‘When did Mrs. Cool go to the hotel?’ the chief asked.
‘We didn’t cover that. Jerry was on the job at the hotel. I think he said she came about twenty minutes before this guy went back with the costume.’
I lay there on the floor, seemingly drifting on a sea of black, pain with waves of nausea sweeping over me. I wanted to retch and couldn’t. My sides hurt when I tried to breathe. I knew that the warm stuff trickling down my face and onto the collar of my shirt was blood, but I was too weak to do anything about it.
The woman said, ‘Get Jerry on the phone. Tell him to go through that hotel with a fine tooth comb. Morgan Birks is in there.’
‘Morgan Birks can’t be in there,’ Fred kept insisting. ‘We had the tip on that hotel. Jerry’s been on it ever since last week, and we know Birks hasn’t been there-not yet. That hotel’s the place where Morgan was to meet his cutie.’
‘Did you tail this guy, or pick him up at the hotel?’ the woman asked.
‘Picked him up at the hotel.’
‘And the hotel’s sewed up?’
‘Tighter than a drum.’
‘He served those papers in the hotel.’
Someone reached down and picked me up. The end of my sore nose was clamped between the knuckles of two fingers. When the hand jerked, it felt as though my nose had come out by the roots. Fred’s voice, still sounding bored, said, ‘Talk.’
‘Lay off his face, Fred,’ the woman said.’
A kick at the base of my spine jarred me clean up to the top of my head. ‘Come on,’ Fred said, ‘give us the low-down. You served those papers.’
I heard the ringing of a telephone bell. They all became silent. I heard pounding steps moving across the floor toward the bell. Then it ceased ringing, and the tall man’s voice said, ‘Hello.
Hello …. Who is it? Jerry? … Yes, Jerry…. Now listen, Jerry, we think he’s there in the hotel …. I tell you he had them …. Of course, it’s under an assumed name, and he’s probably lying low …. Well, get through the room. Cover the dump. I tell you he’s there. He has to be.’
He hung up the telephone, and said, ‘About two minutes after we left, Sandra Birks, her brother, and Alma Hunter came out together. This other bird who doesn’t enter the picture, came out, Jerry says he heard someone call him doctor. He thinks the brother had a hemorrhage, and the doctor was called in a rush to stop it. That’s the best the boys could pick up.’
I was coming back to consciousness again. The woman said, ‘Well, you can see what’s happened. He’s served those papers. He’s delivered the copies, and is keeping the original on which to make his affidavit of service.’
The big man said, ‘You wouldn’t want to make a little easy money, would you, Mr. Lam?’
I didn’t say anything. It was easier not to answer questions.
‘If you wanted to pick up a little spot of cash, say five hundred dollars, or perhaps even six hundred dollars, I think it could be arranged. You could fix it so we could get Mr. Birks up here at the house. Perhaps you could arrange things–’
‘Shut up,’ the woman interrupted in a level voice. ‘There’s no dice with him. Don’t be a damn fool.’
The fat man said, ‘Well, you heard what the little lady said. I guess she’s right at that. Feeling pretty bad, are you, Lam?’
I was feeling bad enough. As I got better, I got worse. That first pile-driving smash had knocked me half unconscious. Now, as the numbing effects of it commenced to wear off, I began to feel pain from the other beating.
The telephone rang again. ‘Answer it, Fred,’ the chief said.
Fred said, ‘Hello—yes—‘and then was silent for almost two minutes. He said, ‘That’s clever as hell,’ and was silent for another minute. Then he said, ‘Hold the phone,’ and came back into the living room. ‘News,’ he said. ‘Let’s go where I can tell you.’
The chief said, ‘You watch him, John.’
I heard an exodus of steps and lay quiet, thinking how much my side hurt. After a while I heard Fred’s voice on the telephone again. ‘All right. It clicks. I’ll get on the job myself. G’by.’
They came back into the room.
‘Take him in the bathroom, Fred,’ the chief said, ‘and clean him up.’
