Shake a Crooked Town (9 page)

She stirred on his knees as her breathing quickened. “I’d entertain a motion to declare a moratorium on questions and answers,” she said huskily.

“You’ve got one,” he said promptly. He shifted the position of his hands and stood up with her in his arms.

“Wait!” she commanded. “Put me down.” He complied, knowing it was no last-minute retreat. “Sit down again,” she told him. She knelt and removed his shoes, straightened up and took his hand and tugged him to his feet again. She removed his shirt completely. Her hands went to his belt and he lifted his own to assist her. “Let me!” she said urgently. He dropped his hands.

She stripped him, moving like an ivory wraith in the light of the fire. He couldn’t see her face clearly, but he could hear her breathing. Her hands lingered on his arms, then on his shoulders and back. When her hands quieted his own moved rapidly. He picked her up again and felt her arms twine tightly about his neck.

In the bedroom he lowered her gently to the floor.

Through the open door only the faintest trace of the light from the fireplace’s leaping flames pursued them. Her hands went to the neckline of her negligee. He captured the hands.

“My turn,” he said. He dealt with the negligee, unhurriedly. He disposed of the gossamer nightgown that couldn’t have weighed more than an ounce and a half. He sat her down on the bed and removed the mules whose rhinestoned heels glittered even in the near-darkness.

Her hands came down upon his shoulders as he bent over her. She pulled mightily, and, overbalanced, he plunged forward upon her, his weight forcing her backward. Her smothered laughter was electric in its sexual excitement. Her resilient, perfumed flesh filled his nostrils.

The fire in his brain enfeebled the firelight on the walls.

• • •

Afterward, they lounged in the same chair before the dying fire, renewed brandy glasses in hand. For a long time there was a minimum of conversation, but finally Jessamyn spoke after a preliminary clearing of her throat. “Goodness, I don’t know what’s happened to my voice, do you?”

“Yes. When you get—”

“Never mind,” she said hastily. “The time for conversation is before, not afterward.” She dropped her head on his shoulder. “Jim called me before you came over about what happened at his office. He was furious. You make it awfully hard for me to defend you.”

“Thanks for tryin’ but it shouldn’t be necessary,” Johnny said lazily. The air around him was pleasantly heady with the scent of woman and brandy. “Daddario can get rid of me in fifteen minutes. Less, if he makes up his mind.”

Her head came up from his shoulder. “He can? How?”

“By lettin’ me talk to Micheline Thompson.”

“Are you in love with her?” she pouted.

“I’ve seen her twice in better’n fifteen years,” he said truthfully.

“Well? What’s so important, then?”

“The first time was kind of special,” he explained. “I got wound up in this thing before I knew it, an’ I do mean wound up. I got a thousand dollar axe of my own to grind but if the kid’s in trouble I’d kind of like to straighten things out for her before I cut out of the deal.”

“You’re a great deal more likely to be pushed out. Why should you feel an urge to straighten things out, as you say?”

“I can tell you but I don’t know if you’ll understand. A few thousand nights ago the kid an’ I were caught in a real downdraft. By some very unpleasant people, who had their hands on her first. She was only fourteen but she knew what to expect, still she did her best to warn me so I could get out. I don’t forget that kind of thing. If she needs a hand, I’m it.”

“Very noble, I’m sure.” He could feel her eyes upon him. “But are you sure it’s worth it? Woman is an adaptable animal. She—Micheline, I mean—might have made adjustments of which you have no idea.”

“So let her tell me. Herself.”

She tried a new tack. “What makes you think it’s Jim who is keeping her from talking to you?”

“Because he never let us out from under his eye in New York. An’ because of what I can see goin’ on in this town.”

“Such as?”

“I figure Jim Daddario an’ Dick Lowell are milkin’ this place dry. I figure you know it, too. Know it an’ participate in it. When you cut Daddario loose emotionally you still retained a financial rootin’ interest, didn’t you?”

“You’re very—blunt,” she said slowly. “Yet oddly delicate, too. We both know that it was Jim who cut me loose. He expects to go on to bigger things politically. He decided that I didn’t have the qualifications to ‘grow’ with him.” Johnny could hear the bitterness in her voice.

“But he shut you up about what you knew by cuttin’ you in on the take. You couldn’t live like this on what you take home from the library.” He waited for her to speak.

“I’m not underpaid there. And I have no extraordinary expenses.” Her voice was low. “Of course you realize you’re only repeating what the townspeople have been saying right along. It used to hurt, but I’ve developed an immunity.”

