by Unknown
Connors said slowly: “A rod can beat a blackjack, any time.”
Gus shook his head. “That isn’t our line,” he stated. “Let me do the gabbing. I’ve got a hunch that Edna’s on the level this time. Give her a chance—it may help.”
Connors kept his left hand inside the pocket of his brown coat and swore softly.
“We’re both going to get finished, maybe,” he said in a peculiarly dull voice.
Gus said: “Yeah—maybe. We ain’t there yet. You can drop out, Connors. You ain’t mixed up in this too much. You can ease out.”
The handler swore again. “Giant was a good kid,” he repeated. “They never gave him a break. The bulls won’t do anything. I want this chance.”
The cab turned southward on Tenth Avenue. When it turned westward again, a few squares distant, Gus tapped on the glass that separated the driver from the rear of the cab.
“Pull in,” he ordered. “This is right.”
When the cab was a half block distant Gus led the way across the street. There was slush under-foot; Connors slipped once and swore grimly. Gus said with irony in his voice:
“Careful—don’t get hurt!”
He turned in abruptly at the entrance, narrow and dark, of a three-story brown house. The brick was dirty and in need of repair. There was a bell at one side of the entrance—he pressed it.
There was the sound of a lock snapping. The door opened a little. Gus said quietly, steadily:
“It’s Gus, Lips. Edna called me.”
There was a muttered sound from beyond the door. It opened a little more. Gus sighed and squeezed through the opening. The fat one started to close the door, but Gus said slowly:
“Wait—I got one good guy with me.”
The fat man muttered again. Connors slid inside. Gus took his Colt from a coat pocket and pressed it against the fat man’s side. The hallway was almost dark.
“You go first, Lips,” he said. “I hate to see you get quiet. Take us to Edna.”
Lippe said huskily. “This is—a hell of a note. Pullin’ a rod on me!”
Gus said: “I ain’t using it, Lips. It’s just— for fun.”
The fat man led the way towards the back room. He went inside with Gus close behind him. Connors stayed near Monkly. The room was small, lighted by one hanging bulb. There was a small bar. At one end of it was a dirty tray, with two empty, tall glasses on it. There were two tables in the room—they had white surfaces that glistened in the light.
Edna sat beside one of the tables. Her back was to the door that led to the narrow passage going towards the rear. One arm rested on the table, the other rigidly at her side. She looked shorter, heavier than ever. Her face was strangely thin—there was a bluish bruise over her right eye. She wore a dark suit, and her face seemed very pale. She smiled a little.
“Hello, Gus,” she said. “Come on over. Sit down.”
Gus smiled with his thin lips. “Take a look back of the bar, Connors,” he said. “Lips—you go over there and sit down. Keep your hands in sight.”
He pointed towards the other table. The bartender swore and did as he was told. The girl narrowed her eyes on Connors. She said bitterly:
“Hell—there’s no one here. Just Lips and myself. And Lips is wise to everything.”
Gus said: “Sure, Edna.”
He went close to her, pulled out a chair and placed it so that it faced the doorway through which they had come. He could see the rear exit without turning his head. He put the gun in his right coat pocket and said to Connors: “All right?”
Connors said: “All right, Gus. I’ll stick here by the bar.”
Gus nodded. He smiled at the girl. Lippe was making a heavy noise as he breathed. Gus said:
“Well—get started whining, Edna.”
She shook her head. There was an empty glass in front of her.
“How about a drink?” she asked in a shaken voice, and moved her left arm a little.
Gus shook his head. “Not doing it—right now,” he stated. “Pretty rotten with your left hand, eh?”
She widened her eyes a little. There wasn’t as much rouge on her lips as usual. They looked gray. She said:
“I don’t get you, Gus.”
He smiled. “You didn’t get me,” he corrected. “But you made too much noise, in that basement. You tried damn’ hard.”
She looked puzzled. Her right arm moved a little, above the elbow.
“I don’t get you, Gus,” she said again.
The fight manager said nothing. His eyes were narrowed on hers. She shrugged, said slowly:
“Something went wrong, Gus. I got the dirty end. No man can kick me around.”
