“Get out of here,” she whispered.
He said, “We’re going to have a little talk.” He took from his pocket the camera and showed it to her. Then he produced the photo and showed that to her as well. She lay quite still, her eyes black with hate.
“I know who killed Cattley now,” he said. “Whoever had the camera rubbed Cattley, I knew that. I had only to find the camera to burst this open. You played your hand very badly, didn’t you?”
She said, “Get out of here, you sonofabitch.”
Duffy’s mouth set in a hard grin. “When I do,” he said, “the cops are moving in.”
She sat up suddenly in the bath, slopping the water, over the edge with her violence. “You can’t pin this on me,” she said; her breathless voice was shrill. “Find Cattley and see.”
Duffy raised his eyebrows. “So you shifted him, have you?” he said.
He watched her hand moving slowly over to a transparent bottle, standing on a shelf just above her. He saw it contained ammonia. He took the gun from his waist and showed it to her. “I’d like to give you another navel,” he said softly. “Make a move like that and you’ll be able to play the penny whistle on yourself.”
Her hand dropped into the water again. He stood up. “Come out of that,” he said. “There’s lots we got to talk about.”
She climbed out of the bath and grabbed a bath-robe, which she hastily wrapped round herself. Her eyes were like pinpoints Duffy said, “I’ll give you five minutes to fix yourself up, then come out quietly. Don’t start anything I’m leaving the door open.”
He stepped out of the bathroom backwards. A new voice said, “Drop that gun.”
Duffy stood quite still. The voice said, “Go on, put the gun on the floor Don’t turn round vet until you’ve got rid of the gun.”
Duffy put the gun down carefully on the floor at his feet and turned his head. Murray Gleason was standing quite close to him. His hard grey face was cold. He held a Luger in his hand.
Annabel said, “He knows too much.”
Gleason nodded. “So it seems,” then he said, “hurry up and come out. I want you to help me with this bird.”
Duffy stood there, his hands half raised, cursing himself for being so careless. The little note-book burnt in his pocket. It looked as if he were getting into a mighty tight jam.
Gleason said, “Come away from that gun.”
Duffy turned slowly. “You don’t mind if I sit down?” he said, moving over to an arm-chair. “Something tells me that I’m going to need a little rest.”
Gleason watched him. “Don’t pull anything,” he said.
Duffy took a cigarette from the box on the table and thumbed the table lighter. He sat down, keeping his hands on the chair arms. He thought Gleason was a trifle jumpy. There was a little twitch going on at the corner of his mouth.
“You’ve pointed a gun at me before,” he said.
“That was unfortunate. We were interrupted.” Gleason sat on the corner of the table, swinging a long thin foot.
Annabel came out of the bathroom. She stood near Gleason. Her face was very hard, and her eyes were frightened.
Duffy looked at her, then he said, “What now?”
Gleason said, “I want that note-book.”
Duffy nodded. “Sure, I can understand that. I told you before, it’s in the mail.”
Annabel said breathlessly, “He’s lying.”
Duffy shrugged. “You think so? Ask yourself, what would you do? I guessed it was important, so I put it in an envelope and posted it to an address in Canada. When I want it, I just write for it.”
Gleason’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe we could persuade you to write for it.”
Duffy mashed the cigarette into the tray. “Meaning what?”
“We’ve got ways….”
“Be your age. You can’t scare me. Do you think anything you can do to me would pry me loose from something I want? If you want to have that book, talk terms.”
Gleason let the barrel of the Luger fall a shade. It pointed at Duffy’s waistcoat.
“How much?” he said.
Annabel said. “You mad?”
Gleason frowned at her. “Let me handle this.”
Duffy studied his finger-nails. “What’s it worth to you?” he said at last.
Gleason showed his teeth in a little grin. “I’d pay five hundred dollars for it,” he said casually.
Duffy got to his feet slowly. “Okay,” he said, “if that’s all you rate it, why bother?”
Gleason jerked up the gun. “Sit down,” he said, his voice suddenly harsh.