“Look, Jessie, if that’s your story, good luck to you. I think there’s somethin’ you’ve forgotten, though. Jim Daddario hasn’t forgotten it. He was in New York when Carl Thompson was killed. When the dirt starts comin’ out from under the rug he could wind up charged with murder.”

“Jim would never do a thing like that.” Jessamyn said it confidently.

“Can you say the same for the people around him?” He waited but she was silent. “If he gets charged as an accessory, even, don’t you end up as a tail on the kite?”

“You’re just trying to talk me into something.” She sat up straight on his knees, trying to see his face. “Aren’t you? What is it you expect me to say? Or do?”

“Tell me where I can find Micheline Thompson.”

“But I don’t know!” She said it just a shade too quickly, Johnny thought. “Even if all you say should be true, which it isn’t by any means, what makes you think Jim would confide in me?”

“Maybe because—”

“And don’t say it’s because he feels he can trust me.” Her words were staccato. “He jilted me, remember?” He could hear a distinct swallowing sound as her throat worked. “Jim Daddario trusts no one.”

“An’ he has a real blast furnace of a temper,” Johnny suggested.

“Yes, he does,” she said before she thought. Her voice tightened as if she resented the inference. “But he’s not a killer.”

“Did he throw you over because he was takin’ up with Micheline?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her tone was sharp. “Why do you ask that?”

“I’ve heard it mentioned.”

“People will say anything.” An audible sniff conveyed her impression of people. “Next you’ll be saying Jim had Thompson killed so he could marry the widow.”

“You think people aren’t sayin’ that, too?”

“It’s doubly ridiculous. Jim Daddario is a hard-headed, practical politician. He and I might have known each other a little too well. The—bloom rubbed off. We split up. But Jim did a lot for me, and I’m grateful.”

“Suppose that some of the things you knew should all of a sudden be an anchor around the neck of this hard-headed politician? What would he do then, Jessie?”

“You’re just trying to upset me!” She bounced up from his knees. “And I’m not going to let you.” Her voice softened. “We had a nice evening. Don’t spoil it.”

“I wouldn’t think of spoilin’ it, baby.” He reached out and patted a plump hip. “I’m lookin’ forward to others.”

“Do you say that to all the girls?”

He stood up from the chair and stretched mightily. “Only to the ones who combine enthusiasm with their know-how.” He reached out a casual arm and pulled her up against him. “You’re all right, kid. More bounce to the ounce.”

She freed herself gently. “It’s getting late. I won’t turn on the light in the hall when I let you out. Goodnight, Johnny.”

“Goodnight, Jessie.” At the door he gave her arm a silent squeeze and walked quietly down the dimly lighted hallway.

• • •

He found that he wasn’t surprised to discover Valerie Peterson waiting up for him when he let himself in with his key. She rose from the chair in which she had been doing sentry duty, still swathed in the man’s bathrobe he had seen previously. She wasted no time on preliminaries. “I’m sorry to have to say this but I’m—”

“You’re goin’ to have to ask me to remove my high-voltage carcass from the premises,” Johnny finished for her.

“You’re right. I am. I’m not saying right this minute or even tomorrow, but I wish you’d look for another place.”

Johnny shrugged. “You’re the doctor. Any particular pressure on you to have me move out?”

“No. It’s just that there’s too much lightning playing around your head. I’ve got a daughter to raise and a living to make. I can’t afford to be in the middle on something like this.” Her eyes on his were steady. “Personally, I rather like you, but I know trouble ahead when I see it. I don’t want any.”

“It’s your house,” Johnny agreed. “I’ll find a berth tomorrow.” He headed for the stairs.

Her voice stopped him. “You had a telephone message just a few minutes ago.” Johnny turned to her, his interest fired. “A man named Rudy said to be sure to let you know the big fish were biting.”

“Oh. That. Yeah.” Johnny’s interest died. He found it replaced at once by a flicker of something else. His hand closed lightly on the roll of bills in his pocket. He glanced at his wrist watch. Why not sit in for a couple of hours? The game was a soft touch. “Maybe I’ll take a look.”

“You’re a gambler, among other things?”

He looked at Mrs. Peterson’s disapproving face. “You know Rudy?”

“Everyone knows Rudy and all the rest like him.” She said it with distaste. “That’s what’s the matter with this town. It was bad enough when Carl Thompson was running it like a business. A dirty business, but a business. Now it’s an out-and-out racket and someone’s going to get hurt. Dick Lowell should be ashamed of himself.”

“What can he do about it?” Johnny asked her.

