All Chickens Must Die: A Benjamin Wade Mystery (10 page)

“It will,” I said. “And you’ll make that call to Austin?”

He put out his hand. I stood and shook it. Our eyes met. There
was something akin to respect in his. He nodded once.

“Great,” I said. “Now, who has a phone book?”

Houston's
Grand Central Station was the
Southern Pacific's main line here in town. The station opened in 1934 and most
of the new building smell was gone, replaced by exhaust and sweaty people.
Fashioned in the Art Deco style so popular in the 1930s, the main central
structure was three stories tall. On both sides jutted smaller two-story wings.
Sitting atop the roof were the words “Southern Pacific” in red letters that
glistened in the noonday sun.

I walked through one of the side doors. Martha had gone in ahead
of me to get herself situated. It was twelve thirty. Plenty of time to flush
out Marlowe and nab him for the cops or Aldridge.

The main seating areas were inside the larger central room. Not
nearly as grand as the stations in New York or Chicago, the Houston main train
station was plenty large for the biggest town in Texas. Of course, this being
Texas, there were murals on the walls depicting Sam Houston and Stephen F.
Austin.

I approached through the west wing of the station and took my
position behind a newsstand. Martha, wearing the clothes Danielle had been
wearing, including a broad-brimmed hat, read the
Post-Dispatch
and wore
sunglasses. Again, I noted her figure and her natural curves. Perhaps I had
been a little too hasty in my judgement of her. She would do just fine as my
secretary. The fact that she could use a gun was a bonus.

A few minutes later, a man entered the station. He looked like
the man I had seen meet Danielle. He stood, lighting a cigarette, and scanned
the room. Seeing Martha dressed as Danielle, he made his way across the
semi-crowded waiting area toward her. He bobbed and weaved through all the
milling people and sat down next to her. Poor girl. She actually jumped.

Martha put down the newspaper and folded it neatly. Next, she
reached up and removed her sunglasses. I couldn't figure out why she was
blowing her cover. Marlowe leaned in and said something in her ear. Without
speaking, she reached up with her hand and pointed directly at me. Marlowe
followed the direction. We made eye contact. A big grin creased his face. He
beckoned me. Mute, but fuming, I complied.

While I approached, Marlowe and Martha carried on some sort of
conversation. She shook her head twice, then nodded once. He patted her knee in
a somewhat reassuring fashion.

“Sit down,” he instructed me. “Let's make sure everyone here sees
nothing out of the ordinary.”

Biting my inner lip in order not to say something wrong, I took
the place next to Martha. Marlowe sat next to her.

He reached out his hand. “I suspect you already know my name, but
let's get introduced formal, Mr. Wade. My name is Preston Marlowe.”

I took his hand and shook it. The tendons and muscles in his
hands felt like a vice.

“Your new secretary was just telling me this is her first day on
the job. And you have her out in the field, getting caught by someone like me.
That's not good. It's your job to protect her, make sure she stays safe in your
office.

Martha bristled at that but remained quiet.

“I presume Danielle is in custody,” Marlowe said.

“You presume right. And she's talking up a storm.”

The shake of his head was dismissive. “Unlikely.” He reached over
and plucked the purse Martha was holding. Danielle's purse. “The tickets are in
here?”

“You seem to know all the answers, Marlowe, but you still don't
have what you want.” I grinned at him.

He arched an eyebrow at me. “Not yet, but you’re going to give me
the diamond now.”

I barked out a laugh. “Assuming I even have it.”

“It would be in your best interests if you did or could procure
it in short order.”

“Oh yeah, why's that?”

Marlowe looked across the station and back toward the offices. He
nodded. “Take a look.”

From behind an open door, the figure of Amos Peete emerged. I had
a second or two to ponder why that was supposed to scare me until I realized
Peete was holding Clara. Even from this distance, her eyes were wide with
terror.

“Now, Mr. Wade, the diamond.”

He didn't stick out his hand with an open palm. He just looked at
me with an expectant expression, waiting.

I reached into my inner suit pocket.

“No funny business.”

“I don't know any jokes.” My arm was like rock. I pulled out the
small envelope and handed it over to Marlowe. His fingers, long and lithe, took
it in the way a spider captures a fly.

