Shakedown

by William Campbell Gault

  “A good touch,” I said. “Now who handles the money in this pitch?”

  “Deutscher was supposed to be the man who represented the landholders. But he’s disappeared. I don’t know how we’re going to work that. If I take it, we’ll have to arrange a meeting place. We certainly can’t divide the loot in Miss Clifford’s apartment.”

  “And then you leave town; is that it?”

  “That’s it, though there’s no need to leave immediately. Not unless Miss Clifford begins to get suspicious. Leaving immediately, as a matter of fact, might tend to make her suspicious.”

  Everything he said made sense. Everything was said with warm earnestness and frankness. If I hadn’t stood outside that window in Playa del Rey, I’d have swallowed every word he was feeding me now.

  “When do I make the appearance?” I asked. “Tonight?”

  He frowned. “I don’t think tonight would be good. I want her to read those papers. I’ll phone you tomorrow. Don’t forget the Band-aid and the limp.”

  This gent was too smooth for me; I was nervous. I had a feeling of being with two men when I was with him. One man was the smooth and warm personality he showed the public and the other was the cold-blooded peddler of phoney stocks to widows. He was no ally, and sometimes I wondered about Jean.

  Well, I had one ally, one I could trust. The .38.

  I took a good slug of rye and lay on the davenport and went over all the angles in my mind, trying to find something I hadn’t covered, some vulnerability. I had one protection, none of them were really clean, none of them were what McGill would call a solid citizen, including Willi Clifford. In front of a jury, I’d look as clean as any of them because my role had been private investigator, which I was, and I had warned Willi Clifford about investing her money too quickly.

  An idea came to me. I got up from the davenport, and wrote a letter. It read:

  Dear Miss Clifford:

  Certain disclosures of my recent investigation have suggested to me that you are being victimized by an unscrupulous pair of confidence operators. Because I feel partially responsible for your investing a considerable sum of money in the Nevada Investment Company, I have decided to return to the scene of my former investigation at my own expense and attempt to thoroughly document these strong suspicions. I shall feel it my duty to keep you further informed.

  Respectfully,

  Joseph Puma

  This I put into an envelope and sealed, but didn’t stamp. This, I would carry in my pocket: the letter I forgot to mail. If I should get stopped soon after I’d put the muscle to Roland, it could come in handy. That is, if any of them should scream for the law. There was very little chance of that, but better men had been jailed on smaller possibilities.

  I was restless and I went out to the kitchen for the bottle. The grease was hard in the frying pan, and the smell of cooking was still in the air.

  I took a quick snort from the bottle and went out to the Chev. This time I kept my eyes open and on the rear-view mirror. I hadn’t traveled a quarter of a block before a car pulled out from the curb and headed my way. I went down two blocks and turned. Half a minute later, the headlights of the other car came around the same corner. It tailed me all the way to the parking lot, and there drove past. I parked in a hurry and cut across the rear end of the lot to the alley and came out on Ivar. On Morningside, there was a small theater devoted to foreign pictures and re-issue of oldies. No one was in sight when I bought a ticket and stepped into the dark theatre. I took a seat in the back where I could watch for anyone entering.

  It couldn’t be that they’d found Deutscher. But he was missing, and they thought he was a friend of mine. I’d been called by Target, kidnapped by Jennings, visited by Josie Gonzales. All of them were principals in the Condor case, and McGill had never forgotten the Condor case.

  The short was over now, and the feature picture’s title flashed on the screen: ONE WAY JOURNEY. I knew that one. It was the first one that had starred Bea Condor.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  IN FRONT OF ME, a woman said to her companion, “That’s the one was killed, remember? They tried to blame that producer.”

  “Rickett,” her companion answered. “He’s in jail right now. Maybe he was guilty the first time, huh?”

  “Huh, yourself,” the other woman said. “They’re all tramps.”