“If he slept in his own bed nights Daddario never would have been able to undermine him on the council and get control.” Mrs. Peterson’s voice was sharp. “He’s not a Lowell. He’s a weakling.”

“Yeah,” Johnny said vaguely. “Well, maybe he’s got a problem or two of his own.” He started for the front door. “I’ll clear out tomorrow. Sorry to have bothered you.”

He thought she was going to speak again, but she stood and watched him silently as he let himself out.

J
OHNNY AWOKE
in the first rays of the sunrise with his stomach rumbling with hunger pains. He had been too disgusted to eat anything before going to bed five hours before.

He rolled over and lay on his back with his hands folded beneath his head. The trip to Rudy’s had been a disaster. The corners of his mouth turned down at the remembrance. The sour taste was almost literal.

He had stepped into the game brash with confidence. In the first dozen hands he had run second three times and had pulled in his horns a little. He had won a small pot with three sevens and almost at once saw a full house top his smaller full. That had been painful, but not nearly so bad as the hand shortly after on which he had wagered briskly on a pat flush against a two-card draw. After two return raises Johnny had called and watched his opponent cheerfully lay down the ace, king, queen, nine, and five of spades. He always liked to draw to an ace, king, queen flush possibility, his opponent explained.

Johnny salvaged his few remaining chips and backed out of the game hurriedly. When they started filling flushes on two-card draws it obviously wasn’t his night. It had only taken him twenty-five minutes and fourteen hundred dollars to find it out.

“Murder,” Rudy said at the door, letting him out.

“First degree,” Johnny affirmed.

“You happen to know this Tolliver boy up in Emergency Hospital?” Rudy asked.

“Seems to me I’ve heard the name,” Johnny said carefully. “What happened to him?”

“I heard he run into a fence,” Rudy said dryly. He spat on the floor and scrubbed it out with his heel. So far as he was concerned, the conversation seemed to have ended.

Johnny tried to keep it moving. “You have to choose up sides in this town to get your umbrella for this game?” he asked.

“Never used to have to,” Rudy said heavily. He cleared his throat. “Never used to,” he repeated. “It’d better stay that way. I pay my dues to the lodge an’ all I ask is to be left alone.”

“They been comin’ at you lately from more’n one direction?”

“I pay my dues,” Rudy reiterated.

And that had been all. Rudy had refused to say another word, leaving Johnny to wonder why the subject of Tolliver had been brought up. Unless it was Rudy’s way of making the point that he knew what was going on around town.

Johnny had stopped at the Western Union office and wired Mickey Tallant for fresh funds and had trudged back to Mrs. Peterson’s wishing he had never left it.

He stretched lazily in bed, threw back the covers and sprang out. He dressed hurriedly in the room’s chill. Autumn was coming with a vengeance. In the bathroom across the hall, he splashed water noisily and chopped at his wet-down hair with his comb. Three or four eggs and a like number cups of coffee should put a brighter aspect on things. It usually did. He remembered mornings after nights at the card table—

Back in his room he tossed the comb at the bureau and reached for Mickey Tallant’s leather jacket on the back of a chair. His hand became paralyzed in mid-movement. Jingle Peterson lay on her back in his bed, her red hair flying over the pillow, the covers demurely up to her chin.

Just for a second Johnny thought it was a put-up job, the presence of this decidedly under-age female. Just for a second. Until he saw the guileless face on the pillow. “You’re dressed!” she accused him.

He loomed up over her at the bedside. “Your mother will skin you alive,” he told her. “Your mother will—”

“My mother is sound asleep,” she informed him. “Aren’t you coming back to bed?”

He could never explain this to Mrs. Peterson, Johnny decided. He disposed of the covers in one tearing yank. “Hey!” Jingle protested, sitting up, her arms wrapped about herself. Her nightgown was plainly not her own, being six or eight inches too large in all dimensions. Johnny grabbed an ankle and hauled and she hit the floor rump first. “Oww!” she squealed. Shocked surprise was in the face. “What kind of a square are you, anyway?”

“Out,” Johnny said grimly. “On your feet and out.”

She sat up straight in the middle of the floor, the picture of outraged indignation. “You unadulterated square,” she said bitterly. “I should have known you—”

He reached down for an arm and lifted her to her feet. She tried to hit him with her free hand and stumbled as she stepped on the trailing edge of the nightgown. A bare shoulder and a strawberry-tipped, pear-shaped little breast popped into view as the top portion sagged. Jingle grabbed at the billowing material.