With a sly look, he slid the diamond into his palm. The gemstone
glittered in the overhead lights. Martha let out a small gasp at the beauty. I
resigned myself to losing the diamond. Which meant Aldridge would not make the
call I needed to have him make, Smith’s chickens would all be slaughtered, and
I’d have a very unsatisfied client.

“Tell Peete to release Clara now.”

Marlowe stood. “Come with me.”

I stayed seated. “Why?”

“Because it's part of the deal.” Marlowe’s voice was laced with
sudden menace.

I stood. So did Martha.

“Not her.”

“She works with me,” I said. ‘She goes where I go.” Not really
sure why those words suddenly blurted themselves out of my mouth. Might have
been I wanted to have two against two.

Marlowe's shrug was nonchalant. “Have it your way. It's on you if
she gets hurt.”

He strode across the lobby. Martha was giving me an odd look I
couldn't place. I held out my hand, motioning her to go first. She did and I
followed.

The three of us arrived at the doorway where Peete was still
holding Clara. I got a better look at her face. Yes, she was truly scared, but,
then again, I'd be, too, if a man were holding a knife to my side.

“It's okay,” I told her. “It'll all be over soon.”

Marlowe tsk-tsked. “Wade, you need to figure out who to bring
into a case and whom to leave safely back home. This is a far too dangerous
business for amateurs, especially female amateurs.”

Martha, having had it with Marlowe's offhand comments, jabbed an
elbow into his side. He nearly doubled over with the sudden pain.

“That's for thinking so slightly about women.” She spat out the
words.

Marlowe rose and glared at her, full-on hatred in his eyes.
That's when Peete hauled off and slugged me once in the jaw. The hit knocked me
back into the open door. I banged my head and saw stars.

“That's for the other night.”

Martha knelt down next to me. For a moment, I couldn't figure out
which one of the three images I saw was the real one. A shake of my head
cleared it.

“You certainly have a way with people,” my new secretary said.

I offered her a lopsided grin. From across the station, the
loudspeaker called for boarding of the 1:10 p.m. train. Folks stubbed out
cigarettes, folded newspapers, and made their way to the train.

“You don't have your tickets, Marlowe,” I said. “What are you
going to do now?”

He gave me another pitying look. From inside his coat, he
withdrew two tickets. “Use these. You knew I’d have a backup plan, didn’t you?
You are dense.”

I stood and faced him. Instinctively, he took a step back.
Straightening up, I tilted my head to look at him down my nose. “Not so dense
as you think.” I raised my hand and offered him a mocking salute.

With all the folks milling about in the station, the new players
in this game weren't immediately obvious. Slowly, however, as we all looked
around, men in suits started moving toward our position. A few wore police
uniforms.

Marlowe whirled on me. “You didn't.”

I shrugged. “You know me; too dense to know any better.”

The train whistled for final boarding. Marlowe looked to his
right and the north door. Two uniformed cops stood just outside. Across the
station at the south door, two other policemen stood at the ready. And in the
middle, moving slowly but steadily toward us, was a small cadre of officers led
by none other than Captain Oscar Burman.

Was there a news camera nearby? It was about the only reason
Burman would be out in the field. Nevertheless, his clout meant that the boys
in blue were taking this seriously.

And why shouldn't they? Oliver Aldridge was involved.

Marlowe turned to Peete. “There a back way through here?” He
meant the small room right in front of us.

“Think so. Might get us to the train.”

“Blast the train, idiot.” Marlowe spat out the words. “We just
need to get to the car.” He motioned Peete toward the inside of the room.
“Let's go.” He wheeled. “My turn,” he said, walloping me in the gut. I doubled
over, but caught his arm in both my hands. Barely breathing, I held on once as
he tried to yank his arm free. Another slug to my jaw loosened my grip. I crumpled
to the floor.

But I had slowed him down. That was all I wanted. Peete and
Marlowe scurried farther into the station's offices, knocking over people who
happened to get in their way. I wasn't going to let Marlowe’s slugs be the last
word. I got to my feet. After a couple of deep breaths, charged after him.

The fleeing pair weren't hard to follow. No, the hard part was
getting around all the onlookers who were too busy watching where Peete and
Marlowe went even to consider there'd be someone else right behind them. I
started hollering, trying to clear the way. It worked well enough.

