by P. N. Elrod
“Sure you will.”
“Do the cops know who did it? Do they know why?”
“They’re looking for Kitty.”
“That little girl scout? She couldn’t do anything like that.”
“I don’t think she did. You knew him. Who wanted to kill him?”
She shook her head and kept on shaking it. “Leadfoot Sam, maybe. Stan owed him a bundle. That’s why I got out while I could. I didn’t want him learning about me and Stan or he’d try and muscle it out of me. I don’t have that kind of money, but he wouldn’t believe that.”
“I talked with Sam earlier.”
“You …” she blinked against the tears with surprise.
I made a calming gesture. “He’s not so tough once you learn how to handle him. Anyway, he doesn’t know what’s happened and I figure that that’s the truth. He can’t collect money from a dead man, so he’s not really a suspect with me. Can’t you think of anyone else? One of your clients?”
“Jeez, I just don’t know. There were plenty of ’em sore as hell or hurt or embarrassed, but not enough to kill. He was careful, I said.”
“Did he ever call one in?”
“What’d’ya mean?”
“The photos, did he ever use one and blow things for the girl?”
She was genuinely astonished. “Not that I know of. He only threat-
ened, it wouldn’t do him any good to push it that far. He’d just hold it over their heads. They’d either call his bluff or pay off. Almost all of them paid off. He knew how to pick and choose. If they didn’t pay, he’d just let it go and find someone else to work on.”
“Did he always take money?”
“Brother, that’s all he would take.”
“What about jewelry?”
“Too much trouble to hock or sell. He left that for them to do.” She finished off the drink. “Y’know, maybe it was that crazy boyfriend of Marian’s.”
“Why do you think so?”
“Stan said the guy was nuts, even took a swing at him once.”
“When and where?”
“I dunno. One of those fancy places. Stan ducked in time and laughed about it later. He said all he did was have a dance with Marian, then the guy comes in and goes berserk.”
I could believe that. “When did this happen?”
She leaned her head on one hand, mussing her hair. “I dunno, I dunno. I’m too tired to think. Will you just take me back?”
“Did Stan have any hiding places?”
“Huh?”
“Where’d he put his valuables?”
“Noplace.”
“He must have stashed things somewhere. What about the bank? Did he have a safe-deposit box?”
“No, nothing like that. He carried everything with him. Not that he ever had much.”
I remembered McAlister’s turned-out pockets. “Wasn’t it risky?”
“Safer than leaving it at that flea bag hotel. Stan had a gun, too.”
“All the time?”
“Of course.”
Whoever had clobbered and stabbed him hadn’t given him the chance to use it. “It wasn’t on him.”
The news didn’t matter much to Doreen. Her head had slipped down onto her arms again. Those three doubles were having their effect.
“C’mon, honey. I’ll get you home and put you to bed.”
“You’n what army?” she mumbled, more than half-gone. I got her to her feet, waved a good-night to the bartender, and walked her out. The cold air revived her a little, but she leaned against me, as much for comfort as for warmth. We staggered up the stairs to the studio and I steadied her while she fumbled out the key and gave it over.
The entry was dark as before, but we’d left the light on in the inner room. Now it was off.
”Whatizzit?” she asked crossly when I wouldn’t let her go in.
I signed for her to stay quiet and listen. The whole building seemed to be listening. Except for her own heart and lungs, I heard nothing. I went inside. When I turned on the light, she followed, tiptoeing unsteadily.
There weren’t that many places to search, but the place had been thoroughly turned over. Her suitcase was open, the contents scattered, the pillows gutted, a file cabinet gaped in one corner. The darkroom was in the same shape.
“What did you keep here?” I asked. ’She was too far gone to answer right away. “Photos, negatives, chemicals, nothing important. No cash.”
“Maybe they didn’t want cash.” I checked some of the prints from the file cabinet that now lay on the floor. Girls striking different poses wearing little more than a provocative smile was the predominant theme. I recognized the backdrop and pillows.
Doreen knelt by her suitcase and methodically shoved the clothes back inside. She tenderly turned over the smashed remains of her cam era, then left it on the floor. “They got all my negs.”
“What was on them?”
She sniffled, found a dry handkerchief among her things, and blew her nose. “What’d’ya think? Stan’s gone and now I got nothing. Absolutely, goddamn nothing. I’m leaving this town before they take even that away.”
“To where?”
She shrugged and began to shuffle photos into a pile. I bent to help her, but a creaking floorboard in the entry caught my attention. I didn’t have time to do more than straighten and turn before Leadfoot Sam walked in on us.
5
DOREEN looked up, blanched, and joined me in staring at him. The first to move was Sam. The second he recognized me, his hand jumped to his overcoat pocket and smoothly pulled out a gun. It was another revolver, identical to the one I’d twisted in two. Maybe he got them in sets.
“No need for that, Sam,” I said, taking a long step away from Doreen. If he planned to start shooting, I wanted her to he well clear of me.
“Shut up and hold still.”
I held still. His voice was even enough, but the short nose of the revolver trembled, and he was nearly as white as Doreen. I’d made quite an impression on him earlier, but it hadn’t been as effective as I’d hoped.