  It would have been better if she had been. But she’d been a virgin, and Rickett too much man for her. And the quack he’d taken her to hadn’t sterilized his instruments. Well, what the hell did McGill want? The quack was still in jail and Rickett headed for the gas chamber. Target was dead and McGill had a solid case against Jennings. And though he didn’t know it yet, Deutscher was dead.

  The only two who weren’t in jail or dead were Josie Gonzales and Joe Puma. And they’d been just stooges in that one. I’d had more to do with the case in the last couple weeks than I had when it was in court. Neither McGill nor any cop was going to keep me from my first chance at a big wad.

  On the screen, the beautiful face and figure of Bea Condor grew larger as she moved into a room toward the camera. An innocent, but her sex appeal reached out into that dark hall. Rickett had had some of that. Maybe the gas chamber wasn’t too high a price. There were probably others who would have paid as much, given the opportunity. Rickett had had the opportunity.

  Nobody had come in directly after me and I relaxed a little. I could have been wrong about that tail. And even if I hadn’t been, it still figured, from McGill’s standpoint. I’d been at Target’s within an hour after he’d died. I’d been kidnapped by Rickett’s attorney. If I’d been in McGill’s place, I’d have put a man on Joe Puma, too. Or maybe it was Deutscher they were looking for and they thought I might lead them to him. Nobody came in, so halfway through the picture I went out.

  I went over to Herbie’s and had a couple drinks and watched the Eastern fights on television.

  Herbie said, “You looked like you went a couple rounds yourself. You’re sure getting a lot of ink these days, Joe.”

  “I’m a big man,” I said.

  “In pounds,” Herbie said. “What’s with Jennings? He go off his nut?”

  “I guess.”

  “Hear he was tapping the till too. That right?”

  “I don’t know, Herbie. All I get is rumors, like you.”

  “I’m no rumor,” he said and went down to wait on somebody else.

  This is a town whose occupants love publicity. To a movie star, there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Maybe, if I meant to stay in business in town, this would have been a good publicity break. It was the last thing I wanted. That crowded feeling was coming back.

  I took the alley route to the parking lot, and stopped for a moment in the shadow of a huge sign to look for any show of life in the almost deserted lot. There was none and I walked to the car quickly. There was still no sign of life as I drove out the Ivar Street entrance.

  When I came around the corner above my apartment, I saw the car parked in front, and for a-few seconds, I was nervous. But then I saw it was Jean’s Chrysler.

  She was behind the wheel, smoking, as I walked over to open the door on the curb side. “Come to visit? Or just parking?”

  “Get in,” she said. “I want to talk.”

  “We can talk in the house.”

  “Not tonight, Joe, dear. Next week, but not tonight. I’ve been thinking of what you said about the trip.”

  I got in and closed the door. She had the radio on and I turned it low. “What have you been thinking about that?”

  “I’ve been thinking I don’t really owe my father any loyalty. And the way it seems now, Willi will be good for a top of about a hundred and forty thousand.”

  “So—?”

  “So, it would be better if two had it than three. Especially if the two were going to spend it together.”

  “That’s the idea he and Deutscher had,” I told her, “though I don’t think they were going to live together. And I t
hink your dad is very unhappy about Deutscher’s disappearance.”

  “Maybe. And maybe he meant to double-cross Deutscher too.”

  “I don’t think so.” I didn’t tell her why. I didn’t trust her enough to tell her yet. Better that I should know he meant to stay in Playa del Rey. She might let it slip if she knew.

  “Well,” she said, “I’m willing to see him lose his share. But how can we do it?”

  “Let me worry about that,” I said. “The point is, where will you be. You’ll have to stay close to both of them until the money is ready to be transferred. And then you’ll have to be some place where I can pick you up fast.”

  “A motel,” she said. “I can get one tomorrow and pay for a few days in advance. As soon as I know, I’ll tell you where it is and then stay close to Dad and Willi. I’ll pack some stuff and store it over there.”

  “A good idea. We could dump my car there and take this one. Or would that make you think your money is the big attraction?”

