by Desmond Cory
“They were here all the time?”
“More or less,” she said. She began ticking the names off on her fingers. “Both the Trevors were here all the time… or at any rate at the times that you mentioned. So was Paul Gann. There’s no doubt about that; they were in here and everybody saw them. Mary and Pat East were with Annette Trevor. Mr and Mrs Driver left at about eleven-fifteen – somehow they don’t seem very likely as potential murderers, though.”
Johnny said, “Gosh, I’m sorry. You could have crossed off those two. They’re completely out of this now, as far as I can see.”
“Oh… good. Well, so’s everybody else, for that matter. Jack Harris left at about eleven-thirty, but Evie Wentworth was with him. They went to his flat and didn’t leave until the next morning. Evie’s quite refreshingly candid about that.”
Johnny said, “That’s nice work, Davida, even if it is a bit negative. Thanks a lot. I’m very grateful.”
“That’s all that matters, isn’t it?” said Davida. “It wasn’t very difficult, anyway. Well… shall we go upstairs?”
Johnny said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to think over what you’ve told me for a few minutes. May I join you later, d’you think?”
Davida sighed. She said, “Johnny – I don’t know why I take the slightest trouble to do these things for you. Yes, damn you; you may join me later.”
Johnny grinned and said, “Believe it or not, I’m lookin’ forward to that. I’ll be seein’ you.”
He watched her going upstairs, for no particular reason except that he liked watching her. When she had vanished down the corridor he lit a cigarette and sauntered slowly out of the front entrance.
The night air was cool on his face and strangely refreshing. He walked slowly over the gravel towards the trees, keeping close to the fence. He was trying to think.
Somebody was leaning against the fence, dark in the shadows. As Johnny walked nearer his shirt-front showed white, and above it the half-white blur of an unlit cigarette. As Johnny passed he said; “Got a light, mate?”
The voice surprised Johnny; even in saying four words it had the husky whine of an out-and-out Cockney. As Johnny pulled out a box of matches the man said in a lower voice, “Fedora?”
“Yeah,” said Johnny. He struck a match. “Reckernized yer when yer came out,” said the man. He lit his cigarette. “I’m Thaxter. Holliday sent me.”
“You want to talk?” said Johnny.
“Why not?”
“Okay. See that two-seater over there? The car on the right of that’s mine. Here’s the key; get in and wait. I’ll be with you in five minutes.”
“Blimey,” said Thaxter. “Cloak-an’-ruddy-dagger stuff, eh? Suits me.” His teeth showed white as he grinned. Johnny walked on at the same speed as before towards the trees at the far end of the car park, then turned round and walked back. Thaxter had gone.
Johnny moved into the shadows and drew his pistol out of its shoulder-holster; dropped it into his left pocket. The safety catch made a muffled click as he pushed it forwards. He walked over to the car with his hands in his pockets, opened the left-hand door and got inside. He moved his left hand slightly so that the gun muzzle pointed towards the vaguely-seen figure in the driving seat and said, “Well?”
Thaxter chuckled. “That’s up to you, cock,” he said. “I was told you’re the bloomin’ boss, so you’d better give the orders, see?”
Johnny said quietly, “All right. First of all I’d like to know just when Holliday sent you down.”
“Phoned me up about ’alf-past six,” said Thaxter. “I’ve been down at Brighton, waiting for somethin’ to blow. Gettin’ proper browned off, I was. So when ’e’d shot the gaff I ’opped into my old battle-wagon and went to them digs you’ve got in Cootsbridge. Perishin’ ’ole, that, eh?” He settled down more comfortably in the seat. “I found you wasn’t there, an’ as the old man there said to try the Three of Clubs – ’ere I ruddy well am.”
Johnny relaxed imperceptibly and said, “Fine. An’ how did you know me?”
Thaxter chuckled again. It sounded like water running out of a badly congested sink. He said, “I knew you all right. I know everybody, I do… that’s why ’Olliday pays me what ’e does. You were the boy that shot Shorty Geisinger after the V.2 panic, weren’t you? Saw you down at Lime’ouse once, an’ I never forget a face. Besides, you’ve got what I’d call a distinctive kind of fizz, ’aven’t you?”
“That’s what my mother used to say,” said Johnny. “Maybe I’ll get another one of these days… let’s see your ticket.”