“Hands up and out.”
I complied. It gave him a shade more confidence, which gave me more time to think. I could risk things and try controlling him with a quick suggestion, but he looked too nerved up yet for anything fancy. The wrong word from me and we’d all end up feeling sorry for what happened.
“Thought you had me going, huh?” he finally said, with just the barest hint of desperation.
“Going?”
“With that crap you pulled earlier off that radio show. You think 1 don’t know a con trick when I see one?”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” I said sheepishly.
Given half a chance, people have a remarkable capacity for self-delusion, and if I could tell anything from the relief on his mug, Leadfoot Sam was proving to be no different from the rest. He’d really needed me to say something like that. Never mind that my generality was pretty meaningless, I had vaguely agreed with whatever explanation he’d invented for himself, and now all was right with the world. He relaxed by a single degree and smiled a thin, superior smile.
“It was a good one, wasn’t it?” I asked, as though I’d been caught fair and square.
“How’d you do it?”
“I’ll show you sometime. It works better in the dark.”
He didn’t take to that particular bait by obligingly turning off the lights, nor did he put away the gun. His gaze flicked away from me only once. “Hello, Doreen.”
She’d sobered up quite a bit in the last minute and was probably wondering what the hell we were talking about. “Hi, Sam. What’re you doing here?”
“I came to collect on a debt.”
“What debt? I don’t owe you anything. I don’t owe anyone anything.”
“Sure you do, sweetheart. You were partners with Stanley, weren’t you?
“I hardly knew—”
“Can it. I’ve just been over to Stan’s room and found that sweet little
racket the two of you had set up there. You must have raked in plenty. As I see it, partners are responsible for each other’s debts.”
“But, Sam …”
“Shut up. And you, Lamont—if that’s your name—were you holding out on me so you could have first crack at her?”
“Holding out?”
“You never told me about Stan getting knifed, or did you do it yourself? Is there a picture of your girlfriend somewhere in Doreen’s photo collection?”
“You’re full of beans.”
“Maybe you forgot to tell Doreen about it like you forgot to tell me.”
“I see you still managed to find out.”
“Oh, yeah, after a ton of time and trouble. The cops don’t exactly give that information away to the public, you know.” He turned a sour face on Doreen. “And what kind of line has he been feeding you, sweetheart? What do you know about this guy, anyway?”
She said nothing, but he’d gotten the wheels turning in her head—in the wrong direction as far as I was concerned.
“He’s not here to get his picture took, is he? What’s he want from your
“He don’t—doesn’t want anything,” she said.
Sam shook his head sadly. “The world don’t work that way, Doreen. You oughta know that by now. Everybody wants something. What’d he come to you for?”
She licked her lips, her tone guarded. “He was just asking about Stan, is all. Who mighta killed him, like that.”
“And you never thought he mighta done it himself?”
She hadn’t, and turned her doubts full onto me.
“Don’t let him rattle you, Doreen,” I said out of the side of my mouth. “Remember, I’m one of the good guys.”
“Sez you,” put in Sam.
“How about you tell us who did the redecorating here?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.
“I only just got here. Pin it on someone else, Lamont.” He bent an eye on Doreen. “Is that the name he gave you? Russell Lamont?”
Her answer was easy enough to read. I’d lost her trust, at least for the moment.
“And what makes you a better bargain, Sam?” I countered.
His attention switched back to me. “Doreen knows what to expect from her old friends.”
“Like a shiv in the throat?” I ventured.
“We’ll see.” He backed up to the door and whistled. A moment later a man that I recognized as Sam’s driver walked in. He was followed by Butler, who had to duck his head slightly to miss the lintel. He took in the wrecked room, Doreen on the floor by her suitcase, and finally focused on me. He then raised the kind of smile you don’t want to see in your worst nightmares.
“You took Sam’s car,” he stated flatly.
I said nothing, since it’s pointless to argue with facts.
“Where is it?” Sam asked him.
“Just down the street. It seems okay.”
Sam glared at me. “You better hope it is, or that’ll be another one I owe you.” He nodded at the driver. “Take her back to the joint. We’ll follow in the Cadillac.”
Doreen balked. “Where?”
“Just a quiet place so we can talk, sweetheart. If you’re good, I’ll buy you an ice-cream soda. You and I are going to cut a deal over Stan’s outstanding markers.”
“I don’t have any money, Sam.”
“Not yet, you don’t … but you will. I’m just gonna make sure I’m around for my share.”
“Please,” she said to me. “Don’t let him.”
Sam centered the gun on her. “All we’re gonna do is have a nice talk, Doreen. You kick up a fuss and I’ll show you how mean I can get if I try.”
“It’ll be all right,” I said. “Go on, sit tight and wait for me.”
She looked at me as though I’d gone crazy and only needed a strait-jacket to make it official.
“I’ll come for you.” I hoped she’d believe me.
Sam and Butler laughed at this. The driver hauled her up and dragged her out the door. The laughter did wonders for her confidence, but I was at last able to relax. With Doreen out of the way and relatively safe, my choices on how to handle the situation had increased considerably. The only thing I really had to worry about now was how to keep my suit in one piece.
