The Paul Cain Omnibus

by Cain, Paul

  “Me—I want to be cremated.” Borg was staring soberly into space. “No flowers, but plenty of music.” He glanced at Kells. “You know—Wagner.”

  Kells said: “Let’s go and see if Mister MacAlmon is in.”

  He and Faber got out of the car and they all went up the street and into the Villa Dora.

  Mister MacAlmon was in. He stood in the middle of his big, highceilinged living room with his hands in the air.

  Kells said: “I’m sorry about this. I haven’t anything against you or Hesse—if Hesse is in with you on it. But I’ve got plenty against Crotti, and plenty against your whole bloody combination. I’ve been out here five or six months and I’ve been double-crossed to death. I’m goddamned tired of it—and I need the dough.”

  MacAlmon was almost as tall as Kells. His thick brown hair was combed straight back from a high narrow forehead, and his eyes were dark, sharp.

  He said: “This is plain robbery. How far do you think you’re going to get with it?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Kells looked at the stack of currency on the table. “I’ll have the Federal narcotic squad on their way out here in two minutes—and I’ll see that you’re here when they get here. Then all they’ll have to do is wait for the stuff to come in. When you’re pinched on a dope deal that’s this big, see who you can get to listen to a squawk about money.”

  Borg was leaning against the outer door, spinning the blunt revolver around his forefinger. Faber had waited outside.

  Kells went to the telephone on a low round table, picked it up. “I’ve never called ‘copper’ on anybody in my life,” he said. “But here it is….” He spun the dial.

  MacAlmon put his hands down. He said: “Wait a minute.” He sat down in a big chair and leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He looked at Kells and his face was flushed and he tried very hard to smile. “Wait a minute.”

  Kells said into the telephone: “Information—what’s the number of the Federal Building?” He waited a moment and then said, “Thank you,” pressed the receiver down with his thumb.

  MacAlmon said: “How would you like to make twenty-five more?” He inclined his head towards the money on the table.

  “This is enough.” Kells shook his head. “All I want is a fair price for the time I’ve put in. This is it.”

  MacAlmon leaned back in the chair. “The stuff that’s being delivered here this afternoon is worth exactly twice what’s being paid for it, to me—my people,” he said. “I don’t care who gets the money—if you’ll hold off until the transfer has been made and the stuff is in my possession, I’ll give you a twenty-five grand bonus.”

  Kells said: “No.”

  Someone knocked at the door.

  Borg pressed his lips together and let his eyelids droop, shook his head sadly. He held the blunt black revolver loosely in his hand and looked at Kells.

  Kells framed the word, “Faber,” with his lips. Borg kept on shaking his head. Kells took the Luger out of his belt and crossed the room and stood close to the wall; he nodded slightly to Borg.

  Crotti and two other men came in. One of the men was carrying a big pigskin kitbag; one carried two. Crotti looked at MacAlmon and then he turned his head and looked at Borg. He hadn’t seen Kells. The man with one bag put it down on the floor, straightened. Borg closed the door.

  Kells said: “Hello.”

  The man who had been carrying one bag took one step sidewise towards Borg. At the same time he jerked an automatic out of a shoulder holster, sank to one knee and swung the automatic up toward Borg. Borg’s gun roared twice.

  Crotti had taken two or three steps forward. His head was turned towards Kells and his black wide-set eyes were big, his thick red mouth hung a little open.

  The man with two bags still stood just inside the door. His small face was entirely expressionless; he bent his knees slowly and put down the bags. The other man looked up at Borg and his face was soft and childlike and surprised; then he toppled over on his side.

  MacAlmon was standing up.

  Kells moved toward Crotti.

  Borg was standing, staring at Crotti, and his revolver was focused on Crotti, and then he moved suddenly forward, very swiftly for a fat man, and took the revolver barrel in his left hand and swung the gun back and brought it down hard on the back of Crotti’s head. Crotti was still looking at Kells. His eyes went dull and he fell down very hard.