Fred picked me up as though I’d been a baby and carried me into the bathroom. He said, ‘Tough lines, Pint-Size, but it isn’t as bad as though your nose had been broken. It’ll be sore for a=. while, that’s all. Here, let’s get some cold water on it.’
He sat me on the toilet seat, let cold water run into the wash bowl, took my coat off, and started splashing cold wet towels on my forehead. My mind began to function more clearly. It got so I could focus my eyes.
He said, ‘That necktie’s a mess. I guess we can find one of the chief’s. Now how about that shirt? We can’t use it. We’ll have to do something about that. We can get the blood off the coat all right. Just a little cold water will fix that. Now, sit right still,, and don’t try to move around.’
He got my shirt off, stripped me down to the waist, and= sponged me with cold water.
I began to feel better.
The woman came into the bathroom, and said, ‘I think this shirt will fit him.’
‘We want a necktie,’ Fred said.
‘I’ll get one.’
‘And a bottle of alcohol and some smelling salts,’ Fred said. ‘We’ll have him right as a rivet in five minutes.’
The woman came back with smelling salts, alcohol, towels, a shirt, and tie.
Fred worked over me like a second ministering to a fighter between rounds. While he worked, he talked. ‘One good thing,’ he said, ‘you aren’t bruised up any. That nose is going to be red for a while. It’s going to be sore. Don’t touch it. Don’t try to s blow it. Now then, a little alcohol on the back of the neck. There, that’s fine. Let’s slap a little over your chest—oh, that chest is sore, is it?—too bad. Nothing cracked, though, just a little wallop-you shouldn’t have tried to hit me, Lam. Let me tell you something about hitting. When you’re going to throw a right at a man, don’t hook it around. And don’t draw back your hand before you start a punch. I’m sorry you’re so tender now, because you wouldn’t take any interest in a lesson. But I could show you how to start a punch and the path a fist should travel, and in ten minutes it would make you about eighty per cent better when it comes to a fight. You’ve got what it takes. You’ve got guts, but you’re too light to stand up against a punch. You’d have to learn to get away from ‘em, and that takes foot work. Now then, let’s put a little more alcohol on there-that’s fine. The bleeding’s stopped. That cold water’s great stuff. Your hair will be wet for a while, but that won’t hurt anything. Now then, on with the shirt-that’s it. Now let’s try the tie-rather a loud pattern to go with that suit, but it doesn’t look bad at that.’
The woman said, ‘Give him a shot of whisky, Fred.’
‘Brandy’s better,’ Fred said. ‘Brandy will pick him right up. Get some of that seventy-five-year-old stuff, a big snifter of it. Don’t be afraid of giving him too much. He’s been knocked around a bit and it will take something to get him back to normal. He’s a little bit light to take heavy punches like that. That one I hung on his jaw was pretty good. How is it, buddy? No teeth gone-that’s fine. The jaw’s sore, of course. It will be for a while.’
Madge came back with a big snifter of brandy. Fred said, ‘This is the chief’s favorite. He likes to dawdle around sipping it after meals, but you take it and gulp it right down. He says this is sacrilege, but you need it. Here we go, buddy.’
I drank the brandy. It was smooth as sirup. It traced a hot streak down into my stomach, and then began radiating little branches of warmth which tingled along the nerves.
Fred said, ‘All right, up we go. Now we’ll get that coat on, and into the car. Any particular place you want to be taken, buddy?’
I was weak and groggy. I gave him the address of my rooming house.
‘What’s that?’ he aske
d.
‘My rooming house.’
‘That’s fine.. We’ll take you there.’
I saw him exchange glances with the woman. Fred helped me up, and I walked out into the other room. The chief came walking toward me, his face wreathed in blubbery smiles. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘You certainly look a thousand per cent better, and that’s a mighty becoming tie! Yes, sir! It certainly is. My wife gave me that tie for Christmas last year.’
He threw back his head, and laughter bubbled forth. He quit laughing and grabbed my hand in his. He pumped it up and down and said, ‘Lam, you were splendid! You’ve got plenty of nerve, my boy, plenty of nerve. You’ve got what it takes. I wish I had a few men like you. You don’t feel like telling us anything?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘I can’t blame you, my boy. I can’t blame you a bit.’