She raised her left-hand fingers and touched the bruise on her forehead. She said bitterly:
“Damn Hurry—I’d see him burn for what—”
She stopped. Gus smiled and said: “You could almost play the Palace, Kid. You can almost act.”
She stiffened in the chair. Her voice dropped; she looked beyond Gus, towards Connors.
“I told you to come—alone,” she said.
Gus Monkly nodded. “And I didn’t,” he replied. “What about it?”
She shivered a little. His tone was hard, and his eyes were hard.
“It’s all—right,” she replied. “Something slipped up, Gus. Hurry didn’t—get your man.”
The fight manager smiled a little. “No?” he said. “You got me down here to tell me that.”
She nodded. “That—and something else,” she said. “God knows I’m not trying to make it easy for Hurry.” She leaned towards him and said fiercely: “I hate him, Gus. I swear I do—I hate his insides!”
Gus nodded. He kept on smiling coldly. “Sure you do—and you got me down here to tell me that.”
She relaxed a little. “I’m sick,” she said slowly. “I’m terrible sick, Gus. I want to get away—to get out of here.”
The fight manager stopped smiling. “Yeah?” he said. He got up from the chair suddenly, and moved back a little. Lippe straightened at the table, staring at the manager.
Gus said: “All right, Kid—I’ll see that you go away. I’ve got your ticket—”
He took his gun from the pocket. The girl’s eyes were filled with fear. She cried shrilly:
“No—no! For God’s sake. Gus—I got you here to tell you—who finished—Pardo!”
The fight manager let his small eyes open a little. He held the Colt low.
“All right,” he said. “Spill it!”
The girl’s face was twisted, white. The bluish bruise stood out clearly in the white light from the unshaded bulb. Lippe was breathing heavily in the silence before she spoke. She said hoarsely:
“There he is—Connors!”
Gus Monkly turned his head slightly. Connors’s eyes were on the girl, blue pinpoints in the white light. His lips moved very little.
“You dirty liar!” he said.
The girl rose suddenly from her chair. She faced Connors. Her body was tense. She extended her right arm, pointed a finger at him. Her left arm was close against the dark cloth of her suit.
“Don’t crawl, Connors!” she said harshly. “You got Lou Berryman in the clear, when we were right on top of him. Hurry fixed it with you. And you got Giant Pardo. I saw you!”
Gus Monkly turned his body a little towards the second. He swayed a bit, from side to side. But he kept the muzzle of his gun on the girl’s figure. Connors said again:
“You dirty, yellow liar!”
The girl dropped her right arm. “You were in the ring!” she said. “Gus had to have someone with him. You weren’t in the mob in Chi. He thought you were all right, I suppose. You can play pretty white, I guess. After the kayo—you went towards Giant with a towel in your hands. You gave Pardo the works!”
Gus drew in his breath slowly. Lippe swore hoarsely, across the room. Gus said slowly:
“How about it—Connors?”
The second laughed throatily. He gestured towards the bl
onde in a careless manner, using his right hand. The left was still out of sight.
“She’s tryin’ to frame me,” he said grimly. “She’s a rat, Gus. We’d better let her have—”
The girl broke in. “I’m givin’ it to you straight, Gus. Connors is workin’ for Hurry. Don’t I know? Hurry was afraid you’d hide Pardo out. You had a winner. He was down the aisle, near the dressing room. He was waiting—in case Connors lost his nerve. But he didn’t lose it. He did for Pardo, I’m tellin’ you!”
Her voice had risen shrilly. Connors’s eyes had ceased to be pinpoints now. They were wider. He chuckled huskily.
“What’s her game, Gus?” he asked. “Why’s she trying to put it on me?”
Gus said in a cold tone: “Take your hand away from the rod, Connors.”
The handler stared at him. His left-hand pocket was away from the fight manager. He didn’t move. Gus spoke very quietly:
“Show me your left, Connors.”
Connors took his left hand from the pocket of his coat. He said bitterly:
“Hell, Gus—you ain’t falling for her line? It’s a frame—she’s trying to get us spilling lead at each other. She’s sitting in with Hurry—and this is a try for an easy out.”