Thaxter put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a wallet and opened it. He held out his hand; Johnny reached over and flicked on the dashboard lights for a second. He nodded, pulled his hand from his pocket and slid the pistol back inside his coat. The click as the safety catch went on was curiously cheerful.
“Blimey,” said Thaxter. “On the trigger-’appy side, ain’t you? Good job I did ’ave my card… thought you were actin’ a bit cagey.”
Johnny said, “One doesn’t take chances these days. Anyway, I’m glad to know you. You should be pretty useful at this point.”
“I ’ope so,” said Thaxter. “I suppose you must ’ave thought it rather funny, my knowin’ who you were, I mean. Sorry, chum.”
“You should worry,” said Johnny. “Let’s get down to business, huh? What do you know about a guy called Robson – ‘Frippence’ Robson?”
“Old Frippence? He used to be a bruiser down Waterloo way,” said Thaxter reflectively. He threw his cigarette-end out of the window and spat artistically after it. “Did a job about four or five months ago an’ mucked it; the rozzers were after ’im like fleas on to a dog’s back. ’E got out of the district and ’id in Soapy ’udson’s dive; I ain’t ’eard about ’im since, except when the old man told me just now about ’im bein’ ’orribly slaughtered. Came as a shock to me, that did.”
“What I’m tryin’ to find out,” said Johnny, “is who he gets his reefers from – or got ’em from, I should say.”
“I didn’t know ’e used ’em.” Thaxter seemed surprised. “’E didn’t until ’e got shopped, anyway. But they ain’t ’ard to get round the old Castle, providin’ you got the bunce.”
“Frippence hadn’t a lot of cash.”
“No? Well, ’e probably pinched ’em, then. Is that what you want me to find out?”
“Just that,” said Johnny. “You haven’t got a lot to work on, but listen. Robson was workin’ for Trevor – the manager of this joint – as a chauffeur, usin’ forged testimonials in the name of Evans. This case ties up with a drug case that I’m handlin’, an’ I’ve got a hunch that he got those reefers right here. It’s only a hunch, but I’m playin’ it anyway. He got rubbed out some time this morning – very early, I should think – because he knew too much about this drug racket. You get the man who owned those stagger fags an’ we’ll have somethin’ to work on.”
Thaxter snapped his fingers. “I think I can put you on to somethin’ right away, chum.”
“You can? What?”
“The bloke in the men’s wash-room in there – e’ s a bad ’un. Used ter carry a Betsey for Mi Martin in ’44. The bulls gave Mi a stretch – remember? But this bloke got out – never in the dock, ’e wasn’t. Fly’s they make ’em. Czech, ’e is – name of Malinsky.”
“An’ you think he’s not the sort of guy to be earnin’ an honest penny checkin’ coats?”
“Abaht as likely as a cat runnin’ a chicken-farm.”
“Like that, is it?” Johnny slapped him on the back. “Well – I think we’ll investigate this Malinsky, Thaxter. Just work him over gently, huh? Okay?”
“Lead on, Macduff,” said Thaxter. His teeth gleamed again. “I’ll foller. Just my cup ’o tea, this.”
“Wonder if we’d better go in separate?” said Johnny. “Hell…” he opened the door, got out and flexed his muscles. “We’ll go together. Something’s got to crack to-night, one way or another.�
�
Thaxter jumped out on the other side. He stood with his arms hanging relaxed by his side. He stood square on his feet; his shoulders were broad, even without the padding, and his hips slim. Johnny thought he looked a useful man to have around in a rough-house.
“C’mon,” he said. They walked over towards the entrance, the gravel crunching purposefully under their feet.
“Nice place this,” said Thaxter appreciatively. “Last job I ’ad was dahn the Victoria an’ Albert Docks – know ’em? Crawlin’ on me ’ands an’ knees in a bloomin’ ware’ouse, tot’ly surrounded by rats. This is more like it.”
“Glad you like it,” said Johnny. “Just as well to be happy at your work. The joint’s yours.”
