“Give it to me straight,” I said. “What have I got—that you want?”
Her dark eyes narrowed on mine. She didn’t speak. I looked at her.
“Where’s Christenson?” I asked.
She got off the bed, went a few feet away, sat down in a low-backed, ornate chair. She reached somewhere inside her negligee and showed me an automatic. It looked like a thirty-two. It wasn’t equipped with a silencer.
“Chris went out,” she said quietly. “He’s got things to do. But that doesn’t help you any. A good lawyer kept me outside of walls—the last time I used a gun. It can happen again.”
I pulled myself back until I could brace my head against the wood that rose above the covers. I smiled at her.
“That’s right. Maybe it was the lawyer—maybe it was your looks. I don’t remember the case.”
“It didn’t happen in this country,” she said simply.
Her body jerked a little—she looked confused, then mad. I nodded.
“Maybe they’re more sentimental in South America,” I suggested.
She tried to appear puzzled. I asked her the same question again. “What have I got that you want?”
Her voice was hard. “Listen, Ourney—we played along with you. Now we’re working against time. Chris wanted to give you more of the same dose—when you came out of it. I got him away. You owe me something.”
I felt the raised places on my head. They hurt when I touched them.
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But what?”
She shifted slightly in her chair. There was anger showing in her eyes now. She held the automatic in her right hand—but she didn’t hold it loosely.
“You did for Herb Steiner,” she said slowly. “I can turn you up for it.”
I tried a chuckle. “You know damn well you can’t,” I told her.
She was breathing heavily—her lips made almost a straight line. I could see the curves of her body. She was nice to look at. She smiled suddenly.
“You’re tough, Mal,” she said. “You’re hard to get along with. But I like you, just the same. Supposing you and I made a duck for it. I know a nice place near Ligonier, up in the mountains—”
I kept my eyes on hers, scraped the fingers of my right hand over a cover, kept quiet for several seconds.
“Just the two of us—” Her voice was soft, persuasive. “Jeez, Mal—we could have it nice.”
I nodded a little, keeping my eyes on her oval face. She was breathing heavily.
“I know a cabin up there—it would be worthwhile—”
“You’re beautiful,” I cut in, and put everything I had into the words. “But I can’t see it, kid—”
“Just the two of us—” she repeated. “Listen, Mal—I’m sick of all this. It’s too tough—for me. It isn’t my racket. The first time I saw you—”
I never took my eyes from hers. “You make it sound like something,” I breathed. “You wouldn’t cross me up?”
She leaned toward me from the chair. The skin of her face was soft, close to mine. She was making it nice.
“Cross you up? God, Mal—I’m sick of this! Up there we could forget the whole thing. I know a way out—for just—the two of us.”
“Chris might—find us,” I said slowly.
She shook her head. “He won’t. I swear he won’t, Mal. And the others—they won’t. You know who I mean. It’ll just be the two of us—up there—”
“You’re—making it sound pretty,” I said, keeping my eyes on hers. “A fellow’d be lucky—”
“Mal!” She was very close to me now. “Don’t you—want me—”
I took my left hand away from the bed covers and gripped her right wrist. My right hand went for her throat, got a grip, swung her off the chair and to the bed. She tried to scream—and choked. I got part of my body weight on her body, twisted the automatic from her fingers, got my left hand on her throat, too. She was gasping—her body was twisting. I tightened the grip of both hands.
Her eyes were staring into mine. I eased up a little on the grip.
“If you—yelp—I’ll finish the job,” I warned, breathing hard.
Her body relaxed. There was appeal in her eyes now. Waves of dizziness swept over me—the effort was a tough one.
“Once more—” I whispered—“what have I got—you want?”
She started to shake her head. I moved the fingers of both hands. She twisted—and I tightened the grip. Then her body relaxed again. I loosened my grip, kept my eyes close to hers.
“The big ones—the five—” she breathed weakly. “The green ones—that count.”
I looked away from her, toward the other room. Five emeralds—that counted. Big stones—money stones. She wasn’t lying now, I knew that.
