He glared at me and I looked at him. I looked at him as though he was a small, thin man in a white shirt, which was easy. A few seconds of that and he went down to the far end of the bar and opened a newspaper.
Manny was smiling. “Are you as tough as you look, Joe?”
“I think so. Who told you about this place?”
“Oh, we get a word here and there. And a guy like Rickett is so much out of place in a rat trap like this, it’s noticeable.”
Little Phil rattled his paper, but didn’t look up.
Manny said, “Seen Deutscher lately?”
I shook my head. “You don’t think he had anything to do with what happened this morning, do you?”
Manny shrugged. “You and Deutscher worked on that Condor case. Target and Rickett were part of that. It would be logical to think this is an extension of it, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose. Or that Target was blackmailing Rickett because of that case and tried to kill him when Rickett refused to pay.”
Manny chuckled. “With Rickett’s gun?”
“That’s the bad part of it,” I admitted.
Manny nodded. “That’s what will get Rickett the gas chamber.” He put some money on the bar. “Well, there’s nothing here. We’ll get Little Phil in court when the time comes.”
He went out but I didn’t. I said to the little man, “Another bottle of beer, please.”
He put the paper down slowly and moved along the bar to get it. As he was uncapping the bottle, I said, “I’m no cop. I pay for the information I want.”
“No kidding.” He put the bottle in front of me. “I don’t sell information. Beer and liquor I got and sell.” He went back to his paper.
“You’ll get to court, anyway,” I said, “and the D.A.’s boys will cut you up if you try to lie. I’d like to get the jump on them. That’d help you too.”
“I don’t need any help and I can do without the gab.”
“And without the money?”
“Money?” He looked up, his thin face full of scorn. “You cheap peeper, what the hell do you know about money?”
“There’s a lot of it behind me,” I said, “but I guess you’re not in the mood to sell.” I put one of my cards on the bar. “If you should happen to get smart, phone me.”
“Drop dead,” he said, and went back to the paper.
I didn’t finish the last bottle of beer. I went out before I succumbed to the urge to slap him silly. If Rickett was framed, which could be, Little Phil would be a part of it. But he hadn’t been connected with the Condor case at all. Which meant to me that Little Phil was just a stooge in this one.
It had all the elements of a frame. Rickett wasn’t dumb enough to go after Target with a gun registered to him. Unless he was drunk. Or, as Jennings had suggested, unless he was drugged. Somewhere, Little Phil had a tie-up with all of it, but he was probably just hired help.
There’s one man who might know and I meant to see him. Peter Deutscher would know. He lived in a triplex just below the Hollywood Hills section and I headed that way. From a drugstore in Hollywood, I phoned his office and got no response. I tried the house with the same result. But I went out there to wait anyway, after grabbing a sandwich at the drugstore.
We weren’t the best of friends since that Condor business, but Deutscher had a lot of strings out in this town and he wasn’t a man to fight with openly.
I turned on the radio in the car to a platter program and sat there, waiting for the man with answers. I waited two hours and then slid a note under his door.
I was gummy and hot. I headed for home. And in front of the four-unit building that includes my room, bath and kitchenette, there was a Plymouth parked that I thought I recognized.
As I left the Chev at the curb, a man climbed out from the Plymouth and came over my way.
He said, “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting over an hour.”
Big man, though not as big as I am. But better dressed and with a lot of dignity, almost pompous at times—Peter Deutscher.
CHAPTER TWO
I TOLD HIM, “I’VE BEEN sitting in front of your place for the last two hours. The law’s looking for you.”
“I know. I’ve seen them. Got any beer in your place? It’s a scorcher, isn’t it?”
“Mmmm-hmmm. You don’t seem worried, Peter.”
“Should I be?”
“With that Condor case breaking wide open? No, maybe you shouldn’t. But I should, shouldn’t I? I did the paying off.”
He smiled. “Relax, Joe. Both witnesses dead; what have you to worry about?”
