The Complete Casebook of Cardigan, Volume 3: 1934-35

by Frederick Nebel

  “Meester, this is no run-about; she is serious business. We take a taxi.”

  They rode away from the front of the Casa Domingo, and Delbanca, producing two fat cigars, gave Cardigan one, slipped one in his own mouth and held up a light. It was an excellent cigar, Cardigan found. But he kept his hand near the lapel of his coat, primed to dive for the gun in his spring holster. He watched Delbanca out of the corners of his eyes.

  On the slope of Russian Hill, Delbanca told the driver to stop. He paid the fare, spun his stick, leveled it off, saying: “We go this way, meester.”

  He looked up into the cold, dripping drizzle. “She is not a good night out, hey. We will drop by and see this frands.” He motioned to a doorway and led Cardigan into the broad foyer of an apartment house. He told the elevator operator to take them to the fourth floor, and at the fourth floor they got out and Delbanca, benign, gently smiling, led the way down a warm, rich corridor.

  He knocked on a door and presently the door was opened by a short, squat man in black tie and black alpaca coat.

  Delbanca spun his stick. “Meester Delbanca and a frand calling on Meester Detronius.”

  The houseman blinked stolidly. “Sure. I’ll tell him.”

  A moment later a voice called, “Come in, Delbanca!” and then the houseman appeared to take their coats, but Delbanca, smiling politely, shook his head.

  CARDIGAN, startled, confounded, followed Delbanca through the doorway. They came out on a balcony overlooking a long living room where mellow pools of light lay, where cigars glowed and several men sat.

  “Yes, yes, Delbanca, my good friend, come right in. It’s jolly good to see you!”

  Detronius stood now in one of the pools of light, beckoning Delbanca down. He was a very small man, with a white baby face and a tiny, pointed mustache; dancing, happy eyes. He wore a tuxedo. Delbanca, going comfortably down the stairs, smiled in his slow, benign way.

  Cardigan, a couple of steps behind, was again startled when he saw McGovern stroll into one of the pools of light. And then he saw Hunerkopf sitting in the largest armchair, with his feet toward the fireplace and a huge basket of fruit in his lap. When Cardigan came into the light, McGovern recognized him and looked blank for a moment.

  “This, meester,” said Delbanca to Detronius, “is Meester Cardigan.”

  Detronius’ merry eyes danced; his chubby, baby-like cheeks bunched up as his mouth widened in a bright, cheery grin. “So glad to know you, Mr. Cardigan. Over here… Sergeant McGovern and Detective Hunerkopf, of the police.”

  Delbanca’s eyes strayed, though he still smiled; but he was a little puzzled. He said, “I be happy to meet you, yes.”

  McGovern held a notebook in his hand.

  “You see,” said Detronius, “Sergeant McGovern just dropped in for my contribution pledge to the fund for Patrolman Schmidt’s family. Poor Schmidt was, you know, killed in line of duty. Pity, pity. Will you gentlemen have a drink?”

  “Please, for me, no,” said Delbanca. “You are busy with business now and so, meester, sometime again I see you. She is no great hurry.” He lifted his head, smiled. “Very glad seeing you, gentlemens,” he said to McGovern and Hunerkopf.

  And Hunerkopf said affably: “Take an apple along.”

  “Please, for me, no.”

  Detronius shook Cardigan’s hand zestfully. “So mighty glad to have met you, sir. I do hope we’ll meet again.”

  Cardigan did not smile. His face was heavy, his eyes dull. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah.” He was puzzled, and he could see by the look on McGovern’s face that he also was puzzled.

  Then McGovern snapped his notebook shut. “Well, I got to get along, anyhow,” he said. “Thanks for the pledge, Mr. Detronius. August, come on.”

  “But don’t hurry,” urged Detronius.

  “Thanks, but I got to.” McGovern had fixed a sidelong, suspicious stare on Cardigan.

  Hunerkopf filled his pockets with fruit, and passing Cardigan, he said sorrowfully: “Someday you’ll prob’ly regret you didn’t eat more fruit. Mark my word, old fellow. Well, well, I guess we all live and learn. Thanks very much for the refreshments,” he said to Detronius.

  The two detectives went out.