“Where did Christenson go?” I asked.
There was sudden fear in her eyes. She lifted fingers and tried to take mine away from her white throat. I shook my head.
“You were trying to cross me,” I reminded her. “Now come through. If you don’t—”
“He went—to make—arrangements—” Her voice was weak, rasping.
I felt sorry for her, but I didn’t show it.
“What arrangements?” I asked.
“Funeral—for Steiner.”
I stared at her. “How does Herb figure?” I asked.
She didn’t want to answer. I shifted my position, swung both legs over the side of the bed, pulled her head close to mine.
“Don’t stall,” I gritted. “Sure as Christ—I’ll finish you—”
“He figures—big,” she said. “He gets—a big ride—” I loosened my fingers, took them away from her throat, picked up the automatic. It was a thirty-two. She lay back on the bed and rubbed her throat. She wasn’t crying.
“Chris’ll—kill me,” she said brokenly. “He’ll kill me!”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “Or maybe I’ll do the job first. It all depends on your answers. Don’t hold out—just answer. Don’t lie. I can tell about that. Some of the answers—I know. Who shot Wirt Donner?”
She opened her eyes and looked into mine.
“Herb Steiner,” she said in a whisper. “I gave it to you straight.”
“Why?” I asked.
“He didn’t know—until after he’d told Virgie Beers the game—that she was playing with Herb, too. He was afraid—he’d heard Donner was going straight—”
I remembered Steiner’s last words. They had been a repeated name—Virgie’s. She had played with both Steiner and Wirt Donner. And Ben Garren—she had been at his place.
“Where did Steiner come in?” I asked.
She hesitated. “He was just out, you know that. He handled things—”
I smiled a little. “It’s too slow,” I said. “If Christenson comes back here—I’ll kill him. I’ll have to. Talk fast—and I’ll get out. You can come—after you talk—if you want.”
She nodded. “He’d kill me,” she said again.
I believed that. “Cherulli and the Mullens mulatto took Malendez for a lot of green ice,” I said. “They shoved him in the East River, over at New York. A boat’s propeller smashed him up. What did they get?”
She moved her head, looked toward the outer room. There was dull fear in her eyes. The fingers of her right hand were still at her throat.
“You’ve got to let—me get away,” she breathed.
I nodded. “I haven’t got to—but I will,” I told her. “After you talk. What did Cherulli and the mulatto get?”
“Plenty.” Her voice was better now, clearer. “The five big ones—worth fifty grand apiece. I’ve seen two of them—”
“Where?” I cut in.
“Puerto Colombia, down in South America. That’s where the green stones come from—most of them.”
I nodded again. “You and Christenson were tailing Malendez—down there?”
Anger showed in her eyes.
I said: “Don’t do that—talk! If I get my fingers on your throat again they’ll stay there until you�
�re out.”
“He got clear—we came up. He was playing the clubs in New York. Mostly Angel’s place.”
“Who sent you down to South America?” I asked. “You and Christenson—you’re out of New York.”
She nodded. There was no color in her face.
“I don’t know—who sent us down,” she said. “That’s straight. Christenson had plenty of coin—we did things right. Someone down there had a tip on Malendez. He was spending a lot. He was showing the green stones—talking.”
She broke off, shuddered. Her eyes went toward the other room.
“Who’s Christenson?” I asked.
She shook her head again. “He’s hard, cold,” she said. “I met him in Chi. He damn near killed me when we let Malendez get out of Colombia, got up here too late. He will kill me—”
“Cherulli got yellow,” I interrupted. “He passed the stuff to Dot Ellis. She was to get it on me, and I wasn’t to know that I had it. Then, when things blew over, she was to get it back. She talked—and Ben Garren went after the stones. Where did he come in?”
She narrowed her dark eyes. “Chris knew him,” she said.
I swore softly. Christenson was important. He had worked Garren against Cherulli and Dot Ellis—and Wirt Donner. But Steiner had been more important. “You got fourteen stones—the ones you traded for the one I picked up near Carrie Donner’s body,” I said. “How?”