  “We can take it,” she said. “It’s paid for. I’ll probably regret this the rest of my life. You’re such a Tom cat.”

  “You’ll tire of me long before I start looking around,” I told her. “But I figure you’re worth the risk.”

  She put a hand on mine. “We’ll make it work. Tomorrow, right after lunch, you put in an appearance at the apartment. I guess Dad has briefed you on your role, hasn’t he? He’s told Willi that he’s been trying to get in touch with you, and I’ll inform them that you phoned me in the morning and are coming up after lunch. All clear?”

  “Clear as your complexion. Don’t you want to come in and listen to some records?”

  “Not tonight, Joe. Don’t be dense. You know why.”

  “All right. I had nothing vulgar in mind, but maybe you don’t like music.”

  She patted my hand. “We’ll have lots of time for records.”

  I stood on the curb and watched the big Chrysler take off. There was a good possibility that I’d never see her again alone and I wondered if I’d ever find another woman as physically appealing. I never had, up to now.

  I took another hot bath and a good slug of rye before hitting the sack. My stomach was still tender, but the headache was gone. I slept until almost ten o’clock.

  I had to shave around the lip, which was still tight as a drum. The discoloration around the eye was purple, and the eye itself no more than half open. I must remember to get the Band-aids.

  There were eggs in the house, but I didn’t feel like cooking. I ate at the counter of a drive-in. From there I went to the cleaners for my suit.

  As soon as I walked into the place, I had the feeling something was wrong. The same girl who’d accepted my suit was there and she seemed uncomfortable the moment she saw me. I put the check on the counter, and she picked it up doubtfully. She made a gesture of checking the clothes hanging in the office, and then went through an open door that led to the shop.

  I moved over to where I could watch her progress through the shop. She went all the way to the rear and handed the ticket to a man working at a spotting board. She said something to him and he looked up quickly and then his eyes went past her and he was looking at me over her shoulder. He looked away quickly when he saw my eyes on him. They seemed to be arguing for a moment, and then the girl came back toward me, and she looked frightened.

  Her eyes didn’t quite meet mine, as she said, “This isn’t ready yet, sir. We’ve been awfully busy.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “I’ll take it the way it is. I may have to make a trip and I can get a quick pressing job on it some place.”

  She opened her mouth and closed it. She said, “Just a moment, please, sir.”

  The long walk again, and some more arguing, and then the girl stayed back there and the man came out to face me.

  “Mr. Puma, I’m sorry about this, but you see we can’t handle all our cleaning in this shop, so we job some of it out. The suit isn’t here, right now.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. “I’m a little early, anyway. Just give me the address of this place where it is, and I’ll run over there and pick it up.”

  “The chances are,” he said, “that it’s on the truck, coming here right now. Although I can call the shop, if you want.”

  I looked at him, and smiled. I asked, “What’s the story?”

  He flushed, “I don’t understand.”

  I did. The police had picked it up. They did have a man on me. They had the suit down in their lab right now, giving it a complete going-over. I said nothing.

  He said, “We haven’t lost your suit, Mr. Puma. And I’ll be glad to phone you as soon as it gets here. I could have it pressed while you’re on the way over.”

  I stared at him for seconds and watched him pale. Then I said, “Okay.” I gave him my phone number.

  Then I went out and turned right and walked down about half a block before crossing the street. When I went by on the other side, I could see him phoning. I walked up two blocks and then came back to the Chev to wait. If I was being watched, the man was doing a very good job of concealing himself. I waited, watching the front of the cleaners on my own. It was a long wait.

  It was over an hour later that a department car pulled up in front of the place, and a plainclothesman stepped out to disappear into the cleaners. He had my suit draped over his arm.

  They were after me. They didn’t have enough yet to make a pinch, but they sure as hell were after me. McGill wanted a thoroughly documented case before he picked up his man. But what did they want me for? If they’d found Deutscher’s body, it would have leaked out to the papers. A thing like that is impossible to keep from the papers, especially with the Target and Rickett tie-up.