“Out,” Johnny insisted. With her left arm in his grip he boosted her toward the door with a knee behind her, fending off her wild swings with his other hand. He heard her gasp as she went limp in his clutch and he looked over her shoulder at Valerie Peterson in the doorway.

“Look, Val,” the girl said immediately in a rapid recovery. “I can explain everything. I was just—”

Her mother didn’t even look at her. “Thanks,” she said to Johnny. “I’ll take over from here.” She reached for Jingle with her left hand. In her right was a hairbrush.

“No, no, no!” the girl exclaimed. She darted around behind Johnny who discreetly stepped out of the way. With the skill born of long practice, Valerie Peterson stepped in behind her daughter and took a firm grip on her left ear. “You’ve got to listen to me, Val! Val!”

“March!” Mrs. Peterson commanded, and the hairbrush spatted sharply against the fullest part of the nightgown. Jingle yelped and bounded into the air only to be hauled down by the grip on her ear. At the doorway there was another crisp smack, another yip, and another troutlike leap. The ballet was repeated at the head of the stairs and on every third step on the way down. Jingle and her mother disappeared from sight through the living-room door.

But not from sound.

In seconds shrill, piercing yells drifted upward with metronomic regularity. Johnny snatched up his jacket and ran down the stairs. In the lower hall the girl’s howls were intensified; if he hadn’t seen the flatbacked brush in her mother’s hand he would have suspected something far more lethal.

Outside on the stone steps with the front door closed he could still hear her, although not as plainly. Miss Jingle Peterson left the neighborhood in small doubt as to her immediate circumstances.

Johnny shook his head in mute admiration for the audible testimony to Mrs. Peterson’s undiminished vigor, grinned slightly and set off up the street.

He sat opposite the richly polished outsized desk of Mayor Richard Lowell and considered the man behind it. Dick Lowell fidgeted under the inspection, shooting his cuffs nervously and sweeping back his white mane with quick-brushing motions of a flattened palm. His swivel chair creaked as he leaned forward in it to plant his elbows on the desk top. His eyes were bloodshot and his clean-shaven face looked haggard. “Killain, I—”

“You’re beltin’ at that brandy too much, Dickie,” Johnny interrupted him.

“Don’t call me Dickie!” the mayor snapped back. He sat up straighter. “And as for the brandy, I believe I’m of age.”

“The dangerous age, maybe. When you up for re-election again, Your Honor?”

Richard Lowell winced at the question, Johnny’s ironic salutation passing unnoticed.

“Not till next year, fortunately.”

“Fortunately, indeed,” Johnny said. “A mayor who shows himself to the voters in wide open gamblin’ joints is on a downhill slide. A mayor who takes off his shoes at night in the company of a married woman is on a greased downhill slide.”

“So you heard about that, too.” Richard Lowell pushed back his chair. He looked at his well-manicured nails and buffed them on the lapel of his jacket. “That much at least is settled now.”

“Settled like how?” Johnny asked.

“She’s getting a divorce.” Dick Lowell said it somberly, with no trace of triumph. “Quietly. He’s finally agreed. It cost me—” He flung his arms wide and jumped nervously to his feet. “Never mind what it cost me. It’s worth it.” He began to pace up and down behind his desk in short, choppy strides. “Dorothy and I will be married after a decent interval. After I’m re-elected. People forget. In the meantime, I’ll be more—careful.” He stopped and looked at Johnny, the beautiful speaking voice picking up power and intensity. “I know I’ve slipped with the people, but I’ve got a year. In a year I can rebuild my image. All I need is a good issue to distract them, and I’ve got a dandy. I can kick off a campaign and in three weeks I’ll have everyone back who ever voted for me and a lot more beside. I’ll get up on a platform and lay it on the line: ‘Citizens of Jefferson—’”

“ ‘—we must throw the rascals out,’” Johnny cut in.

“Well, yes.” Lowell’s voice dropped from the rolling boom into which it had ascended. “Exactly.”

“An’ what happens if the rascals point a finger back at the man on the platform?”

“They have no proo—” Richard Lowell closed his lips tightly. “The voters will know whom to believe. I’m going to clean up this town. I’m going to clean it up one hundred per cent. I’ll start—”

“The last man I heard talkin’ like that wound up on a hotel-room floor with a knife in his back,” Johnny said softly.

Dick Lowell sat down suddenly. He swallowed visibly. “I’m not—they can’t intimidate me,” he said feebly.

Johnny looked at him. “They can’t? Congratulations, Your Honor.” His voice turned hard. “I haven’t found Micheline Thompson. Would you have any idea why?”