  The man with two bags had turned and put his hand on the doorknob. Kells said, “Hey,” and the man turned and stood with his back against the door.

  Kells went to the door swiftly and reached past the man and turned the key in the lock and took it out and put it in his pocket. He went back to the table and put down the Luger, scooped the money up and stuffed it into his pockets. He glanced at MacAlmon, indicated the three kitbags with his eyes.

  “Now you’ve got it. What are you going to do with it?”

  MacAlmon was staring down at Crotti. Borg was watching the man at the door.

  Kells said: “We’re off.”

  Borg went to the man at the door and patted his pockets, felt under his arms.

  They went out through the kitchen, out through the service entrance into the hall. They heard someone pounding at the front door as they went out. They went down the hall, down the back stairs and out a side door to a small patio. At the street side of the patio, Borg stood on a bench and looked over the wall. He shook his head and stepped down and said: “The son of a bitch is gone.”

  Kells said: “Maybe we can get through to the next street.”

  They went to the other end of the patio and through a gate to a kind of alleyway that led down to Fountain. They went down the alleyway and turned west on Fountain. They went into a drugstore on the corner and Kells drank a Coca-Cola while Borg called a cab.

  While they were waiting for the cab, Kells bought some aspirin, swallowed two tablets.

  Borg said: “That’s just a habit. That junk don’t do you no good.”

  Kells nodded absently.

  In a little while the cab came along.

  Kells and Granquist and Beery and Borg sat in Kells’ room at the Lancaster.

  “Here’s the laugh of the season….” Beery tilted his chair back against the wall. “The apartment at the Miramar was in Fenner’s name. We had the maid service cut out—none of the help ever saw you there….”

  Kells finished his drink, put the glass on a table.

  Beery went on like a headline: “Fenner is being sought for questioning in connection with the Woodward murder.”

  Borg chuckled.

  “And, of course, there’s an indictment out for him for Bellmann’s shooting on the strength of the confession they found on Woodward.” Beery tilted his chair forward, reached for his glass. “The Woodward one is now being blurbed as ‘The Through the Window Murder.’”

  Kells asked: “Who found the body?”

  “Some glass from the window fell down into the driveway and somebody went up to find out who was carrying on.”

  Granquist said: “There must be something there they can trace to us.” She didn’t look very happy. She tipped her glass.

  Kells glanced at her, grinned at Beery. “Miss Pollyanna G will now recite—”

  She interrupted him: “Let’s go, Gerry—please….” She stood up.

  Kells said: “Buy us all a drink, baby.”

  He spoke to Beery: “Of course they can reach us. Woodward must have had someone standing by to go into the marked money act—I’d swear those bills are marked.” He got up and went towards the desk and said over his shoulder, “They can trace us through Doc Janis—or telephone calls—or something.”

  Beery shook his head. “They’ll be tickled to death to hang the whole thing on Fenner.”

  “Do you think they’ll be so tickled they’ll drop the case against me entirely?” Granquist turned from the table, came towards them with three tall glasses between her hands.

  Kells said: “Shep and I wil
l find out about that in about a half hour.”

  “And we’ll find out what happened at MacAlmon’s after you left.” Beery stood up and took his drink from Granquist.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Granquist froze, with a glass held out towards Borg. Beery opened the door and a porter came in.

  He smiled, nodded to Kells. “You want your luggage to go down, sir?”

  Kells said: “Yes. The trunk’s to go on the Chief tomorrow night. Put the other stuff where we can load it into a car.”

  The porter said: “Yes, sir.” He tilted the trunk and dragged it out through the door. Beery went back and sat down.

  Borg had taken his drink from Granquist. He said: “What I want to know is how the hell am I going to get my automobile.”

  Kells turned from the desk. “Will you please stop wailing about that wreck of yours?” he said. He held out a singly folded sheaf of bills and Borg reached up and took it.

  Kells went back to his chair and sat down. He tossed another sheaf of bills in Beery’s lap.