Gus said with a faint smile in his eyes:
“All right, Connors—but it won’t work. We won’t spill lead—not at each other.”
The blonde stared at Monkly. “He did it, Gus!” she said. “I’m tellin’ you—I saw him go for Pardo, with the towel. They used the flashlight to drown the sound—”
Gus said: “Sure, I know, Kid. Now you sit down. Connors—move over and sit down next to her. Face me—”
He watched Connors go over and sit down next to the blonde. There was a sound something like a door shutting, somewhere in the hotel. Gus looked at Lippe and said quietly:
“If anyone comes in here—you’ll get it first, Lips. Remember that!”
The fat man wet his lips and started to speak. But he said nothing. Gus looked at the girl. There was terror in her eyes.
“You damn’ near got me, at Berryman’s place,” he said. “What’s the answer?”
She shook her head. “I was after Lou,” she said thickly. “I thought he came downstairs. I squeezed lead twice—and got clear in a cab. Hurry wanted Lou out of the way. He knew he was yellow—and he was afraid he’d run out, or play with you. Lou was supposed to do the job on Pardo.”
Gus said: “Yeah?”
The blonde nodded. “It was a hate kill, Gus. You quit the racket in Chi. They needed you. You ran into something nice, and wouldn’t give Hurry a piece. He’d staked you. He didn’t need the coin, but he got hating you—for not coming through. When Lou started to go yellow—he picked me to stop him.”
Gus said: “Why?”
She shrugged. “He figured I could do it with my left—and no one on the inside would be wise. I can’t move the right arm. He figured I’d be safe.”
Gus said in a low tone: “And Connors did the job on Pardo, with a Maxim-silenced gun under a towel—inside the ropes?”
The girl looked at Connors and replied in a hard voice:
“He did it, Gus.”
Connors ran the back of his left hand across his broken nose. He smiled nastily.
“She’s a lyin’ moll,” he said calmly. “Get it right, Gus.”
Gus Monkly nodded. “It’ll be that way,” he said. “Listen, Edna—if Connors was working for Hurry—why did they pull the job in the ring? Why didn’t they wait? I’d have sent Pardo with Connors—”
He stopped, smiling grimly. Edna Harms swore softly.
“You know that answer—you ain’t that dumb,” she said. “You’d know who did the job—if they waited. They wanted to work it smooth—and when it would hurt most. And they didn’t want you to know about Connors.”
Gus said in a soft tone: “With Connors workin’ for Hurry they could have fixed it so that Giant would lose the scrap.”
The girl smiled bitterly. “Hurry was betting on Giant,” she said. “At three to one he cleaned up plenty. And then he put the job over—”
“She’s lying, Gus.” Connors’s voice held a shaken note. “You know she’s lying.”
Gus looked at the girl and said in a tone that was low and smooth:
“You’re spilling the works, Edna—why?”
Her voice held a lot of hate. She looked beyond Gus, towards the dirty mirror back of the bar.
“There’s a guy named—never mind that, Gus. I wanted to slide out of the mob, three months ago. I’ve been good to Hurry—he ain’t been so damn’ good to me. I wanted to quit, like you did. This guy that made me want to quit—he ain’t so good. But he ain’t rotten, like Hurry. I couldn’t get clear—Hurry wouldn’t let me go. I kept trying. Hurry said if I helped with this deal he’d let me out. I played along. Tonight he squealed on me.”
Gus said slowly: “To this—guy—you wanted to quit for?”
The girl nodded. Lippe spoke in a husky voice.
“That’s straight, Gus. That’s straight.”
Connors’s eyes were little blue points of fire. He said sharply:
“It’s a ——damn’ lie! It’s a frame.”
The girl shook her head. “You didn’t know how much I knew,” she said. “You came along to help Gus—and you came along to get me out of things. You didn’t think I’d have guts enough to tell him—the truth.”
Gus moved his right hand a little. “Hurry threw you over,” he said. “He got me fixed—and threw you over. He squealed about you—to the guy you wanted to quit the racket for.”