“I?” Lowell looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“Could it be that Micheline Thompson knows enough about Mayor Richard Lowell to warrant
his
keepin’ her out of sight, rather than Daddario?”

“You’re—you couldn’t be more wrong.” The mayor’s voice was shaky. “I
desperately
want to find her. She—she can be of the greatest assistance. You
must
find her.”

“How would it be if I looked in Dorothy’s apartment?”

“Dorothy?” Richard Lowell looked stunned. “You would accuse
Dorothy
of—of lending herself to such a deception?” He sounded outraged.

“I don’t know Dorothy,” Johnny pointed out. “I’m beginnin’ to know you.”

“Why don’t you ask Jessamyn Burger, your great and good friend?” Mayor Lowell thrust back with sudden viciousness.

“I already have. She claims Daddario never told her anything.”

The mayor’s snort was explosive. “That woman is no schoolgirl. I’m not saying she has to know where Micheline is, but never believe she knows
nothing
about Jim’s activities. She’s a shrewd one.”

“She says the brushoff was complete.” Johnny watched the man behind the desk.

“I’ll never believe that.” Richard Lowell was emphatic. “For one thing, has she cut down on her scale of living?”

“I’ve been in her place. I wouldn’t say she’s equipped to run off Roman orgies three times a week. What’ve you got against her?”

“Her ambition. When she was the bright star in Daddario’s crown I was just something in their way. She never had a good word for me or about me. I don’t forget things like that.”

“How come Daddario cut her loose?”

“I’ve never been completely convinced that he has.” Dick Lowell scowled. “In politics you have to look beneath the surface. There was beginning to be some talk about their long ‘engagement.’ At a time when I was something less than discreet, myself, their separation gave them an opportunity to point a moralistic finger at me.”

“You don’t think you went all around Robin Hood’s barn to dredge that one up?”

“It’s a possibility,” Lowell insisted stubbornly. “I trust neither of them.”

“What was Carl Thompson doin’ for you when he was in the saddle in the chief’s office?”

The mayor was silent for a count of three. “Protecting my interests,” he said at length. He hurried on before Johnny could speak. “Not trusting Daddario, I needed to be kept informed.”

“I figured you an’ Daddario for partners.” Johnny made the statement in a deliberate manner.

“We—might have had an understanding. Once. That’s water over the dam. He’s out to get me. I intend to get him first.” Again richness of purpose firmed and deepened Lowell’s voice. “If I can count on your help you won’t be sorry, Killain.”

“The other day you thought this room might be bugged,” Johnny said. “How come you’re such a popoff now?”

Dick Lowell’s smile was tired. “There’s not much news in anything I’ve just said.” His eyes went uneasily to his telephone. “I’ve read somewhere that it’s possible to attach some sort of—ah—device to a phone so that not only phone conversations but all conversations in the room can be heard. Is it true?”

Johnny nodded. “It sure is.”

The mayor’s eyes were sick. “There was one private conversation here I’m almost sure—how would I find out?”

“If you’ve got a friend in the upper bracket of the local telephone office they could probably tell you.”

Lowell smiled bitterly. “Jessie Burger’s father was the manager of the local phone office before he died. She’s still very well acquainted there.” He drew a deep breath. “You haven’t said if I can count on you.”

Johnny rose to his feet. “You haven’t said what you need done, Lowell.” He waited for a moment. “Your program’s a little too vague for me right now. Brighten up the colors and try me again.” He turned to go.

“Killain, wait.” Lowell’s tone was urgent. “You won’t say anything to Toby? About—all this?” His eyes were pleading. “I intend to have it all straightened out shortly. Very shortly.”

“It’s your baby,” Johnny said indifferently. “Even at this distance removed, though, I doubt you’re kiddin’ Toby Lowell very much about what’s goin’ on here. What do you do if he decides to bounce up an’ look over the situation?”

“I run, not walk, to the nearest exit,” Lowell said with unexpected firmness. “But he won’t. He’s too busy to pay any attention to what’s going on in Jefferson.” Bitterness crept back into Richard Lowell’s voice. “You’ve heard of the senior citizen psych? That’s the Indian sign Toby has on me. He’s the eternal big brother who always knows best. We weaker vessels distress him.”

“Speakin’ of weaker vessels, I’ve got to run by the Western Union office. I got batted out in Rudy’s game last night.” Johnny paused as a thought occurred to him. “I got the impression Rudy doesn’t care too much for Jack Riley’s gendarmes.”