Peete was a good ten or so feet ahead of Marlowe. He was better
at dodging and weaving through the offices and onlookers. But he was no match
for the two patrol officers he ran into just as he opened an outer door. True,
all three of them tumbled to the ground, but the cops used their bodies and
kept Peete pinned to the ground long enough to slap the cuffs on him.

Marlowe saw this in a glance and took a side hallway. A few
seconds later, I skittered around the same corner. This hall was lined with
various offices on one side and the dispatcher on the other. Charging ahead, I
started to gain on Marlowe. It was a stroke of luck that he banged into an
outer door and it didn't open right away. That enabled me to close the distance
and tackle him. The combined weight of our bodies forced open the door. We both
tumbled down a short stairway and sprawled out on the ground. The sun was
blinding and the dust that kicked up got in my eyes. I couldn't see Marlowe,
but I sensed he was trying to get up. I swung my leg out toward a sound and
made contact with someone.

Blinking the dust out of my eyes, I realized I had tripped
Marlowe and he lay on his back. The roar of the train's engine starting up
drowned out most sounds, but a few choice words escaped Marlowe's lips. I
grabbed a handful of dust and threw it at him, but it didn't do any good. I
tried to get up, but my ankle gave way as soon as I put weight on it. Must have
sprained it. In any other circumstance, that wouldn't be a big deal. But in
this one, with a crazy man trying to escape, it was a huge deal, especially
when he put his hand in his suit and pulled out a pistol.

“I should shoot you, Wade,” Marlowe rasped, “just for the hell of
it, but I just don't have the time. But, I can't have you following me either.
Remember I have this.”

From beyond my vision, another hand appeared. It grasped
Marlowe's gun hand at the wrist. His knuckles whitened as the mysterious hand
ground down Marlowe's bones. There was an audible pop as something broke.
Marlowe screamed and dropped the gun.

It was only then that the body of the man to whom the hand
belonged came into view. Oliver Aldridge. Next to him were a couple of goons.
And, from seemingly out of nowhere, police officers and Captain Burman ran up
to our location.

“I want the record to show,” Aldridge said, “that this man has
stolen something from me and I aim to get it back.” He said these words, not as
though he was asking for permission but as if he were a lawyer in court.

Burman felt obliged to nod, but Aldridge, still with Marlowe's
wrist firmly in his grip, was already searching all his pockets. He withdrew
the small envelope and let Marlowe's wrist go. The entire arm fell limp. Two patrol
cops got the thief to his feet and cuffed him.

Aldridge opened his palm and shook out the diamond. If the thing
was brilliant under a lamp, it blazed in the sunlight.

Burman pushed his hat to the back of his head and absently
scratched his hairline. Even Marlowe stopped whimpering long enough to marvel
at the gem's beauty.

Aldridge spoke first. “I want to thank you, Mr. Wade, for
retrieving my stolen property.”

I looked up at Burman. “I thought you said there was no crime.”

The police captain merely shrugged.

Martha sidled up to me and tried to get me to stand. She had me
put my arm around her shoulders. Together, we stood.

“Who's this?” Burman asked, head nodding our way.

“This is my new secretary. Martha Weber, meet Captain Burman.
You'll need to know him because he and I have, um, history.”

Burman scowled. “You sure you want to start in with this guy? He
can be a pain in the ass.”

Martha patted my hand. “I'll keep my own counsel, thank you,
Captain. But can I get one of your men to help me? Mr. Wade here is rather
heavy.”

Burman raised his eyebrows, then motioned one of the cops to help
me.

In front of the station and around us, a crowd had gathered. From
inside the crowd, reporters with notepads and cameras moved forward and began
snapping pictures.

Burman turned his back on them, straightened his tie, and put his
hat back down firmly on his head. He gave me a wink and turned. He put a hand
out to Aldridge meaning for the banker to walk forward and greet the reporters,
but Aldridge begged off.

“Mr. Aldridge, sir,” Burman said, “would you like to make a
statement to the press?”

Aldridge slid the diamond back into the envelope. It disappeared
into a pocket. He glanced over at me, then back to Burman. “Yes, Captain, I
would.” He held up a finger. “But first, I have to make a phone call.”