The Paul Cain Omnibus (57 page)

Beery chuckled. “Uh-huh,” he said. “You
did
.”

“Then when we got you into the hotel,” Borg went on, “an’ into bed, you started having the screaming heebies, and the Doc give you a shot in the arm—so you got worse….” Kells smiled faintly. His eyes were closed.

“The Doc was running around in circles wringing his hands because he thought the leg was going to gangrene or something. You started roaring for more M, and then when I left you alone for a minute you got up and found a tube of Hyoscine someplace, and a needle….” Borg paused, straightened up, and finished disgustedly: “And I’ll be goddamned if you didn’t shoot the whole bloody tube!”

Beery said: “Then you began to get really violent—tried to do a hundred an’ eight out the window, wanted to walk across the ceiling—things like that. We smuggled you out of the hotel and brought you over here.”

Kells said: “Give me a drink, Shep.”

He sat up again slowly, took the glass.

“How many days?”

Beery said: “Four.”

Kells drank, laughed.

“Four bottles—four days…. Four’s my lucky number.” He squinted at Borg. “Once I bet four yards on a four-to-one shot in a fourth race on the Fourth of July….” He handed the glass to Beery, sank back on the pillow. “My horse came in fourth.”

Borg snorted, turned and went into the bathroom. Kells looked around the room again. “Nice joint,” he said. “How much am I paying for it?”

“I don’t know.” Beery lighted a cigarette. “Fenner has some kind of lien or mortgage or something on the building—he said he’d take care of the details.”

“It was his suggestion—bringing me here?”

Beery nodded.

“Where is he?”

“Long gone. When you told him that Crotti had his confession of the Bellmann kill, he scrammed. I got him on the phone just before he checked out of the Manhattan and he said he’d call over here and fix it for the apartment—said he’d get in touch with you later.”

Kells smiled. “All the big boys…. It’s simply a process of elimination. Fenner and Rose gone—Bellmann dead. Now if we can only angle Crotti into committing suicide….” He paused, glanced at Borg coming back into the room. “Did Fat, here, tell you all about the island sequence?”

Borg said: “Sure I told him—all I knew.”

“Crotti propositioned me to come in with him on a big play to organize the whole Coast,” Kells went on. “Will you please tell me why these bastards keep dealing me in, and then figure that if I’m not for ’em I’m against ’em? First Rose—but that was an out-and-out frame; then Fenner thought he and I’d make a great team. Now, Crotti—and the funny part of that one is I think he was on the square about wanting me with him.”

Beery said: “It must be the way you wear your clothes.”

“Sure. It’s just your natural charm.” Borg made a wry face, went back to the table and began laying out solitaire.

“Of course Crotti’s got the right idea about organization.” Kells rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. “But the fun in an organization is being head man.”

Beery said: “The other night at Fenner’s, when you were putting on that act for his sidekick Gowdy, you said you had some friends on the way out here. Was that a gag?”

“Certainly. I wanted to impress Gowdy with my importance to his outfit. You can get my friends in the East into a telephone booth.”

“Well, if Crotti says war”—Beery got up and went over to one of the rain-swept windows—“we’re sitting pretty….”

“Uh-huh.” Borg looked up at Kells. “In a pig’s eye. We three, an’ whatever strong-arm strength Gowdy swings—and that doesn’t amount to a hell of a lot….”

“And against us….” Beery turned from the window, stuck his hands deep in his pockets. “There’s all Crotti’s mob—and that’s supposed to be the best in the country. There’s Rose, with his syndicate behind him, and all the loogans he’s imported from back East. There’s the Bellmann outfit—they weren’t very efficient when they blew up the print shop the other day, but you can’t figure from that—”

“And by God!—most of them are in uniform,” Borg interrupted. Beery smiled faintly, nodded. “Uh-huh,” he said. “We’re in a swell spot.”

Kells was staring at the ceiling. He said: “Now’s a good time to get out.”

Beery looked at Borg; Borg took a toothpick out of his vest pocket, stuck it in his mouth and went back to his solitaire.

“I didn’t mean
that
,” Beery said. “Only, what are we going to do?”

“Get out.” Kells’ eyes were fixed blankly on the ceiling. “I’ve been pretty lucky up to now. Partly because everybody that’s been against me has figured that the inside would get a big press spread if anything serious happened to me.”