  Beery looked down at it for a moment and then he picked it up and stuck it in his pocket. He said: “Thanks, Gerry.”

  Granquist gave Kells a tall glass and he tipped it to his mouth. “Stirrup cup.”

  They all drank.

  The porter came back into the room, loaded himself down with hand luggage, and went out.

  Kells said: “We’re all in a swell spot. The baby here”—he nodded towards Granquist—“is still wanted for Bellmann’s murder—maybe. You, Shep, and I have got to go down and okay our signatures on Fenner’s confession—and maybe they’ll want to talk to me about Woodward, or what happened at MacAlmon’s. And if there’s been any squawk from MacAlmon’s they’ll be looking for Fat.” He grinned at Borg.

  Beery took a long envelope out of his inside coat pocket, turned it over several times on his lap. “If this doesn’t square any beef they can figure,” he said, “I’m a watchmaker.”

  The porter came back into the room and took up the last of the hand luggage. He said, “Shall I put these things into a cab, sir?” Kells nodded. They all finished their drinks and went out to the elevator, down to the cab stand.

  They took two cabs. Kells and Beery got into the first one. Granquist and Borg got into another, and all the hand luggage was put in with them. Kells told the driver of the second cab to keep about a half-block behind them when they stopped downtown.

  Then he went back to the other cab and got in with Beery and said: “Police Station.”

  Beery signed the affidavit and pushed it across the desk to Kells.

  Captain Larson blew his nose. He said: “You understand you both will be witnesses for the state when we get Fenner?”

  Kells nodded.

  “An’ this Granquist girl—she’s a material witness too.” The captain widened his watery blue eyes at Beery, leaned far back in his swivel chair.

  Kells read the affidavit carefully, signed.

  Larson said: “What do you know about the Woodward business?”

  “Nothing.” Kells put his elbow on the desk, his chin in his hand, stared at Larson expressionlessly. “I lost Fenner’s confession shortly after it was signed—before I could use it. Woodward evidently got hold of it some way and was trying to peddle it back to Fenner.”

  “If Fenner was in his place at the Miramar when Woodward was shot, how come he left the confession there?” Larson was looking out the window, spoke as if to himself.

  Kells shook his head slowly.

  Larson said: “I suppose you know you’re tied up with all this enough for me to hold you.” He said it very quietly, kept looking out the window.

  Kells smiled a little, was silent.

  Beery leaned across the desk. “Fenner killed Bellmann,” he said. “That’s a swell break for the administration. It’d be even a better break if all the dirt on Bellmann that the Coast Guardian published was proven to be fake—wouldn’t it?”

  Larson turned from the window. He took a big handkerchief out of his pocket, blew his nose violently, nodded.

  Beery took the long envelope out of his pocket and put it on the desk and shoved it slowly across to Larson.

  “Here are the originals of the photographs and a couple letters. You can burn ’em up and then defy the Coast Guardian people to produce them—or you can have ’em doctored so they’ll look like phoneys.”

  Larson looked down at the envelope. He asked: “Who are the Coast Guardian people?”

  Kells smiled, said: “Me—I’m them.”

  Larson slit the envelope, glanced at its contents. Then he put the envelope in the top drawer of his desk and stood up. Kells and Beery stood up too. Larson reached across the desk and shook hands with them. They went out of the office, downstairs.

  Kells said: “It looks like MacAlmon hasn’t squawked—maybe he got away with the junk after all.”

  They passed the Reporters’ Room and Beery said: “Wait a minute—maybe I can find out.” He went in and telephoned and came out, shook his head. “Nothing yet.”

  Their cab was across the street. Kells looked up First Street to where the cab that Granquist and Borg were in had been parked on the other side of Hill Street. It had gone.

  He stood there a moment looking up First, then he said, “Come on,” and they crossed the street. “What happened to the other cab?” Kells asked the driver.

  The driver shook his head. “I don’t know. It was there a minute ago, an’ then I looked up an’ it was gone.”

