by P. N. Elrod
Unimpressed, Chaven steadied his revolver on me, eye level. The sharp lines of his body and the set of his thin, hard face told me he was more than ready to use it. From ten feet away he wasn’t about to miss. It flashed through my mind that I ought to go ahead and let him shoot since faking my death might get them off my back for a while.
Of course, Escott would then be stuck with them … if they hadn’t gotten to him already.
Neither of our guns had gone off in the last five seconds but that could change if I even blinked wrong. I kept still and kept quiet. By letting Chaven be the first to speak it would give him the illusion that he was in control of things.
Tinny spoiled it by trying to be helpful. “I can get him from here.” He was on the stair just behind Chaven.
“So can I. Lay off.” Chaven never once looked away. “The bracelet,” he said to me in the same annoyed tone.
“It’s not here,” I lied.
“Go get it.”
“When you and your boys leave.”
He had a sense of humor, if the noise he made was a laugh. “We go when I get the bracelet.”
“What do I get?”
He thought about it for only a second. “Another chance to blow town.”
“Like hell.”
“Take it or die.”
“Your boss has already decided that. Tell me another one.”
“We can make it easy or hard, Fleming.”
“You can’t do anything to me or you lose the bracelet. Does Kyler think my hide’s worth losing fifteen grand over?”
“You’re worth nothing to him.” But he was just talking to get the last word in and to think some more. “Besides, there’s still your partner.”
“Except he doesn’t know where it is.”
“He’ll know, all right. He’s too careful not to know.”
“Then why don’t you ask him?”
“With you here I don’t have to. Now hand it over.”
So Escott had managed to get away in time. They wouldn’t have bothered ripping the place apart if they’d had him to question… unless they’d made a mistake and killed him outright. If they had, then none of I hem were leaving this house alive.
“Okay, but everybody get back. Crowds make me nervous.”
At an invisible signal from Chaven, Tinny and the other two thugs retreated down the stairs to the landing. I could just see them through the banister. They still had their guns out and pointed in my general direction.
I hefted Arnold a little higher and took a step forward. Chaven didn’t seem to notice that holding up all that extra weight with one arm wasn’t bothering me much. He backed off a pace, but to the side, not down the stairs. His mind was on other things, then. We reached the same moment ot realization, only I was just an instant faster as I pushed Arnold straight at him and ducked.
Chaven’s gun roared out in the confined space of the upper hall. He snarled something and tried to bring the muzzle down, but Arnold was in his way long enough for me to get my feet set and launch toward him. for a few seconds it was all blind pawing, thick coats, and elbows, then I look a chance opening and clobbered Chaven in the head with the side of Arnold’s gun. He stopped moving. I tore the revolver from his hand.
Tinny and his two chums came up out of nowhere. I shoved a foot into Tinny’s gut. He grabbed at it, dragging me free of Chaven, but lost his balance and fell backward, his arms suddenly wide. One chum tried to catch him at the same time the second tried to get out of the way and they all tripped each other and took a partial roll down the stairs. By the time they got themselves pulled together, I was up again and looking like William S. Hart with a borrowed gun in each fist.
I suddenly had their full attention. Except for myself, everyone was breathing hard and red in the face, some more than others, as they realized I had them square.
“You! Put it on the landing.”
Tinny knew I was talking about his gun without having to ask, which made him a bright boy. He did as he was told, and so did the others when it was their turn. I kicked everything through the open door into my room.
Chaven began to groan and push at Arnold as he came around. He snapped abruptly awake and glared. I expected him to start cursing once he took in the altered situation, but nothing came out. The look on his face and especially in his cold, stony eyes was eloquent enough. We both knew what we thought of each other.
“You stand up slow,” I said, and he followed my directions carefully. He lifted one hand to check where I’d hit him. His fingers came away with a little red on them.
“Yeah,” he said, as though agreeing with some inner voice.
I waved a muzzle at Arnold. “Get him. Everyone downstairs.”
They got him, struggling clumsily with his uncooperative body. Chaven let the others work while he watched me, no doubt making plans on what to do at our next meeting.
I herded them through the kitchen and out the door. They slow-marched to the Cadillac and got in. Chaven was the driver; I made him wait until the others were settled.
“You can tell Kyler that I got his message about the bracelet.”
“I’ll do that, Fleming.”
“You can also say that I want a better deal before I hand it over.”
“What kind of deal?”
“I’ll talk that over with Kyler. Have him call me here. The number’s in the book.”
That was the end of our business for tonight. I hoped. He got in the car and quietly drove away with the search party. He was visibly frustrated and anyone else might have expressed it in their driving, but not Chaven. He could have been out on a Sunday jaunt with his granny for all the care he took over signals and speed. Maybe he wasn’t in such a hurry to return to his boss empty-handed.
Trotting back to the house, I checked the place from the attic on down. It was still a wreck, but unoccupied. The last spot I checked, primarily because it was so well hidden, was the walled-off section of the basement where I slept during the day. I disappeared, flowed through the familiar pattern of bricks to the alcove beyond, and re-formed.