“Suits me,” said Thaxter. They walked up the steps; in front of the door Johnny stopped and looked round. In the light Thaxter turned out to be a good-looking fellow, slightly taller than Johnny and with curly black hair. His jaw-line was good and his cheek-bones were high. The suit he was wearing was of first-class material and not too extravagantly cut; he was definitely a snappy dresser. Johnny liked the look of him. He said, “You want a drink – or wait till afterwards?”
Thaxter shrugged. He said, “I’d say get this bloke settled.”
“Okay,” said Johnny. They moved off again, across to where an illuminated sign hung at the end of a corridor. It said “Gent’s Lobby.”
Johnny said softly. “I’ll go in. You stay outside the door an’ if anyone shows up at the end of the corridor, come on in an’ slip us the tip-off. If you hear any curious bumpin’ noises inside, don’t get worried. It won’t be me.” He pulled out a packet of cigarettes, handed Thaxter one and took one himself. He lit the cigarettes, opened the door and went in. Thaxter went down on one knee, pulled a shoe-lace undone and stayed kneeling, watching the corridor with one half-shut eye. One of Thaxter’s virtues was patience.
Johnny looked swiftly round the room and at once saw a man in a green uniform standing at the end of a row of wash-basins, fiddling with a tap. He moved forward again, and though he seemed to walk slowly he reached Malinsky in under three seconds.
“Malinsky, I think,” he said softly.
The attendant turned round. He was a slim man, with a dead white face and a hard, firm mouth bracketed with two deep lines. His eyes were pale blue and open wide with surprise. He said:
“Yes, sir… I don’ think that I remember you.”
“You don’t know me, pal,” said Johnny still in his soft half-whisper. This guy didn’t look easy to scare, but it might be done. “But I know you. One of Mi Martin’s gunnies, I believe.”
“Oh,” said Malinsky. He smiled with his mouth. “A copper, eh? You’ve got nothing on me, my frien’ – and that was a long time ago. I have been workin’ straight for a long while now.”
“Workin’ straight, eh?” said Johnny. “Not with those slit-eyes of yours, Malinsky. If I never saw a reefer smoker before, I’m lookin’ at one now.”
It was the hell of an off-chance, but it worked. Johnny saw the look of shocked surprise in Malinsky’s eyes a split second before he wiped it off. Johnny inhaled deeply and balanced his weight on the balls of his feet. Malinsky turned round, ostensibly to wipe his hands on a towel, but Johnny caught his fleeting glance at the mirror, a glance that checked the size of his eyes in one split second and saw them to be normal.
Malinsky turned round again, but so automatically as to be almost frightening. He said, “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes, copper. I don’ think I’m very interested in anything you have to say, anyway.” He stood close to the wall, watching Johnny intently.
Johnny said, “If I can prove I’m not a copper would you feel like talking?”
“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” said Malinsky. “I don’ know anything ’bout anything.”
Johnny looked down at his cigarette, between his fingers. He opened his fingers about a tenth of an inch and the cigarette slipped through. And as Malinsky’s eyes followed the glowing end to the floor Johnny’s hand came up two feet in a jolting short-arm jab. The heel of his hand landed beautifully on Malinsky’s upper lip, slamming his thin nostrils upwards. The back of Malinsky’s head hit the wall with sickening force; he made a nasty noise with his mouth, and then a gasp as Johnny’s left hand landed just below his heart. He stood for a moment half doubled up; Johnny deliberately grasped his hair at the top of the head, lifted his own knee, and firmly bounced Malinsky’s nose on it. It made a vaguely disgusting sound that annoyed Johnny; he pushed Malinsky’s head farther down and slashed downwards with the edge of his hand. It caught Malinsky one inch behind the left ear; he pitched forward and hit the floor at Johnny’s feet, rolled on to his face and lay still.
Johnny reached downwards, grabbed the back of his collar and lifted him half up. He turned on the water tap with his left hand and splashed Malinsky’s face.
“Wakey, wakey, Malinsky,” he said. “That rabbit-punch I gave you doesn’t last thirty seconds. Come on, pal.”
Malinsky’s face started twitching. He said, “No… no.”
“That’s sense,” said Johnny. I don’t want to hurt you, pal. All you’ve got to do is talk.”
“I don’t…” said Malinsky, and stopped. He made a whimpering noise. His nose was certainly a terrible mess.
“Oh, yes, you do,” said Johnny. “Where do you get your reefers, Malinsky?” He swiped Malinsky’s face with the back of his hand. “Where d’you get ’em?”