Duffy just looked at him. “Wake up, louse,” he said evenly. “You’ve got nothing on me. That heater don’t mean anything now.”
Annabel said with a little hiss, “Shoot him low down.”
Duffy glanced at her. “Hell,” he said. “At one time I got a kick out of looking at you, you murderous little bitch.”
Gleason got to his feet and stood hesitating. His face was almost bewildered. Duffy said to him, “I’m on my way. When you want that note-book back, give me a ring. I’m in the book.”
Gleason said, “Wait.”
Duffy shook his head. He wandered to the door. “You won’t get anywhere by letting the gun off. You’ll never find the book without me being around.”
Gleason’s arm dropped to his side. “Well, five grand,” he said with an effort.
Duffy shook his head, he opened the door. “Don’t rush it,” he said, “take your time. Think about it. I’ll wait.” He pulled the door behind him and walked to the elevator. He suddenly felt very tired and his brain refused to think. He slid the grille and stepped into the elevator and pressed the ground-floor button.
Outside, he beckoned to a yellow cab, and in a short time he was again climbing the stairs to McGuire’s apartment. He opened the door with his key and went in. The clock on the mantelpiece stood at 1.45. He tossed his hat on the sofa and wandered over to the apple-jack, that was still standing on the table. The bottle was light; it was nearly empty. He made a little face. Then he drained the bottle and put it down on the table again. He held his breath for a moment, then gently puffed out his cheeks. The stuff was good.
He stood perfectly still and listened. The apartment was very silent, except for a faint rumbling of Sam’s snores. He lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the fireplace, then remembering Alice, he went over and picked it up, putting it carefully in the ash-tray.
With legs that felt rubbery with fatigue, he walked to the spare room and gently opened the door. The room was in darkness. He could hear Olga breathing softly.
He felt his way cautiously to the bed and flipped on the small reading-lamp, then he sat down on the bed gently.
Olga started up, her fists clenched and her lips formed into an “O”. Duffy put his hand gently on her mouth. “Okay,” he said softly. “Take it easy.”
She looked at him and then lay back. “You scared me silly,” she said.
“Quiet,” he said, “I don’t want the others to wake.”
She looked from him to the clock and then back at him again. “It’s so late… what is it?”
“Things are happening,” he said. “I gotta talk to you. You know the spot you’re in, don’t you? Max has been knocked off. Someone paid him a visit and slit his throat for him.”
The pupils of her eyes became very big. “You mean—?”
“I’m going to start from the beginning. Then you gotta fill in the gaps.” He lay back a little, resting on his elbow. His battered face was drawn with fatigue. She suddenly felt a little pang of compassion for him.
“Take off your shoes and lie here beside me.”
He shook his head. “I’d go to sleep,” he said. “Now listen. There’s a redhead called Annabel English, she’s the daughter of Edwin English, the politician. She’s wild and bad. One of her boy friends is this guy Weidmer. She has dealings with Cattley. This punk called on her and she tossed him down the elevator shaft. Right
, before we go any further, you gotta tell me all you know about Cattley.”
She said in a low voice, “Cattley was mixed up in a big dope traffic. He started off in a small way, peddling the stuff and taking a rake-off. That was when I knew him. Then he got big and began to make money. Weidmer was his boss. Gleason was the big shot. Cattley got tired of taking orders and he stole the list of customers——”
“Stop!” Duffy’s voice sounded like the snap of a steel trap. He took the little note-book from his pocket and put it on the coverlet before her. “Is this the list?”
Her startled face told him. “So that’s it,” he said. He thumbed the book through. “Why, these guys can’t operate without this list… the dope buyers must be hopping mad.” He shut his eyes and tried to think.
“How… how did you get that?” she asked.
He opened his eyes. “I got it from Cattley’s joint. Annabel came down to look for it, and I took it off her. This makes things pretty clear. Hell! They certainly operated in a big way. Look at those names, for God’s sake.”
She put her hand on his arm. “They’ll get it away from you,” she said, fear coming into her eyes. “It means millions to them.”