The small room was in total darkness. My night vision is excellent except in those rare spots protected from all outside light, like here in my private sanctum. I usually left the lamp over my desk on for that reason, but now it was off. The complete claustrophobic blackness pressed on me as it would anyone else, and I instinctively started to back out again when a low, soft sound stopped me. A heartbeat.
“Charles?”
“Jack… thank God you’re all right.” It came out in a rush along with his pent-up breath.
With a click, the small light over the desk flashed to life. I winced and squinted painfully against the sudden brightness until my eyes adjusted. Escott was sitting in my work chair with my bathrobe draped over his clothes and a relieved expression on his bony face.
“You’ve been down here the whole time?”
He gave me a “what do you think” shrug and put the .38 he was holding back in his pants pocket.
“And with no light?”
“Out of necessity, I fear. It seemed preferable not to give them a lighted target if they chanced to find me.”
Set in the ceiling above the folding bed was a trapdoor, visible on this side, but only a normal part of the kitchen furnishings on the other. It was centered under the old oak dining table and covered by a tacked-down throw rug. To unlock it, you had to open one of the cabinet doors back all the way. Once lowered, the trap automatically relocked. Escott had a penchant for such devices and the talent to design and construct them. Not for the first time was I glad that he’d indulged the theatrical side of his nature.
“You couldn’t duck out of the house?” Given the choice of running or hiding in a dead-end bolt hole, I knew what my preference would have been.
“With them coming in both doors I was caught in a classic pincers movement. As it was, I barely made it down here. I’d just time to slide under the table and drop through the trap. It slammed down
over me as they broke open the back door, then I had a few bad minutes waiting to learn if they’d seen or heard any of it. For a while I was beginning to feel altogether too close in kinship with the unfortunate fish trapped in a barrel.”
“I see what you mean.”
He glanced at his watch. “Heavens, I would have sworn that more time had passed than this.”
“It was long enough for them to tear the place apart.”
“Looking for that bracelet, no doubt.”
“And not finding it. You put it in the safe, then?”
“I didn’t have it.”
“But I gave it to you last night.” A little wave of cold puzzlement washed over me.
“And I returned it to you before I had to leave.” He held up his hand as I started to object. He took off the robe and pulled a black velvet bag from one of the pockets. A fortune in diamonds and rubies linked together by bright platinum spilled out and twined around his long fingers.
“Jeez, I don’t remember.” Then again, I really didn’t want to remember. Escott had mentioned that I’d been in pretty bad shape and I was ready to take him at his word and leave it at that, but the sight of the bracelet started to bring things to the surface. I recalled its weight in my own hand and the way the light made the rubies look like fresh blood. A whole new tremor ran up my spine. Escott noticed and slipped the thing back in its bag.
“I’m not in the habit of searching pockets that do not concern me, but when I borrowed this for protection, I couldn’t help but find it.” He hung the robe over the back of the chair.
“Protection?”
“Yes. Despite its proximity to the furnace, this…ah… haven of yours was a bit chilly for me.”
“Is it?” Since my change I’d developed a certain indifference against most temperature extremes. “Guess I better get you out of here.”
“I was rather hoping you’d say that. Would you object if I bought a folding ladder to store here against any future emergencies of a similar nature? Just in case I must make an unassisted exit”
I told him to go right ahead, then vanished to float up to the kitchen. I pushed the cabinet door back until the catch clicked, then hauled up the trap. The big table had to be shoved to one side this time to give us both room to work. Escott reached high and I was just able to grasp his wrist and pull him out.
“Good heavens,” he said the second his head cleared the floor. It was for the mess, not the acrobatics.
He stood, his shoes crunching against a sea of spilled sugar, salt, coffee grounds, and milk. He walked slowly into the dining room and surveyed the broken liquor cabinet, the scattered bottles and glasses. He went on to the front parlor to find the overturned radio, tumbled furniture, and slashed cushions. I followed him upstairs, where the mess was worse. Drawers had been dumped, their contents pawed through. The books and souvenirs in his library/study were torn from the shelves. The overwhelming sick rage at the invasion hit me all over again; I could only imagine what Escott felt.
He was an extremely neat and organized man; Kyler’s people couldn’t have picked a better way to get him angry. He didn’t show it much, only by the hardening of his eyes and the knife-edge thinning of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Charles.”
“Hardly your fault, old man. Looking at this, I can get an idea of what they might have done to me had I not been able to drop out of sight in time.”
“I should have seen this coming. I could have stuck around and stopped all this.”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about it now. One cannot anticipate everything, otherwise life would be very dull, indeed. What did inspire you to return?”
I told him about the tail, how I’d slipped it, and what had happened when I found Chaven’s party.
“You took care of all five of them? And by yourself?”
“With some help from Sam Colt.” I pulled the guns I’d taken from my coat pockets. “There’s more in there.” I nodded in the direction of my room. That’s when he laughed, actually laughed, out loud.