He kept pumping my arm. ‘Take him wherever he wants to go, Fred,’ he said, ‘and be careful with him. Don’t drive too fast. Remember he’s sore. All right, Lam, my boy, perhaps I’ll see you later. Who can tell? No hard feelings, Lam. Tell me there’s no hard feelings.’
‘No hard feelings,’ I said. ‘You beat me up, and God damn you, if I ever get a chance to get even I’ll pour it to you.’
For a minute his eyes hardened. Then he bubbled into effusive laughter: ‘That’s the spirit, my boy, the old fighting spirit! Head bloody but unbowed, and all that sort of stuff. Too bad he hasn’t a little more beef, Fred. He’d have given you a tussle for a fact. He came up out of that chair as though he’d been shot from a gun.’
‘Aw, he was awkward, and he couldn’t swat a fly hard enough to hurt it,’ Fred said, ‘but he has guts, that boy.’
‘Well, take him up town. Just be certain that he doesn’t try to locate the house so he can find his way back to it. You know, Lam, it’s been a nice visit, and we don’t want to seem inhospitable, but if you come back here again we’d much rather you came with us than with someone else.’
And he roared with laughter at his own joke.
Fred said, ‘Come on, buddy. Put this handkerchief over your eyes, and away we go.’
He blindfolded me, and he on one side, the chief on the other, led me back through the hallway, down the stairs, and into the car. A garage door went up and I shot out into the night. The fresh air felt good on my face. After we’d been riding about five minutes Bill took off the blindfold and said, ‘Just settle right back against the cushions, Lam. I’ll drive slow.’
He was a skillful driver, and he threaded the car through traffic until he came to my rooming house. I saw him looking it over. He parked the car, opened the door, and helped me up the steps. Mrs. Smith opened the door, and looked at me. Her look was eloquent. A roomer who hadn’t been able to pay rent for five weeks being brought home drunk.
Fred said, ‘Now don’t look like that, madam. The boy’s all right. He’s been shaken up in an automobile accident, that’s all. He’ll want to go up to his room and lie down.’
She came closer and sniffed my breath. ‘That certainly was an automobile accident,’ she said. ‘He must have run into a truckload of whisky.’
‘Brandy, ma’am,’ Fred said. ‘The very choicest seventy-fiveyear-old brandy. That was a shot of the chief’s private stock given to him to brace him up.’
‘I got a job today,’ I told her.
I saw her eyes lighten. ‘How about the rent?’ she asked.
‘Next week,’ I said, ‘when I get paid.’
She sniffed and said, ‘A job. I suppose you’re celebrating.’
I fumbled around in my pocket and produced the certificate of appointment as a private investigator which Bertha Cool had given me. She looked it over, said, ‘A private detective, huh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t think much of you as a detective.’
Fred said, ‘Now don’t be too sure, ma’am. He’s got nerve, that boy has. He’ll make a success in anything. He has plenty of what it takes. Well, good night, Lam. I’ll be seeing you again one of these days.’
He turned and went down the stairs. I said to Mrs. Smith, ‘Quick, get the license number on that automobile,’ and as she hesitated, added, ‘He owes me some money. I can pay the room rent if I get it.’
With that incentive, she walked out to stand on the porch. Fred went away from there with a rush. She came back and said, ‘I’m not certain. The number was either 5N1525 or 5M1525.’
I fumbled around until I found a pencil, wrote both numbers down on a piece of paper, and hobbled up the three flights of stairs. She stood looking after me, and said, ‘Don’t forget it, Mr. Lam, I can use that room rent just as soon as you get it.’
‘I won’t,’ I told her. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.’
Chapter 7
A STEADY, insistent pounding on my door dragged me from oblivion into stupefied semi-consciousness. I heard the voice of my landlady saying, ‘Mr. Lam-oh, Mr. Lam-Mr. Lam. Get up.’
I reached out for the light. My body felt as though it would break in two. I found the light, switched it on, and limped to the door of the little attic bedroom.
