‘Do you know any more tricks like that?’
‘Lots of them,’ I said.
‘Donald, my lamb, light a cigarette and put it between my lips.’ I lit the cigarette, put it in between the heavy lips. She sucked in a deep drag, and said, ‘You and I can go a long way together. You’ve got brains-you little runt. But you’ve got to get over being so impulsive and so damn chivalrous. My God, Donald, at your age you’re going to fall in love and bounce back out again a dozen times before you settle down to one woman. You mark my words, Donald. I know. But you have a fine mind, Donald, my love. You’re a jewel-how the hell did you know what had happened, Donald?’
I said, ‘It was a cinch when I got to thinking it over. Someone heard a shot and notified the police. The police didn’t come until quite a while after Alma Hunter had left the apartment. I figured the person who notified the police must have heard a second shot, and no one had heard the first shot. The magazine e held seven shells. There were only six in the gun. Alma’s bullet hit someone. Morgan Birks must have been shot, just as the police claim, while he was trying to get out of the door. Death was instantaneous. Therefore, he must have fallen in such a position that it was impossible to get the door open without r moving his body. Alma Hunter didn’t move any body. She opened the door and ran out. Cunweather was interested in finding Morgan Birks. Cunweather had an organization. The slot-machine racket wasn’t a one-man business. It called for an organization. Morgan Birks was really hiding from his own organization. Sandra Birks had a lot of money in safety deposit boxes. Both Morgan and Sandra were trying to keep anyone from knowing about it. Sandra was trying to get it from Morgan. Alma slept in Sandra’s bed, and someone tried to choke her, someone with long fingernails. I noticed that Bleatie had slender, tapering hands, something like a woman. The fingers were long, and the nails were well manicured. If Sandra had died there wouldn’t have been any divorce. Morgan had Cunweather fooled on the Bleatie business, but Cunweather didn’t stay fooled. When he was beating up on me he’d have given a lot to have found Morgan Birks. When you went out and tried to shake him down, he didn’t give a damn. That meant he’d doped out what had happened after he realized I’d served the papers there in the hotel. It meant he’d already put the screws on Morgan Birks. Which one of the Cunweather gang was wounded?’
‘Fred,’ she said. ‘Alma’s shot hit him in the upper left arm. My God, Donald, do you know everything?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But I told you when you hired me, I was never very strong as a boy. I couldn’t fight, so I had to think. I developed an imagination and an ability to scheme.’
She said, ‘You could have gone about solving this case without dragging yourself into it. My God, Donald, think of the chances you took-and think of the advertising I got! It’s tremendous, you darling!’
I said, ‘How could I have gone about it any other way? The gun was tied up to me, and the gun was hot. If I’d tried to tell the police what really happened, they’d have laughed at me. I could have advanced a theory-and the police would never have paid any attention to it-not after Alma Hunter told her story.’
‘How did you spot Cunweather?’
‘That was easy. Cunweather had a tip-off there was going to be action in the Perkins Hotel. He had a man planted there. That man knew everything I did. The bell captain knew everything I did. Therefore, the bell captain must have been Cunweather’s man. They played me for a sucker. They slipped me a hot gun, and then Cunweather had Fred work me over. I told them I was going to get even with them. By God, I did. I could have accused them until I was black in the face, and never got anywhere. It took a confession to get action.’
She grinned, and said, ‘Yes, Donald, my love, you got action. If you’d been in California and seen that action you’d have been satisfied. After you confessed they certainly went to work on Cunweather. I heard they worked him over with a rubber hose.
He wilted like a hot lettuce leaf. If he beats the rap on the Morgan Birks murder they’re going after him on the Kansas City kill. It’s a damn nice case. Donald, run down and get me a flask of whisky.’
‘I’ll need some expense money,’ I said.
‘What did you do with all the cash Sandra Birks gave you?’
‘I salted it away.’
‘How much was it?’
‘I can’t tell you offhand,’ I said.
‘About how much, Donald?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Was it ten grand?’
‘I’m sure I can’t say.’
‘Where do you have it hidden, Donald, darling?’
‘In a safe place.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Remember, Donald, my lamb, that you’re working for me.’
I said, ‘Yes. So far as finances are concerned, I believe I’m indebted to you, am I not-for taxicab fare?’
‘That’s right,’ she said without batting an eyelash. ‘Ninety-five cents. It comes out of your first pay check. Don’t worry about it, Donald, because I’m not. It’s all duly entered as a debit on your salary account.’
‘By the way,’ I asked, ‘who was Dr. Holoman? Was he really Sandra’s sweetie?’
‘Yes. They had Morgan Birks lashed to the mast. As Sandra’s brother, Morgan had to sit by and watch her flirt with this chap who was masquerading as Dr. Holoman. If he’d asserted his rights as a husband, Cunweather would have rubbed him out, after squeezing the last dime of the hold-out money out of him.’
‘Sandra,’ I said, ‘seems to be an opportunist.’
‘She is. How about that whisky, Donald?’
‘How about the money?’
She reached for her purse.
‘You flew down alone?’ I asked as she fumbled through some loose bills.
‘Not me,’ she said. ‘When Bertha Cool travels she has someone with her to pay expenses-unless there’s been a damn fat retainer paid. No, Donald, I brought my client along. She’s in the next room. She doesn’t know you’re here yet. She’s been talking about you a lot-all the way down. My God, there I was, sick as a horse, and she was talking about you.’
‘You mean Sandra?’ I asked.
‘Hell, no,’ she said, jerking her head toward the door to the communicating room. ‘Sandra will fall for you when you’re there, but she forgets you when you’re away.’
I walked across and opened the door. Alma Hunter was sitting in a chair near the window. When she saw me, she got to her feet and stood staring at me with starry eyes and crimson half-parted lips.
‘Here’s the money for the whisky, Donald,’ Mrs. Cool called. ‘Don’t get mushy, my pet. God knows you haven’t a God damn cent to get married on, and you owe me ninety-five cents for taxi fare.’
I walked on into Alma’s room and kicked the communicating door shut with my heel.
The End
The Bigger They Come Page 20