  Maybe, after I’d told McGill I was going to work on this Deutscher disappearance, he’d put a man on me for protection. But they hadn’t picked up my suit to protect me.

  It was past noon now, and I was due at the Rolands, right after lunch. I went to a drugstore to pick up the Band-aids, and then home.

  This was a hell of a time for McGill to play eager beaver, now that I had a worthwhile stake in sight. Once I got my hands on that money, all the cops in Los Angeles could look for me. I wouldn’t be available. But I couldn’t hide. No matter how much they had. Unless they had me cold for murder, the stakes I was playing for were more important than their suspicions. And they couldn’t have me cold. If they’d had a man on me when I’d gone to Deutscher’s house, I’d be in the clink right now. I was sure the tail hadn’t been put on until I’d left the hospital. And that could still be partially for my protection and partially because of their suspicion.

  I put a Band-aid lengthwise along the bridge of my nose and went out to the Chev. There wasn’t another occupied car in sight the length of the street. But I took no chances. I cut through alleys and squeezed past two lights on the way to Jean’s apartment.

  The maid came to the door, and her eyes went wide as she saw my battered face. I said, “I’d like to see Miss Roland, please. I’m expected,”

  She gulped and nodded. “Wait here, please.”

  In a few seconds, Jean came through the archway from the living room and I could swear the concern on her face was real. “Joe Puma—I heard, but I had no idea it was that—” She turned. “Dad, I think you’d better come and see this—”

  From the direction of the dining room: “What is it, dear? What has happened?”

  I continued to walk forward until I was in view of the dining room. Then I said, “I’ve been worked over a little, sir. Because of the Nevada Investment Company.”

  Silence. Willi’s eyes looked shocked as they moved over my face, Roland’s thoughtful, Jean’s startled.

  It was Roland who spoke first. “I read about your—trouble. Come in here, Mr. Puma, and sit down. It isn’t something totally unexpected, this type of hoodlumism by my—competitors.” He made that last word sound dirty.

  They were on their dessert and Jean asked, “Some coffe
e, Mr. Puma?” She had brought over a chair.

  “I guess not,” I said. “My mouth is kind of—torn, inside.”

  Roland closed his eyes and flexed his jaw muscles. He shook his head gently. “Did you reveal—any—I can’t ask it.”

  “They didn’t get a word out of me, Mr. Roland. That ain’t the right way to get words out of me.” I gave them a Chandler leer. “Maybe if they’d come with a couple bank notes—Nah, I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t have sold out either, I’m sure.”

  “I see.” Roland studied me. “These—hoodlums didn’t indicate who was behind them, did they?”

  “I know who was behind them.” I paused. “Brattan.”

  Both Jean and Willi looked at Roland, now. He nodded, as though he’d expected that name. Then he said coolly, “How did you learn it was Brattan?”

  “He first came to me another way,” I said. “With money.” I stuck my chin out proudly. “I’ll confess that I was damned near—Well, I was tempted.”

  “You almost sold out? Why, Mr. Puma?”

  “For money, of course.”

  “You need money that badly, Mr. Puma?”

  “Look, Mr. Roland, you maybe don’t understand about guys like me. I been in business for myself for nine years in this town. I been doing about all I can handle too. And living cheap. And I’ve got just four hundred and eighteen dollars in the bank.”

  Silence, and then Charles Adam Roland nodded understandingly. “I see. I certainly understand now, Mr. Puma.” Quiet, dignified.

  I put the old chin up there again. “I’m glad you do. Because you can have every dime of it, Mr. Roland. That’s the way I feel about the Nevada Investment Company, now.”

  He started to say something and then stopped. Touched, he was obviously under great emotional strain. Finally, he managed a strangled, “Thank you¾Mr. Puma. Thank you, very much.”

  Where was the organ music? Where was the boy choir and the marching color guard? Next week, East Lynne.