“Both—?” I said and stared at him. “Is Josie Gonzales dead, too?”
He nodded. “A month ago. Let’s get out of this sun.”
“Sure. But look, Pete, about Josie—was she killed, too?”
He shook his head. “You might call it an occupational disease. Cancer of the uterus, Joe.”
Relief moved through me. Josie dead, Target dead; I didn’t have a damned thing to worry about.
We went into my place and I got a couple bottles of beer open before I asked him the next question. “What do you know about this Target murder?”
He took a big swig of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. “Nothing. I could guess, though.”
“A frame?”
He nodded. “You know, Jennings isn’t only Rickett’s attorney; he’s also his business manager. He handles all of Rickett’s income and doles him out an allowance.”
“That’s standard practice out here. That’s hardly grounds to suspect a man of framing his client for murder.”
“Maybe not. Except Jennings isn’t the most ethical shyster in town, you’ll remember. And I happen to know he owes three bookies some pretty heavy sugar. And he’s owed it for months.”
“It still doesn’t hold water,” I said. “He hired me to check up on the possibility of a frame.”
“A smart move. If you discover something, you’ll bring it to him. And he knows you can be bought.”
Resentment stirred in me. “He knows you can, too. And he hired you last time.”
“Mmmm-hmmm. And I hired you—and charged Jennings plenty.”
“You rubbing it in, Peter? I know you get big dough—and I don’t.”
He took another swig of beer and set the bottle on the floor. He took a pair of cigars from a case and offered me one. Big deal. I shook my head and reached into my pocket for a cigarette.
Deutscher lighted the cigar and looked at the glowing end, like the heavy in a B picture. “I’m not here to talk about nickels, Joe. I’ve got something really big for us.”
Easy, I told myself. Peter’s looking for a stooge, again.
He paused to smile at me. “Don’t look so cynical. To be honest, you’ve got the kind of looks I need in this deal. There’s a woman involved. There are two women involved, but one of them is the one I want you for.”
I smiled at him. “The good looking one’s for you, eh, Peter?”
He shook his head. “Not that one. She doesn’t like men.”
“Oh,” I said. “Blackmail, Peter?”
“That’s a blunt word. Her daddy’s worth over thirteen million.”
“Local man?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Ames Clifford.”
A big name, socially. Big man in the east, big man in any direction. And a clean one.
“And his daughter’s queer?” I said.
“Queer as a seven-dollar bill. And beautiful too. But that’s not for you, Joe. She’s living in town here with a girl named Jean Roland. Know her?”
I’d seen her in a few movies before she gave that up. I’d seen her in a lot of bars with some very important men in this town. A major league tramp and something to see, a leggy, busty blonde with fire and that expensive look.
“I’ve seen her around,” I said. “Her old man’s a big con operator, isn’t he? He’s cleaned up enough.”
Deutscher nodded. “Charles Adam Roland. The slickest con m
an operating today. He’s my in on the deal.”
“You know him?”
“I met him. I’ve done a little work for him. The thing is, he and his daughter don’t trust each other completely. Or perhaps it’s more correct to say she doesn’t trust him completely. He rooked a few of her big wheel friends—and didn’t cut her in.” He puffed the cigar.
I said nothing, trying to figure the angle.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” Deutscher asked quietly.
“You must have better friends,” I pointed out. “Why should you cut me in?”
“Because I haven’t got better looking friends. You’re the type this Jean Roland sails for. She’s been serious about two men, and both of them looked like you.”
I shook my head. “You get their background, don’t you? But you’re really reaching if you think that means anything.”
Deutscher took a deep breath. “She mentioned your name. She’s noticed you here and there.”
I smiled at him. “You mean it wasn’t your idea, cutting me in?”
He didn’t answer that. He said, “I’m the one who’s telling you about it. Aren’t you interested?”
“In blackmail?” I shook my head. “Too dangerous.”