  Kells got into the cab, stared through the open door at Beery. His face was hard and white. “We were going to an auto-rental joint over on Los Angeles Street and hire a car and driver to take us down to San Bernardino. But she didn’t know the address—they couldn’t have gone over there.”

  Beery said: “Maybe they were in a ‘no parking’ zone and had to go around the block.”

  A short gray-haired man came out on the steps of the Police Station and called across to Beery: “Telephone, Shep—says it’s important.”

  Beery ran across the street and Kells got out of the cab and followed as fast as he could. That wasn’t very fast; his leg was hurting pretty badly. When he went into the Reporters’ Room, Beery was standing at a telephone, jiggling the hook up and down savagely, yelling at the operator to trace the call. Then he said: “All right—hurry it. This is the Police Station,” hung up and looked at Kells.

  The man who had called Beery to the phone glanced at them and then got up and went out into the hall.

  They looked at one another silently for a moment and Beery sat down on one of the little desks. He said: “They’ve got her.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know—Crotti and MacAlmon I guess. You’re supposed to do business with MacAlmon….”

  “What do you mean, business?” Kells was standing by one of the windows, his mouth curved in a hard and mirthless grin.

  “They want their hundred and fifteen, and they want it quick. I don’t know who I talked to—I couldn’t place the voice. He said the price goes up twenty-five grand a day—and they’ll send you one of her teeth every day, just to remind you….”

  Kells laughed. He looked out the window and laughed without moving his head, and the sound was cold and dry and rattling. He said: “To hell with it. Where did those saps get the idea that she means that much to me? All she’s given me is a lot of grief—I don’t want any part of her.”

  Beery sat staring at Kells with a very faint smile on his lips.

  “I’m in the clear—I’ve got mine. I’m going.” Kells went unsteadily towards the door and then he turned and held out his hand towards Beery. Beery stood up and took his hand and shook it gravely.

  Kells said: “Why, goddamn it, Shep—she’s double-crossed me a half dozen times. How do I know this isn’t another one of those trick Scandinavian gags of hers? She was Crotti’s gal in the first place….”

  Beery nodded slowly. He said: “Sure.”

  K
ells turned again towards the door. He took two or three steps and then he turned again and limped wearily over to one of the desks, sat down. He sat there for a little while staring into space. Then he said: “See if you can get MacAlmon, Shep.” Beery smiled, picked up the phone.

  There were six men in MacAlmon’s big living room at the Villa Dora. Crotti sat sidewise at a desk against one wall, leaned with one elbow on the big pink blotter that covered the desk. His thick red lower lip was thrust out, curved up at the corners in a fixed and meaningless smile.

  There were two men sitting in straightbacked chairs on the other side of the room. One was Max Hesse. He was fat, ruddy-cheeked, blond; his suit looked like it might have been cut out of a horse blanket. The other man was dark and slight. He fidgeted a great deal. He had been introduced simply as Carl.

  Kells sat in one of the big armchairs near the central table and Beery sat on the edge of the table.

  MacAlmon paced from the door to the table, back again.

  Kells said: “Certainly not. You haven’t got Granquist here—I haven’t got the dough. Turn her over to me in the open and without any haggling and you can send anyone you want to a spot I’ll give them, with an order from me. They can call you with an okay when they get the money. Then we’ll walk.”

  Crotti moved his fixed smile from MacAlmon to Kells. He said: “You are very careful.” The soft slurred impediment in his speech made it sound like a whisper.

  Kells nodded without speaking, without looking at him.

  Hesse laughed, a high dry cackle.

  MacAlmon glanced at Crotti then stopped his pacing, spoke to Kells: “She is here!” He raised his eyes to the balcony that ran across half of one side of the room. He called: “Shorty.”

  One of the three doors on the balcony opened and a squat overdressed Filipino came out and leaned on the balustrade. He tipped his bright green velour hat to the back of his head, stared coldly, expressionlessly at MacAlmon.

  MacAlmon said: “Bring her down.”

  The Filipino went back into the room and then came into the doorway with Granquist.