“Ready to get down to business?” I asked once they were long gone.
Sam pretended to be impressed. “He still thinks he’s a tough guy. Look him over, Butler, find out why he’s so tough.”
Butler approached, keeping out of Sam’s line of fire, and slapped at me with big hands. I didn’t quite fall over. He found Doreen’s automatic right away. “This must be it.” He grinned.
“Is that it?” Sam asked me.
“As far as you’re concerned,” I said.
He shot me a wary look and told Butler to continue. He pocketed the gun. My notebook, pencil, keys, and wallet were extracted and examined, the latter catching the most interest.
“It sez he’s Jack R. Fleming.” Butler squinted at my New York driving license.
Sam nodded, as though he’d known all along.
“He’s rich, too.” He held up Pierce’s C-note.
“Put it back,” I said softly.
With high good humor, Butler shook his head and stowed the bill away with Doreen’s pistol. “Now what, Sam?”
“Now you teach him not to be so nosy. But go easy, Butler. I don’t want to put him to bed with a shovel.”
Butler looked me over, trying to decide where to start. He was a man with total confidence in his own physical capabilities and was probably taking my lack of fear for bravado. Right away I could tell he didn’t like the smile I was showing him. He matched it with a nasty one of his own and followed it up with a fast punch.
He’d had some fight training in his past. Because of his height and massive build I’d been expecting a slow roundhouse-type swing that could be blocked with a raised arm. As it was, I only snapped my head out of the way just in time. His fist brushed my chin, but he caught me flat-footed with a lightning follow-up left that went straight into my stomach.
I doubled over and staggered with all the talking breath knocked out of me, falling backward over the ripped-up pillows. It was a soft landing, more or less. Butler stood away from the swirling feathers and waited for me to recover. I held a hand to the sore spot until it faded, and stood up, stepping clear of the mess. He totally missed the fact that I was not gasping for air or showing any of the other usual symptoms of such an attack. In fact, all I did was grin, and that really put me on his good side.
He had the height and reach on me, but the grin made him forget about those advantages and move in close. I let him back me up to a corner, left it till the last possible instant, and went transparent just as he struck. His fist tickled through my ghostly midsection and connected solidly with the wall behind me. The resulting howl of pain from him was almost deafening.
I immediately went solid again. If Butler had noticed me flickering on and off like a bad light, he was too occupied with his injured hand to think about it. Leadfoot Sam couldn’t have seen much; I’d taken care to shift so that Butler’s body blocked his view of the incident.
Butler tried another left. I was moving fast myself and his anger and pain were working against him. I caught his wrist in my right hand and returned his gut punch with interest with the left. He folded up like an old wallet. As soon as I let go of him he hit the floor and stayed there, gulping and gasping.
Sam knew his number was up because I was looking in his direction and still grinning. He showed his own teeth in a sticky grimace and raised his gun to fire.
“Aw, Sam, now do you want I should break this one in two as well?” I took a step toward him.
He made that sick little sound deep down in his throat once again and bolted for the exit. I flashed invisibly ahead of him and got to the entry first. He slid to a stop on his heels just inches away from me. While he was dancing to get his balance back, I popped him a light one on his chin. He dro
pped like a sandbag.
He was fairly stunned but made a halfhearted attempt to lift the revolver. I took it away from him, this time without puncturing my thumb. Grabbing a wad of his clothes in my free hand, I dragged him into the studio, dumping him on the floor next to Butler, who was still nursing his bruised gut. Sam’s long bones thudded on the bare wood. His arms came up protectively.
“Sam?”
It took him a minute, but he eventually opened his eyes.
“Watch carefully, ’cause you musta missed something the first time around.” I opened the cylinder, emptied out the bullets, got a good grip, and twisted as hard as I could.
Sam whimpered when it snapped.
“Next time it’ll be your neck. You understand that now?”
He nodded a lot. I froze on his eyes and stepped up the pressure just enough for him to feel it. I wanted him good and scared.
“From now on you stay out of my way. You’re gonna lay off on Doreen, too. You don’t talk to her, you don’t even think about going near her. You leave her completely alone. You got that?”
His jaw sagged. I knew I’d finally gotten through to him. I put the two pieces of his gun in each of his hands. Butler didn’t fuss at all when I picked his pocket and retrieved my hundred-dollar bill and Doreen’s automatic. I walked out, pausing long enough in the entry to flick off all the lights.
Somewhere behind me, Leadfoot Sam moaned miserably in the abrupt darkness.
Sam’s remark about buying Doreen a soda hadn’t been lost on me. Within a quarter hour I took the Caddy out of gear, cut the motor, and coasted to a stop across the alley entrance to the drugstore. A fresh-looking Ford stood next to it. Doreen and the driver were probably waiting inside for Sam and Butler to return.
A dim light gleamed in a single rear window of the building. I set the brake and got out. The place was silent, which could be good or bad.
I slipped inside the back way and went solid, listening hard. The easy whisper of soft breathing finally drifted to my ears from the direction of the spiral staircase. Sniffing instinctively like a hunting animal, I picked up a strong stench of booze and the heavy, familiar tang of bloodsmell.
