the Hills Of Homicide (Ss) (1987)

by L'amour, Louis

  "Where is she now?"

  "She went to San Francisco about two maybe it was three weeks ago. I had a wire from her from there.- "Thanks. I'm leaving now, Milly, and the less you're seen with me the better. I'm in this up to my ears."

  "Be careful, Kip. He was always bragging to Cory about what he could do and how much he could get away with." We parted after exchanging phone numbers, and then I caught a cab and returned to the Plaza. Some of my friends were around, but I wasn't listening to the usual talk. The story would break the next day about Garzo's murder, but in the meantime I had much to do.

  The one thing I had to begin with was Rock himself. He had always been strictly on the level. I knew that from years of knowing him, but the police would not have that advantage. At the Crystal Palace, he must have stumbled into something that was very much out of line. The arrival of Ben Altman must have proved something he only suspected. I might be wrong about that, but Altman had certainly triggered something in Garzo's thinking.

  During the war and the years that followed, I had seen little of my old friends on the Coast, so I knew little about the activities of Garzo, Altman or any of the others.

  "What are you so quiet about?" Harry asked. Harry was the bartender, and he had been behind bars in that part of town for nearly forty years. There was very little he didn't know, but very little he would talk about unless he knew you well, and that meant no more than four or five people in town.

  "Remember Rocky Garzo? He was killed tonight. I used to work out with the guy."

  "Isn't he the brother of that kid that was shot about a year ago?" Harry asked. ''You know? Danny Garzo? He was shot by the police in some sort of a mix-up. Somebody said he was on the weed."

  On the weed . . . the reefer racket . . . Ben Altman .. . things were beginning to fall into place. I left my drink on the bar. I wasn't much of a drinker, anyway, and I had some calls to make.

  Bill would be on the job at the News office. As expected, it was on the tip of his tongue. "Danny Garzo? Eighteen years old, supposedly hopped up on weed and knifed some guy in a bar and then tried to shoot it out with the police. He was Garzo's brother."

  "What do you know about Ben Altman? I hear he's a big man in the rackets now?"

  "Brother" I could fairly see the seriousness in his face "if you want to live to be an old man, forget it. That's hot! Very, very hot!"

  "Then keep your eyes and ears open, because I am going to walk right down the middle of it. Incidentally, if your boys haven't got it already', Rocky Garzo was murdered. They just found the body.

  Rocky's brother, high on marijuana, got himself killed when, according to the report, he had gone off his head and started cutting people. Marijuana was tricky stuff. The strength could vary from area to area, and nobody knew what they were really getting until it was used.

  Rock Garzo had loved his brother. I remembered the kid only as somebody who played ball in the streets, a dark-eyed, good-looking youngster. Evidently, Rock had started out looking for the source of the weed. His looking took him to the Crystal Palace, and then Altman comes in, recognizes Garzo, and has a hunch why he's there. Maybe more than a hunch. Maybe he had come there to check on something, a tip, maybe, that Garzo was asking questions or showing too much interest. Garzo leaves at once, and a short time later he is dead.

  Maybe that was right and maybe wrong. If I could tie it to Altman, I'd have something. If I had the right hunch, I had another hunch that Mooney wouldn't be far behind me. It was a job for the law, and I believe in letting the law handle such things. However, if I could come up with some leads because of the people I knew well, it might help.

  For two days I sat tight and nothing happened; then I ran into Mooney. He was drinking coffee in a little spot where I occasionally dropped in.

  "What happened to the Garzo case?" I asked him. His expression wasn't kind. "I'm on another case." "You've dropped it?"

  "We never drop them."

  "I think Rock had something on Ben Altman. I believe Rock was playing detective because of what happened to Danny."

  "Who are you? Sherlock Holmes? We thought of that. It was obvious, but Altman has an alibi, and so have his boys. The worst of it is, they are good alibis, and he has good lawyers. Before you arrest a man like that, you've got to have a case, not just suspicion. It looks like Altman; it could have been Altman. We would like it if it was Altman, but we're stuck."

  "Foolproof, is it?"