  “Maybe now,” said Delbanca, “we do not have to make so much hurry.” He smiled wistfully, leaned on his walking stick, laid his soft, sad eyes on Detronius. “There has been maybe wan big zhoke, but me, meester, I guess I have no’ the sense of humor.”

  “Ah, yes you have!” laughed Detronius gayly. “Do remove your coats, gentlemen. Do! Perhaps I can offer you some wine—”

  THE buzzer sounded and in a moment Francesca rushed into the room, her face flushed, her breath coming in quick gasps. Her black eyes were bright with anguish and fear, and seeing Delbanca and Cardigan, she was momentarily stunned. Detronius bit into his lip.

  “Francesca!” he said, staring toward her.

  Delbanca stopped him with a hand. “Meester, this zhoke I speak of is no zhoke, not so much.”

  Francesca broke into tears.

  “Do not cry, muchacha,” said Delbanca; and to Detronius, “Me, meester, I have been very hospitable with you at Casa Domingo, and I do not like much the big zhoke. Tonight you were in Francesca’s room at Casa Domingo. For dinner you came to Casa Domingo. The show she was not start yet, and only Francesca was there. So you go to her room. By and by, soon, two frands from you come in and I say you are with Francesca, you are her frand, and they go back to the room. Francesca comes out and sings wan song, but you and these frands are back in the room. Meester Cardigan says a frand from him goes to Casa Domingo too, but I do not see him. It appears this frand also was in Francesca’s room, but she does not see him because then she is sing the song. This frand, meester, is now d’ad, I am told. Therefore it is no’ the big zhoke.”

  Detronius laughed. “Ridiculous! Preposterous!” He turned on his heel and started away.

  “Pull up,” Cardigan snapped, and his gun came out in his big hand, he looked now very dark and sinister. “Pull up, Detronius, and watch your step.”

  Detronius turned, smiled lightly. “Lovely guests, I must say.”

  “Who the hell said I was a guest? Delbanca, Francesca, you’d better bail out of this. Go on, beat it. I’m dragging the Greek over to headquarters.”

  Francesca was gripping Delbanca’s arm desperately. “Emilio, I am so much afraid! I am—”

  “Do not be, Francesca.”

  Detronius’ eyes were dancing, but not happily. “My dear fellow—”

  “I’m not a dear fellow,” Cardigan rasped. “And never mind getting your hat or overcoat. If you catch cold and die, that’ll be swell. Come on, lift your dogs, sweetheart. We’re scramming.”

  Detronius still chose to hesitate. Cardigan bore down on him, grabbed him by the arm and whipped him toward the stairway. Delbanca and Francesca were already on the balcony. The four of them went toward the doorway. The houseman looked scared. He cleared out of the way.

  “This is an indignity,” Detronius complained.

  “Swell,” said Cardigan. “I’m glad it is.”

  Francesca was crying in her handkerchief as they went down in the elevator and Delbanca held her hand, patted it gently, murmured soothing words in Spanish.

  Cardigan marched Detronius across the lobby—so fast that the Greek almost skipped.

  It was still raining in the street, and as they went out, Cardigan saw McGovern and Hunerkopf, with Shoes O’Riley between them. Shoes looked very uncomfortable.

  “Yeah,” McGovern brayed, “I come down and find your pal waiting in the lobby. Imagine! You, the big cheese in the Cosmos Agency, consorting with criminals!”

  “See,” said Shoes. “A poor guy can’t ever live down his past. Me, that never had a evil thought—”

  “Stow it!” McGovern rasped.

  “I wouldn’t yell so loud,” Hunerkopf suggested, “account of it’s late and you might wake up the neighbors.”

  “You shut up to
o, August!”

  Four men came walking across the street from a parked sedan, and one, a tall man in a gray belted raincoat, clipped: “First guy moves, things happen to him. O.K., put ’em up and hold ’em there.”

  Chapter Four

  Banana Oil

  McGOVERN spun, bumping against Cardigan’s gun. Hunerkopf, about to eat a banana he had just peeled, dropped it. Delbanca pushed Francesca behind him and Shoes O’Riley’s mouth gaped in surprise. All of them stood out in clear relief beneath the lighted marquee of the apartment house. The four men reaching the curb were still in darkness, but their guns gave off liquid glints.

  “What is it, Lou?” the gray-coated young man said.

  “A pinch,” said Detronius.

  “You?”

  “Yes.”

  “O.K., Lou. Go over and sit in the car.”