“It’s not blackmail. That was Miss Roland’s first thought, but her father has convinced her it’s crude. He’s going to handle it. And if Miss Clifford should get smart later and complain to the law, he’ll be the goat.” Deutscher paused. “But he won’t be in town.”
“And what did you have planned for my part in this production?”
“You’re an investigator, working for Jean Roland, investigating the Nevada Investment Company. That’s a uranium development corporation that old man Roland has set up. You’re not too sure of the outfit.”
“Why not?”
“Jean would have to explain that to you. Don’t you want to talk to her?”
“In bed maybe.”
Deutscher chuckled. “You’ll probably get to that with her. She seems to have a yen for you.”
I don’t know why I was hesitating, except that I didn’t trust Deutscher. I’d come out of this last one all right because the witnesses had died. If they hadn’t, I’d never be completely in the clear. People are always subject to attacks of conscience and Bea Condor had been a well loved girl.
So I said to Deutscher, “Give me a little time on it. I want to think out all the angles.”
He stood up. “All right. You still don’t trust me, eh, Joe?”
I shrugged. “You’re solid. With the police and with a lot of big names in this town. I’m not. I’m the logical stooge. You’re always covered.”
He stood there, looking down at me, saying nothing.
I stood up and went with him to the door. There he asked, “How long will it take you to decide?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I said.
“Good enough. Joe, never ventured, never gained. You’re not going to get any big money until you start thinking big. And then you can hire some stooges of your own.”
That was his exit line.
I put the empty bottles in the case and went to the window to watch his Plymouth drive off. I wanted to be sure he was gone. Then I got out the phone book and looked up Miss Jean Roland.
She answered the phone. I said, “I don’t know if you know me. My name is Joseph Puma.”
“I’ve seen you around, Joe. Are you joining our little group?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “My ethical standards are so high, and—”
She chuckled. “That’s what I’ve heard. Where can I meet you?”
“It wouldn’t be wise to come there?”
“Willi’s due back any minute. It wouldn’t be wise.”
“Willy—?”
“Willi with an ‘i,’” she explained. “Miss Willi Clifford. Cute?”
“In that case, we could meet at my office. It would take me a few minutes to get down there.”
“You’re home?”
“That’s right.”
“Give me the address and consider me on the way.”
I gave her the address and checked the liquor supply. I opened the windows to get the smell of Deutscher’s cigar out of the place. Then I changed my shirt.
She came in one of those new big Chrysler convertibles. She wore a quilted skirt and one of those off-the-shoulder peasant blouses, no stockings and handwoven leather sandals. She had her wheat-colored hair in a horse’s tail, a fashion of the moment.
She looked about seventeen years old, the village virgin. She was a long way from that, if one can believe rumours. She came into my little rat-trap and looked around.
“The penalty for my honesty,” I said. “What would you like to drink?”
She sat on the rattan davenport and the quilted skirt spread in a semi-circle. “Anything containing alcohol. What have you?”
“Bourbon, Scotch, beer. Ginger ale, seltzer, water.”
“Scotch and water will do. Do you like that Deutscher? Do you trust him?”
I was on the way to the kitchenette when she asked that, and I stopped to turn and look at her. Trap? I asked, “Don’t you?”
She shook her head. “Those pompous slobs always grate on me. To tell you the truth, Joe, I’m not sure I trust Dad either. If you get into this, we’re going to need to keep an eye on both of them.”
“I see. You trust me though?”
She smiled. “So far. Deutscher wasn’t my idea. Dad invited himself into the situation and then brought Mr. Deutscher in later. That’s when I started screaming for you.”
“And where’d you hear about me?”
“From Alan Templeton, for one.”
Templeton was one of the big producers and I’d pulled his daughter out of a mess.
“You heard from the right man,” I said.
“And then, of course,” she added quietly, “I’ve seen you around, and I kind of like your looks.”
“I’ll mix the drink,” I said.
She chuckled. She had the damndest chuckle, throaty and almost suggestive—if such a thing can be. There was some tremble in me as I mixed the drinks.
