini directly.

  She had called the number, gone to Cellini, and CeUini had laughed at her. He had laughed. And then cursed her, and Chance, and the rest of them.

  "Tell that bastard brother of yours what IVe done to you. Go crawling back to the hotel and let him see what you look like now. Maybe he won't be so smart. Maybe hell see that no one ever hcks Ralph Cellini."

  His full-Hpped mouth trembled and she realized that the man was not quite rational, that his hatred of Chance was driving him toward the edge of madness.

  Chance got most of the story out of her. He got it in small phrases, disconnected sentences. Had she not been so distraught with the craving within her she would have worried about him. His face was black, and no one had ever seen the rage now in his eyes.

  "I'U kill Cellini. Ill kill him as soon as I can get my hands on him."

  The doctor and Joe arrived together. To the doctor Chance said, "Give her a shot, and leave enough of the stuff to carry her for a few days until I can get this straightened out."

  "But-"

  "To hell with the buts. She's going crazy, you quack. Give it to her and then stand by. As soon as I can get this Goddamn hotel running, we'U work something out. She can be cured."

  **Yes, she can be cured. But it's a long, slow, hard process. It takes determination."

  "She's got that."

  The doctor was opening his bag. Judy said, "You get back out front, Chance." Now that the doctor was picking up his

  syringe her nerves were quieter. "I'll be all right. You've got to open the hotel."

  He bent and kissed her cheek. "Don't worry, honey. I'll take care of everything. After tonight, I'U stay with you until it's over. And then Cellini."

  He turned to Joe. "You and the doctor get her to my rooms and keep her there until I come."

  He was gone then, down the passage to the restaurant, hurrying along the wall to the doorway of the supper room. Doc was there. The line had dwindled to a trickle.

  Doc shot him a worried glance, saying in an imdertone as he came up, "What the hell?"

  "Judy, she's sick. She can't go on."

  "What is it?" Concern made Doc's tone louder than he intended.

  "Nothing to worry about. The doctor is with her. She'll be all right." He fell silent, for a fanfare from the orchestra announced that the show was about to start.

  Martha Stewart tiuned out to be a willowy blond singer. He Hstened to her oflFering critically, prepared to beheve that Judy could have done far better, but he had to admit that she was good, very, very good. She had the audience with her from the start.

  When she finished her act, Elroy Pope stepped on the stage to lead the applause. "And now I want you to meet the man responsible for all this, the man who is going to get rich out of this joint—Chance Elson." He waved toward the back of the room. "Come on up here. Chance, and thank Martha for fiUing in."

  Chance swore under his breath. This was not a part of the rehearsed show. He came down the far aisle and climbed to the stage. Pope introduced him to Martha Stewart and she twinkled up at him.

  "If I'd known what you look like I'd have worked for nothing," She reached up, put both hands on his shoulders and kissed him. The audience howled.

  Afterward he had to escort her to the bar and then into the gambling room. He kept glancing at his watch and she finally noticed.

  "Something wrong?**

  "It's Judy, Judy Liller, the girl you filled in for. She's sick. I'd better check on her."

  "Sure, I unders
tand."

  "You were wonderful. You sure helped us out of a jam. Any time you want to play the Queen just let us know."

  "I'll remember that. Now you get along to Judy."

  Judy stood beside the window, staring out at the patio below. She turned quickly when he came in. Chance's stomach muscles knotted as he saw the flushed face, the eyes looking solid gray around the pinpoint pupils.

  "Where's Joe?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know."

  "Damn him. I told him to stay here." He called the kitchen. Joe wasn't there.

  Chance hesitated. His whole impulse was to stay with Judy, but he knew he should be in the lobby. What had gotten into Joe? It wasn't Hke him to leave when the girl needed him. "What did he say when he left?"

  She shrugged jerkily. "Just told me to wait here."

  "Ill have one of the maids stay with you."

  "Don't, I'm all right now. The doctor promised to come back in an hour. Chance, I'm sorry I . . ."

  He took both her shoulders and pulled her against him, kissing her gently. "It's all right, honey, ever3d:hing is all right. Just a Httle while and it will all be straightened out, but I've got to get back. If you need anything, have them page me."