  “Thanks.”

  McGovern brayed: “You lousy clucks, I’m McGovern!”

  “What are you bragging about?” asked the gray-coated man.

  “Don’t irritate them, Mac,” Hunerkopf suggested.

  The gray-coated man pointed. “You, Delbanca—and the jane, you two get over in the car too.”

  “Say,” McGovern bawled, “what the hell is this? Who is on whose side and why?”

  “You heard me!” the gray-coated man snarled at Delbanca.

  Delbanca kept Francesca behind him. He said: “Meester, I am no’ deaf. I hear’ you. You do no’ see me move, hey? You take Francesca, meester, first you got to take me.”

  The gray-coated man ripped out, “Why, you dirty spig, you!” and strode across the sidewalk. Suddenly his feet shot from under him—the banana which Hunerkopf had dropped—and the gray-coated man slammed violently to the sidewalk. Shoes O’Riley stepped on his face, pinned him down and wrenched the gun from his hand. A gun blazed in the drizzle and Shoes teetered a bit and said, “Ouch, Geez,” and then loudly, “Who the hell done that?”

  “Look out, Shoes!” Cardigan barked. Cardigan shoved Shoes out of the way with his left hand, fired with the gun in his right. Detronius stumbled and fell against the car opposite, but he did not go completely down.

  McGovern dragged his gun out and his foghorn voice boomed: “You mugs out there in the street—drop those rods!”

  “Says you!”

  “Says me, by God, says me!”

  McGovern fired and lead whanged in the body of the car on the other side of the street.

  “Oh, Emilio!” cried Francesca.

  “Just you stay behind me, Francesca.”

  McGovern and Cardigan fired at the same time. Glass shattered. There was a low, choppy outcry. Detronius was trying to start the car, but one of the other men apparently had the ignition key. Detronius swore desperately. He yelled: “Where’s the key?”

  Hunerkopf slipped on the banana and took McGovern down with him, and the gray-coated man jumped up and down and made a frantic dive for the wet darkness. Cardigan swung to fire at him, but Hunerkopf heaved up, in the way.

  “Where’s the key?” Detronius yelled frantically.

  “In the lock, in the lock!”

  “It’s not!”

  “I tell you it is. I was driving. I oughta know.”

  “It’s—”

  A cab drove up, its horn blowing, its headlights flooding the men in the street. Somebody shot the headlights out and the cab stopped, its driver leaped out and, holding his hands behind his neck, galloped away. Detronius, while his men blazed away at the apartment house facade, stumbled from the sedan and jumped into the cab, whose motor was still running.

  “In here!” he yelled.

  Backing up, still firing, the four men piled into the cab and it lurched away. Hunerkopf, shot in the thigh, was sitting on the sidewalk moodily. Shoes O’Riley was going round in circles while Cardigan was trying to grab him and throw him out of the line of fire. McGovern was running after the cab. He swerved and then made a bee-line for the sedan, and Cardigan reached it at the same time.

  Pat turned up and said: “Here’s the key. I was watching from that doorway, and when they went over I reached in and took the key out.”

  Cardigan snapped: “I thought I told you to go home!”

  “But I couldn’t! I felt I had to cover you and—”

  “Stop crabbing, Cardigan,” McGovern growled. “Drive it.”

  THE sedan swung away from the curb, leaving Pat on the sidewalk. Cardigan clicked into high gear and McGovern rolled down the door window on his side and leaned out.

  “Douse your lights,” he said.

  “Idea,” nodded Cardigan, and doused them.

  “Now step on it, sweetheart. This baby feels like she could step.”

  “With twelve cylinders, why not?”

  The cab shot out on a wide, dark square, and beyond, the lights of Casa Domingo blinked. It was doing about fifty. Striking the street car rails, it slewed, seemed for a brief instant to straighten out. But it did not. It reeled, heaved, spun round, and smashed head-on into the high board fence, going clean through with the sounds of cracked boards and torn metal screaming through the darkness. The top of the cab was ripped off, and steam, escaping from the broken radiator, hissed and spouted.

  Cardigan braked and let the sedan slide over the curbstone, and he was out of it before the car quite came to a stop. McGovern was at his heels, and as they went through the hole in the fence, three figures were seen hopping through the weeds.