  Mooney studied me over his coffee cup. "Look, Kip. I know you, see? I know you from that Harley case. You have a way of barging into things that could get you killed. I like you, so don't mess with this one. And don't worry about Ben Altman. We'll keep after him."

  They would keep after him, and eventually they would get him. Crooks sometimes win battles, but they never win the war. However, I had to be back in New York, and I did not have the time to waste, and the old Rock had been a friend. I like to finish them quick, like Pete Farber.

  How about Pete Farber? Did he have an alibi? Or what about Candy Pants, the blond headwaiter?

  Then I remembered Corabelle Ryan, Milly's friend, who had known Altman. How much did she know?

  One of the greatest instruments in the world is the telephone. It may cause a lot of gray hairs in the hands of an elderly lady with nothing else to do; still, it can save a lot of legwork.

  A few minutes on the telephone netted me this. Cory was still, apparently, in San Francisco. Milly had not heard from her again. No, she had no address except that Milly had said she would be at the Fairmont for a few days.

  The Fairmont had no such party registered. Nor had anybody by that name been registered there. The mail desk did have a letter for her, but it had been picked up. The man picking it up had a note of authorization. She remembered him well a short, dark man.

  "Cory," I muttered as I came out of the booth, "I am afraid you did know something. I am afraid you knew too much."

  When it was dark, I changed into a navy blue gabardine suit and a blue and gray striped tie; then I took a cab to the Crystal Palace. I knew exactly what I was getting into, and it was trouble, nothing but trouble.

  Horace was nowhere in sight when I went in, nor was Pete Farber. I got a seat in a prominent position, ordered a bourbon and soda, and began to study the terrain. If all went as expected before the evening was over, they would try to bounce me out of there.

  The door from the office opened, and Horace emerged, talking to Farber. They both saw me at the same moment. As they saw me, the door opened, and two men walked in. Between them was Milly.

  That did not strike me at first, but the next thing did. They did not stop at the hatcheck counter.

  Now no nightclub, respectable or otherwise, is going to let two men and a woman go back without checking something without at least an attempt. The girl just looked at them and said nothing. That meant they were employees of the place or somebody close to the management. That last was the order I bought.

  Particularly when I took a second look at Milly's face. If ever I saw a girl who was scared to death, it was Milly Casey. They started past me, headed for the office, and I knew Milly was in trouble.

  Behind me, I heard a grunt of realization and knew Pete Farber was coming for me. The moment needed some fast work. Just as the two men came abreast of my table, I got up quickly.

  "Why, hello! Don't I know your I smiled at her. "You're the girl I met at the Derby. Why don't you all sit down and let me buy drinks?"

  "We're busy! This is a private matter. We've no time for a drink, bud, so roll your hoop."

  Pete's arm slid around my neck from behind, which I had been expecting. Pete was never very smart that way. With my left hand, I reached up and grabbed his hand, my fingers in his palm, my thumb on the back, and with my right hand I reached back and grabbed Pete's elbow. It was a rapid, much-rehearsed move, and as I got my grip, I dropped quickly to one knee and whipped Pete over my shoulder.

  He had been coming in, and I used his impetus.
He went over flying and hit the table in front of me with a crash; the table collapsed like a sick accordion and with about the same sound. Being on my knees, I grabbed the legs of the nearest man with Milly and jerked hard. His head hit the table when he fell, and I was up fast to see Milly break away and the other man clawing at his hip. It was a bad move, leaving him as open as a Memphis crap game, and I threw my right down the groove with everything on it but my shoelaces. When a man grabs suddenly at his hip, his face automatically comes forward. His did, and brother, it was beautiful!

  His face came forward as if it had a date with my fist, and it was a date they kept. You could have heard the smack of that fist clear into the street, and his feet went from under him as if they'd been jerked from behind. He went down to all fours. Naturally, I didn't kick him. In police reports that might not look good, so when I sort of bent over him, my knee sort of banged into his temple. It was what might have been termed a fortuitous accident. Garzo had gone out the back door, so there must have been one. Grabbing Milly, I started for it. Blond Horace was somewhere behind me, and he was screaming. My last glimpse of the room was one I'd not soon forget. It was the face of a big Irishman, built like a lumberjack, who was staring down at those three hoodlums with such an expression of admiration at the havoc I'd wrought that it was the finest compliment a fighting man could receive.