Duffy turned on his elbow and looked at her. His tired eyes searched her face. “You know,” he said, speaking slowly, “years ago, I used to think of being in a spot like this. To have the chance of grabbing a million dollars from a bunch of toughs. Well, I’ve got my chance. I’m going to play the ends against the middle.”
“What do you mean?”
“If they find you’ve squawked, you’re going to be washed up. I like you, honey. Will you come in on this with me?”
Her eyes became shrewd again. “How?”
“This guy Morgan,” Duffy said, “you ain’t heard about him. I can’t quite see how he fits, except he’s looking for easy dough.”
She looked blank. “Morgan?”
Quickly and with economy, he told her about Morgan and the three toughs. “They thought they’d blackmail Annabel. It’d be good enough to publish a photo of Cattley and Annabel to upset old man English. I thought it was deeper than that. Gee! I gave her the benefit and thought they killed Cattley to pin it on her. All the time she had killed Cattley herself, and I was sucker enough to help her shift the body. Anyway, that’s her funeral now. I’m selling the book to the highest bidder.”
Olga said, “Why should Morgan want to buy it?”
Duffy grinned. “Use your head,” he said. “This crowd here,” he tapped the note-book, “is lousy with dough. They’d pay anything to hush up scandal. How’d it look if it got round that they traded in dope?”
She leant back in the bed and brooded. Then she said, “I believe you’ve got something.”
Duffy put the note-book away. “You bet I’ve got something,” he said. “Why not? Why the hell shouldn’t I make a little dough out of these punks? Why shouldn’t you?”
“How much will it be?” she asked.
“Fifty grand, hundred grand, anything.”
She lay back flat, and ran her fingers through her thick hair. Duffy thought she was a very nice broad indeed. “We could do a lot with that money, couldn’t we?” she said, her voice thrilling.
Duffy patted her hand. “Yeah,” he said, “we could do a lot.” He glanced at the clock and got stiffly to his feet. “I’m going to have a little sleep. There’s action coming.”
She put her hand on his arm. “You look so tired,” she said.
He dug up a grin. “You’re dead right, sister.”
She lay there, her eyes very bright, and he could see the sudden rising and falling of her breasts under the sheet. She said, looking into his eyes, “I could make you better. Won’t you come?”
He sat down on the bed again. “You’re swell,” he said. “Not tonight. Tomorrow we’ll get out of here.” He paused, then he nodded his head to the next room. “They’re nice people. It wouldn’t be fair on them. Tomorrow.”
He put his hand against her face. “Didn’t you think Alice was swell?” He stepped away from the bed. “They mustn’t know about this. This is between you and me.”
She watched him go from the room, then turned out the light. She lay in the dark a long time, before she fell asleep.
PART TWO
It Finishes
CHAPTER IX
DUFFY STEPPED INTO ROSS’S garage and looked round the dim shed. Ross came out of the little office at the far end of the shed. He was big and fat, with a glistening rubbery face. He plodded over the oily concrete, waving a short thick arm.
“Don’t tell me,” he wheezed when he saw Duffy. “Let me guess.”
Duffy drew his lips off his teeth in a mirthless grin. “Ain’t seen you for years,” he said.
“I bet you’re in a jam.”
Duffy shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said. “It ain’t anything like that. I want to spend some dough with you.”
Ross put his broad hand on Duffy’s arm. “Well, well,” he began, leading Duffy to the office. “I’ve got a bottle in there that’ll suit you.”
Duffy sat down in a basket chair and looked round the small box-like room. Ross nearly filled it.
“Gettin’ mighty hot, ain’t it?” Ross said, bringing out a black bottle from his desk cupboard. He wiped the mouth of the bottle on his shirt-sleeve and pushed it over to Duffy. “You be careful of that liquor,” he went on, “that’s Tiger’s sweat okay.”
Duffy took a swig, rolling the liquor round his mouth before swallowing. Then he grunted a little. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s fierce.”