I brought a pair of them back and handed her one. I said, “Tell me about Willi Clifford.”
“She’s a beautiful girl. She’s in love with me. If she thought I was in love with you, she’d hate you.”
My drink wobbled in my hand. I looked seriously at the floor. “Why should she think you’re in love with me?”
“So she can hate you. So when you give your report on the Nevada Investment Company, she won’t believe it. She’ll want to invest in anything you don’t approve of.”
“That’s not very reasonable.”
“Most Lesbians aren’t.”
“I see. In other words, I’m the heavy. And your lover.”
She nodded, watching me. “Bad role?”
I looked at her directly. “I guess I can handle it. Who handles the money?”
“Dad. Which is one of the weak points from our view. You see, originally, I was going to try and pull a simple little blackmail scheme on Willi’s papa. My dad pointed out the crudity of that, and also the danger of fighting a man as important as Ames Clifford.”
“You mean, you were going to use the Lesbian angle for blackmail? But your dad prefers some con man’s game, I suppose?”
“That about sums it up. Of course, there’s this: because she is the way she is, she likes me, not my dad. He’s going to have to do a selling job. But because she is what she is, she also would shun publicity if things went sour. That’s a help.”
“Definitely,” I said. “Your dad’s got the right approach.”
“He would have; it’s his business. But, Joe—he’s so damned clever. And so is Deutscher. We’re more direct, aren’t we? We’re no angels, but we’re not clever.”
“Maybe we won’t have to be,” I said. “You’re holding the aces. Your attraction to Willi is the basis of the whole con and they need you.”
&
nbsp; And I need you. I thought. There’d never been a time since I was thirteen that I didn’t need a woman. And I’d never had one with all the attractions this woman offered. I took a deep breath. “But nobody really needs me, in this.”
“Mix us another drink,” she said, “and we’ll talk about that.”
I mixed another drink and put some Fats Waller on the record player and went over to close the Venetian blinds against the glare of the day.
Three drinks later, I locked the door and pulled the bed out of the closet. Vintage: fine. Better than the rumours.
Quiet in the warm room. Relaxed, holding hands. She said softly, “That’s your ace, your attraction for me.”
“That’s one ace,” I agreed. “Very few hands are won with one ace.”
“You don’t trust me, Joe?”
“If I come in, I’ll have to trust you. And I’m coming in.”
“Good. I feel better about it now. I suppose I should get dressed and get out of here. Willi will be worrying.”
“Tell her you were with me. We might as well start the worm boring.”
“I’ll think about it.” She sat up and looked down at me thoughtfully. “One of the things I heard about you is that you’re woman-crazy. Is it true?”
“It has been up to now. I think you could keep me busy.”
She smiled and leaned over to kiss me. “We’re going to get along, aren’t we?”
“I’m sure of that.”
“And after we get our cut of this boodle, couldn’t we take a vacation? Say—Palm Springs?”
Typical woman’s reaction. Now she thought she had a lease on me. I said, “When we get the boodle, right.”
“You think I’m a tramp, don’t you?”
I shook my head, smiling at her.
“Well, I am. It doesn’t matter what you think. But, Joe, if we get what Papa thinks we can out of this pitch, we can live high.” She was dressed now and she sat down on the edge of the bed. “If I could only trust that pair, Papa and Deutscher. We’ll watch them, won’t we?”-
I nodded. And you, too, I’ll watch, I thought.
She left and I went in to take a shower. She’d left her dad’s address with me, and I was to go over and see him to get my briefing.
I knew the man by reputation only. He was considered one of the slickest operators in the big con. He would be playing the inside man in this, which meant he’d probably handle the money. And if he was getting out of town after the pitch anyway, what was to prevent him from getting out before the money was split? Nothing. Nothing but the ever-watching eye of Joe Puma. That would be some pair to watch, Deutscher and Charles Adam Roland. I still was leary about the whole set-up.
Shakedown Page 2