She didn’t want to answer that. I moved my right hand a little. Fear caught her. Fingers could hurt, and silence.
“You had Chris trailing Virgie and Carrie Donner. Virgie made a getaway, inside the hotel. Chris got to the Donner woman. She had the little stones. He got most of them—then he called you.”
She nodded. “He bossed the mob-out job?” I asked.
She said slowly: “I don’t know. Even if you kill me for it—I don’t know.”
I got off the bed, backed away a little shakily. I felt bad. My whole head was sore, aching. My eyes weren’t clear.
“Somewhere between Cherulli and Carrie Donner—five stones were lost,” I said slowly. “The big stones. Fifty grand each. That’s what you and Christenson think I’ve got?”
She nodded. “I planted the stones, the little ones, on you. He called the bulls—using some dick’s name. A New York dick, I think. He figured you’d give us the plant if he made a play to get you off. It didn’t work.”
I smiled. “Not quite,” I said. “You’ve been a good girl, keep it up. How about the Widow—and Butman?”
She shook her head. “Something else,” she said.
I stared down at her. “I think that’s your first lie,” I told her. “Somehow I’m letting it pass. I don’t get much kick out of fighting women. You’re too clever to be a fool. Get clear.”
She sat up a little, took her hands away from her throat.
“It’s a cinch—to say,” she said. “Ever try—getting clear?”
“What’s your name?” I asked. “If I can ever get you a break—”
She shook her head. “That’s no good,” she said. “Listen, Mal Ourney—no matter what happens to me, you take your own advice. Get clear.”
“With Herb Steiner’s funeral coming up?” I said grimly.
She narrowed her eyes on mine. “Take the stuff—and get clear,” she said. “Maybe you can pass it. Anyway, it’s pretty. But don’t stick. You’re a target—now.”
I smiled at her. “You’re not going to tell Christenson you talked like this,” I said. “You haven’t got the guts.”
She shrugged. “He’ll get it out of me,” she said. “He always does.”
I swore. “Tell him I choked you cold—when you came out of it I was gone. It’s the best out. Give me a name—the name of someone bigger than Christenson—”
She shook her head slowly. “I can’t, goddam it!” she breathed. “The name’s covered. I wish to God I could, Mal. I know about the Ellis thing—that was white. I killed a guy because he wasn’t white. I’m pretty damn crazy over you, Ourney. But I’m tangled up—I can’t get clear—”
I took the bullets out of the automatic, tossed it to her.
“You’ve got more. Fix it so it looks right,” I told her. “I suppose you’ll stick. It’s rotten business, but it’s your business.”
I backed toward the outer room. Her oval face was white in the semi-darkness of the alcove.
“Get out of this, Mal,” she called weakly. “You got yours—don’t stick—”
I went out. It took me twenty minutes to get back to the Waldron Hotel, and I spent most of the time trying to separate lies from truths. After a while I gave it up. It was too difficult, with my head feeling the way it did. And anyway, figuring out things didn’t seem to be getting me anywhere. I liked a lot of the girl’s story. But there was too much missing. That was the part I didn’t like.
2
I had an hour’s nap, used up six grains of aspirin, kept my head under cold towels for a half hour, went out and had soup that didn’t taste good—and headed for the Post-Dispatch editorial rooms. It was dark, but fairly clear. There was a snap in the air, and Liberty Street was crowded with people quitting work.
Phil Dobe was at his desk. He didn’t see me coming in. I was almost behind him when a voice reached me from somewhere behind a large file case. “Hello, Ourney—how’s things?”
I knew the voice. It was Donelly’s. He stepped around and smiled at me.
“Pretty good,” I told him. “Not that you give a damn, but just to answer the question. How’s business?”
“Rotten,” he said. “Not that you give a damn, but just to be agreeable.”
Phil Dobe swiveled around and frowned at Donelly. He spoke to me.