“I could almost wish to be a fly on the wall when Kyler questions his henchmen on this bit of business.”
“They’ll be back.”
“I don’t doubt it. I suppose he’ll be calling any time now, unless he decides to forgo negotiations altogether after this. What will you say to him?”
“I’m still working on it, but I figure if he wants the bracelet this bad maybe we should give it to him.”
“And you think you can convince him to leave us alone?”
I shrugged. “Unless you’ve got any better ideas?”
“Nor at the moment, no. I see that surprises you.”
“I thought you had a plan to plant it on Kyler and then call the cops down on him.”
“Initially, yes, but I’ve had time to think it out. There’s little chance of successfully pulling that off without drawing undue legal attention to ourselves. While I may be able to weather such a storm, you are ill suited to spending any time in jail.”
“You mean you can’t just make an anonymous call?”
“The authorities in this city would require something more than that to justify issuing a search warrant against someone in Kyler’s position. Nor can I really approach Lieutenant Blair on this. He’s far too intelligent. If either of us turn up waving that bracelet about… well, I should not care to dwell on the consequences. And if Kyler took it into his head to talk, even a partial telling of the truth of what happened last night would place us in a terribly precarious position.”
“What do you call this? We’re already there, if not with the law, then with Kyler.”
Our problem was the fact that one of Kyler’s lieutenants had murdered a girl and that I, in turn, had murdered him. It wouldn’t take much for Kyler to twist the events around to suit himself, and he had enough power and influence to get away with it. At the very least, Escott would lose his license and probahly serve hard time for his part in things. On the other end, Kyler could probably save himself a lot of trouble by having Escott just disappear like too many other people before him. At this time of year Lake Michigan made for an awfully damned cold grave.
“You might want to pack some stuff,” I said.
“And run?”
“If I can’t make a deal with him we’re both up shit creek.”
He nodded in reluctant agreement. He’d had plenty of time to think things through sitting in the darkness. “We might require a bit of breathing space before our next move,” he admitted.
I started to ask him what he had in mind, but let that one lie for the time being. Neither of us could really do or plan anything until we heard from Kyler.
The call came about thirty minutes later. I was in the kitchen sweeping up some of the mess and answered.
I’d been expecting Kyler, but Chaven was on the other end of the line.
“Get a pencil,” he snarled.
Escott always kept one close to the phone along with some paper. I snapped it up in time to write out the phone number Chaven dictated to me.
“You call there exactly at eleven o’clock, y’hear?”
“I hear.”
He slammed down his receiver, but I’d been ready for that and was holding my earpiece a safe distance away.
Escott had come downstairs to listen to my side of the conversation. I showed him the number. “Probably to a public box,” he commented.
“Yeah?”
“Lieutenant Blair is a remarkably efficient investigator; perhaps Kyler is worried about wiretaps on his lines in connection with last night’s deaths. If so, then this is one call that neither of you will want to have overheard.”
“Or traced. Think I better do the same thing. Just in case.”
“And from another neighborhood,” he added.
Chaven’s phone call only traded one kind of waiting for another. Having a specific deadline to look forward to was slightly less nerve-racking, but in some ways it was worse. My concentration for even
the simple task of sweeping up the kitchen was shot all to hell; mostly I moped around and peered out the windows. For a while I thought the clock was broken, but it matched my wristwatch minute for minute. Escott stayed busy upstairs. I wasn’t sure if it was his way of handling the wait or if he was only avoiding my twitchy restlessness.
At one point I found myself dialing the number to the Top Hat Club to ask for Miss Smythe. I hung up on the first ring. Bobbi would be in the middle of one of her sets by now and the management might take a dim view of the interruption. Besides, what could I say to her that wouldn’t leave her alarmed and worried?
She still didn’t know that I’d almost died last night, permanently and horribly. She also didn’t know how I’d gone over the edge and what had happened when I struck bottom. I could still feel the gun jump in my hand and see the blinding flash. It didn’t quite blot out the man’s last scream or the look on his face.
No regrets, remember?
Yeah, sure. Easy to say, hard to do. I was coming to realize that it wasn’t so much that I had killed, but that I’d been out of control at the time. I was caught up in the not unreasonable worry that it could happen again.
Damn the bracelet. Damn everything and all its relatives.
I grabbed the broom and made an effort to finish the job. By ten-thirty the floor was clean of every grain and speck, but I was still sweeping for something to do. The mindless activity kept me from thinking so much. My thoughts weren’t exactly comfortable.
Escott wanted to come along and I had no objections to offer, especially since he volunteered the use of his Nash. The big car was armored, with an engine powerful enough to match anything Kyler had. Much safer than the Buick.
Exactly at eleven, in an outdoor booth about two miles from home, I dialed in the last number Chaven had dictated to me.
“What do you want?” No introductions, no preamble. Kyler knew I’d recognize his voice.
“A truce.”
“Terms.” He made it a statement, not a question.
“You and your people leave me and all my friends alone. We do the same for you. For that, you get the item you want.”
“What else?”