  "I told you I'm all right."

  It did not occur to Chance to worry about Joe. He had so many other things on his mind. The gambling room was pandemonium. He had never seen so many people trying to pack into one place. He checked with Dutch. The play was extremely heavy and none of the tables had shown a bad run. They were going to be safe.

  He talked to Doc. He got caught by a crowd of downtown club-owners and was forced to accompany them to the bar, Hoffner was with them and the lawyer had a moment to say, "Looks like you put it over, Chance. You must be happy."

  "Sure," said Chance. *Tm happy/' The trouble was he could not keep his mind on the hotel. There was a disturbance in the lobby. Some drunk was making a scene, but before he could get there an assistant manager and two special officers closed in. A minute later the drunk was outside the building, being held for the sheriff's car.

  Chance turned away and started back for Dutch's office. A hurrying boy caught his arm. "You're wanted on the phone, Mr. Elson."

  His thought was of Judy. He went into Dutch's office and picked up the phone. "This is Elson. You have a call for me."

  The hotel operator said, "A moment please." Then, "Go ahead," and a man's voice said, "This is Al Guyer of the sheriff's office."

  C/infot&i22

  Joe Moore knew that he was going to kill Ralph Cellini. He had known it from the first moment his clouded mind understood what had happened to Judy.

  He got into the cab before the hotel, told the driver to take him to CeUini's new home and settled back on the hard cushion of the seat. He felt the buzzing in his head. He knew what caused it. He was mad and Doc had been warning him for years not to get mad. But when he thought of CeUini and what the rat had done to Judy, rage came up into his throat. He couldn't stop it.

  He cried a little to himself in the cab's darkness. He couldn't get the picture of Judy out of his mind. His big, broken-knuckled hands opened and closed, opened and closed. Chance's gun was in his coat pocket, the one John Kern had given Chance, but he had brought it only as insurance.

  He had beaten CeUini once, in Cleveland, after the Club 293

  had been raided. If he had killed him, then none of this would have happened.

  The cab made the turn from the street into the circular driveway and drew up before the concrete-slab porch of the new ranch house. "Want me to wait?"

  Joe shook his head. He handed the driver a bill and got out, ignoring his change. He stood a minute as the cab pulled away, then crossed the porch and tried the front door. It was unlocked and he stepped into the big central hall.

  CelUni had done himself proud with the house. To the right was a dining room and beyond it the kitchen; to the left, the long living room with its square-cut stone fireplace fiUing two-thirds of the north wall.

  Cellini had seen the lights as the cab came up the driveway. He was expecting a woman visitor and went to put on his coat, so that Joe was standing in the middle of the hall when Cellini stepped from the bedroom.

  He stopped, surprise holding him motionless for a moment. Joe came forward with his curious shambhng gait.

  "Who in hell are you? How'd you get in here? What do you want?" Cellini was trying to recall where he had seen the man before. He had not had a good look at Joe in the dark street outside his Cleveland apartment and that had been a long time ago. He met so many bums and this m.an had the marks of an ex-fighter. Maybe he was one of the pushers, coming to the head man with a beef. . . .

  Joe kept walking. He did not say anything and suddenly this silence frightened CeUini more than threats would have. There v/as something deeply menacing in the way Joe stalked forward.

  "Stop. Get the hell out of here before you get hurt. You know who I am?"

  "I know," Joe said. "I near killed you once. I should have. Then you couldn't have put Judy on the dope."

  He was within four feet of Cellini. The fat gangster swimg around. He jumped for the end table and ripped the short-barreled police special from the drawer. His first shot missed. His second caught Joe squarely in the chest as Joe's right fist crashed into the side of Cellini's head. The blow spun

  Cellini from his feet and sent him stumbling into the stone facing at the side of the fireplace.

  He sat, half stunned, the gun still in his hand. Joe stood above him, blood seeping out of the bullet hole to stain the front of his white shirt.

  "Get up so I can kill you."