“He’s been digging for information, Mal—I didn’t give it. But I couldn’t kick him out.”
I smiled at Phil. “Donelly’s all right—from the neck down. And sometimes he has good ideas.”
The New York dick turned his red face toward the city editor.
“Knew you’d worked here once, Mal,” he said. “Tried all the hotels, then came over. This gentleman was so dumb I knew he was expecting you sooner or later.”
Phil Dobe got up out of his chair and moved up close to Donelly.
“Listen, bull,” he snapped, “in this town I can knock a New York copper cold—and the local force will cheer.”
Donelly grinned. “The local outfit might cheer if you could knock me cold,” he said.
I shoved in between them and told Phil that Donelly was a good guy, that he wasn’t important enough to be bad, and that he’d killed a guy for me once. Phil grunted.
“Oh, Garren,” he said. “Well, maybe he was dumber than I am.”
Donelly started to say something, but I took him by the arm and we moved away from Phil’s desk, over toward the rolltop used by the dramatic critic. That gentleman was absent.
“Anything special?” I asked. “Or just a trip to the west?”
Donelly kept smiling. “Got a wire telling me you were out here,” he said. “And some things have been happening. Thought I’d come out. How was your grandfather, over in Boston?”
I grinned. “He was out skating,” I replied. “So I didn’t wait for him to come back. When he skates—he skates.”
The New York dick nodded. “He must,” he said. “Who got Carrie Donner?”
I kept on smiling. “Still asking questions, and still working out of your district, eh? Who got Herb Steiner?”
Donelly frowned. “Eat with me—dutch treat,” he said. “I’ll tell you some things.”
I said that would be all right, and went over to Phil’s desk. I talked low.
“Went up to the Schenley—was offered fifty grand by that oval-faced kid and the bird I used as your man Quirt. The fifty was for a trip away. They think I’ve got five hunks of green ice worth fifty thousand a hunk. I said no—and Christenson blackjacked me out. Then he made a duck. When I came out of it the girl held a gun on me and tried to vamp me into telling he
r about the emeralds I haven’t got. I played up and got her by the throat. She talked some, and some of her story sounded fair enough. Part of it not so good. She said they were going to give Steiner a funeral, and that he was a pretty big guy. Sort of running things. When she started to lie, I said so long.”
Phil made marks on a piece of copy paper with a blue pencil. He whistled softly.
“Steiner was dead—when you went up there?” he asked.
I nodded. “I broke the news to them,” I told him. “They tried not to—but they took it big.”
Phil swore softly. “Watch your step,” he warned. “How about this dick?”
I shook my head. “Yes and no,” I said. “We’re going to feed together. Anything new on the Butman-Widow kills?”
He shook his head. “It’s almost dead,” he said. “Maybe it doesn’t count in this other thing, at that.”
I said maybe, but I wasn’t convinced it didn’t. Phil called me back as I turned away.
“You were around when Steiner went out,” he said. “One of the boys got a pretty fair description from a nurse. Did he say anything?”
“Not a thing,” I said. “He was pretty sick.”
Phil grunted. “Yeah,” he said. “He must have been feeling badly—just before he died.”
I told him I’d see him later, and waved to Donelly. The red-faced one followed me out. We went along Liberty until we came to a wop eating place.
“Like spaghetti?” I asked.
Donelly nodded. “If I don’t have to wind it around a fork,” he replied.
I told him he could eat it with a spoon if he wanted to; and we went inside, picked out a table in a corner, and ordered. When I took off my hat Donelly swore softly.
“You have tough luck with that head of yours,” he said.
“It feels that way,” I told him. “Steiner’s a crook; did you know that? Or he was one. I butted into a party he was on—and he slugged me down.”
The dick grinned at me. “To hell with the fairy tales,” he said, “Let’s play nice and count the lies out.”
“All right,” I replied. “Anything been happening in the big burg?”
He shook his head. The waiter came along with clam chowder for me and bean soup for Donelly.
Green Ice Page 18