The room suddenly exploded into a blaze of stars before Johnny’s eyes, exploded and rocked dizzily to and fro. As he watched the carpet suddenly swing up and rush at him he knew somebody’d slugged him from behind. “Fool,” he thought. “Fool”. Then the carpet hit him with the force of a railway engine and everything went black.
Chapter Nine
MALINSKY
JOHNNY came to with a choking feeling at his throat and a strange sensation of movement. The carpet appeared out of a red mist two feet beneath his face and his knees seemed to be bumping against it. Though it seemed to him that realization came slowly, within two seconds he knew that he was being dragged over the floor by his coat-collar. He felt like hell. He heard a door click shut close to his heels, and felt himself lowered to the floor – surprisingly gently.
He could feel between his chest and the floor the hard, friendly edge of his shoulder-holster. He lay still, waiting for the hard, angry thumping at the back of his head to stop. It wouldn't.
He increased the pressure of his forearm on the floor slightly, tensed his muscles, and with one quick push rolled himself over on to his left elbow. As his hand left the floor it whipped beneath his lapel and flicked out his pistol.
For a split second his eyes refused to focus on the figure standing near him with one hand on the door handle; then they suddenly responded and he saw it was Thaxter, Thaxter looking very surprised before grinning. Johnny sat up, put the Mauser back with an impatient jab of his hand and began to caress his skull very, very gently.
“Cor blind old Riley,” said Thaxter, inelegantly. “Gave me a turn, you did. What the ’ell happened to you?”
Johnny used one or two of the choicer epithets in his vocabulary and said, “Someone soaked me back in the lobby. Where the hell’s this?”
Thaxter looked round. “Mr ruddy Malinsky’s room, I bet. I dragged you in ’ere out of the way. That door leads into the lobby.”
Johnny remembered the door on the right of the lobby, and nodded.
“Malinsky put one over on you?” said Thaxter anxiously. “Looks like ’e landed you a good one.”
“Wasn’t Malinsky. I was beltin’ hell outa the guy an’ some boy with sportin’ instincts came in on his side. How long’ve I been out?”
“About a minute, mate. ’Eard an ’ole lot of bumps, an’ then nothin’ at all; so I eased on in and saw you lyin’ there flakers,” said Thaxter. “Took one look in ’ere an’ pulled you in. Malinsky and the other bloke must have scarpered out of the wind
ow; wide open, it was.”
“Must have come in that way, too,” said Johnny. “Mighty light on his feet, whoever it was.” He rose to his feet; the room see-sawed slightly and then steadied down. He walked with the faintest suggestion of a stagger over to the door, opened it, and stepped into the lobby.
It was still empty, and, as Thaxter had said, the window was open. The linoleum floor showed the tracks made by his toes when he had been dragged across it. Johnny walked over to the wash-basins and surveyed his face in one of the mirrors. Thaxter followed close behind.
“Looks as if he got in a couple of kicks at me before he left,” said Johnny dolefully. “Lucky he missed my eye.” He turned on the tap and began bathing his face.
“Wonder he didn’t knock yer teeth out,” said Thaxter happily. “Bang on yer jaw.”
Johnny rinsed out his mouth and spat blood and water into the basin. Thaxter grinned cheerfully. He said, “wouldn’t like to be that feller when you catch up with ’im, anyway. Nasty look you got in your little peepers.”
“You don’t say,” said Johnny. He cautiously felt a tooth with his tongue; it waggled agonisingly to and fro. “I made a worse mess of Malinsky, if that’s any satisfaction. That’s one Czech that really has bounced.”
Thaxter gurgled. “Not bad, eh?” he said. “S’right; keep smilin’, cock. It’s a long time since I ’ad a good scrap, y’know. Wouldn’t surprise me if I don’t ’ave one before long.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me, either,” said Johnny. He wiped his hands on the towel and said, “Let’s take a gander at that window. It’s wet outside; might be some kinda tracks.”
“Ain’t none on the lino – except where I dragged you.”
“Yeah, that’s what I saw – or didn’t see.” Johnny examined the sill carefully and said, “No. Not a speck of dirt.” He waggled his tooth thoughtfully and pulled out a cigarette.