  The kitchen clattered and banged behind us, then the door.

  We raced down the alley. We reached the street, slowing down, but just as we reached it, a car swung in and stopped us cold.

  It was a shock to them and to us, but I'll hand it to Ben Altman. He thought fast, and there was no arguing with the gun in his mitt. "Get in," he said. "You're leaving too soon "Thanks," I told him. "Do you mind if we skip this one We've got a date, and we're late."

  "I do mind," he said. He was taking it big, like in the movies. "We can't have our guests leaving so early; Especially when I came clear across town to see the lady. Milly had a grip on my fingers, and that grip tightened spasmodically when he spoke. She had heard about him from Cory, but that gun was steady. Had it been aimed at me, I'd have taken a chance.

  A bullet has to hit a bone or go right through the heart or head to stop you, and well, I'd have gambled.

  "Suppose you take us along?" I said. "The cops will be riding your tail within an hour."

  Ben Altman smiled. "I'll have an alibi."

  Footsteps came up the alley behind me, and then a gun was jammed into my back so hard it peeled hide. "Get moving!" It was Pete Farber.

  Milly was beside me as they walked us back to the club. She was tense and scared, but game. Just why they wanted her, I did not know. Maybe they believed she knew something, being a friend of Corabelle's.

  Back in the office at the Crystal Palace, the two hoods I'd worked over came in. Rather, one walked in, the other was half carried.

  So there we were: Ben Altman, his three stooges, Milly and myself.

  Now Benny was a lad who could scrap a little himself, and with Benny, I had an old score to settle. He got a decision over me in the ring once although I'd had him on the floor three times in the first four rounds. He had a wicked left, and I think on any other night I could have beaten him. On the night that counted, I did not do well enough after that fast start, and it always griped me because Ben Altman was a fighter I had never liked.

  "Looks like you banged the boys around a little," Ben said. "But they'll have their innings before this night is over."

  "What's the matter, Ben? Do you have to hire your . Agnting done now?"

  He did not like that, and he walked over to me, staring at me out of those white blue eyes. "I could take you any day ,the week and twice on Sunday, so why bother now?" "With the right referee you could," I agreed, "but there isn't any referee now."

  He ignored me and walked over to Milly. "Where's the diary?" he demanded. When he asked that question, a great light broke over me. Why had I not thought of that? Cory had kept a diary!

  "I don't know anything about it." Milly held her head up and faced him boldly, proudly. I never saw anybody more poised. "If Cory kept a diary, she certainly never showed it to me. Why don't you ask her?"

  Altman's face was ugly. "You'll tell me," he said, "or I'll break every bone in your body!"

  "He can't ask Cory," I said, "because he murdered her."

  Milly's face paled, and her eyes widened a little. Altman turned on me. "Shut up, damn you!- he shouted.

  "Had help, I'll bet." I was trying to distract his attention from Milly. "Ben never saw the day he could whip a full-grown woman."

  He wheeled on me, his face a mask of fury, and he lashed out with a wicked left. He wasn't thinking or reasoning, he just peeled that punch off the top of the deck and threw it at me, and I rolled my head, slipping the punch and letting it go past my ear.

  "Missed," I said. "Your timing is off, Ben."

  With a kind of whining yelp, he wheeled and grabbed a gun from a drawer and brought it up, his face white to the lips. In that instant, my life wasn't worth the flip of a coin, but Pete grabbed him.

  "Not here, Ben! These walls are almost soundproof, but they could hear a gun. Let's get him out of here."

  Ben must have caught the expression on Milly's face from the corners of his eyes, because he turned on her. "Why, no, Pete," Altman was himself again. "Well keep him here. I think he'll be the way to make this babe talk. She might get very conversational when we start burning Morgan's toes.

  Milly Casey, cute as she could be usually, looked sick and scared. "Now tell us where the diary is and we'll let you both go."