  Cellini lifted his hand. He shot three times, the bullets making a pattern across Joe's stomach. Still the old fighter did not fall. He swayed, then his knees folded and he sat down slowly, like a half-cut tree, faUing reluctantly.

  He sat, staring at Cellini. The gangster raised his left hand to his battered head. "You bastard."

  Joe's big hand fumbled its way into his coat pocket. He brought out Chance's gun as if its weight were enormous. Cellini's eyes widened. He squeezed his trigger. The pin hit the empty chamber, and suddenly fear was in the bulging eyes.

  "Don't, I-"

  Joe emptied the gun, every shot striking home, then slowly, as if still reluctant to die, he lay down on his side.

  It was less than three minutes later when Al Guyer crashed through the front door. He stopped to stare and then ran forward, assuring himself that both men were dead. Afterward he picked up Chance's gun from the floor and saw in surprise the name engraved on the plate. Abruptly he turned to the phone and called the hotel.

  He said tensely, "This is Al Guyer of the sheriff's oflBce. I used to work for you, Mr. Elson."

  "I remember."

  "I was staked out in the new Charleston addition. Kids have been breaking into the unfinished houses. About ten minutes ago a cab pulled up to Cellini's place. I heard shots, broke in and found CeUini and that old fighter that worked for you dead in the hving room, and your gun on the floor."

  It seemed to Chance that he had known from the first what the man was going to say.

  "You'd better come out here, I guess. I'm calhng my oflBce now."

  Chance said, "Thanks," slowly. His mind was trying to 295

  grasp the finality of the fact that Joe was dead. It was nice of Guyer to call him before reporting to his office. He hung up.

  Dutch had been watching from the other side of the desk. "What is it?"

  "Joe killed Cellini. They're both dead."

  Dutch stared at him, his heavy Hps sagging. "Killed Cel-linir

  "I haven't time to explain. See you later." He went quickly back to the gambling room and found Morton Hoffner stiU at the bar.

  "Come on."

  HoflFner was surprised, but he followed without a word as Chance led the way to his private garage. In the car as they drove out, Chance said harshly, "Don't think I'm not wise to your part in the hotel financing. A blind man could gue
ss you were working for Cellini."

  Hoffner ran his tongue tip aroimd dry hps. "Now wait, Chance, I was caught, I had no choice, I—"

  "Cellini's dead." Chance went on to teU the lawyer exactly what had happened to Judy.

  "God." Hoffner showed more feeling than Chance had ever seen in him. "The sneaking son of a bitch. I could Idll him myself."

  "Joe took care of it. Joe's dead, too, but he used my gun. It's got my name on it and this thing's going to come right back to me. I don't care for myself, but I'm damned if Judy gets dragged into it. She's had enough. Her name mustn't even be mentioned."

  The lawyer nodded glumly. "We'll have to have a story. You're too well known, and CelHni's too well known. The papers will eat it. If they find he has a piece of the hotel . . /'

  "Think of a story, quick."

  "Tell me about Joe."

  Chance told him in as few words as possible.

  Hoffner was thinking aloud. "With Cellini dead, it's liable to come out that he had points in The Desert Queen. If that happens, there will be an investigation by the tax commission. You may lose your license."

  "To hell with the hotel. Just keep Judy out of this. If I'm held for questioning, get her out of town tomorrow. The hotel doctor knows a sanitarium where they handle cases like hers."

  He swung the car into Cellini's driveway and pulled up behind Guyer's Ford. A minute later three more sheriff's cars pulled in and the sheriff got out of the first.

  Chance carefully told the story Hoffner had suggested. "The trouble goes back a long way, clear to Cleveland. Joe was a fighter, Cellini a bookmaker and he fixed some fights and he strong-armed Joe into taking dives and then failed to pay off."

  The sheriff and the man from the D.A.'s oflBce watched him. "Seems strange that after all these years Moore would suddenly decide to kill him."

  Chance said steadily, "He always threatened to. I never took it very seriously because Joe was a httle punchy, but he met CeUini on the street either yesterday or today and they had words. He was muttering about it earlier this evening, but I was so busy with the opening I didn't pay much attention."