  McGovern fired and one of the figures began to stumble ahead faster. Then suddenly all three vanished. Short, startled outcries rose, and Cardigan snapped: “They fell down into an old foundation. Watch it, Mac!… Here it is!”

  “O.K. Let’s jump.”

  “Right.”

  Without pause, they leaped down into the gloom and Cardigan landed on a head that was just rising. He bore a man down with him into a slough of mud and water. Close beside his cheek a gun blazed, deafening him. Then another gun exploded, and McGovern yelled: “Take that, you sweet so-and-so!”

  Cardigan got a grip on the back of an unseen neck and pressed downward. He shoved the man’s face into the mud. Someone else fell into him and he struck out wildly, connecting.

  “By cripes—”

  “You, Mac? I didn’t know!”

  “Glug-glug,” said the man whose face he was holding in the mud.

  Cardigan stood up, hauling the man with him, jamming his gun in his back.

  “I got one,” McGovern yelled. “I think I killed the other egg.”

  “I’ve got one too,” Cardigan called back. “There’s one in the car yet, I guess.”

  “Come on; let’s get these guys out of here.”

  “You hurt, Mac?”

  “Well, either there’s mud in my eye or it’s the eye you just closed on me.”

  By this time they headed toward the cab; there were flashlights sweeping about it. People had gathered in the street and there were half a dozen uniformed cops grouped round the car. They had hauled out Detronius, who was now sitting on the sidewalk, bruised and bloody and with his shirt half torn off. The cops swiveled about, and McGovern barked: “McGovern, boys. Got a squad car?”

  “Yeah.”

  “O.K. Take these two potatoes and toss ’em in it and sit on ’em—I don’t care how hard. Two of you guys take flashlights and go back to that old foundation. There’s a dead heel laying in it. Fish him out. Somebody call the morgue bus. Look at me eye, closed tight.”

  “Who did that?” one of the cops asked.

  “Big beautiful here,” McGovern said, nodding toward Cardigan.

  The cop took a swing at Cardigan with his nightstick.

  “Hey,” shouted Cardigan. “I’m the home team, you fat-head!”

  McGovern brayed: “Stop that, Homer! Who the hell told you to slug him?”

  The nightstick had been aimed with perfect precision, and Cardigan took a few broken-kneed steps, then collapsed.

  “Now look what you done, Homer,” McGovern rasped.

/>   A lieutenant walked up and said: “Hello, Mac. What’s this all about?”

  McGovern scowled irritably. “Now you’re asking me something. There’s been a fight. There’s been a guy or two killed. A cab stolen. I’ve been slugged. Hunerkopf’s wounded. That little guy there looks like he’s outward bound and—well, you’ll have to ask some other guy what it’s all about, Lieutenant. I’m damned if I know anything about it!”

  CARDIGAN came to in Delbanca’s office in the Casa Domingo, looked drowsily about the room, saw Delbanca, Francesca, McGovern, Pat. He licked his lips.

  “Gee, chief,” Pat said. “How—how do you feel now?”

  “Lousy, thanks.” Then he laughed. “Hey, Mac—boy, what a shiner you’ve got!”

  “Something to remember you by, kid.”

  “Where’s everybody?”

  “Well, August and this mug O’Riley are in the hospital, not serious. Detronius died out in the street, but not before he talked. A pal of his, Bughouse Delaney, is dead too. The other eggs are in the can. And to think that me—There I was sitting with Detronius only tonight getting a big pledge from him—It burns me up!”

  “Who killed Bert Kine?”

  “Him.”

  “Detronius?”

  “Yeah. In a back room of this place. This girl’s room. The Greek said Bert Kine walked in on him and two other guys. These other two guys had looted your office and Kine followed ’em, Tailed ’em right to that room and tried to collar ’em. Well, Detronius used a knife. Then they didn’t want this girl here to see the job. They heard the music stop and knew she’d be on her way in. They thought Kine was dead and they just dumped him out the back window and got the window closed just as the girl came in. She never knew anything about it. Detronius used to call on her a lot and she kind of liked him, she said, but not in a big way. They figured on going out a little later and getting rid of the body, but when they did go out, well, Kine was gone. Detronius got a little scared about this and told these two mugs to get two other pals and keep his apartment house covered from the outside. Told ’em that if they seen any dicks walking him out, they should butt in. Well, they did. But the kick back was too much for ’em.