The landlady had on a faded green wrapper which made her look like sacked potatoes. The white fringe of a flannel nightgown burst out from beneath the wrapper. She said in a voice shrill with indignation, ‘I don’t know what this new job of yours is, but I’ve put up with just about enough! I’ve let you get weeks behind with the room rent, and now’
‘What is it?’ I interrupted, and when I tried to talk my swollen nose and lips made my face feel wooden.
‘It’s a woman on the telephone who says she has to talk with you. She keeps screaming into my ear that it’s a matter of life and death. The phone’s been ringing and ringing and ringing It’s woke up everyone in the house. And I’ve had to climb three flights of stairs and stand here banging on the door until’
‘I’m much obliged, Mrs. Smith,’ I said.
‘Obliged, eh?’ she sniffed. ‘Great goings on to wake everyone up ’
I forced my tortured body into action, dove back into the room, grabbed a bathrobe, flung it over my pajamas, and kicked my feet into slippers. It seemed an interminable distance down the hall. Alma was all I could think of. I hoped it was Bertha Cool with some new assignment. I knew she was quite capable of doing that very thing, but— The receiver was dangling from the cord. I grabbed it up, placed it to my ear, said, ‘Hello,’ and heard Alma’s voice. ‘Oh, Donald, I’m so glad I reached you. Something awful’s happened.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t tell you over the phone. You must come.’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m in the telephone booth in the lobby of Sandra’s apartment house.’
‘Well, where will I meet you?’ I asked.
‘I’ll be right there.’
‘In the apartment, you mean?’
‘No-in the telephone booth. Something awful’s happened. Come quickly.’
I said, ‘Right away,’ hung up the telephone, and went up the stairs as fast as I could force my sore muscles into action. I passed Mrs. Smith wheezing down the steps. She said acidly, ‘There are people in the house, Mr. Lam, who are trying to get back to sleep.’
I got to my room, flung off my robe and pajamas, climbed into my clothes, and was tying my necktie as I dashed down the stairs to the street. I buttoned my vest on the way to the corner. It seemed an age before a late-cruising taxicab came prowling along close to the curb. I signaled him and gave him the address. In the cab, I asked, ‘What time is it, buddy?’
‘Half past two.’
My wrist watch hadn’t been good enough to pawn, but by setting it every day, I could approximate the time. Now it was on the dresser by the head of my bed. I looked through my pockets to make sure I had the certificate of appointment as a private detective which Bertha Cool had given me. I scooped the silver out of my pocket, and held it in the palm of my hand, counting it against the flicking figures which appeared on
the illuminated dial of the taximeter. When the driver stopped at the address, there was five cents over. I handed him the whole collection of coins, said, ‘Thanks a lot, buddy,’ and made a dive for the door. I almost broke my arm. It was locked tight. The lobby was lighted, but there was no one at the little desk. I kicked against the door, hoping that Alma would hear me. She did after a while, and came out of the telephone booth and down the corridor.
I stared at her in surprise. She had on sheer silk pajamas, and some sort of filmy gown over them. She opened the door, and I said, ‘Alma, what’s happened?’
‘I’ve shot someone,’ she said, in a hoarse whisper.
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you kill him?’
‘No.’
‘Have you notified the police?’
‘No.’
‘All right, then,’ I said. ‘We notify the police right away.’
‘But Sandra wouldn’t want me to, and Bleatie says—’
‘To hell with Sandra and Bleatie both,’ I said. ‘Get in there and telephone the police.’
I piloted her back to the telephone booth.
‘Donald, don’t you think I’d better tell you what—’
‘If you’ve shot anyone,’ I said, ‘you get in touch with the police and tell them the whole story.’
She turned to me and said, ‘I’ll have to ask you for a nickel.’ I went through my pockets. There wasn’t a coin on me. I’d given my last cent to the cab driver. I tried the telephone. It simply, positively, wouldn’t work without the coin.
‘How did you telephone me?’ I asked.
She said, ‘A man came in. He was drunk. I told him a story about my husband locking me out, and asked him for a coin so I could telephone. He gave me a nickel.’
The Bigger They Come Page 10