He looked at Beery. “Through you—spread through you, I mean. That doesn’t make it very safe for you.”

Beery was looking at the floor. “The luck’s beginning to run out,” Kells went on. “I dropped all the dough I’d made since I’ve been out here, on the island—because I was dumb enough to get heroic about that bitch Granquist—and she was Crotti’s plant all the time….”

Beery said: “You didn’t tell me about that.”

“I’m telling you now. She was sent out here by Crotti to look things over—start the organization ball rolling.”

“Well, well. Damned clever, these Swedes.” Beery sat down at the table.

No one said anything for a minute. Beery watched Borg play solitaire. Kells’ eyes wandered again to the ceiling.

“You’re absolutely right,” he finally said. “We’d better take a sneak while we’re all in one piece.”

Beery stood up. He went over to the stand by the bed and poured himself a drink. He waved the glass at Kells. He said: “We’ve gone too far—an’ it’s too much fun. We can still smack the Bellmann administration down—and anyway, these bastards don’t know whether we’re strong or not. You’ll be up and around in a couple days—we can count on a hand from Rainey, if we need it….”

Borg was staring at the cards. He said, “Sure,” without looking up.

“No.” Kells shook his head slowly. “It’s too tough—you boys have been a great help, but—”

“Shut up! You can crawl out if you want to, but I’ll stick—I’m having a swell time.” Beery grinned down at Kells then gulped his drink.

Borg looked up, said, “Sure,” quietly. He stood up.

Kells laughed. He glanced at the bottle on the bedstand. “Draw three, Shep.”

They had dinner sent up from Musso-Frank’s, on the Boulevard. Doctor Janis stopped by about nine o’clock.

“Two days,” he said—“two more days at least. Then you can go out for a little while, if you take it easy—on crutches.”

Kells was sweating; his eyes burned and he yawned a great deal. He said: “Maybe I’d better have one more load in the arm, Doc, to sort of taper off on.”

“You’ll taper off on whiskey and milk, young fella—and like it.” The doctor put two small pills on the stand. “If you get too jumpy you can take these before you go to sleep.”

Janis and Beery went out together; Beery was going home. Borg played solitaire for a while, and Kells sat up in bed, tried to read the papers.

Borg said: “Denny Faber is still trailing around with Gilroy.”

“You can call him off—Gilroy ought to be okay by now.”

At eleven Borg stood up, stretched, said: “I’m going bye-bye.” He went into the bedroom—Kells was on the wall bed in the living room. Borg came back in his underwear, got Kells a glass of water, made a pass at tucking him in.

“If you want anything,” he said, “just yell and fire a few shots and throw your shoe through the window. I’m a very light sleeper.”

Kells said he would.

Borg went back into the bedroom, and Kells turned out the lights, tried to sleep. He heard the bell in the big church on Sunset Boulevard strike twelve. Rain drummed against the windows, and the wind was blowing.

Sometime around one, he got up, hobbled into the bath. He scrubbed his teeth and got back to the bed by using a chair for support, hopping slowly on one foot. He took the pills Janis had left, washed them down with whiskey and water. He slept after a while—heavily, dreamlessly.

When he awoke, he lay rigid for a little while listening to rain beat against the windows. Then a voice whispered close to his ear: “Wake up, darling.”

Kells lay very still, turned his eyes toward the darkness. Granquist said: “Wake up—darling.” Kells moved his head until he could see the silhouette of her crouched body against the pale reflected light of the wall.

She spoke rapidly, breathlessly: “Are you all right, darling—can you walk? We’ve got to get out of here right away….”

He smiled a little and raised his head and said: “Will you please go away? ….”

She sank to her knees beside the bed and tried to take his head in her arms.

“Please,” she said. “We’ve got to go quickly. Please….”

Kells put her arms away and sat up and pulled the pillow up behind him. “How the hell did you get in?”

“I put on an act for the night man—told him I wanted to surprise you. He came up and let me in with the passkey….”

“Go on—surprise me.”

“Gerry.” Granquist’s eyes were big in the faint light; drops of rain glistened on her small dark hat, her dark close-fitting coat. “I’ve been in an awfully bad spot since you shot up Crotti’s camp. I got away this afternoon when Fenner came out to do business about his confession—Crotti didn’t know anything about it, but he let Fenner think he did….”

“What do you mean, Crotti didn’t know about it?” Kells put his hand on her wrist.