Ross took the bottle from him and raised it to his lips. Duffy watched his Adam’s apple jump in his fat throat. Ross put the bottle on the table, wiped his wet mouth on the back of his hand, and hitched his chair forward a little. “Now, what’s the business?”
Duffy lit a cigarette and rolled another across the table to Ross. “You still got that old Buick around?” he asked.
Ross’s little eyes opened a trifle. “You mean the armoured one?”
“That’s it.”
Ross nodded. “Sure I’ve got it.”
“Does she run?”
Ross grinned’. “Does she run? Listen, all my cans run. That bus’s as good as new.”
Duffy said, “I want to rent her for a bit.”
Ross shrugged. “That’s okay,” he said simply. “Why not have my Packard? Now that’s a swell job.”
Duffy shook his head. He got to his feet. “I want the Buick,” he said. “I might need a little protection from now on, and I’d feel a lot safer in the Buick.”
Ross said, “I knew it, you’re in a jam.”
“Show me the wagon.”
Ross led him out into the shed again. “That’s her.”
The Buick was just an ordinary-looking car, slightly shabby in the body, although she had been freshly washed down. Duffy looked her over thoughtfully. “Sell her to me,” he said at last.
Ross took a quick look over his shoulder, then plodded over. “She looks the berries, don’t she?” he said. He opened the door. “You try that.”
Duffy had to make a strong effort to get the door to shut. “That’s steel,” Ross said. “Good thick stuff, see?” He opened the door again and climbed inside. Duffy leant against the door and put his head forward.
“The guy that threw this bus together knew all about it,” Ross said, settling his hindquarters firmly on the padded seat. “The roof is armour plate. Take a look at the windows.” He rolled one down. “Looks all right from the outside, but see how thick they are.”
The glass was at least three-quarters of an inch in thickness.
“That’ll bounce a .45 slug back at the guy who sent it,” Ross said. He touched a spring in the dashboard and a small panel slid back. He put his hand inside and took out two Colt automatics. “You won’t need these,” he said. “I’ll clear them out for you.”
“Let ’em stay, they can go with the bus,” Duffy said quietly.
&
nbsp; Ross looked at him, pursed his fat mouth, then shrugged. He put the guns back. “Under the seat there’s four hundred rounds.”
Duffy said, “For the love of Mike.”
Ross grinned. “I ain’t had time to shift the stuff. It’s been in there some time.”
“It’s a fine job. Anything else?”
Ross climbed out of the car again. “The radiator grill is bullet-proof. The engine is protected with plate. The rear window rises from the bottom, so you can operate a gun if you wanted to. And the tyres are filled with puncture-healing liquid which fills any holes immediately if a slug finds its way there. That cab is certainly a swell job for trouble.”
Duffy pushed his hat to the back of his head. “Yeah, I guess it’s right up my street. What you want for her, Ross?”
Ross scratched his bald head. “What you got, buddy?” he asked. “You done things for me in the past…”
Duffy said, “I’ll give you thirty bucks a week for her.”
Ross shook his head. “Too much,” he said. “I’ll take twenty.”
Duffy took forty dollars from his pocket-book and handed them over. “I’ll take her for a couple of weeks,” he said. “Fill her up, will you?”
Ross pushed the money into his trouser pocket. “She’s ready to go.”
Duffy opened the door and got in. “I’ll be seeing you, pal,” he said.
Ross put his fat face through the window frame. “Take it easy with the cannons,” he said anxiously. “They ain’t registered, but take it easy all the same.”
Duffy nodded at him and engaged the clutch. The Buick rolled out into the street. Duffy drove to his bank, cashed a cheque for a thousand dollars, checked his deposit and went back to the car again. With the thousand on him, and three thousand in the bank, he could last a little while, he thought.
Olga was waiting for him at “Stud’s Parlour", a quiet little bar just off East 154th Street. When he drove up, she ran out and he pushed open the off door for her. She got in, and he had to lean over her to slam the door shut. “That’s stiff,” she said.
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