Edna said: “Damn him—I just wanted—to quit. It’s a rotten racket.”
Gus said slowly: “I think you—told the one truth, Kid.”
Connors stiffened his body; he stared up at the fight manager. He said fiercely:
“You ain’t falling for the line, Gus. For God’s sake—you don’t think—”
Gus smiled just a little. “Yeah,” he said in a soft tone. “You did the job, Connors. You talked about Giant being a good guy—but you did the job. Sure as hell—you did it.”
The girl started to cry. Gus said sharply:
“Don’t do that, Kid! Where’s Hurry—and Little Andy—”
The blonde stopped crying and looked at Gus. Her voice was broken when she spoke.
“They split up—after the kill—got out of the burg. They had coin—they didn’t leave me any—”
Connors turned his head towards the fight manager, shook it from side to side.
“Jeeze, Gus,” he breathed, “I’m tellin’ you it’s a fix! If you don’t—”
“All right,” the manager cut in softly. “All right, Connors. It’s a fix.”
The girl said: “Burke went—with them. They cleaned up plenty—and they got your—”
She stopped, said softly: “And he squealed on me. He hit me, Gus. He went to—”
Connors’s eyes were looking down towards the white surface of the table. The manager spoke in a steady tone.
“Don’t get careless, Connors. Keep your hands where I can see them. We’re just—talkin’.”
Connors swore. “She’s just—lying!” he said huskily. “She’s killing time, maybe. If we stick here they’ll walk in on—”
Gus Monkly smiled. “Edna and me—we’ve got plenty of time,” he said. “You—maybe you ain’t got so much.”
Connors’s eyes widened. His lips parted—he stared at Gus. He said:
“Now listen, Gus—I’m telling you—”
The fight manager said slowly: “Never mind, Connors. You slipped that gun to the guy working with you, in the ring. But you hung on to the towel. I got a look at it. The gas burned it a little. I couldn’t be sure about that, so I played along. I treated you like you were a white guy, Connors.”
His voice got suddenly hard. “But that’s done now. You killed, Connors—and you won’t get free. Maybe the others won’t, either. You can’t tell. I don’t know about that. But
I know about you!”
Connors relaxed in the chair and stared at the fight manager. He shook his head slowly. An amazed smile showed in his eyes.
“You’re falling for her line!” he said hoarsely. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t falling for—”
His body moved forward—the table came up from the floor. The girl screamed as the white surface battered against her head. Gus Monkly stepped to one side and squeezed the gun trigger.
The bullet ricocheted from the iron leg nearest him. Connors’s gun crashed. Gus felt a hot pain over his left thigh. He squeezed the trigger a second time. Connors cried out. But his gun crashed again.
Gus Monkly felt as though he had been lifted away for a little while—hot waves ran through his body. He saw the body of Connors roll clear of the fallen table. He leveled the muzzle and squeezed the trigger until the gun was silent. He looked at the girl. She was sprawled on the floor, her face white.
He said to Lippe, very weakly: “She’s just—knocked cold—fix her up.”
He went over and looked down at Connors. The handler’s eyes were half closed—already they had a stare in them.
Gus said in a whisper: “You can’t fix him up—”
Lippe was muttering words Gus couldn’t understand. He walked slowly past the fat man, went into the hallway. It took him time to get the lock turned. When he reached the street the air felt good. There was a bluish light down near the docks—he moved in that direction. His body felt like something that didn’t belong to him. There was a moving coldness down his thighs. He walked a little like a drunken man.
When he reached the bluish light there was a lunch-wagon below it. It took him time to climb the three steps and get inside. A lean-faced man looked at him and grinned. Gus said weakly:
“Pack of—Camels—light me one—will you?”
The lean-faced man stared at him. Gus got his right hand inside a pocket, and tossed a half dollar on the counter. He said hoarsely:
“Make it—fast—”
There was a pounding in his ears that sounded a lot like the knockdown timekeeper’s mallet, hitting the wood, in the Garden. The lunch-wagon proprietor was fumbling with a pack of cigarettes. It was cold inside the place.