  "Don't tell him a thing, Milly. That diary is our ace in the hole."

  Farber gave me a disgusted look. "Shut up! Don't you realize when you're well off?"

  "Sure, and I'd like it if Ben blew his top again and started shooting. We'd have the law all over the place in minutes, quicker than you could trip a blind man.

  Altman was mad, but he was cold mad now, and he was thinking. He had a temper, but he had more than an ounce of brains.

  As for me, I was sure I had guessed right. Corabelle had been murdered, but was her murder as well covered as that of Garzo? If it had happened out of town, as seemed likely, it might not have gone off so smoothly. It was an idea. Also, two men had done the job on Garzo which two?

  As if in reply to my question, the short, dark man who had been with Altman came into the room, and I saw the side of his face. He had been one of them. Who used the knife?

  Altman? That did not seem logical, as Altman was too smart to do his own work. He was a fist and gun man, not apt to use a knife. Yet the man had been tall with broad shoulders and who else fitted that but Ben?

  "Let's get them out of here," Altman said changing his mind suddenly. "Well take them where we can do as we like. If they don't talk, well just get rid of them and hunt for the diary. After all, how many hiding places can there be?" "It must be in the place where this babe lived," Pete suggested.

  "Now," Ben Altman said.

  "Okay, boss, with pleasure!" The blackjack sapped me behind the ear, and I went down hard. I faded and must have gone limp as a wet necktie, but I wasn't quite out because I remember hearing them complaining about my weight.

  Next I knew, I was on the floor of a car. They had their feet resting on me, and we were driving. I'd passed out again, because we were already climbing, and I thought I could smell pines. This time, they were really taking us out into the country. All that was happening was like a foggy dream through which a few rays of intelligence found their way.

  When I became conscious again, I could hear a faint sound as of someone not far from me, but I kept my eyes closed. I was lying on a floor with my cheek against it.

  "Leave him with the babe," Farber was saying. "Let's rustle some chow."

  "Is he still out cold? I haven't looked at him."

  "He's cold," Pete said. '. I clipped him good, and I'd been wanting to do just that."

  They went out and cl
osed the door, and I opened my eyes to slits. They were scarcely open when hands touched me, and I let them close again, liking the hands. Very gently, I was turned over, and praise be, I'd had the sense to keep my eyes closed, for in the next minute, my head was lifted, and Milly was kissing me and calling me a poor, dear fool.

  Now in one sense, the term is unflattering, but when a good-looking girl holds your head and kisses you, who is to complain? I stayed right in there, taking it very gamely, until, inspired by what was happening, I decided it was time to do something about it and responded.

  Milly let out a gasp and pulled away. "Oh, you I" "Ssh!" I whispered. "They'll hear you."

  "Oh, you devil! You were awake all the timer "Yes, thank the Lord, but Milly, if I was dead and you started fussing over me like that, I'd climb right out of the coffin!"

  She was blushing, so to ease her embarrassment, I asked, "How many of them are there?"

  "Two. Pete Farber and the one called Joe. They're waiting for Ben Altman to come back. "Kip, what are we going to do?"

  "I wish I knew." I sat up, and my head swam. "If we could get away from here and lay hands on that diary, Mooney could do the rest. Do you know where we are?' A quick look around the room had indicated there was nothing there to be used as a weapon. Carefully, I got to my feet, leaning against the wall as the room seemed to spin.

  We had no time. Once Altman 'returned, and I had no doubt he was searching Milly's apartment for the diary, we simply would have no chance.

  "Open the door and walk out there. I'll wait by the door. You go out and turn on the charm. Tell them you're hungry, too, and then keep out of the way."

  She went without a second's hesitation, and as she stepped through the door, I heard her say, "What's the matter? Do I have to starve, too? Why don't you give a girl a break?" "Eat!" Farber's voice was hearty. "Sure! Come on out, babe! It may be hours before the boss gets back, and maybe we could make a deal, you an' me." I could imagine the smirk on his face. "I don't think the boss is goin' about this in the right way."

  "You'd better have a look," Joe warned, "and see if the chump is still bye-bye."