“I got to your coat first—I’ve got Fenner’s confession and his certified check for twenty-five thou—and your cash….”

She clicked open a small handbag, took out a handful of crumpled paper and currency, dropped it on the bed. He looked down at it a little while and then he let his head fall back again against the pillow, bent it slightly down sidewise.

He said: “You’re a strange gal.” He put his hand on her wrist again, held it tightly.

She tried to speak. She got up and walked to the window and then back, sat down on the edge of the bed.

Kells asked: “Why do we have to leave here?”

“Because you haven’t Fenner’s protection any longer—he thinks Crotti has this”—she nodded at the stuff on the bed. “The whole layout is against you now—Crotti, Rose, Fenner, the Bellmann people….”

Kells switched on the lamp beside the bed. He unfolded and smoothed out the sheet of Venice stationery with Fenner’s shakily signed confession.

“We have this,” he said. “Fenner hasn’t played ball—I can stick it into him and break it off. And we’ve got around thirty-five grand. We’re in a swell spot to play both ends against the middle….”

“No, Gerry.” Granquist’s voice was harsh, strained. “Please, no, Gerry—let’s go away, quick. I’m scared….”

Kells was silent a while, looking at her abstractedly.

Then he said: “The middle against both ends, by God!”

He put out one arm and cupped his hand against the back of Granquist’s neck and pulled her to him.

In the morning the sun came out warm, bright.

At about nine-thirty, Borg came out of the bedroom in trousers and a green silk undershirt. Granquist had had things sent up from the commissary, was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Borg leaned against the side of the door and looked at her, and then he smiled blankly at Kells, said: “Well, well.”

“From now on”—Kells bent his head to one side—“Fenner’s on the other team.”

Borg went to the table and sat down. “I still like your side,” he said, “and I want to pitch.”

“You’re not very bright. See if you can get Faber on the phone—tell him to come up here.”

Borg reached for the phone, dialed a number.

Granquist brought breakfast in on a big tray. There was orange juice and an omelette and toast and coffee. It was all very good.

Borg finally got Faber and talked to him a little while, and then he looked up Woodward’s number in the Dell Building, downtown, dialed it, took the phone to Kells.

Kells said, “Hello,” and asked for Woodward, and then he said: “This is Kells. If you come out to the Miramar Apartments on Franklin and Cherokee, in Hollywood, I think we might do a little business.” He hung up, smiled at Granquist.

“You’ll have to duck while he’s here, baby,” he said. “He’s the undercover legal representative for the Bellmann administration, and you’re still number one suspect for Bellmann’s shooting—you’ll have to lay low till we hang it on Fenner, and make it stick.”

She nodded.

After a little while someone knocked at the door, and Borg got up and let Beery in. Beery threw his hat on a chair, stared with bright, surprised eyes at Granquist, said: “Well—it’s a small world.”

She smiled. “Coffee?”

Beery nodded and Granquist went out into the kitchen.

Kells said: “Fenner went out to see Crotti yesterday.”

Beery sat down, smiled down his nose.

“Now we don’t have to worry about kicking any of our crowd in the tail,” Kells went on, “because we haven’t got any.”

Beery raised his brows, said: “Crowd?”

“Uh-huh—crowd.”

Beery glanced around the room, back to Kells. “Since this joint was Fenner’s suggestion,” he said, “wouldn’t it be a swell time to move?”

Kells shook his head slowly. “What for? Any of ’em can find me if they want me—and they’ll all be wanting to before long. This is as good a spot as any….”

Granquist came in with coffee and toast on a small tray. Beery stood up, bowed, took the tray and sat down.

Kells said: “I’m going to turn on the heat, Shep—only this time I’m going to make it pay. It’s been for fun up to now—now it’s for dough.”

Borg was playing solitaire at the table. He looked up and said “Hooray,” dryly.

“The lady”—Kells inclined his head towards Granquist—“picked up all the stuff I lost at Crotti’s. Fenner thinks Crotti’s got his confession, but I’ve got it—and Fenner’s going to find out about that. So is Woodward, who ought to be willing to give his eye teeth—and the mayor’s eye teeth—for it as soon as he finds out what it is. He’s on his way up here now.”

Beery lighted a cigarette.

“They can both buy it,” Kells went on, “and for plenty.” He turned to Borg. “See if you can get Hanline at the Manhattan.”

Borg picked up the phone, dialed a number.